Latymer (6 page)

But their father never came for them, giving rise to their belief that he, too, believed his son Mick was cursed because he had the sight. A year later, he and Mick escaped that abusive home, assumed new identities, and somehow preserved their humanity while surviving the streets of London. They never returned to Ireland. Never saw their family again.

Could Giles be huddled on a London doorstep even now? The possibility propelled Mac’s feet into action. All the searching and gathering of information on Latymer that he, Mick, Amelia, and the Hunt Agency had done over the past two weeks had guided Mac to this place, to this time. He felt it deep in his bones. After Mick’s death, Mac’s one purpose had been to find Latymer and kill him. And, God help him, he still ached to finish off the bastard.

But now, a new driving need bubbled up inside of him. One he would never be able to ignore. He must find Giles, if not for himself then for his brother, Mick. And then he would settle the score with Latymer.

Returning to Latymer, who still lay prone in the bedchamber, Mac shook his shoulders and slapped his face. “Wake up, Latymer! What did you do with Giles? Latymer, come to, damn you!”

Latymer’s eyes flickered open. “Giles?” he said with a groan.

“Yes, where is he?”

“Don’t know,” he mumbled. Then, seeming to gather himself, he opened his eyes wide, as if to force consciousness to overtake his dulled mind.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You took him from Abbingale Home. He should be here with you!” Mac shouted.

“Collette,” Latymer whispered, barely able to speak. He shook his head. “I mean, he ran away.”

“I don’t understand. He’s with Collette and they ran away?” Mac asked, panic beginning to surge.

Latymer coughed, shaking his head.

Mac bit back a curse. “Focus, Latymer. Do you believe your son is in danger?”

Bleak eyes bore into his. “Yes.”

“Then tell me what you know so I can find your son.”

“Who are you?” Latymer asked, an expression of confusion on his face.

The man who is going to send you to hell
. “I’m with the Hunt Agency. We’ve been working with Nexus to locate your son Giles.”
And you.

“Nexus knew nothing of my son.”

“They did once his dying mother requested their help.”

“Lydia.” Latymer closed his eyes, but not before Mac glimpsed the sheen of tears.

Mac viewed the bedchamber with new eyes. “Did you buy this house for your mistress and son?”

Latymer opened his tortured eyes, though he said nothing.

“Did you?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Who is Collette?”

“A French assassin.”

“Holy Mother,” Mac murmured. “You think she took Giles?”

“N-not sure.”

“Where did you last see him?”

“Near the docks.” Latymer’s voice began to fade, and he fought to keep his eyes open.

“Not yet, you don’t.” Mac shook Latymer’s shoulder, causing him to wince. Mac inspected Latymer’s head wound. He’d lost a lot of blood, but the bleeding had stopped. The man’s chest, however, was a different story.

A dark, wet patch covered the left side of his coat, and a ragged hole punctured the expensive material. Mac knew the only way to assess the extent of the damage was to remove the fitted coat. Such a maneuver would cause excruciating pain, and Mac found himself eager to start.

He gripped Latymer beneath the arms and shoved him into a sitting position. That snapped the traitor out of his stupor.

“Goddammit!”
Latymer clutched at his chest while he labored to breathe.

Mac ignored the outburst, feeling no remorse for a man who had caused so much suffering to others. From his vantage point, Mac spotted the telltale hole where the lead ball had exited. The sight evoked a tangle of bittersweet emotions. “The bullet passed through. As long as it didn’t hit anything vital, you’ll live.”

“Not the news you were hoping for, I take it,” Latymer replied weakly, his strength clearly ebbing.

“I need you alive for as long as it takes to find and identify your son. Once Giles is safe, your value to me ends.”

When Latymer didn’t respond, Mac commanded, “Stay put.”

“Where would I go?”

Mac got to his feet and opened Lydia Clarke’s wardrobe. He hurriedly rifled through her garments, a faint floral scent reaching his nose. How long would Latymer keep this house now that Lydia was dead? It had already been several weeks. Would he keep it as is until his son was old enough to assume ownership?

Finding what he was looking for, Mac yanked the petticoat out and closed the door. He knelt at Latymer’s side, ripping the linen into long pieces. 

Latymer peered up at him, studying his face. “You are familiar to me somehow. Why?”

“Remove your coat,” Mac ordered. If he spoke of his brother now, he might finish what the bullet had started.

One-handed, Latymer opened his coat and attempted to peel the garment off his left shoulder. Sweat streamed from his brow, and he winced, pausing several times.

Sensing time slipping away, Mac glanced around and spotted a knife not far from the ottoman. Grabbing it, he used the blade to make a clean cut down the back of the coat. He removed the coat and tossed the two halves to the side, removing the blood-soaked shirt next. Inspecting the injury, he said, “There’s a good chance some of the fibers from your clothing are wedged inside the wound.”

Dismissively, Latymer waved his hand in the air. “Plug it.”

Five minutes later, Mac dropped a clean shirt he’d found in the wardrobe over Latymer’s head and pulled him to his feet. Where Latymer’s face was once ashen, it now shone porcelain white. “My coat,” he wheezed.

“The coat’s destroyed.”

“I know.” He said nothing more, merely stared at Mac with fevered eyes.

Suspicious, Mac bent to retrieve the shredded garment.

“I remember you now,” Latymer said. “I shot you.”

The muscles in Mac’s neck tightened. He threw the coat at Latymer. “You have the wrong O’Donnell.”

“No, I never forget a face.”

Mac lowered his voice. “Then what you recall is shooting my twin brother.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Latymer shuffled his way to the doorway. He clutched the frame while his gaze swept over the bedchamber with a thoroughness that suggested he was committing every detail to memory. When he spoke next, his words came out hollow. “So, there are two of you.”

Mac’s jaw hardened. “No, not anymore. My brother is dead—thanks to you, you murdering bastard.” The traitor didn’t even flinch.

Realization dawned on Latymer’s face. “You were the one in the park.”

Mac had locked eyes with this man only a few days ago when the traitor attempted to kidnap the grandson of the First Lord of the Admiralty on behalf of the French.

“Yes.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not helping you. What I’m doing now is for your son—and his mother.”

Latymer said nothing, though a muscle jumped in his cheek. Using the wall for support, Latymer made it to the stairs, where he paused a moment before taking the first step downward. His leg buckled, unable to support his full weight. Mac caught him before he tumbled forward.

“Here.” Mac wrapped an arm around Latymer’s waist and dragged the traitor’s right arm over his shoulder.

“I can manage,” Latymer said through gritted teeth. “Give me a minute.”

“We’ve wasted enough time. Lead with your left foot.”

Once they were outside, Mac collected his knapsack from where he’d stowed it beneath a nearby bush. As luck would have it, he heard the sound of a horse and carriage on the road. He flagged down the hackney. Latymer all but melted into his seat. Perspiration dampened his shirt, and his chest heaved with each breath. Despite the obvious fever that was overtaking the traitor, Mac refused to feel sorry for him.

“If this Collette has not managed to kidnap your son, where would he go to hide?”

Latymer’s flushed features solidified into a mask of stone.

“You can’t find him on your own,” Mac said. “In a few short hours, you will be incoherent with fever and then, God willing, you will be dead.”

“I’ve survived a gunshot wound before.”

“One so close to your heart and other vital organs?”

Latymer’s lips thinned, and Mac could see the man was now weighing his options.

“What is your interest in locating my son?”

Mac had no intention of relaying the details of his own abandonment as a child to this man. “Let’s just say I have an understanding of what he might be going through right now. I would spare him that if I could.”

After a moment, Latymer nodded. “I instructed him to go to Somerton House, should we become separated.”

At the mention of Somerton’s name, Mac lifted a brow, knowing the two former friends were now mortal enemies.

“I’ve already checked Somerton’s and my office near the docks before I went to Lydia’s.” Latymer rubbed trembling fingers against his forehead. “I know of no other place where he would go to hide.”

“Would he have sought shelter at a friend’s house?”

“Giles doesn’t have any friends.” Latymer saw Mac’s look of disbelief. “My son’s a bastard, Mr. O’Donnell. Few in society look kindly on children born out of wedlock. And those who do have no business being around my son.”

Mac could do little more than stare at the man across the carriage. Changing the subject, he said, “Perhaps when you searched for him before, your paths crisscrossed. You went to one location and he went to the other.”

A flicker of hope lit Latymer’s solemn eyes. “It’s possible, though I took care to make sure he knew the route between the two locations.”

“Earlier, you said something about him running away.”

“He was supposed to stay at my office while I met with my solicitor to finalize a few estate details. Giles followed me. Collette killed my solicitor and set her footpads on me when I couldn’t give her what she wanted. While her men tried to rip off my head, she went after Giles.

“So in his attempt to escape the French assassin, he might have gone off course?”

Latymer sat up a little straighter. “That would make sense.”

Mac considered Latymer. What would cause an intelligent, wealthy, and influential gentleman to work against a country he was sworn to protect? 

“Why did you do it? Why did you sacrifice your country, your heritage, your son?”

Tension filled the carriage; Latymer said nothing.

“Come now. Let’s be honest. Within the next twelve hours, you’ll either die from a fever or a festered wound, or be transported to the nearest gaol for your many crimes. Why not attempt to explain your actions—and relieve your conscience if you can.”

“I did not sacrifice my son.”

“Then where is he? If we don’t find him before your French assassin does, sacrifice is exactly what’s going to happen.”

Latymer pinched the bridge of his nose. “I never meant for Giles, Lydia, or even Nexus to get mixed up in this.”

Mac had a few more choice words regarding Latymer’s planning ability, but he kept them to himself.

“It became evident a few years ago that marrying anyone but Lydia was impossible.”

“Why?”

Latymer pierced him with a fierce look. “Because Lydia was the sum of my heart, and I couldn’t do that to her. To us.”

Mac kept his shock hidden beneath his mask of indifference. “Go on.”

“We made plans to move to America where a relationship such as ours could be easily disguised and made acceptable. But first I needed to ensure that not only our immediate future but Giles’s future was set.”

“So greed sent you running to the French.”

“Security sent me running to the French.”

“Don’t fool yourself, Latymer. Many would send up a lifetime of prayers to have the wealth you have—or had. You simply wanted to establish a kingdom for yourself in your new country, and you needed money to do that.”

Jaw clenched, Latymer looked away.

“What about your part in trying to destroy Lord Somerton and Nexus?”

“I refused the French’s request, so they took what was mine.”

“Meaning, Lydia and Giles.”

Swallowing hard, he nodded, still not looking at Mac. “For them, I would do anything.” His gaze returned to Mac’s. “Anything.”

“And the request you refused?”

“To kill Somerton,” he supplied.

Mac released a long, slow breath. He did not want to feel empathy for this man, but he did. How many people chose the most expedient path to achieving their goals, never having to face the morality of their choice? And how many others chose the wrong path and lost everything they hold dear? The answers churned in Mac’s gut. 

“For them,” Mac said, repeating Latymer’s words, “I’m sorry—”

“Where are we going?” Latymer cut in, obviously uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation.

“To the Hunt Agency.”

“No, we go to the docks and search from there.”

“You have no say in the matter.” Mac withdrew a bag from his knapsack and tossed it to Latymer. “Find something in there to eat. You need to rebuild your strength.”

“Thank you—”

Mac shook his head. “Don’t. My motives where you’re concerned don’t include kindness. I simply have no wish to carry you.”

Latymer removed several strips of salted meat, a few pieces of dried fruit, and a lemon biscuit from the bag before tossing it back. “All this hate because I killed your brother?”

Incredulous, Mac demanded, “Can you think of a better reason for me to despise you?”

“Many more.” He put a piece of the biscuit into his mouth. “As I recall, he attacked me, not the other way around.”

“Doesn’t matter. You killed him when all he wanted to do was ask you some questions.”

“You have no idea what happened that night, do you?” Latymer responded disdainfully.

“I know enough. He wasn’t alone.”

“When he knocked on my door, he was taking a chance. He knew who I was and the deeds I was capable of performing. Sounds like the actions of a fool to me.”

“No, he didn’t know who you were. He was sent to track down William Townsend. We had not made the connection that Townsend and Latymer were one and the same.”