Chapter Nineteen #2
“What is it?” Gideon’s voice was louder that time.
He felt that if he did not receive some answers soon, then he might just go mad.
Gideon did not miss the darkly disapproving look on the newcomer’s face as Oliver silently handed the letter over.
He glanced at the seal, but it was unmarked, just a lumpy splatter of dark wax.
The words inside were hastily scrawled and made his blood run cold and black dots to dance in his vision.
Two women were taken from Lady Night’s in Covent Garden. Their lives hinged upon a trade for the man known as Marcus Holden.
“What is this?” Gideon demanded as his heart pounded a deafening beat in his ears. It felt as if ice water had been pumped into his veins. “Two women were taken from the brothel? Who the hell is Marcus Holden?”
Stoically, the man produced a small, waxed paper envelope from his coat and handed it to Oliver. “This was placed inside the letter as well.” Oliver’s fingers trembled slightly as two locks of hair dropped into his palm, one white-blond and the other a shimmering rose gold.
“Dear God,” Gideon breathed, knowing in his soul now, seeing the undeniable proof, that their wives were the ones in danger.
His knees nearly buckled, but his rage bolstered him.
“Caro,” he croaked painfully. He ripped his eyes away from what lay in Oliver’s palm and faced the man in black.
He charged him until they were nearly toe-to-toe.
“Tell me now what is going on, or I swear to God I’ll—”
“I suggest you step back,” he interrupted icily, not so much as blinking at Gideon’s imposing voice and presence.
“Gideon,” Oliver said firmly. Though Gideon tried, he refused to be shaken off as he pulled him away from the other man.
Gideon whirled on his half brother, locating a new target for his terror and anger.
“Tell me! I’ve a right to know—this is my pregnant wife!
” Panic nearly choked him as its fingers curled ’round his throat.
Still, he did not miss the weighty look that passed between Oliver and the man who’d delivered the horrific message.
“Tell me,” Gideon snarled. He might just start swinging his fists if he didn’t receive answers soon.
Oliver looked at him, a shadow in his familiar eyes. “I am the one these men seek.”
“Why would they be after you?”
A small flicker of movement came from the man in black, a minute gesture of his hand to order silence from Oliver, but he did not comply. “Because,” Oliver answered, “they know I am Marcus Holden.”
“What do you mean?” Gideon’s confusion was only growing.
“I’ve suspected there has lately been someone watching me. I should have listened to my instincts instead of brushing it aside as paranoia from old habits. They must have seen me with Emily and decided to take her as a way to flush me out.”
The man in black nodded. “That would appear to be the situation. Too cowardly to approach you alone, so they devised a way to force you to surrender yourself.”
“But what does this have to do with Caro?” He looked from Oliver to the other man, his stomach roiling so powerfully, he feared he might become ill. “Do they want a ransom? I will pay whatever it takes to have her back safely.”
“She was likely collateral damage.” Oliver’s tone brimmed with regret.
“Or…she was seen with you and you were believed to be him,” offered the man, gesturing between the half brothers. “The resemblance is remarkable. Perhaps they were both taken, just to be certain they had at least one woman worth bartering for.”
Gideon turned on Oliver. “Why? Why the secret identity? Why would these men want you and take our wives as the means to have you?”
“Because I was a spy for the Crown.”
The ensuing silence was thick and heavy, as if a woolen blanket had been draped over the room.
Surely this was a jest—a game, a prank—anything to help explain the absurdity of the situation. Oliver was having a bit of revenge on him for all he’d suffered. Gideon was dreaming. His mind grasped frantically for logic but came up with nothing.
A bubble of incredulous chuckles escaped him. “You expect me to believe the women were taken because you used to be a spy and now your enemies are seeking revenge?” Gideon couldn’t stop his manic laughter as he turned in a circle and raked his fingers through his hair again and again.
“He does because it is the truth,” said the man in black, making Gideon freeze in place. The seriousness in both his and Oliver’s expressions made Gideon pause, his laughter dying in the air. “He never should have revealed as much, but that is the sum of it.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Oliver answered.
“Impossible.”
“Improbable, but entirely possible,” said the other man.
“And you were his supervisor?” Gideon asked, his mind haltingly beginning to accept what he was being told, more out of desire to do whatever it took to see Caroline safe than true belief in what he was being told.
“For many years until his retirement.”
“If I believe you…if this is truly the reason the women have been taken…then what now? What do we do?”
“You leave this to me and my men,” the man said to both of them, aiming a more pointed look at Oliver. “You cannot interfere in the investigation. I only came to you as a professional courtesy.”
An impossibly tense silent conversation passed between Oliver and his former boss before the man inclined his head to both of them, advised them that he would be in touch, and took his leave, slipping out the door like a shadow into the fading light.
Gideon tore around the room like a caged lion, enraged and helpless, shackled by his ignorance and all the more furious for it.
“We are expected to wait while some madmen have our wives? I am to place my trust in this man whom I do not know, while Caro—fuck, Caroline!” He roared in impotent fury and whirled on Oliver, who stood with arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched Gideon’s pacing.
“How can you stand there like that?” he demanded, throwing his arms wide in disbelief.
“As if our wives weren’t in mortal danger. ”
The muscles of Oliver’s jaw flexed. “Because we are not going to stand here doing nothing. Ramsay wouldn’t have shown up in person and handed over the only pieces of information he had if he did not want me to become involved.”
“But he said—”
“He knows I am the best man for this job, whether or not I am retired. He cannot expressly ask me to become involved—not when I am also the target—but he also knows better than to try to keep me from Emily.” A dangerous shadow crossed Oliver’s face, so dark and menacing and unexpected that Gideon actually retreated a step.
“Ramsay does nothing without a reason.” He stooped to pick up the letter that had fallen from Gideon’s numb fingers and held both it and the waxed envelope with the women’s hair.
“He’s saved us time and the possibility of injury while we attempted to garner the necessary information. Now, we have a starting point.”
Gideon was nothing short of dumbfounded. His mind struggled to comprehend the entire situation. Suspending his disbelief, however, he clutched onto his desperate need to have Caro back in his arms.
“What do you require of me?”
“It is too dangerous for someone without training.”
“Do you think I give a damn about that?” Gideon thumped his chest and advanced on his brother.
“You know I can fight. And you would do anything to have Emily returned safely; I will do the same for Caro. I know you cannot tell me with any honesty that, were the roles reversed, you would sit by and allow me to handle things while you waited for word. Now, tell me what you need me to do.” The last words were bit out in a tone that brooked no further argument.
Oliver turned down his eyes and examined the letter, his thumb tracing the bumpy borders of the black wax seal. Finally, he raised his eyes. The glitter he saw there told Gideon that he had an idea.