He shook his head, fighting to ensure it looked genuine. Why was it so much harder to lie to her? “All I got from Ward is that he hated your father and seems to think you can’t be trusted. That’s why those men had their faces covered—they knew I would recognize them. As long as you stay with Fletcher and me, though, we can protect you. Anyone who works for Ward knows better than to mess with me.”
It wasn’t wholly true—Abe Walker had tried, after all. But Kane had established what would happen to anyone else who made the same mistake.
“We just thought you needed to know,” Fletcher said seriously. “It’s your life, after all.”
Zaria shot Kane a hard, meaningful look. He felt laid bare by the accusation in her dark eyes but forced himself to nod.
“Well,” Jules said, sounding vaguely disgusted. “I suppose it’s too late to back out now anyway.” He leveled a finger at Kane. “Count yourself lucky that we plan to get the hell out of this city aftertomorrow. Otherwise, there’s no way we’d be risking our necks for this plot.”
Kane said nothing to that. He led Jules and Zaria to the door and leaned against the frame, arms crossed.
“Good night,” Zaria said coolly, sweeping past him.
Almost of its own volition, Kane’s hand snapped out and took hold of her arm.
She stared down at it, frozen, before her eyes snapped up to meet his. Jules was already a few strides away, a lone figure against the night.
“We need to talk.” Kane forced the words out with difficulty. They sounded strange. Guttural. “Alone.”
Zaria snatched her arm away, a tendon straining in her throat. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“I think we both know that’s not true.”
The evening wind was vicious, and it whipped Kane’s collar away from his neck as he waited for Zaria’s response. He could feel Fletcher’s eyes on his back from inside the house, but he didn’t care. By now Jules had backtracked and waited, immobile, in the middle of the street. Tension pulsed in the air.
And yet Kane didn’t know what he would have said. What he would have told her, what difference it would have made, had Zaria not turned away. Had she not scoffed in the face of his last statement, the ghost of a bitter smile curling her lips. Perhaps he would have asked if she regretted it, that kiss. Perhaps he would have told her thathedidn’t. Perhaps he would have apologized in advance.
He might have told her something that surprised them both if she hadn’t said merely, “Good night, Kane.”
By then, it was too late.
ZARIA
ZARIA SPENT THAT NIGHT THINKING ABOUT THEEXHIBITION.
The more she did, the more her memory twisted the feats of industry into a garish, improbable maze. She had a single chance to ensure everything went according to plan—both Kane’s plan and her own. In theory, it all seemed easily accomplished.
That was what worried her.
Zaria had seen that same worry reflected on Jules’s face when she bid him good night. He hadn’t asked about the awkwardness with Kane, and she was glad for it. She didn’t have an explanation.
We have nothing to talk about.
I think we both know that’s not true.
She refused to dwell on what Kane and Fletcher had said about Ward. Partially because being hunted by the kingpin was such a terrifying prospect, her mind couldn’t seem to process it. It didn’t seem real. Mostly, though, she couldn’t think about how Kanewasresponsible for everything that had happened. For all the times she’d nearly been killed. If she thought aboutthat, she wouldn’t be able to focus on the role she needed to play.
So she fought to pretend none of it had happened, focusing instead on how tomorrow would be their last day in Devil’s Acre. Soon, so soon, they would be free of London. Away from Alexander Ward and the terrible boy he both adored and tormented.
She slept restlessly, tossing and turning until the slow creep of dawn dragged her from her bed. Several hours later, she and Jules left the pawnshop in an unnatural silence, anticipation and foreboding like a taut wire between them.
They met Kane near the edge of the slum. It was a disarmingly nice day, though gray clouds threatened in the distance. Zaria wore an expensive-looking deep-red dress she’d procured from the pawnshop; its rightful owner wouldn’t miss it before redemption day came back around. It was tight in the waist and lower in the front than she generally preferred, but at least she looked well-off. Jules, too, had managed to dig up a nice suit and hat.
As always, Kane looked impeccable. With his long coat and slicked-back hair, he looked like a businessman of questionable morals. The bruising on his face was worse today, his eye shadowed black, but he didn’t shy from Zaria’s stare as she neared. Their gazes locked, warring in the moment before they both glanced away.
“Good morning,” he murmured, giving her and Jules each a once-over. “So you twocanclean up relatively well.”
Zaria supposed it was as close to a compliment as Kane ever gave. Rather than answering, she studied the lines of his injured face, searching for evidence of stress.
