Desperation seeped into his words just as they strangled any attempt at a plan. “Why, damn you? You wanted a legacy.” Percy pointed to the south side of Grandfellow, where his quick calculations indicated they had less than twenty minutes before they’d all be blown to hell, Ridley along with them. “How will killing us all leave you with more than a roasted corpse and a short obituary?”
“Simple.” With his one hand holding the gun steady, Ridley’s other lifted to draw the wig from his head to reveal a patchwork of alopecia and a telltale line of powdered makeup where concealed skin at his forehead met a harsh contrast of yellowed scalp.
Percy’s attention went to the older man’s eyes—the discoloration he’d thought from tiredness—where now evidence of an aggravated state of jaundice was present.
“I’m dying.” Ridley’s laugh was hoarse and disbelieving. “After all the work, all the politics and backstabbing to finally be in my position. Liver failure, the physicians say.”
That accounted for the abrupt reappearance of Nic. His partner was out of time.
“You couldn’t wait any longer to ‘tie up loose ends,’” Percy said. But the old blackguard had meant he couldn’t afford any skeletons coming to light. Which meant... “You were coveringup our involvement in the French ambassador’s assassination.” Fucking hell, his treachery went back that far. “We weren’t sanctioned to be there at all.”
“One quick slit of a throat, an anonymous finger pointing at the figures in office, and I had all the political backing I needed to propel myself up to Home Secretary. All thanks to you.” Ridley smiled. “The only ones connected to my treachery that day in France were you and Nic.
“I was certain when you escaped and didn’t come back, you’d figured it all out.” He sneered. “Imagine my distaste when it was that cur Nic who showed up at my door, demanding to know who’d set him up. A damned nuisance spinning everything and getting him back on a leash, so focused on his revenge and distractions in the slums. The boy never could say ‘no’ to a riddle and a fine piece of skirt. Went mad somewhere along the way. Poor bastard.”
Percy’s insides coiled, the truth too twisted to imagine. “You told him I was the one behind his death warrant. That I had lied about the mission.” He clutched his roiling stomach, feeling he might truly be sick. “Just like you told me he was killing people out of turn.”
“And you believed every word without question.” Ridley’s glee was acid in Percy’s chest. “When Nic was followingmyorders the entire time.”
Orders based on lies.
He and Nic hadn’t been enemies. They’d been pawns to advance a grasping man’s career.
“You’ll be happy to know I ended his suffering quickly,” Ridley said.
Percy didn’t see the blow of his words coming and was unprepared for the ramifications and violence on his person. Something akin to regret slammed into his chest, followed by aknockout kick of betrayal to the stomach. Air refused to fill his lungs, so all that came out was a whisper. “You killed him?”
Ridley shrugged. “The man was more than half-dead already when he dragged himself into my office, wounds festering and dripping with disease from the Thames. Didn’t even fight back when I drew the knife across his throat.”
A night bird called faintly across the field, happy and clear, but Percy’s distracted mind couldn’t focus.
Grief echoed through him like a distant rumble of thunder.
Nic was dead. Had been for more than three years.
Which meant the stealing of cargo from the harbor, Percy’s re-conscription to the army, the thugs in the alley—all of it had been Ridley’s doing.
The rumble of grief faded, leaving behind a charged silence. A loss, but, with it, came relief.
Truth was, Percy had mourned his lost friendship a long time ago. Nic had suffered as a child, had suffered all his miserable life: abandoned by desperate parents, raised on the streets, shaped by the coldness of humanity long into adulthood. His bloody end was inevitable for all the charlatans like them. The same fate Percy would have suffered if he hadn’t found his odd but loyal family.
A family currently doing their part to take this sadistic bastard down behind the scenes. The cooling paperwork trail from the Birmingham East Office fire he’d put Hamish and Renard on would no doubt have already led them to the Home Office. If they were creative and patient, a few inquiries and they’d find the man on top.
Trust didn’t come naturally to Percy, not for a man seasoned in the lies and betrayal of those he’d once seen as comrades. He had living, festering proof of the evils of human nature not five feet away. But he’d force his trust to take root now. He’d leavethe mercenaries to the Merrys—wherever the fuck they were—and Ridley’s exposure to obnoxious dukes.
The threat in front of him took priority.
As if sensing his resurgence in resilience, Ridley invited Percy with a raised hand to watch the two figures make their way across the park, still too far to discern faces.
Percy’s inner balance shattered.
He scrambled for where he’d miscalculated. Ithadto have been an illusion. Danny would never have been caught. Not his clever girl.
But there was no mistaking that blue color.
That damn bird called again, having the audacity to chirp like nothing was out of place.
Everything was out of place with Danny in harm’s way.
