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Slowly, the anger that had unfurled from him was washed away by the storm. “I didn’t expect this either.”
They stared at each and something sparked that hadn’t been there before. She’d always found him attractive. She’d just never allowed herself to go past that. She hadn’t wanted to think beyond that. He was dangerous and deadly and yet…he was protecting her. And he’d gotten mad at her accusations. Her heart thudded in time with the pounding rain and felt the tension grow taut between them.
Finally he nodded. She released her breath, and they continued forward in silence.
The address was an old flattop building that might have once housed food stores. The brick facade was crumbling, half of the windows were broken and boarded up, and the front doorway had scorch marks on it. The entire thing looked like one stiff breeze would bring it tumbling down. It was either the perfect place for an illicit weapons deal or a death sentence.
They scouted the surrounding area and found four of Rahllins’ lackeys watching the building. One in front of a ladder that led to the roof. Fordham pointed upward, and she bit her lip but acquiesced. As quick as lightning, Fordham stepped forward, choking the air out of the man’s lungs to keep him silent and then putting his fist to the man’s temple. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes.
She helped him haul the man deep into the shadows before scaling the rain-slicked, rickety ladder. Fordham went first, and she trailed behind, none too pleased with the creak of the wood. The roof was paper-thin with loose boards littering the top and a giant hole near the entrance, where the fire had burned through. It was in even worse shape than she had anticipated.
Without a word, Fordham gestured to the hole, and they crawled forward on their bellies to the edge. She took a small breath and then leaned over the edge to peer down into the dimly lit room below.
A half-dozen men stood on one side behind a woman with raven hair and alabaster skin. There was no doubt in her mind that this was Clare Rahllins. Any minute, she might transform into a raven herself and fly away, so close was the likeness, even from a distance. Across from Clare stood two men and a woman along with a full wagon of covered supplies. Another dozen stood guard around the weapons wagon.
The rain had gone from a flood to a drizzle, but Kerrigan still couldn’t hear what anyone was saying.
“We need to get closer,” she whispered to Fordham.
He raised his eyebrows, as if to ask how the hell they were going to do that.
She shrugged and inched out a little further. It would be beneficial to have some sort of advanced hearing, but even Fae couldn’t hear that acutely. She had no hope. She tried desperately to make out what Clare was saying.
Crack.
The boards beneath them splintered. She looked at Fordham with wide, panicked eyes before the roof gave way, and they plummeted.
29
The Weapons Deal
Kerrigan woke tied to a chair.
She struggled against the chafing bonds, but there was no escape. Her chest, arms, and legs were bound so tightly that she could barely breathe, let alone get out of the constraints. Her head hurt like… well, like she’d just fallen through a roof. She had no concept of how much time had passed since then, only that the room was now empty, save for Fordham, who was passed out beside her, and a guard with his arms crossed, drifting off into space.
A warehouse. A length of rope. Well, that part of her vision hadn’t been particularly useful. It would have been nice to know what the warehouse and rope were going to be used for.
“Fordham,” she hissed, low and urgent.
But he didn’t move an inch. Just sat there with his head back, eyes closed. Very much knocked out.
“Looks like someone is finally awake,” the guard said.
Then he disappeared through the door, and a few minutes later, a woman with raven hair that fell like a waterfall over one eye entered. She was even more beautiful in person. Skin the color of milk and her one visible eye so blue, as if plucked straight out of the ocean. She wore black leather from head to toe and had so much steel on her, she would have dropped like a stone in the sea.
“Well, well, well,” she said in a slow, concentrated drawl. Her accent was thick, like those from the north. “What do we have here?”
“Hello,” Kerrigan said, hoping for chipper. “It appears there has been a mistake.”
“A mistake?” the woman said, chewing on her words. “Yes, there has been a mistake.” A knife appeared in her hand as if out of thin air, and it tipped Kerrigan’s chin up. “You made the mistake of crossing Clare Rahllins.”
