Kit scanned the street for any sign of danger as she crossed over to meet Carky. Covent Garden had been a shrewd choice. Vendors sold everything from pickled whelks to bottles of cloudy water supposedly drawn from the baths of Jerusalem. Several street performers drew huddles of crowds, the most exciting of which was a group of fire eaters who spat cascades of sparks and flames. Children ran wild everywhere. Chickens did too. Yes, indeed. This was the perfect public place for an assassin to set up a meeting.
Or a kill.
Heart pounding, Kit stepped onto the pavement, her eyes flicking across the road where Jackson stationed himself as a newspaper seller in front of an eel pie shop. Most wouldn’t detect anything unusual in his relaxed stance and may even write him off as too blasé to make a sale, but the cut of his jaw spoke volumes to her. As did the sudden lock of his gaze onto hers. In the space of a few breaths, he poured out concern for her safety with a small nod, which she returned in a slight tilt of her head. Hardly a romantic tryst, but even so, heat flared in her belly, for there could be no better assurance of his love and protection. He was in her corner, this man, looking out for her, a stalwart defense in the midst of a situation that could turn sideways in the single blink of an eye. Ahh, but she loved him.
Fiercely.
With a final shared wink—a communal reminder that vigilance was of utmost importance for them both—she faced the task at hand. Winding through the bustle, Kit bounced her gaze from one bistro table to the next, finally landing on a petite woman in a brilliant red silk gown on the far side of the outdoor restaurant. Carky sat sipping a glass of wine, as nonchalant as you please, the afternoon breeze teasing the straw-coloured ends of her hair that peeked out from beneath her jaunty hat. For all the world she appeared to be a bored lover awaiting her man.
But Kit knew better. On edge, she covered her hand over the blade on her hip, which was concealed in the fabric of her skirt. If Carky so much as twitched, she’d snap into killer mode herself.
Carky’s cat-like eyes followed her every step. “Yer as skittish as a trollop at Sunday meetin’, pet. Sit yer bones down and relax. I said this were a truce, din’t I? I ain’t gonna shoot ye here. Besides, guns are so barbaric.”
“That’s right. You prefer poison darts.” Kit angled a wooden chair so her back faced the brick wall.
“Figured out how barmy ol’ Blade died, eh? Too bad Gruver and Blackjack didn’t have a brain between ’em, either.” She sipped her wine, cutting a glance over the rim. “Oh well, their loss…of life, that is.”
Kit frowned at the woman’s carefree dismissal of men who had once lived and breathed and loved…even if they were scoundrels. “So, old friend, what made you surface here and now? Last I heard you’d been transported to Australia, one of the last ships to sail back in ’68. You couldn’t have been more than twelve at the time. I didn’t expect to ever see you again.”
“Aww. Ye missed me!” She clapped her hands. “I always knew we were kindred spirits. Yer right, though. I did skip clear across the world, but now I’m back, full grown and all the wiser, ready to take on this town. Just need me a little coin to get established, and then there’ll be no stoppin’ what I can do. This Coleman job oughtta get me up and runnin’.” She pushed an empty glass towards Kit then picked up the wine bottle. “Take a nip, pet?”
Kit waved away her offering. “Thanks, but no.”
She topped off her own glass. “Even as a girl, ye were always a bit too tight in the laces, weren’t ye?”
My, how odd street twang sounded coming from lips that were once painted as a prim and proper lady’s. If she blurred her vision just a bit, she could see the face of Mrs. Coleman superimposed over Carky’s. The cut on the upper right side of her mouth was healing nicely, as was the purple on her eye, fading now to more of a bluish shade. Those wounds had been real enough, but Kit still marveled at how thoroughly Carky had hoodwinked her. “So,” she drawled, “how did you do it?”
Carky’s nose crinkled as she set down her glass. “Do what, pet?”
“Fool me.”
“Zounds! ’Twere easy enough.” She slapped the table, a cunning smile slashing across her elvish face. “I showed ye what ye wanted to believe, tha’s all. A flifty-floo lady, all tucked and pinned in the right places. A little sleight of hand on me face, and oh, the best part?” She leaned close, her voice dropping an octave to a silky-smooth tone. “Mrs. Forge, my baby! Poor Lillibeth, my darling, my love. You must save my innocent little girl from her beast of a father, for there is no telling what he might do. Help me, please. You must help me!”
Carky laughed long and loud, igniting white-hot fury in Kit’s gut. She knew better than to let emotion rule, and yet those words even now gave a slight flutter to her heart. Had motherhood changed her so much?
Carky slugged back the rest of her drink, then banged the empty vessel to the table. “Likely I needn’t have spent such coin on makeup and add-ons, so taken were ye by the story. Hit ye where it hurt, din’t I?”
Flit. As if she’d admit such a thing to this snake. Kit angled her head. “I am curious as to why you singled out me. Of all the charlatans and swindlers in this town, how did you decide which mark to target?”
“Why, everyone in Blackfriars knows yer the best, pet. A little soft fer my tastes, but…” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “Yer the most honest trickster I knows, and that’s the heart o’ the matter. Yer morals, ye see. Not that I agree with ’em, mind. I knew if I were to fluff ye up a bit about a babe, yank hard on those motherly heartstrings o’ yers, ye’d move heaven an’ earth to find the child—to find the man. Ye always could sniff out a double-dealer, so that’s how I fashioned Coleman and got ye to do the hard work o’ trackin’ him down fer me.”
Kit barked a laugh. “I’m flattered.”
“I always admired yer ways, pet. Before I despised ’em, that is.” The feather on her hat fluttered in the breeze, as did a loose piece of hair, which Carky made short work of with a few tucks. “But enough o’ the past. It’s the man I’m after. Coleman. Where is he, luv?”
“Ahh, yes…your recenthusband.” She swept the area with a keen gaze, alert for any sign of Carky’s hired thugs, and when satisfied none were lurking, she once again faced the woman. “If you know me so well, old friend, then you ought to know where I stashed the man.”
“Tha’s just it. Yer a varied operator. A real creative corker. Wouldn’t raise my brow a tetch if ye glued leaves on the man and planted him at Kew Gardens. The thing is, pet, I ain’t got time fer such larks. So, whyn’t ye just tell me? Pays good.” She shrugged. “I’ll split the coin fifty-fifty. ’Tis easy enough money now that ye’ve done the legwork.”
“I don’t care how much you’re offering. Taking money for a man’s life is a slap in God’s face. I’ll never tell you where Mr. Coleman is, so why not call it quits? Walk away. There’s no shame in it. We both know sometimes jobs don’t work out as planned.”
“Come now, pet.” Carky tapped her finger on the table, rattling the empty glasses. “The salary of a chief inspector surely leaves ye in want of some finery in yer life.”
She shook her head. “I want for nothing.”
Carky’s cat eyes narrowed to slits. “Is there naught I can do to persuade ye?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
