Chapter Five #2
Dagger shrugged, his lip still pulled up in annoyance. “Saint’s here somewhere. Serpent is off enquiring about the shipment. Drake’s upstairs resting for a fight.”
Maxen gave a curt nod. “Anything with Rollings?”
Dagger gave a slight shake of his head. “What are we going to do with him?”
Reaper sent a toothy grin their way. “China.”
“No.” Not if Calliope was involved with the man. He had no proof beyond his suspicion, beyond the slipper. Perhaps the man could shed light on the matter. Plus, his threat level was minor. Only the supreme levels got sent off.
“Why the devil not?” Reaper demanded, his face darkening.
“I need to find out if my tenant is involved.”
Reaper snorted. “That little thing? She looks harmless enough.”
Dagger tipped his head, considering. “Did you learn something about the bird today?”
Maxen swallowed back a sip. “No.”
He found himself the recipient of three flat stares.
“These things take time.” Christ, now he did sound like a pitiful poet.
Knight scoffed. “Seems to me the girl is dangerous.”
“She’s not,” Maxen denied.
“All women are dangerous,” Knight countered.
Maxen wasn’t in the mood for this.
Reaper snatched his bottle again and saluted, “To dangerous girls,” before taking a long swig.
Well, he might as well just go ahead and say it. “I’m moving into the place beside her for the time being.”
A long pause.
Dagger cursed. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Reaper growled.
Knight grunted.
“It’s done.” He knew they wouldn’t like it. All of them stayed in the lodgings above the tavern. However, since he’d told her they were neighbors, he’d yet to stay there a night, which meant he hadn’t slept. He rested poorly when too much lay beyond his sight, so he’d best switch over tonight.
Maxen’s gaze stayed fixed on his drink. “Trail her, or me, if you must, but stay out of my way.”
“The others aren’t going to like this either,” Dagger said.
“I’m a grown bloody man.”
“Oh, good,” Reaper sneered. “Just the response we were hoping for, grown man. Vague, ominous, and completely unhelpful.”
Maxen’s jaw ticked. “I can handle one woman.” Such a tiny one at that, too.
“Well, don’t mind if I take you up on the offer to trail you, frère. But don’t worry, I’ll be a shadow in the shadows.” Reaper flashed a row of teeth. “Like a whisper in a nightmare.”
Christ. “You’ve always been a nightmare.”
“And proud of it,” Reaper shot back.
A chair scraped at the far end of the tavern and Maxen glanced over. Saint emerged from whatever dark recess he’d been brooding in, big as a bloody Viking, sleeves rolled. He didn’t speak. He rarely did. But his scowl was loud enough to match any ruckus.
Maxen arched his brow.
“You moving next door to that woman,” Saint said darkly, voice rough as gravel and twice as hard, “is either the best idea you’ve ever had, or the worst.”
Maxen nodded. “Likely both.”
“That’s comforting,” Dagger muttered.
“Should we send for Serpent and Drake?” Knight asked, arms folded as he leaned his shoulder on the post behind the bar. His gaze was steady, dark, and unreadable.
“Won’t matter,” Maxen said coldly. “I’ve made my decision.”
“Serpent could help, you know.” Reaper chirped, half-pouring, half-slopping brandy into his mouth. “He could have the color of her drawers within the hour.”
“No.” His tone brooked no argument. “I don’t want anyone acting on this but me.”
Saint exhaled through his nose. “You sure this isn’t personal?”
Maxen glanced at him, eyes hard as iron. “Everything’s personal.”
That earned silence.
Even Reaper—bottle midway to lips—paused.
Dagger was the first to break it, shaking his head. “So what then? We let you play landlord with a tenant we’ve seen, with our own damn eyes, interact with the very man who’s been poking our operations?”
“She and Peregrine—”
Reaper snorted. “Are not associated?”
Maxen sent him a warning glance. “That is yet to be determined.”
“Seemed pretty determined to me, frère.”
Saint demanded, “Then why the hell aren’t we handling her as we should?”
“Because I don’t want to make the same mistake I made with my mother,” Maxen snapped. He hadn’t paid attention back then. Had missed key tells, and he’d paid a great price for it. No, this time, all his attention would be on his mark until he had all the answers he sought.
That silenced them again.
“Christ, frère,” Reaper murmured, and for once, without a trace of sarcasm.
Dagger’s boots hit the ground with a thud as he leaned forward. “So she matters, then.”
“I didn’t say that,” Maxen bit out.
“You did.” This from Knight.
“Don’t talk shite.” He only didn’t want to overlook anything when it came to her.
That was all. Vigilance was not attachment.
Suspicion was not interest. And yet, what he would never admit to these cretins was that she mattered because he didn’t want her to matter.
Because he kept hearing her voice in his head when he was trying to forget it.
Because when she looked at him, something old and rusted inside him moved.
“Well cock on a duck.”
“Stop bloody saying that,” Dagger snapped at Reaper.
Maxen’s lips curled. “Agreed.”
Knight gave a low sound of agreement, too.
“How long before you challenge us to a fistfight over the mouse?” Reaper asked. “I bet five-hundred quid it will happen in a week.”
“Two,” Knight said.
“Never,” Saint offered.
Damn them all to perdition.
“Whether you like it or not,” Dagger said, “we need Drake to do an in-depth inquiry into her. He’s got contacts in London.”
“Why London?” Knight asked.
“That’s where her solicitor is stationed,” Dagger informed them.
Maxen didn’t disagree.
“I don’t need to tell you all the things that can go wrong,” Dagger added. “Too many threads, too many unknown variables.”
Maxen tightened his fingers around his glass. “I need a word with Rollings.”
The man might have information about her they needed.
A gust of wind howled against the windows, and Reaper shivered. “I bloody hate the wind. It’s days like these I miss a good old lit fire.”
Maxen’s growl split the room. “Don’t you bloody dare.”
Reaper groaned. “I’m only complaining about the cold, frère. Serpent’s not even listening.”
“Doesn’t matter. No fire. Ever.”