"You cannot go in by yourself," Morgan said. "'Tis too dangerous."
"If I don't, they'll kill Percy," Gavin said flatly. "These men mean what they say."
"If you go in alone, they'll kill you. And Percy will be no better off," Lady Draven drawled.
Gavin could not argue with those facts. Yet he had no other alternative. "I'm not taking any chances with Percy's life," he said.
Kent spoke up. "How many men do the villains have between them?"
"Twice or more than I have at my disposal. It's all over the stews that Magnus has called in his favors. He means this to be a bloodbath," Gavin said darkly.
Kent and Harteford traded looks. "The Thames River Police is at your service, Mr. Hunt," Kent said. "However, we will still be at a disadvantage in terms of numbers."
"Not just numbers." Brows arched, Lady Draven said, "I doubt, Mr. Kent, that your band of merry investigators will last long in a rookery brawl."
Gavin thought her observation was spot on. Kent, however, stiffened, his pale eyes flashing with anger. "My men are capable of taking care of themselves in any circumstance. Besides, what would you know of such things, my lady?" His emphasis on the last word conveyed his doubt as to whether she, in fact, belonged in that category.
"I am no lady. I should think that obvious." Her tone had a mocking edge. "For a detective, you are remarkably obtuse, Mr. Kent."
The policeman flushed.
Gavin had no idea what was going on between the pair, but animosity crackled between them. Morgan must have sensed it too, for he said impatiently, "Enough you two. Let us focus on the task at hand and review the reconnaissance."
Earlier, Gavin had sent Alfie to scout out the old factory situated on the Thames. The urchin had drawn a rough map of the abandoned building based on what he'd been able to see from the outside.
"According to Alfie's report, there are four entryways," Gavin said, pointing to the places on the diagram. "All of them will be heavily guarded."
"Approach can be by road or water. Water will have the advantage of stealth," Kent said. "I can have my men patrol the area disguised as watermen."
Gavin had to admit that was a sound idea. "My men can take the streets near the factory. If the exchange goes awry, we can give the bastards a fight." Thinking of the numbers they'd be up against, he added grimly, "Though odds will be against us."
"We'll work with what we have," Morgan said.
"We'll need a signal from you so we know when to attack," Kent put in.
Gavin thought it over. No doubt the villains would confiscate his weapons. "I'll come up with something," he said. "Wait for it."
A knock sounded, and he bade entry to Will. Since Stewart's death, the head guard had taken on the position of overseeing the club. "Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Hunt. Thought you'd want to hear this." Will paused, his gaze wary upon the visitors.
"Speak freely," Gavin said.
"One of the footmen informed me that while you were out Miss Harper stopped by. Took that envelope you left for her and said to give you this."
Gavin took the packet and dismissed Will with a nod. Frowning, he untied the string and paper and found himself holding a bundle of letters. He unfolded the slip of parchment sitting atop the stack, scanning the untidy lettering.
Fair is fair. Thought you might use this and have better luck than that sod O'Brien who tried to take down our mutual acquaintance with an empty pistol. For your health and mine, I hope you do better. Have a care, lover—this shot could take your head off. –E.
Gavin spread the papers on the coffee table. With disbelieving eyes, he read the three incriminating letters, all inked in Kingsley's unmistakable hand. The bastard's conceit was stunning: not only had he dared to spell out his licentious desires for his mistress, he'd contrasted them with his apathy and disdain for hiswife.
"What is that?" Morgan said.
"Ammunition," Gavin said softly. He briefed the group on Kingsley, Mavis, and Mavis' father, Bartholomew Black. "If Black learns of his son-in-law's betrayal, he may intervene," Gavin concluded. "But to contact him will be to stir up a hornet's nest. The man is dangerous, unpredictable—and he's as like as not to shoot the messenger."
"I'll deliver the letters," Kent said.
"Black smells a Charley, and you'll be dead before you reach twenty paces of his place," Gavin said bluntly. "It has to be me."
"Risky. If you get detained, then Percy…" Morgan did not have to finish the sentence.
