“Anderson. Aye, I know who you are. It’s the only reason I opened the door in the first place.”
Emil risked a glance into the darkened corridor. “Figured a man as rich as you would have a butler to open it for him.”
“Butlers are for men who desire company.”
Point taken. “Then I’ll get right to it. I have information you may find valuable.”
Gunn scratched at his neck and shrugged. “If it’s valuable, then I already know.”
Emil had to admire his nonchalance. Men like Gunn didn’t rise to power by being unprepared. By allowing anyone to sneak up from behind. No doubt he’d had a dossier as thick as the Bible prepared on Emil the moment he was seen at the docks. Hell, Gunn might even know more about his tastes than he did himself. What he’d do to get his hands on that dossier. It was a temptation few detectives could refuse, learning what clues had been compiled under his own name.
“Then you know I’ve been working for Leland Wingate.”
“Aye.” Gunn continued to scratch, though a smirk appeared momentarily through the thick beard. “I kent him a whiles. There’s nothing the man does that escapes me. You arenae the first he’s sent after me, and you willnae be the last.”
Emil got the sense he was seconds away from having the door slammed in his face. He had to intrigue Gunn, and fast. He’d hoped to ease into it, but seemed he’d overestimated Gunn’s need for niceties.
“He ordered me to fabricate evidence against you,” he said bluntly. “Enough to have you arrested by next week.”
The scratching stopped. The eyes narrowed. “That wee bastard has grown a new set of balls, I see.”
His gaze drifted to the yard, and Emil forced himself to stand still while the Scotsman chewed over his words. He would remain nonchalant. In control. Because that’s the type of man Gunn hired to work for him, not one who was overeager or needy.
“This mean you’re a turncoat?”
Emil met the cold brown eyes without flinching. “It does.”
“Then I suppose you’d better come in.”
Gunn pivoted without another word, merely left the door open and walked into the house. Emil hurried in behind him, shutting the door with a grim smile. Leave it to Gunn to welcome a turncoat. He followed him across the ill-lit, frigid entryway to what was most likely meant to be the parlor.
The grand room was unfurnished but for two rickety wooden chairs and a scarred, circular table in the middle of the room. The paneled walls, covered in a film of dust and a smattering of cobwebs, looked like they hadn’t been touched since the house was built. Emil quickly schooled his expression. This had to be a test; another way for Gunn to eject his few visitors as soon as possible.
Gunn sank into one chair as if there was nothing strange about it, crossed one ankle over his other knee, and checked his pocket watch. “You’ve got five minutes.”
Emil didn’t even pause to remove his hat. He recounted everything that had occurred with Wingate over the last month and a half. How he’d been hired to look into him, and how, despite his efforts to find anything suspicious, he hadn’t been able to.
“Maybe you’re no as good a detective as you think,” Gunn suggested.
“Or maybe you’re not as villainous as you want others to think,” Emil shot back before he could stop himself. He immediately grimaced. “Apologies, that was uncalled for.”
Gunn barked out a laugh. “Believe you me, I am every bit as villainous as people think. But not, perhaps, as corrupt.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A great deal, I’m afraid.” Gunn shifted, his foot hitting the ground with a thud. “You’ve two minutes.”
Emil plunged onward, summarizing Wingate’s rage and how he hadn’t been willing to accept defeat. How he’d demanded Emil frame Gunn, or that he’d make sure he never worked in Seattle again.
“I said no, of course. I was offended he would even ask. I’m a straightforward man, Mr. Gunn, and I’m good at my job. There’s already plenty of evil to root out in this world. No reason to go inventing more.”
“On that we can agree.” Gunn steepled his fingers and examined him. “Despite your intrusion into my private business, you’ve impressed me.”
Emil drew a breath. It was time to risk it all. “Enough to return the favor?”
“Ah, the crux of the matter. What are you thinking?”
“I took a risk turning Wingate down. His censure could very well be enough to sink my fledgling business. But if I were to work for you—on a single case, or on a short-term basis—it could be enough to dismiss any of Wingate’s rumors as par for the course in a business rivalry. And—” he continued blithely, as if what he wasn’t about to say couldn’t ruin everything— “You make it known I helped you buy out his shipyard. Anyone worth their salt will read between the lines and call Wingate for what he is: a sore loser. And I just might get another job or two out of it.”
