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“No.” Her head shook. “She must have gotten the times wrong. I trust her, Strider. She was very kind and promised me she would do it.”
“Don’t be naïve, Pen.” He moved to the bench and picked up her valise. “Bring me to her.”
“No.”
He dropped her bag back onto the bench. “We’re not stepping foot outside of London until you bring me to this woman.”
Her look dropped to her bag on the bench, her jaw shifting to the left as her lips pulled tight. “Fine.”
She grabbed her bag and stepped around him, leading him out of the park, not once looking back to him as she weaved through the streets. Silent. Every step a stomp.
On Newton Street, Pen pulled to a stop in front of a ramshackle building, her glare on the blue painted door that had been weathered down until only odd strips of the color still stained the wood. She set her valise down and looked to Strider, her thumb pointing at the building. “This is her door. I’m sure she is already gone.”
Strider invaded her space and she stepped to the side, her arms clasped in front of her ribcage. He pummeled the door with the side of his fist.
A clunk and then a thud against the wall next to the door and it opened a crack. Ole Ona saw him and she opened the door a bit wider, a provocative smile on her face. The woman thought she was thirty years younger than she was. “Hoppler, what ye doin’ here, sir?” As the door opened wider her look flickered off of Strider to Pen. Sudden fear twisted her face. Good. They both knew what was afoot and he wouldn’t have to dabble with her explanations.
Ole Ona took a step back, trying to slam the door closed.
Strider had already jammed his heel against the door, stopping her from closing it. “You’ll not escape me so easily, Ona.”
Her hands flew up in front of her, waving. “Hoppler, I swear, I swear I didn’t know she was one of yers. I never would’ve done nothin’ with her if I ’ad known.”
“I don’t doubt that.” His chin tilted down, his stare making her squirm. “Give her back the money.”
Ole Ona’s hands started to wring. “I don’t ’ave it. Lew already been by and beat me ’fore he took it.”
Strider stifled a sigh. Ole Ona’s husband wasn’t worth the dung on the bottom of his boot. “You still have the package?”
“Aye.”
She stood, frozen, and Strider had to motion inward. “Go get it.”
She jumped, spurred out of her frozen state and she disappeared into the bowels of the building. The echoes of her footsteps running up stairs drifted down to them.
Silence.
Silence for too long.
He could feel Pen’s stare on him, but he refused to look at her, his glare fixed on a long streak of faded blue on the door.
“Is she sneaking out the back?”
He didn’t afford her a glance. “Not if she knows what is good for her.”
The sounds of quick steps returned and Ole Ona appeared at the door, panting, her face flush.
She looked down at the package in her hands, wrapped tightly with twine and burlap and covered in a rough tan powder. Her fingers bumbling, she brushed off the tan powder as she handed the package to Pen. “Sorry ’bout the mess. I ’ad to ’ide it in the rotten flour so Lew didn’t find it. I swear I didn’t open it. There wasn’t time before Lew showed up.”
Her brow furrowed, Pen took the package, her black gloves turning tan as she brushed away the mess of the flour. “What were you going to do with it?”
Ole Ona’s eyebrows lifted as she stared at Pen for a long moment. With a slight shake of her head, she looked to Strider. “Ye got yerself a real sharp one here, Hoppler.”
Strider ignored the comment with a pointed blink, then leaned in toward Ole Ona. “Tell Lew I’m looking for him.”
Ole Ona’s dull eyes went wide and she nodded. “Will do.” She closed the door.
Strider moved away from the door, picking up Pen’s bag in his left hand and he started west toward his house. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with Pen until he was ready to leave, but his townhouse seemed like the obvious choice. He couldn’t exactly take her to the Den again.
