Chapter Nineteen
Anna sat on the stool at the far end of the bar to avoid notice from the rest of the pub while giving her the best view of the dozen or so full tables around the room.
Jackson was na?ve if he thought she’d never disguised herself to get a drink at a bar before.
To be fair, her disguise before this had been a simple change into a labor woman’s wool dress and bonnet and not a complete transformation into a young boy, but the principles had to be the same: walk, talk, and drink like you belong.
Though the country tavern she’d snuck into with its colloquial—yet filthy—charm was nothing in comparison to the polished bartop and clean sawdust floors of a place that clearly had money for constant upkeep.
“Don’t serve sprouts here,” the barkeep said, coming down to her end of the bar. “Not unless you can pay double.” Tightly waisted, well-built arms, and a scar under his right eye, the man looked more suited to serving face planters than whiskeys.
Anna ignored the man’s serious expression, sure if she thought too hard about the cretin extorting children, she might swing her own fists in disgust.
“Who ya callin’ ‘sprout’?” she said, remembering to rough up her speech but keep her higher tone. “I ain’t lookin’ fur nothin’ but a Flash of Fire without the lightnin’.”
The barkeep’s expression widened before his gaze narrowed on her face. A second of scrutiny bled into four. “You ain’t Hobbs.”
Pounding started in her ears, her heart pumping fast.
She forced herself not to glance back to see if she could spot Jackson among the other patrons.
Don’t fight your nerves.
She added her own advice to her racing thoughts: Don’t panic.
A convincing lie was most often the simplest.
“Hobbs ’ad a disagreement with a horse owner and got pinched by the magistrate ’fore he made it back to London,” she said. True, all of it.
Now came the lie.
Anna licked her lips, the prosthetic hair on her lip tickling her tongue.
“Got word ta me ’fore he got taken away.
” She sniffed and put her fist on the table, a show of determination she’d seen young men constantly display growing up.
“Said if I done got word back ta ya, I’d get what blunt was promised fur me troubles. ”
Mention of payment had the barkeep’s shoulders relaxing. A new glint was in the man’s squinty eyes: understanding. “Aye. You’ll get your payment. Soon as I get confirmation you know the code name.”
Suspicion, inflexibility, and more were in the man’s voice. He’d take nothing less than a grand show of a young man’s ego.
Anna risked discovery and raised her chin, sure to look the man in the eye when she said in a low voice, “The Printer.”
The barkeep dropped the posturing and grunted. “Wait here,” he said before he wound his way around the bar and disappeared down the hall that must have led to a back room.
Minding her balance, Anna leaned back to watch the man stop in front of a door along the hall.
The man’s hand vanished into an inner pocket . . . before producing a key to unlock the door. He opened the door and closed it behind him.
Only two reasons someone locked a door: to protect valuables.
Or secrets.
Anna’s head swam with sudden anticipation.
She slid off the stool. With a quick glance at the rest of the tables to see no one paid her any attention, she ambled down the hall, hopefully appearing to anyone who glanced over like a drunk who’d taken a wrong turn looking for the back alley to relieve themselves.
Sure to keep her back against the wall to stay in the shadows, she came to the door and pressed two fingers near the latch.
The door was locked again.
This time from the inside.
There was a whisper of breath at her ear and a familiar smell of horses and spicy soap.
“Why did you leave the bartop?” Jackson whispered, his tone stiff. “We’ll be noticed here immediately. The plan was once you got payment, you left.”
“There was no payment,” she said. “Not only did he recognize that I wasn’t Hobbs, but after our exchange, the barkeep went straight here. To a room that is locked.”
Jackson understood immediately. Even in the shadows, his eyes were bright and focused on the wood beyond her shoulder.
But he shook his head. “Tonight isn’t the right time to take a peek.
Go back to the bar. If the keep comes back with the coins, then we know he bought whatever story you cooked up. ”
Anna wouldn’t think about how his belief that she’d concocted a believable story warmed her insides.
He still had a lot to answer for after this was all over.
An assassin. What a wedding present! And here she’d expected embroidered cushions.
The ego of the man. Her husband. How dare he keep this business with the Home Office quiet.
Would he truly have let her continue to believe the broken axle was an accident?
“Tonight is the perfect time,” she said.
“What if he didn’t believe my story and is now warning whoever is back there to clean house?
” Jackson’s attempts to hide how important wrangling up these criminals was had been ill at best. If the use of young children was any indication, this criminal ring needed to be stopped.
“What if this Printer character is here now?” she pressed. “Not but a few feet behind a locked door?” She raised a brow. “You know they’ve used the same lock that is on your front door, Duke?”
Jackson’s body stiffened. “No.”
She scowled. “You enjoy that word, don’t you?”
“If I’d known we’re to rob the place, I would have worn a darker jacket,” Roberts said, coming up behind Jackson. Not so much as a whisper of sound at his approach.
Jackson said without turning, “Anna believes the counterfeiting ring may be operating out of the back room here.”
Roberts’s gaze shot to the door. He grinned, a predatory slash of lips. “And? Are we waiting for an invitation to enter?”
“The door is locked,” Jackson said.
Anna scowled and held up her lockpicking tool from her jacket’s inner pocket, glad she’d had the mind to sneak it when the men hadn’t been looking. “You know I can pick that lock with my eyes closed.”
“Can you?” Roberts asked.
“No,” Jackson said the same time Anna said, “Yes.”
Roberts gave a faint whistle. “I’d like to see that.”
Jackson’s brows furrowed. “We don’t know who is back there. Or how many.”
She raised her chin. “Give me fifteen seconds, and I will give you the information directly.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“Hate the interrupt.” Roberts moved to Anna’s other side so they all stood flush against the wall. It was the perfect excuse for Anna to shift her position and place her hands behind her back, her tool in hand.
“But the barkeep will return to the front before too long,” Roberts continued. “Apparently, drunks are notorious for slipping behind the bar and serving themselves.” He sighed. “Truly, they ruin the fun for the rest of us smart enough not to get caught.”
“Then by all means,” Jackson said. “Let us return and plan our next moves. For a different night when we have backup.”
Anna near bit her tongue off to keep her tone low and mildly civil. She tapped her foot to distract the two from what she was doing behind her back. “We may not get another chance like this.”
“We have nothing to do with this,” Jackson whispered vehemently. “Roberts and the other agents at the Home Office will see to what is behind that door.”
Snitch.
Anna smirked. “That won’t be necessary.” She stepped back and raised her tool. “Because I already unlocked the door.”
There was stunned silence from both men before—
“You reckless, stubborn fool.” Jackson took her by the shoulders and pressed her against the wall, real panic in his voice now. “Lock it before the barkeep comes back.”
“It’s too late for that,” Roberts said, his tone urgent.
Anna and Jackson stopped.
There were sounds of heavy footfalls from the other side of the door.
Jackson cursed. His eyes were hard, piercing when he said to her, “Roberts goes first.”
Anna nodded. A duchess or a seasoned Home agent takes the lead? She was a reckless, stubborn fool, not an idiot.
Jackson moved in front of her. A flash of metal, a long knife in his hand.
Anna’s eyes widened at the weapon, but Roberts caught her attention with a hand signal—one Anna realized Jackson must have taught him.
Move on three. I’ll take the left. Jackson take right.
One.
Two.
Three.
Anna didn’t have time to think about much except the door being pushed open and the two men moving. One beast, two heads.
Where that silly notion had come from, Anna couldn’t guess.
But Roberts and Jackson moved with the same steps, the same crouch, mirror images of each other into what seemed to be a storage room.
Horizontal shelves packed with jars and glass bottles blocked their view into the depths of the room, but it was clear the space went on beyond the first rows, far more than anyone would suspect.
Red brick walls boxed them in on all sides, along with a dark floor and low ceiling with dim lighting.
Jackson stopped at the end of the row, his back to the shelf. A quick glance around the side and his hand came up: Four.
The number of men.
More: On the right.
Jackson’s side.
Anna’s hand went to her throat as Jackson slipped around the shelf, heading straight for all four men.
She glanced at Roberts, but he hadn’t moved.
Dread snaked around her spine. The man couldn’t stay there. Jackson was up against four men.
She gave an exaggerated wave until he looked her way.
We should move.
His response was immediate: We hold.
The hell she would!
Whack.
The sound of a fist finding purchase.
A grunt.
Jackson.
Anna grabbed two glass bottles from the shelves—one for each hand—and shot around the corner, ignoring Roberts’s sound of dismay.
Racing around two more rows of shelves, she made it to the back of the space . . . and came up short.