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“Come with me?” Her expression pleads.
Little does she know her whisper saves me the trouble of insisting I join her search. “Aye.”
Her beautiful smile blinds me.
“Thank you!” She rushes to a little desk in the corner of her room. After pulling the drawer open, she withdraws a folder. “Here’s the detective’s report with the address.”
She slips into the bathroom to change clothes as I flip through the paperwork.
As I read, I scowl. The details are lacking. She has paid the boil-brained detective for this tripe?
Olivia emerges in a pair of tight jeans and a flowy floral shirt. “What do you think?”
Of the report? I grunt. “No knickers.”
“Right.” She scoffs, stuffing her clothes and a few personal items into a bag.
“’Tis serious I am, wench.”
She pulls a handful of underwear from a drawer and drops them into the open duffle with a glare. “I am, too.” Then she zips up her bag. “Ready?”
My “wife” wants to challenge me? She may have won this skirmish, but I am a warrior. I will prove victorious in the war.
After another twenty minutes in the hated car, we stop in front of a run-down building in an east London industrial neighborhood. Soot and caked mud tinge the once-pale walls. Black licks of charred brick stand exposed around each window.
Though I am relieved we find not a trace of Richard Gray, Olivia’s crestfallen face tugs at me.
“Everything burned down. No one lives here anymore.”
The remnants of the former row house are barely standing. In fact, the whole block looks deserted. Was the blaze an accident…or an act of arson?
I slide my arm around her waist and ease her against my side. “Did your detective provide other information?”
“No. This was the last lead he gave me, and I can’t afford to pay him for more. I guess…I’ll try myself. Maybe I should start by looking into this fire and see if anyone survived.”
If this Richard Gray was once Anarki and he turned traitor, ’tis possible he was burned out by the “friends” he betrayed. If this double-dealing wizard is her sire, I hope he was inside when the building went up in flames. Olivia seems possessed of a gentle soul. She has no need of a varlet who failed in his duty as her father.
“Bram is looking as well, is he not?” At her nod, I caress her shoulder. “Mayhap he will find the man.”
“I hope. Shall we return to the cottage, then?”
“Aye. I want you back in bed.” Where you belong.
“Why?” She frowns. “Marrok, I’m glad you can finally…you know…again, but I’m hardly a temptress.”
I kiss her. “You never fail to give me wicked ideas and a stiff cock.”
“You need your eyes—and your head—examined.”
Why does she not understand her own appeal? Bram said that she considers herself unattractive. Why? ’Tis a puzzle to solve later, not when we stand out in the open, in the middle of what I suspect was an act of retribution and violence.
“If you choose not to heed me, then perhaps you will consider your health? Hours ago, you were quite unwell.”
“That was some weird flu or whatever.”
“It will relapse if you do not take care. Let us return to my cottage and rest.”
She huffs as I lead her back to the infernal automobile. “Hmm. Under that stud-muffin exterior, you act like an old man.”
