Marco nodded toward a tall stack of metal sheets near the exchange site. It would serve as good cover for him as he kept an eye on the proceedings. Then he, like Simon, melted into the darkness.
Jack and Eva were alone.
The time was nearly two, but she allowed herself just a moment to simply look at him, just as he looked at her. He’d grown no less large or powerful in the time she had known him. The lamps’ flickering light only highlighted the hard contours of his face, the breadth of his shoulders. To anyone first seeing him, he seemed exactly like the kind of man one didn’t want to meet in a dark, deserted place.
Yet, only an hour earlier, they’d given each other a fierce, desperate pleasure, and it still resonated through her body. He’d kissed her with passion and care, his big, rough hands cupping her face tenderly. And he stared at her now with an expression both warm and fierce.
“Can’t kiss you now.” His voice was a low rumble, meant for her ears alone. “If Rockley’s watching—”
“We won’t give him any advantage.” A personal attachment could be exploited.
“But, God, how I want to taste you again. One last time.”
“Not the last time,” she insisted. “We stick to the plan, we punish Rockley, we survive.”
“Holding you to that,” he said.
She drew in a breath. “The orchestra’s tuned. Now we play the final movement.”
They were silent for a moment. Then, together, they walked toward the exchange site, weaving between the stacks of building materials and crates, until they reached one end of the open area. The space itself was the length of three train cars and exposed enough to give any hidden gunman a decent shot.
Two men appeared at the other end. One of them was the hulking tower of muscle, Ballard. Despite the other man’s dark clothing, she recognized him immediately: Rockley. He held a case, presumably containing ten thousand pounds.
Jack muttered a curse. Hatred seemed to pour out of him in unseen surges. But he didn’t rush toward Rockley. He kept his ground, waiting.
“He’s got more men with him,” Jack said, low enough for only her to hear.
“I see two lurking behind those crates to the right,” she whispered back.
“And two more off to the left.”
Not unexpected, but still troubling. They were outnumbered. At the least, they had Marco and Simon to help. “It’s going to be a fighting retreat.”
“Always knew it would be.” He seemed eager for it, in fact.
“Ready?” Eva whispered.
He nodded, terse.
Yet they hadn’t taken more than a step before Rockley’s command cut through the stillness. “Just you, Dalton. The woman remains behind.”
She and Jack exchanged a look, his gaze showing clear reluctance to leave her, but they knew they’d have to capitulate in order to complete the trade.
“Then your man stays put,” Jack shouted back.
A taut silence, and then, “So be it.”
Jack inhaled, and moved to take a step.
She couldn’t stop herself. “Jack.”
He stopped without looking back.
“Be careful.” Minimal words, but they were all she could offer.
After a moment, he said, “Same to you.”
She smiled faintly to herself. A fine pair of poets they were.
Her smile died as Jack walked away. There was nothing for her to do now but wait, watch, and hope.
* * *
Jack felt every step like an earthquake. He wondered why the scaffolds didn’t collapse and the ground didn’t shudder. It seemed as if he could break the whole sodding planet apart with each step forward.
The distance between him and Rockley narrowed. It was dark, so Jack couldn’t see the bastard’s face very well, but it didn’t matter. Rockley’s polished, handsome features were burned into his mind. He knew his face, his gait, his voice. He was like one of those diseases that ate a body from the inside out, always there, impossible to fully remove. Rockley was Jack’s sickness. After tonight, either Jack would be cured, or the disease would kill him.
He and Rockley faced each other. A distance of five feet separated them. Such a small distance. Jack could snap his neck before any of Rockley’s men could make a move. But this was about more than blood for blood.
Jack held up the portfolio. “Got the papers. I want to see the money.”
Rockley lifted the case. “It’s here. But I want to verify the documents are genuine.”
“And I don’t want you giving me bundles of newspaper topped by a few pound notes.”
Jack and Rockley edged close enough to each other so that they could reach for the cases. Both of them were silent and tense as they extended their arms, then made the swap. He and the lord eyed each other warily as they examined their respective goods.
Flipping open the case, Jack saw rows of ten-pound notes neatly bundled with ribbon. He pulled out one of the bundles and ran his thumb over the money, then did the same with all of the packets. It was all there. Ten thousand pounds.
All the more reason to distrust Rockley. The son of a bitch would never part with that much money, despite the fact that he could afford it ten times over.
Jack watched Rockley carefully as he examined the sheaf of documents, looking for any sign that Rockley suspected them to be forgeries. After a moment, Rockley stuffed the papers back into the portfolio.
“It’s all there,” Rockley said.
Jack silently exhaled. Marco’s forgeries had done their job.
Now he asked the question he’d wanted to ask for five years. “Why the hell did you kill Edith?”
Rockley’s lips tightened. “Edith was … a mistake. She panicked like an idiot when things got rough, and we struggled. Hurting her was an accident.”
Sickness burned Jack’s throat. Sickness and rage. “You should have called a damned doctor instead of letting her bleed to death on the floor.”
Staring at him, appalled, Rockley said, “I’d never risk my own reputation, my family name for a whore from Bethnal Green.”
Jack had to walk away. Before he killed Rockley.
“We’re finished here,” he growled.
A smug little smile danced around Rockley’s mouth. The bastard had never been a good card player. “Yes, we are indeed finished.”
Holding the portfolio, Rockley turned away. He took a step, then dropped the portfolio to the ground. The sound echoed through the construction site, loud as a cannon.
“Bollocks!” Jack shouted, and ran for cover.
* * *
Gunfire rang out. Eva sprinted toward the shelter of several crates. As she did, she cast a glance over her shoulder, looking for Jack. He took a step toward her, but more gunfire held him back. With clear misgivings, he ran in the opposite direction, finding cover behind a stack of lumber.
Making an escape was impossible. The intelligence they’d gathered about the configuration of the construction site must have come from an earlier date, because the lumber and equipment were in different arrangements. The only way out would mean she and Jack had to cross a huge, exposed stretch, making them easy targets. All she and the others could do was fight.
Ducking behind the crates, Eva took stock of the situation. Rockley had disappeared, but his hired muscle shot at Jack and Eva from their positions. There were two thugs plus Ballard closer to Jack, and two men nearer to Eva. She waited for the telltale muzzle flash of their weapons before shooting back. But she had to be judicious. She possessed a limited number of bullets. Each shot had to count.
One of the thugs closer to her made a break from his cover and ran right toward her. A high whine from a rifle’s bullet pierced the air, and the thug turned and ran back to his cover. Simon. She’d be sure to thank him later.
Eva heard grunts and more gunfire from Jack’s side of the construction site. Her heart lodged itself firmly in her throat. Jack was the one with the money. He’d be the primary target.
Need to help him.
Rising up out of her crouch, she readied herself to break from behind her cover. As she did so, a large, dark shape loomed in front of her. She dove to the ground a moment before a pistol barked and a bullet slammed into the crate behind her. Had she been any slower, that bullet would’ve gone right through her skull.
Eva hit the ground and fired at the same time. The muzzle flash illuminated one of Rockley’s thugs lunging toward her. Then he groaned and fell heavily to the ground.
Getting to her feet, she warily approached the fallen man. He clutched his shoulder, blood dripping through his fingers.
She picked up the thug’s gun and shoved it into her handbag. A quick patting down of his body uncovered no other weapons. He wouldn’t be going anywhere.
More shots rang out from across the construction site. She heard Jack’s cursing and the thumps of fists meeting flesh. From the sound of things, he was outnumbered. After making certain that her gun was fully loaded, she ran toward him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The instant the first shot rang out, Jack’s only thought was for Eva. It didn’t matter that he knew she could take care of herself—he acted on instinct, and that instinct demanded he protect her. But the gunfire kept him from going to her. No choice but to find his own cover and hope like hell she did the same.
He threw himself behind a stack of wooden planks and immediately returned fire. Strange to fire a gun again after so long. It’d always been a last resort.
No sign of Rockley. The bastard had snuck off. His men stayed behind, though, trading shots with Jack and the other members of Nemesis. Jack’s only relief came when he saw the flash of Eva’s gun from the other side of the construction yard.
Firing guns in the middle of the night was a sure way to attract the coppers, and it didn’t surprise Jack when Rockley’s hired men stopped shooting. Tense silence fell. He crept forward, snaking his way between crates and piles of metal. The damned escape routes weren’t where they were supposed to be. A fight it had to be, then.
The thugs had to be taken out. They’d keep coming after him, trying to get the money back, unless he stopped them first.
He needed to lure them out into the open. Reaching down, he grabbed a heavy piece of metal and threw it. It landed with a loud clang in an open space between several crates. Two of the thugs rushed out of the shadows, thinking to ambush him. But they stood in confusion when they found only the wrench lying on the ground.
Wordlessly, Jack charged the men from behind. He rammed his elbow into the head of one of the men, and the bloke went sprawling. With a punch to the jaw, Jack knocked him out. That left the second chap. The thug raised his gun to fire, but Jack snatched up a piece of wood and flung it at him. The board smacked against the man’s forearm, throwing off his aim. As the shot went wild, Jack lunged.
He twisted the gun out of the bloke’s hand. As soon as the gun fell, he plowed his fist into the thug’s chest. As the man gasped, Jack grabbed his hair and rammed his head down onto Jack’s knee. Wasn’t a move he used often in the ring, being quick and not particularly showy, but he was after far more than prize money here. And he was fighting with only one hand, since he had to keep a good grip on the case full of money. The chap was out before he hit the ground.
Two blokes down. Got to get to Eva.
Ballard stepped into his path. “His lordship wants his blunt back.”
Jack stared at the younger version of himself. He may have been younger, but he was still as big as Jack, with arms as big around as pier pilings. There was experience in Ballard’s eyes, though he hadn’t yet seen the worst of life. Ballard still had the shine of possibility, as if he could face down whatever this world threw at him. Enough time with Rockley would change all that.
“Got the sound of Seven Dials in your voice,” Jack said. “That’s how Rockley likes it. Too poor to care that we’re being used.”
“If it ain’t me,” Ballard said, “it’ll be someone else.”
“Don’t make it right.”
The young bloke only shrugged. “Right don’t keep a roof over my head or pay for beer.”
“There’s more in the world than beer and keeping the rain out.” Jack didn’t know why he tried to talk to the chap, instead of simply laying into him. But he’d seen too many echoes of himself lately, too many roads he could’ve taken.
Eva’s influence. That words could mean as much as fists. What would she make of him now, trying to have a conversation with Ballard instead of just pummeling the bloke? Jack didn’t feel softer—he felt as sharp as ever, but with a more precise edge.
Ballard frowned. “Here now, don’t you go trying to confuse me. His lordship says to get the blunt back, and to kill you. And that’s what I aim to do.”
Without another word, Ballard attacked.
To hell with being nice.
They threw themselves at each other, trading punches. Ducking one of Ballard’s fists, Jack had to admit that the bloke knew his business. He’d trained, just as Jack had, his strength almost equal to his. Jack landed an upper cut, making Ballard’s head snap back, but the younger man came back quickly with a right hook that caught Jack square on the side of his jaw. His mind and vision fogged.
Carrying the case full of money hindered Jack, leaving him dependent on using just one hand to fight. But he had the use of both elbows, knees, and feet. He didn’t have a gentleman’s pretty rules about fighting. So after shaking his head to clear it, he countered Ballard’s attacks, kicking at the weakest points of the bloke’s body.
Ballard grabbed his collar, and threw him into a crate. The wood shattered around him. Thick splinters jabbed through his coat and into his back. Grimacing, Jack struggled to his feet. He could feel blood running down his skin as he leaped at Ballard. They locked together, grappling, careening from crate to piles of girders to stacks of lumber. All the while, they threw punches and rammed knees and elbows into each other, with Ballard fighting to get the case from Jack.
Jack swallowed a groan as Ballard slammed an elbow into his ribs. Something cracked, filling him with a red film of pain.
A damn good fighter, Ballard. Even the brawl with the bullies at Mrs. Arram’s hadn’t been this rough, and none of those blokes had held back.