“And a very fine job you’ve done of it, Toffy. Follow me.” She crossed to her desk and pulled out her reticule from the top drawer, then fished out a coin.
He stared at the offering, the whites of his eyes growing two sizes. “Kipes! Another bob?” He peered up at her. “Thank ye, miss! Ye’re an angel!” He scrambled out the door as quickly as he’d torn in, the bang of the wood against the frame reverberating off the office walls.
“You know that boy is just going to waste that money on Lord knows what,” her father grumbled behind her.
“Maybe.” She strolled back to her seat. “But maybe not. Remember, he said he had a sister to care for. Besides, I distinctly remember a wise man once telling me to have a little faith.” She winked.
He rolled his eyes.
Chuckling, she unfolded the note.
I call a truce, Pet, until we meet one-on-one.
Today. Four o’clock. The Brasserie at Covent Garden.
No weapons—and do not think to cross me. I know where you live.
Needle pricks traveled from the nape of her neck to her very feet. It was no surprise Carky had discovered her address, but seeing it in black and white was a brick to the head. Thank God they’d had foresight enough to move Mr. Coleman. She slumped back in her chair, fanning herself with Carky’s note. A truce—while welcome—would only last for so long. Still, she honestly hadn’t seen that coming.
“Well?” He reached for the note, putting an end to her fanning. “May I?”
“Be my guest.”
His dark eyes scanned back and forth, until finally he slapped the paper onto his desktop, ruffling the top page of his stack. “Don’t be daft. It’s a trap.”
“Probably, but this will be our best chance to question her, get information.” She grabbed his hand and stood. “Come on. You can keep me safe.”
“I can’t.” He pulled from her grasp. “As I was saying, I have a meeting with an informant of mine who might have some intelligence on the situation. But listen to me clearly, Daughter.” Shoving back his chair, he rose, looming over her like a bear about to attack. “I most expressly forbid you to go alone. Do you hear me? I will not have it!”
Kit swallowed, retreating a step. Sweet heavens. She’d never seen him so animated. “Calm down, Father. I may be a risk taker, but I’m not mad. I know more than anyone that Carky is not one to face without some sort of backup waiting in the wings. I will ask Jackson.”
Her father set his jaw. “And if he’s busy?”
She lifted her palm. Hopefully the visual vow would help to ease his mind. “I promise I will not go to this meeting without Jackson or Mr. Baggett. There. Happy?”
A growl rumbled in his chest. “As long as you keep your word, then yes.”
“Good. But what about you?” She angled her head. “Is this informant you’re meeting with to be trusted? How do you know you’re not the one walking headlong into a snare?”
“I don’t.” He sniffed. “But if I can find out where Blade got his opium, it’ll be worth it, for that just might be the missing piece to our puzzle.”
Chapter Eighteen
Man could not live by a bite of burnt porridge and a mug of coffee alone, no matter how much Jackson wished it were so. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he leaned back in his chair, stomach growling loud and urgent. Snubbing the paperwork on his desk for the moment, he slid his gaze to the wall clock. Was eleven too early to nab a sausage roll from the vendor down on the corner? Then again, ought he really take time away from the mountains of folders before him?
The next rumble made the decision for him.
He straightened just as a knock rapped at the door. Of all the inconvenient timing, but it wasn’t as if he could ignore it. He pressed his fist to his belly, hopefully calming the thing long enough for a short conversation. “Come in.”
A round ball with thick spectacles rolled in, the requisite sweat stains already darkening the fabric beneath Mr. Harvey’s arms. “Good morning, sir, what is left of it at any rate.”
“Morning, Harvey.” Jackson gave him a sharp nod. So help him, if this man was going to shirk that insurance case, he just might explode. But though he tried, Jackson couldn’t think of a single reason other than that for why the lazy inspector was in his office, especially since he carried a fat binder in his hand. “I assume your visit pertains to the insurance fraud case.”
“Why yes, sir!” A smile spread on his face. “Indeed, it does, sir. How perceptive.”
Oh brother. Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, Mr. Harvey, I cannot help you with your investigation. As you see here”—he swept his hand towards the endless stacks atop his desk—“I have my own disaster with which to contend. Neither will I accept a refusal on your part to finish the job I’ve given you. It is called work for a reason, Inspector, and I expect you to roll up your sleeves and do the hard labour.”
“That’s just it, sir. I have done so.” He approached the desk, his moustache practically crawling up his nose at the obvious distaste he felt for such chaos, then set his own thick folder atop the shortest pile.
