He rapped twice on the coach roof to warn the driver to be ready to go.
Alice was clad in the dark, utilitarian garments of one who is headed to do secret work. Not an amorous rendezvous then? Maybe something related to their mission. That prospect was not any better, through. She was boarding a coach—all by herself. No guards, no backup, no explanation as to her destination.
Where in God’s name was she going?
Her coach took off.
Swearing under his breath, he rapped again on the roof of his coach, sticking his head out the window to tell his driver. “Follow that coach. But keep your distance. I don’t want them to see us.”
They trailed her through the dimming streets, the tidy elegance of Kensington gave way to the soot covered, and dirtier buildings of a more unsavory part of town. A district near the docks—respectable by daylight, but not a place one wanted to visit after sundown. The sort of place where rough men and less respectable characters fueled their spirits with drink, and ladies of the night plied their trade.
Nathaniel seethed. What the hell was Alice thinking coming here alone?
Her coach continued on until it reached an almost deserted street by the docks. There, it stopped, and she slid out like a shadow. He leapt from his carriage a short distance away and followed on foot, his boots silent on the uneven cobblestones. Alice moved like a wraith, hugging the walls, almost invisible under the cloak of darkness. Until she came to a stop outside a squat, unmarked warehouse. No sign. No lights. She crept towards a side entrance, looked around as if looking for trouble, but finding none, slipped through the narrow side door without so much as a creak.
He slipped in after her.
Inside, the darkness was nearly absolute. But high windows allowed the faintest wash of moonlight to cut across the cavernous space. His eyes adjusted slowly.
There she was—a slim, determined figure in motion.
From deeper within came the murmur of voices. Low, male, and cautious. Alice was heading straight for them.
A meeting with an informant? But the way she moved suggested more that she was sneaking in. Trying to catch someone unaware, or worse—spying on some dangerous activity. Bloody hell. She could be walking into a trap.
He stalked after her, his body taut, breath measured. He drove his hand into the internal pocket of his coat, his fingers coiled around the handle of his pistol, and retrieved his gun. Well-trained instincts warned him to be ready for action.
The voices became clearer. Russian. At least two speakers. A third voice—English, cultured, aristocratic. Faintly familiar.
She was nearing the entrance to a smaller, lit room where the men were gathered.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—a shape peeling itself from the gloom. No, two shapes. Three. Silent. Swift. Closing in on her.
His heart seized.
“Alice!” he bellowed, pointing his gun.
She spun, already reaching for her pistol. The flash and crack of her shot rang through the space, echoing his. Two attackers fell with a grunt. A third shot rang out and the dangerous hiss of a bullet whistled past him.
The last attacker was still coming towards Alice.
Nathaniel didn’t think. Launching himself into motion, he collided with the third assailant at full speed, driving him back with brutal efficiency.
Chaos reigned. Shouts erupted from the lit room. More men were spilling out. The Russian, more armed guards, and the Englishman. Too late for stealth now, their presence had been discovered. Now they would have to fight their way out.
With a last well-placed punch to the man’s jaw, Nathaniel knocked his opponent unconscious and rose, gun drawn, ready for hell.
He saw the momentary surprise on Alice’s face as she beheld him, but there was no time for more. Four more men were upon them, the two in front drawing guns, pointing one at Alice and the other at him. Alice jumped and took cover behind some stacked crates. Not having any cover nearby, he dropped to the floor and rolled. The bullet ricochetted inches from his head.
Another shot rang out, and his attacker fell. Alice had shot him. Providing cover that allowed him to reach her behind the crates. The swift look they shared held a thousand questions, on both sides. But there was no hesitation in their actions from either one of them.
They moved in tandem without needing to speak. Years of working together had trained their instincts to align. Theremaining guards flanked them and came at them behind the crates from each side, attacking as one.
Alice ducked low, striking with precision, while Nathaniel covered her back. He dropped the first man with a brutal elbow to the throat. Alice spun, catching another attacker with the butt of her pistol. The third tried to flank her, but Nathaniel caught him mid-charge, slamming him into the brick wall.
It was over in moments.
From the side of the room, movement caught Nathaniel’s eye. Dimitri stood in the doorway to the room where their meeting was taking place, the well-dressed Englishman at his side, but backlit as they were by the brighter chamber, he couldn’t see their features clearly. These men were their real quarry. All the others were merely guards. Something glinted in Dimitri’s hand. Either a gun or a knife.
