Chapter 17
It was like having his ribs crushed and bits of bone pierce his lungs.
Adrian wasn’t sure how he still breathed. His stomach was one giant knot, his nerves a tremulous mess, and his fury…
Cold and dark, like the end of time.
He leaned on that, to let the need for vengeance push aside fear so his pulse settled. It soon became a cool beat — a steady companion that helped clear his head.
Focus.
He spoke to Jennings again, his voice gruff to his own ears, yet calm. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Jennings relayed the information, tripping across the occasional word, like a carriage bouncing through cobblestoned streets. “I was left behind and told to give you a message.”
Adrian’s shoulders tensed. The parallel drawn between the incident and Samantha’s first meeting with O’Leary scraped his spine.
With an effort, he shook it off. “What’s the message?”
The tentative look in Jennings’s eyes was anything but reassuring. He shifted from one foot to the other, but eventually managed to say, “Your kingdom for your wife.”
Adrian kept his gaze firmly trained on Jennings. He did not dare look at Kendrick or Moorland – had no desire to try and explain what O’Leary’s request entailed. All he knew was that if it came to it, he’d sacrifice everything for Samantha.
O’Leary knew this too, but what he might not realize was the clarity with which Adrian saw the Irish bastard.
There was no way in hell the man would stop once Adrian handed his empire over to him.
Not when this was a clear vendetta, and certainly not when it was Adrian who’d killed O’Leary’s father.
There would be no end until Adrian’s head was served to O’Leary on a silver platter. Most concerning was the lengths the man might be prepared to go to in order to get that done. Especially since Adrian knew what he himself would do.
Slamming the door on that thought, he turned to the two other men in the room. “I need to go.” To Jennings he said, “Return home and tell Elks what happened.”
The coachman provided a hasty nod and Adrian started toward the door. He was almost through it when Kendrick spoke. “I’ll join you, Croft.”
Adrian turned to face him. “Your hands are full at the moment.”
“They will be later once Doctor Fellowes gives me his report. It will be a few hours, though, before that happens. Until then, I’d like to lend my assistance.”
Adrian appreciated the offer but worried it might be a mistake to involve Kendrick in this. He prepared to brush him off once more when Kendrick pressed, “The initial hours following a disappearance are the most crucial. Besides, this isn’t merely about locating your wife, Mr. Croft.”
He must have seen Adrian’s eyes darken, for he quickly added, “As much as I want her safe and sound, O’Leary’s also wanted for murdering a Mr. Ian Callahan at The Mad Bull Tavern last week. I’d like to find him, if possible, and bring him in so he can face charges.”
It was a struggle for Adrian not to snort with contempt.
There would be no arrest if he had his way. After tonight, the only place Adrian planned to bring O’Leary was to the basement room under the stairs in his house. An extended period of torture was what he deserved. Followed by death.
Refusing to offer so much as a glimpse of these musings, Adrian kept his expression blank. “A valid point, besides which the extra manpower will let us cover more ground.”
Not needing to add anything more, Adrian strode off.
He heard Kendrick say a few additional words to Moorland in parting.
Then came the swift click of heels announcing Kendrick’s attempt to catch up with Adrian.
A brief stop was made in the foyer where Kendrick exchanged a few words with Lewis.
He and the Runner with whom Adrian wasn’t acquainted would ensure the transport of Orwell’s body to the morgue.
“Jackson,” Kendrick called while Adrian exited Moorland House. “Come with us.”
Not breaking his stride, Adrian walked to the nearest carriage and spoke to the driver. “You need to take me to Duke Street. Right now.”
“I don’t need to do a damn—”
“It’s all right, Yates,” Kendrick shouted while hurrying down the front steps of Moorland House. Jackson was right on his heels. “The directions are solid.”
Yates muttered something inaudible and picked up the reins. Adrian opened the carriage door and climbed in. Jackson and Kendrick followed, the pair dropping onto the opposite bench as Adrian pulled the door shut.
A knock on the roof set the carriage in motion. Adrian gripped his thighs, his fingertips digging into the flesh beneath his wool trousers. Why weren’t they racing onto Coventry Street? It was clear the driver had not grasped the urgency.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Kendrick said.
That I’d like to whip your driver until he figures out how to send this vehicle flying?
He served the chief constable a quelling look that was likely full of loathing.
“My pregnant wife has been taken by a murderous scoundrel who wishes to use her in an attempt to hurt me. Unless you’ve had a similar experience, Kendrick, I doubt you have any clue as to what I am thinking. ”
Jackson looked as though he were the one who’d received the cutting remark.
By contrast, Kendrick appeared nonplussed as he said, “I’m sorry your wife has been placed in harm’s way, Croft.
Knowing what you have done to those who’ve crossed you in the past, however, for less I might add, I’m guessing you’re contemplating a long list of very creative ways in which to make O’Leary suffer. ”
“You’re not entirely wrong,” Adrian said, his jaw clenched so hard his skull hurt.
“I need your word right now that you won’t do anything stupid. That you’ll let me put him in a locked cell.” Kendrick’s gaze, darkened by the purplish light of dawn, was unrelenting.
“Of course,” Adrian lied.
“I mean it Croft.”
“As do I.” Adrian held that stubborn stare. “We’ve both got our fantasies though.” When Kendrick failed to respond, Adrian said, “I dream of carving O’Leary into small pieces and feeding him to a herd of pigs while you envision climbing between Miss Hastings’s thighs.”
Jackson produced a sputtering sound while Kendrick went utterly still.
Adrian knew what he was about to say might be cruel, yet he didn’t care. In fact, he felt nothing but anger accompanied by a bone-deep need to hurt others.
So he didn’t hold back when he added, “Unfortunately, neither of us has a chance in hell of getting what we’re after.”
“You’re wrong,” Kendrick said, surprising Adrian with his response.
The fact that he would remark on such a crass comment at all was shocking.
“One of us is more likely to realize their dream than the other. Furthermore, you are the one who’ll be carved into pieces and fed to a herd of pigs if I ever hear you disrespect Miss Hastings again. ”
“Apologies.” Adrian dipped his chin. It was the expected response rather than any reflection of guilt he might feel.
He didn’t. Couldn’t. His body and brain, his overall emotional state, was entirely numb. Save for that wrathful storm raging inside him. That was all he had. The only thing that was real at the moment. A vicious poison consuming him to his core.
No one uttered another word as the carriage drove on. It shook in response to every pothole and jerked to the side when they rounded a corner. The hoofbeats accompanied the uneven ride, like a mangled piece of music where the coachman’s whip set the tempo.
Another rough turn and they started to slow. The horses whinnied, wheels grinding on stone as the coachman pulled on the reins. Adrian opened the door and leapt out, his gaze sweeping the street from one end to the other before he was joined by Kendrick and Jackson.
Duke Street.
Only two streets away from Portman Square. Samantha had nearly been home. The thought, the contemplation of what she might be going through now…
His leather-clad fingers curled into his palms. Frigid air brushed the nape of his neck as a gust of wind passed. No one else was about, save for a lamplighter making his rounds in order to snuff out the gaslights. Unsurprising, given the hour.
“Jackson, go question that man if you would,” Kendrick said before telling Adrian, “I see no trace of your carriage.”
“It’s worth a fine price,” Adrian muttered. He started walking, his attention on the ground as he strode toward the far end of the street. “It would have been foolish of O’Leary to abandon it here.”
“What I mean to say is that it could lead us to him.” Kendrick kept pace with Adrian, slowing, halting, or resuming his stride accordingly. “Carriages are large. Not so easy to hide. Least of all when they’re flashy. My point is if someone saw it driving about, they must have noticed.”
“That would likely depend on the route that was taken and the destination.” The last thing Adrian wanted was to become overeager and confident on account of a possibility. He couldn’t afford to waste time on false leads.
As of yet, they knew nothing. That was the harsh truth.
To Kendrick he explained, “No one would bat an eye if they saw such a carriage drive about Mayfair where they’re as common as holes in a street-urchin’s socks.
The only way it would draw attention is if it appeared somewhere unexpected.
Like St. Giles. As much as I wish it were otherwise, O’Leary wouldn’t be foolish enough to allow that to happen. ”
They reached the end of the street and Adrian stopped to study the crossroad before heading back on the opposite pavement.
Nothing he saw suggested Samantha had been here.
There was no indication of an altercation which meant neither she nor Murry had put up a fight.
This tallied with Jennings’ account about them having been so outnumbered they’d not stood a chance.
But which way had they gone? Where had they gone?