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Cam stepped aside, tripping his attacker on his way by. Following it up with a quick twisting move that should end the fight before it started.
Scar-Face, more agile than he looked, dodged the blow. Dragged a knife from his coat.
Dangerous had become deadly.
Circling at a safe distance, the man searched for an opening in Cam’s defense.
Cam held back. Allowed the man time to get comfortable. Then in the space between one heartbeat and the next, he closed. No time for finesse, he seized the wrist with the knife, dragged his attacker back against him, his arm around his neck in an unbreakable stranglehold.
“Who sent you?”
“Don’t. Know.” The man’s words came out strained and broken as he gasped for air.
Cam squeezed. “Not the right answer.”
Scar-Face’s body flailed in a worthless attempt to throw Cam off. But he was ready for it. His grip firm. “A few seconds and you’ll black out. Suffocation comes next.” He jerked the man hard against him. Let the horrible panic of no breath sink in.
Just as the man started to go limp, Cam eased up. “I’ll ask you once more—who sent you?”
Scar-Face coughed and heaved, sucking in precious air. “Don’t know. He didn’t give me a name. Just pointed you out. Told me to keep an eye on you. Tell him where you went. Who you talked to.”
Doran? Rastus? The possibilities raced through Cam’s mind. After all, Wapping lay only a little way to the west. Had they been discovered so quickly? Had Rastus given them up? Had he been too confident in his own abilities to keep them safe? “Describe him.”
“Here, now! What’s this?”
A voice from the far end of the lane broke Cam’s concentration. Distracted him for the moment it took for Scar-Face to wrench himself from the choke hold. Tear his knife hand free. Slash Cam across the chest. Not a killing stroke, but enough to make Cam stagger back.
Like a shot, the man pounded back up the alley, shoving the intruder aside in a bid to escape.
Clutching his hand to the wound, Cam gritted his teeth. Forced himself to ignore the throbbing sting. He’d no time to waste. Any second and Scar-Face would have lost himself in the surrounding slums. Any chance of discovering where he’d gone and who had hired him, lost.
“Y’ all right, guv?”
Cam’s distraction still stood rooted to a spot at the top of the lane.
“Perfect,” he snarled through pinched lips as he shouldered his way past the man. Followed in Scar-Face’s wake.
Chapter 16
The front door slammed. Slow, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Down the hall. Cam’s bedchamber door opened and banged shut.
Morgan rose from her seat, relief and rage washing through her in equal measure. Cam had been gone since midmorning. Half the day ago. Dusk had fallen. Susan had lit fires. Candles. Made noises about preparing dinner. And still no Cam.
Now he’d come. But had he sought her out? Informed her about where he’d been and what had kept him all day? No. Just walled himself away. Still holding a grudge.
Well, to hell with him. She was tired of wearing a hair shirt for her supposed crimes. Crimes that in her eyes were completely justified.
She stormed down the hall, anger lending Dutch courage to her steps. No lock barred her entrance. She flung the door back. Stood, hands on hips, her demand for explanations dying on her lips.
Cam sat hunched on the bed, bloody shirt tossed on the floor, a rag pressed to his chest.
“What happened?” she asked.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
She crossed to the bed. Knelt beside him on the floor. “Let me be the judge of that.” He leaned back, let her take over. Dried blood caked a shallow gash. Ugly. Almost certainly painful. But not serious. She started to move aside his necklace to get a closer look, but he grabbed it from her. Fisted his hand over the cross.
“I’m not going to steal it,” she complained.
