“Thank you,” Kane snapped. “Now help me gather this up.”
He was worried, Zaria realized as she obliged. Worried something would go wrong and that Fletcher’s life would be in jeopardy. He didn’t want to dwell on the prospect of failure or allow for a margin of error.
That was all very well. She felt the same.
It was imperative that they succeeded.
To Zaria’s confusion, Kane’s plan involved leading her to the warehouse where they’d stashed the pianoforte.
“What are we doinghere?” she demanded as he beckoned her inside, the heavy door giving a plaintive creak. Kane moved as if he’dforgotten her presence: swiftly, a little too quietly, though he didn’t seem to be trying for stealth. He ignored her question, leading her over to the instrument. At some point he must have covered it with a sheet, which he removed now with a flourish.
Zaria stared at him in confusion. “Are you going to play?”
Kane’s grin was a wry, crooked sort of thing. “No.”
Before she could ask, he forced the top of the pianoforte open, revealing the inner workings. Then he set the bag he’d been carrying inside.
“Now you,” he said.
Zaria continued to stare. It must have begun to rain, because the pattering of drops against the tin roof abruptly drowned out her thoughts.
“Go ahead.” Kane gestured into the pianoforte, indicating that she should copy him, and all at once, the pieces clicked into place.
“Oh my God,” Zaria said. “You’re Trojan horsing.”
“That’s not a verb.”
“But youare, aren’t you?” She walked around to the other side of the instrument, shaking her head in disbelief. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t fathom how Kane planned to use apianoforteto make everything they needed for the theft more accessible.
His upper lip curled. “If you insist, then yes. I amTrojan horsing. But don’t worry, they’re expecting it.”
“Expecting what? Andwhois expecting it?”
“The Royal Commission.”
Zaria couldn’t abide his relaxed stance. The way he spoke in riddles and looked at the pianoforte instead of making eye contact. She was sure he’d already stopped thinking about the kiss—doubtless he believed he had her right where he wanted her.
Her cheeks burned at the prospect, but she kept her mouth shut.Let Kane think whatever he wanted. Let him imagine her capable of truly falling for him. Let him underestimate her.
“The Royal Commission,” she echoed, not comprehending. “What do they have to do with anything?”
Kane buttoned his jacket farther up his neck, flipping the collar to hide his tattoo. “They’re expecting J. S. Garrett’s contribution to the Broadwood & Sons display.”
“Could I have that in English?”
“J. S. Garrett”—he pointed at himself—“was left a mess of expensive items when his father died. One of those items was this pianoforte.” ’
Zaria’s brows shot up. “You can’t seriously think you’ll be allowed to enter it in the Exhibition.”
“Oh, but I do. I just have to get it past the expert.” Kane glanced down at his ever-present pocket watch. “I’d better go fetch them. If my information is correct, they’re meeting nearby.”
“Whatexpert?” Zaria hurled the question at his retreating back as he made for the exit. “And who’s meeting nearby?”
“Don’t move,” he called. “I’ll be back shortly.”
He was gone before she could argue, leaving her alone in the dim light with only an instrument for company.
Insufferable. For someone who considered her a crucial aspect of his plan, Kane certainly wasn’t concerned with letting her in on it.
