The boy was clever and quick, but Tristan would catch him.
* * * *
He was going to make a fatal mistake tonight. Tonight, after tedious weeks of chasing this villain all over London, Sophia was going to catch him out at last.
She could smell it, feel it, as if it were a scent in the air, or the glide of a fingertip across her skin. She no longer found it odd she should be able to sense such things. She must have been born with the mind of a criminal, if not the heart of one, because she knew instinctually how they would behave.
She headed west down Great Marlborough Street, clinging to the shadows, pure intuition guiding her steps. Once or twice she thought she heard footsteps behind her, but when she paused there was nothing aside from the light patter of rain fallingon the ground.
Even if therewassomeone following her, they wouldn’t catch her.
No one ever did.
She kept to the shadows as she prowled along behind her prey, who plodded toward Tottenham Court Road, utterly oblivious to the fact he was being followed. It seemed not to occur to him he might be held accountable for anyof his crimes.
His nonchalance wasn’t a result of innocence, but of arroganceand stupidity.
It wasn’t until he turned onto Aldwych Street and she could see the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral and the spire of St. Clement Dane’s Church looming in the distance that Sophia’s heart began to pound. Of all the places a man might haunt on a dark night in London, this man had chosen to comehere.
Strange, considering what had happened to him the last time he’d lingered in this neighborhood.
That is, what heclaimedhad happened.
How strange he should wish to return by himself, at night, to a place where he’d been the victim of a crime.
But it was no accident he’d come here, andno coincidence.
Sophia glanced about, paying particular attention to the shadowy corners before prowling after him, knots of excitement tying and untying themselves in her chest as she paused at one side of St. Clement Dane’s Church, waiting to see what he’d do.
He didn’t appear to be concerned someone might see him, but approached the entrance to the church, checked his pocket watch, then fell into a casual slouch in the arched doorway and turned his attention back to his pipe.
Another person might have been fooled by this show of unconcern, but not Sophia. His actions were too self-conscious, too practiced. To her well-trained eye it looked as if he were waiting there for someone, but wished to appear as if he’d just happened upon the church by chance, and by chance had been overcome with an irresistible urge to smoke his pipe while he was there.
She smothered a derisive snort. He wasn’t very good at this.
She ducked behind the column of a building across the street from the church. She had a clear view of her man from here, but she was already scanning the churchyard, searching for a better hiding place. She’d need to be closer to him if she wanted tohear anything.
Her gaze landed on the small, round portico to the west side of the church. It was nothing more than a half-circle of slender columns with a roof, but it would do, and she was already fairly close to it—just on the other side of the street. If she could reach it, she could creep around the side, closer to the entrance of the church. From there she’d be able to see and hear whatever passed.
The dash across the road might prove a bit tricky, though. If the man happened to look in her direction while she was crossing, he’d certainly see her. But then he hadn’t proved particularly observantso far, had he?
Sophia assessed the narrow street in front of her, calculating the distance, then glanced back toward the entrance to the church, where her quarry was still slouched against the archway, looking about as alert as a sleepy child at achurch sermon.
Yes, she could make it. Once that thick bank of clouds crossed the moon, she’d go. She waited, her muscles tensed to run, but just as the clouds began to edge out the moonlight, she heard a thin, high-pitched sound coming from behind her.
It sounded like…yes, it was. A man was coming down the Strand towards St. Clement Dane’s Church, and hewas whistling.
Sophia froze for an instant, her heart pounding, then as quickly and quietly as she could she melted back into the shadows. Another glance toward the church revealed her quarry had jerked to sudden attention. For one breathless moment Sophia thought he’d seen her, but he wasn’t looking inher direction.
He was waiting for the man who was making his way down the Strand. The man himself seemed not to realize he was the object of so much intense interest. He ambled along, whistling tunelessly, utterly at his ease.
Whatever criminal enterprise was about to unfold, the whistler wasn’t a part of it.
No, hewas its victim.
She held her breath as the whistler drew closer to the archway where Lord Everly’s man was waiting. Even from this distance she could see the villain was already creeping forward, ready to pounce on his victim like a rat on acrumb of bread.
Then, just behind him, Sophia saw a flicker of movement in the shadows. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she strained to make it out. For a moment it had looked as if there was someone else there, lurking behind the church door, but she couldn’t be certain.
