But that didn’t stop her from peppering her husband with questions as soon as his long legs crossed the threshold. “Did he squeal? What did you find out? Where’s Mr. Baggett?”
Jackson closed the door behind him, deep lines carved into his brow. “I bid him go home. Baggett deserves a mug, a good scrubbing, and a pillow.” He shook his head like a disgusted fishwife. “I still cannot believe the pair of you. You were supposed to be on a simple reconnaissance mission, not a rooftop scramble for your lives.”
“Flit. It’s not like I haven’t done that before.”
“You’re a mother now, Kit!” The words were thunder, as forbidding as the dark flash in her husband’s eyes. “It is high time you put a stop to such risky behaviour. In fact,” he said, lifting his chin, “I demand it.” If she’d had hackles, they’d immediately be raised on end. Husband or not, Jackson ought not to act so imperious. She advanced, toe to toe, poking one finger against his broad chest for emphasis. “All I did was ask around for my missing man and search a flat where he’d been reported to be living. And with Mr. Baggett at my side the entire time, nonetheless. How is that risky?”
Without a word, Jackson whipped out his white handkerchief with one hand and pinched her chin with the other. After a few swipes that left her wincing, he held up the cloth, now marred with dirt and blood. “Clearly it was no tea party the two of you attended.”
A sigh ripped out of her. Maybe she was taking too many risks—not that she’d admit it to him, though. “There is more at stake here than a few scrapes and bruises. A child is out there somewhere, Jackson, a babe as helpless and innocent as our sweet little Bella. She deserves to be with her mother every bit as much as Bella deserves to be with me.”
“True, but I am second-guessing my consent for you to scrabble about the streets. It’s not safe.” He tucked away his cloth and pulled her into his arms, his tone softening. “I will not have you getting hurt, Wife. Bella needs you.Ineed you.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She grinned up at him. “Looks like you need a secretary as well.” Pulling away, she swept her hand towards the chair near his desk, where a great fat fish sat at center. “Or maybe a chef.”
A long breath leaked out of him. “No. What I need is a miracle.”
He circled his desk and sank into his seat.
Kit smoothed her skirts as she took the only other empty chair, the crinkle of paper in her pocket a reminder of evidence that Jackson might have an idea about. She pulled it out, about to set the ripped paper on his desk, then thought better of it and stood, placing it into his hand directly. “What do you make of this? I found it in Coleman’s flat.”
His lips pursed as his eyes skimmed over the number grids on the page, a slight shake to his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“All those numbers have to mean something. Maybe a clue as to where Coleman might have run off to or others he is involved with. A code, so to speak. Or perhaps it’s a key to a new and intricate gaming swindle.”
“Could be any of those things,” he drawled as he refolded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. “Or none of them. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thank you.” She shifted on the chair, the bruise on her hip tender. “What did you and Mr. Baggett find out from that bloomin’ cully we hauled in?”
He aimed a finger at her. “Mind your language, Wife.”
“Fine. What did you find out from thatcriminal?”
White teeth flashed beneath his moustache. Truly she ought to be incensed at such an obvious show of satisfaction for her acquiescence, but sweet heavens! He was more handsome than a man had a right to be when he grinned.
Lacing his fingers behind his head, Jackson leaned back in his chair. “Apparently the fellow—and the one that got away—was hired by someone to watch the flat in order to snag the man residing there.”
“Who hired him?”
“He won’t say.”
“Let me have a go at him, then.” She shot to her feet, but before she could reach the door, a strong grip on her arm pulled her back.
“He won’t tell meyet,but trust me, I will find out.” A muscle ticked on his jaw. “This is my job, Wife, not yours.”
The words hit her like a sledgehammer. He was right. This was his job. If she marched down to the holding cell and began questioning that cully—criminal—the very act would belittle Jackson in the eyes of his coworkers. She pressed her hand lightly to his cheek. “That was a bit rash of me. Of course I trust you. Besides, I have my own sweet littlejobto pick up from Martha.”
“And a delicious dinner to prepare for your husband.” He bopped her on the nose with his finger.
She arched a brow. “Then I’d best be sure to pick up some soup from Martha as well.”
“You’re incorrigible, you know th—”
Rising to her toes, she cut him off with a series of fierce kisses that trailed all the way to his ear. “Would you have me any other way?” she whispered.
“I would have you here and now, did I not have a man to interrogate.” He guided her mouth back to his.
She pulled away with a grin. “Until tonight, then.”
