Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (23 page)

T
hough it was summer, a brisk breeze blew off the Thames. Meredith shivered as she and Tristan stepped from their carriage onto the Southwark docks. The worn-down port in a poor and often violent part of London was the place Devlin had designated for their meeting.

Part of her chill had nothing to do with the temperature. She had reassured Tristan about their safety because he was afraid for her life, but in truth she wasn’t sure of anything. In a case like this, in a meeting place not of her choosing, she knew very well they could be walking into a trap.

Tristan grabbed her arm without sparing her a glance. She longed for the comfort of his smile,
but that wasn’t possible. Since they could be watched, they had agreed he would treat her as his captive from the moment they stepped from the carriage. It was the only way to be sure their cover stayed intact.

As they walked along the docks, she caught sight of a woman, a lightskirt, hawking her wares in front of a rough tavern. As they passed, the woman touched her hand to her lips. It was the signal Emily used to reveal herself to her sister spies when she was in disguise.

That meant Ana was also close at hand, hiding herself and probably shaking in terror since she so rarely ventured into the field. But Meredith knew that when she had to, Ana would defend her friends to the best of her abilities.

Meredith shook her head in awe. Ana was brilliant and Emily was a master at covering her true identity. She was aligned with two of the most gifted women in the Empire. And she was glad they were on her side tonight.

She made a show of pulling away from Tristan, and he responded as they had rehearsed, yanking her back.

“The lightskirt in front of the pub is Emily,” she whispered, twisting her face as if she were arguing with him.

To his credit, he did not look at her or turn back to observe the woman she pointed out, but she
could tell he was surprised when he sucked in a breath.

“Truly? Well, she is a wonder, isn’t she? I never would have recognized her.”

Meredith hid her smile. “She is. And you’re doing very well.”

He nodded, though his expression never softened from its hard, gruff resignation. “I hope so. If we’re being watched, I would hate for a misplaced expression to do us in before we reach our goal.”

Meredith shivered and she didn’t have to force the reaction. Their goal.

Her
goal was to bring Devlin and his group to justice in the courts. To make sure they never betrayed their country again. Her goal was to obtain enough evidence through this encounter to clear Tristan of wrongdoing.

Tristan’s goal was much simpler, and in a way, at odds with hers. He wanted to take a life for the life that had already been lost. And she wasn’t sure she would be able to stop him when the time came. She wasn’t sure if she
wanted
to take his chance at revenge away. Not after all he’d sacrificed for it.

They neared the area in the dock where Devlin had told Tristan to meet him. It was a darkened spot near the end of the line of shipping ports. The warehouses there were quiet. Some
even looked to be abandoned or only used during certain seasons. The perfect place for a clandestine meeting.

Or an ambush.

In this part of London, no one saw anything that didn’t directly affect them. And no one interfered if things turned violent. She cleared her thoughts to focus entirely on the situation at hand.

Tristan slowed his pace and his hand tightened on her arm. This time it was for comfort and protection, not show. He must have sensed her worries. She had to admit, feeling him by her side, ready to protect her, was a blessing.

“Devlin!” he called out, his voice full of cocky certainty.

Silence greeted them. The tension in her chest mounted, building as she waited for Devlin’s reply. From the lines visible on Tristan’s face in the dim light of a few flickering lamps, she could tell his anxiety was as high as hers.

“Augustine Devlin!”

“Lord Carmichael,” came the familiar, bored drawl from behind a pile of stacked crates. From the smell that hung in the air, the boxes had once stored fish.

Meredith sucked in her breath as Devlin came into view. Even on the dirty docks, he looked calm and pulled together. Not one blond hair was out of place and his clothes were extravagant. He looked like a bird of paradise who had flown too
far south and ended up in hell. But beneath that perfect, handsome exterior lurked the Devil himself.

“What is she doing here?” he barked as he caught sight of Meredith. “I told you to come alone, and you bring your whore?”

Tristan stiffened at the slur, and Meredith rushed to speak in the hopes he would gather his emotions and remember their plan.

“I beg your pardon,” she snapped in her best Offended London Miss tone. “I never asked to be brought here. One moment I was having an evening drink in my town home, the next I was whisked into a carriage by this—this brute!”

“Shut your mouth,” Tristan replied, his tone as cold as ice. If Meredith hadn’t known it was an act, he would have frightened her. As it was, she obeyed on instinct.

“Answer me, Carmichael,” Devlin repeated. “Or so help me God, I will have her shot where she stands.”

As he spoke, four men emerged from where Devlin had been hidden. Meredith tensed. Five against two; five against four, including Ana and Emily. Not bad odds, but terribly dangerous. At such close range, even the worst shot could get lucky.

Tristan’s breathing changed the moment the other men stepped into view, and Meredith realized he was sizing each one up, wondering who
was in charge of Devlin’s organization. Which one had caused his brother’s death.

She looked them over herself. Two were large, with dim eyes. Brutes. Not meant to lead, but to carry out orders.

But the other two were distinct possibilities. Intelligent faces, menacing stares. And by the way one withdrew a pistol from his jacket and leveled it at her chest, they were men who had killed before and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again. Even if their victim was an unarmed woman.

Tristan hesitated when the gun came into view. She prayed he would continue to carry out their plan, even though she was being threatened.

“You want to kill her?” he asked. She heard the strain in his voice. “Go ahead. But I’d question her first.”

Devlin’s eyes darted to her, then back to Tristan, narrowing with suspicion. “Why?”

“I was forced to return to London when I found out someone was digging into my business practices. I discovered it was Lady Northam.”

She struggled in his grip again for show.

“Really?” Devlin’s even stare returned to her. “And why would you do that, my lady?”

“Apparently she desired more than a turn in my bed,” Tristan sneered. “She was marriage minded and wanted to make sure my fortune was as large as rumored. But the minx uncovered too much.”

“Lies!” she protested, putting terror on her face, which came more easily than she would ever admit. “Mr. Devlin, you cannot believe I would be so mercenary! Surely you’ll help me!”

Devlin let out a low chuckle. “Really now, my lady. I always sensed there was more to you than met the eye, but investigating a man’s business in order to secure a good marriage?” His attention returned to Tristan. “How much did she uncover?”

“Enough,” he spat.

Meredith shook her head. “He’s wrong, I know nothing.”

Devlin stepped forward, cupping her cheeks in one large hand. Tristan tensed, but she admired how he stood still, following the plan they’d mapped out earlier. Devlin searched her stare.

“You’re a liar,” he hissed as he yanked her from Tristan’s hold and pushed her toward his men. “And once Lord Carmichael and I finish with our business, I’ll delve into just how much of one.”

Meredith caught Tristan’s eye. His gaze briefly flickered to her and she felt his terror for her safety, but then it was gone, flashing too quickly for anyone else to have noticed.

“Consider her my gift to you.” Tristan waved her off as if she meant nothing. “One last bit of proof that I’m worthy of your trust.”

Devlin nodded, seemingly impressed by the callousness of Tristan’s demeanor. “Yes, you have
proven yourself. Now do it one final time. The materials that were retrieved from the painting, if you please.”

Tristan touched his jacket pocket, the one that contained what Devlin desired most. As much as they hated to do it, Meredith knew they had no choice but to bring the real evidence, in case Devlin examined it.

But Tristan folded his arms instead of bringing it out to hand over. “Not this time. You know my terms, Devlin. I made them perfectly clear in Carmichael. I’m tired of being your lackey. I want to meet this man who leads your group. I’ll turn over the evidence to him and him alone. Where is he?”

Devlin hesitated, looking Tristan up and down in a slow sweep. Meredith tensed as she watched him, praying he wouldn’t kill them both and take what he desired. A man like him was capable of it.

“You want the man responsible?” he asked. A smile broke on his face. “You’re looking at him, Carmichael. You’ve had access to him all along.
I
am the one you want.”

It took all the strength and control Tristan possessed not to let his mouth drop open in surprise and stumble back.
Devlin
was the man in charge after all? Tristan had spent so long with this man, had done so much…when all along what he was searching for was right at his fingertips. He could have killed Devlin a hundred times.

But then, that was exactly why the man kept his identity secret. There was a long-standing belief that Devlin was someone else’s minion. The authorities watched him, but didn’t move on him because they wanted him to lead them to someone bigger and more dangerous. And men like himself, who had lost everything to Devlin’s schemes, never spent their fury on the man because they believed he was only the conduit to someone else.

If rage hadn’t been building in his chest, overwhelming reason and all other emotion, he would have congratulated Devlin on a well-played hand.

“You’re pale,” Devlin said with his signature smirk. “You did not expect my news?”

Tristan let his gaze flit to Meredith. She was being held by one of Devlin’s men, watching him with wide eyes. From her expression, she was as shocked by this information as he. But as much as he wanted to strike out, he had to remain unruffled. If he did anything now, Meredith could be injured.

“No,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “I did not. You told me again and again that you would allow me access to the man responsible for your group’s actions. I assumed he was someone separate from yourself.”

Devlin nodded, smug pleasure in his gaze. “The mask I wear as Augustine Devlin is nothing like the man I truly am. You’ll soon see what I mean, once you pass a final, little test.”

Tristan tensed. “Another test? Do you mean turning over the evidence?”

Devlin’s smile grew. “No. I know you’ll do that. You wouldn’t come all this way, do everything you’ve done, only to refuse the easiest part. I want you to do something I think will be much harder. Kill her.” He motioned over his shoulder at Meredith.

Rage made everything in Tristan’s sightline turn red at the thought. He could no longer control those ragged emotions. Threatening him was one thing. Turning those threats on the woman he loved was another.

He stepped forward, ready to confront Devlin, but Meredith’s voice stopped him. “Oh, Tristan, no!”

She seemed to be begging for her life, but when he glanced at her, he saw the message in her eyes. This was their opportunity. She had more than enough evidence for her quest for justice. And he had more than enough for his own search for vengeance.

He pulled his pistol from his pocket and slowly raised it to aim at Meredith…or at least at a spot just slightly to her left. The men behind her backed away so they wouldn’t be hit by a stray bullet, and he realized just how brilliant the woman he loved was. Without her in the line of fire, he could easily shift the situation.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you know what I have to do.”

With a quick flick of his wrist, Tristan turned the gun on the ruffian who had his weapon drawn. He pulled the trigger and the man staggered back, his gun falling to the wooden dock with a clatter, as the bullet pierced his heart.

At the same time, Meredith dropped to her knees and rolled backward toward the protection of the stacked crates where Devlin and his men had hidden. Tristan saw her snatch the gun that had dropped at her ankles as she disappeared behind the crates. Dear God, she really
was
a spy, with the physical training to back it up.

Then all his attention was drawn to his own safety as he dove to his left. Devlin’s men scrambled for their weapons, and the sounds of pistol blasts greeted him as he made his way around the crates, reloading as he went. He popped up and fired again, barely missing another of Devlin’s men. That sent them scattering to their own hiding places.

Easing his way along the line of boxes, he kept his eyes on Meredith. She popped up, firing. He heard the hollow grunt of a man being hit and smiled. Of course she would be a perfect shot. Why not? She was seemingly perfect at everything else.

She reloaded with the swift efficiency of a soldier in the field, only pausing to cast a brief glance his way. She popped up and fired again.

“Damn, missed,” she said as she dropped back, her gaze slipping to him. “You were wonderful.”

“You were nearly killed!” he argued before he cautiously peered over the crates and fired a shot. “Where the hell is Emily?”

“On her way. I saw her slipping up from behind. She has to be careful or she could be caught in the cross fire.”

“And I’m right here,” came another voice behind them.

Both turned to see Ana making her way along the docks in a low crawl. She had her gun out, but didn’t seem as comfortable holding it as Meredith did or Emily had in the carriage.

“Good, we need all the help we can get,” Meredith said with a smile for her friend.

“I heard everything.” Ana shook her head. “All this time, Devlin has been toying with every investigative branch of the government.”