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“No, I’m going with you,” Morgan challenged, forcing herself to straighten. “You’re not leaving me behind again.”
Cam’s gaze was glacial. And terrifying. Even Brodie took a step back. “You swore to do exactly what I said. To follow my orders.”
How dare he throw that back at her now? Her fingers curled into her palms, her nails digging into the flesh as she fought her urge to tell him what he could do with his bloody idiotic bargain.
“Do you want to go back on your word?”
“No.” She pushed the words out through tight lips.
“Then stay here. I’m going to take a look around. I can do that better without worrying whether you’re going to collapse.”
Before she could answer or offer any more resistance, he left her side. Passed into the street. And immediately vanished. As fully as if he’d called upon the invisibility of the feth-fiada to cloak his movements. It was impossible. And impressive.
Brodie gave a low whistle. “Damn. He’s better than I thought.”
Morgan kept quiet. She began to understand the toll Cam’s abilities took on his soul. She thought with sadness of the reckless boy laughing into the wind. Racing the flight of wild geese. What chain of events had pulled him into the tangled tortured world of violence, death, and murder in the king’s name? And had that boy been lost forever?
As she watched, a man appeared from the side of the nearest building. Ground out a cheroot as he scanned the street up and down. The crackle of familiar mage energy buried itself in her brain. She’d felt this thread of power before. Had glimpsed it for a hurried moment in the alleys of Tavistock just before the street thugs attacked.
Apparently satisfied he’d not been noticed, he entered the storefront. Banged the door shut behind him.
“Which building did Cam go into?” Morgan asked.
Brodie nodded. “That one, I think.”
“That’s what I feared. Doran’s in there. Or one of his cronies. Either way, Cam’s up to his ass in trouble.”
The man’s flicker of shock and confusion was quickly mastered, but Cam had seen it. “Surprised to see me, Rastus?”
The corporal raised his glass, taking a long, slow drink. Time to think and react. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he kicked the chair across from him out from under the table. Nodded Cam into it. “That I am, sir. You said yourself you was tryin’ to stay under wraps. What brings you here?”
“You know what brings me. Buchanan’s been here. And recently. Where is he now, Rastus?” Cam forced himself to remain civil, though it took every ounce of self-discipline not to lift the villain by his collar and shake the truth out of him.
“Gone. Left a few hours ago.”
“Where to?”
“Don’t know. He came in early, snappish and impatient. Looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. A little wild, a lot dangerous, if you know what I mean.” His sidelong glance assuring Cam that he fell into that same category. “He and one of the girls went in the back. But not five minutes later, he was back. Black as a storm cloud and pulled tighter than whipcord. I followed him, for a bit. He went up toward Shadwell. And…” Rastus swallowed, his fingers rubbing nervously at a spot on the table. “And then I lost him.”
“Why didn’t you send me word?”
“I did. Sent a runner off an hour ago after Doran cut out. Probably passed you on your way.”
Could they have missed the message? Could Rastus be telling the truth? Or was this a set-up? He was almost sure Rastus had hired Scar-Face to follow him yesterday. But to what purpose? He didn’t like the smell this whole deal was giving off. “What’s your game?”
“The sergeant’s been keeping low. Moving about, ya know? He knows you’re on to him. Got him rattled, it does.” Rastus poured a second glass of claret for himself. One for Cam. “Drink up, Sin. To old times.”
The man was tense. Not in an obvious way. But it was clear he waited for something or someone. He kept glancing toward the door, cracking his knuckles with annoying regularity until Cam actually thought of giving in to the desire to slit his throat.
A crude comment followed by overloud laughter drew Cam’s eye to a table near the door. A group of men egged on one of their number who held a black-haired woman by the wrist with one hand, his other somewhere beneath her skirts. His face seemed familiar, dark eyes beneath thin brows, straw-colored hair. As Cam watched, the man leaned in close, his words quieter, but just as dirty by the look of shock on the girl’s face. Where had Cam seen him before? Or had he? The man’s hair, his face, his build. All were so ordinary, he’d fade into the background like wallpaper.
“Forget this devil’s chase, Sin,?
? Rastus urged, pulling Cam’s attention back to his own table. “Walk away. This is bigger than you. Bigger than the bloody army.”
“You know me better than that. I don’t walk away.”
“This time, you better. Buchanan’s on to something. He’s got plans. And he’s got the strength to follow them through.”
