Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Returning to the shadows of the docks was like coming home.
A home she had never wanted to revisit.
Ada was well aware that she shouldn’t be here, but she had never been able to let something go when she felt strongly about it.
And she had warned him not to mess with her friends.
Instead, Jonny had made promises that he hadn’t kept, and even if he wasn’t going to be loyal to the people who treated him like family, she would be.
Which was why she was here — to tell him exactly what she thought and to make sure he didn’t do this again. That, if he insisted on remaining in this life, it would be best that he do them all a favor and stay as far from the team and her friends as was possible.
Ada pulled her hood up over her head, hiding the burnished red hair she knew would cause people to remember her as she weaved her way through the shadows, around the crates piled high for shipping and in front of the buildings, some abandoned for the evening, others bustling with activity.
In a way, she hoped that she wouldn’t find him here, for then it would mean that she was wrong, that he didn’t have anything to do with this life he’d claimed to have left behind.
But oh, how easy it was to hide things.
She ducked through the entrance of the tavern that she knew most of the dock workers favored, where it was said one could learn more in an evening than from any scandal sheet, where anyone connected to Blackwood often gathered.
It was the same pub that had put Minnie’s marriage into motion, where Tommy had overheard Minnie’s father and Blackwood wagering her hand, and Ada knew instinctively that Jonny had somehow been involved that night.
Tonight, she kept to the wall, moving in and out of people, hoping no one would notice her — no one, that was, who would have any idea of who she was.
But then, her family had been trying to find their way back to respectability for enough years now that she shouldn’t be recognized.
Her father had done the unthinkable, managing to extricate himself from Blackwood’s clutches — but he was still suffering from the fallout of having once had their names associated together.
The crowd was restless, the ale flowing, but Ada ignored most of it, along with any curious glances sent her way.
She swivelled her head back and forth, on the look out for Jonny, when a strong arm suddenly encircled her waist and pulled her back against a broad chest. She kept her cry of surprise within, as she set her panic to the side and instead focused on how to extricate herself.
She wriggled, trying to escape the grip, but her captor was strong, and when she lifted her foot to stomp on his foot, he seemed to already guess her next action as his leg wrapped around hers, stilling her movement and causing her to cry out in frustration.
“Is that any way to treat a man who’s trying to protect you?” came a growl in her ear, and Ada stilled as she recognized that voice.
It made her both relieved and angry in the same breath.
“Jonny Tate, you—”
She tried to force her elbow back, but he grabbed it and only chuckled, his breath warm and strangely provocative on her neck.
“Turn around and pretend you are with me.”
“What?”
“I said turn around and pretend you are with me. Hide your face in my neck.”
“I absolutely will not—”
“Do it now. Quickly. Someone is following you, and I don’t like the looks of him.”
Ada had no idea whether to believe him or not, but she had seen enough in her time to know there was a good enough chance he was telling the truth.
She hated going along with his demands, but she preferred it to putting herself at risk of an unknown threat. At least with Jonny, she knew what she was in for.
Jonny’s hand began stroking her back as his other held her firmly against him, their bodies pressed together. He wasn’t the tallest of men, and her chin rested just above his shoulder.
If he wasn’t who he was, she would have said they fit together perfectly.
“Now, Ada Jones, do you care to tell me just what you are doing here, in one of Manchester’s most notorious taverns, completely alone?”
“I came to speak to you,” she said, her voice muffled into his neck. His scent, one of spice and salty sea air, caused her to shiver and only want to burrow her nose in closer.
“Oh, did you now?” he practically purred. “I have so many questions. What could be so important that you would seek me out tonight? And why did you think to look for me here?”
“This is where associates of Blackwood’s can always be found,” she said, feeling him go rigid before her. “And I came to talk to you about what you have done to my friends.”
“To your friends,” he repeated. “Besides saving your friend’s life and putting myself at risk?”
"You’ve broken every promise you’ve made to them,” she argued. “I told you not to. I told you I didn’t trust you. I’m not happy that you proved me right. That you’re even here now.”
“Good thing I am,” he said, a bite to his tone as he finally released her and she stepped back, blinking at him in surprise at the abrupt change.
She had seen him often enough, and yet up close, he was unfamiliar, and she had to fight the strange urge to run her finger over the scar that cut through his brow.
“Do you know who that is?” he gestured to a man across the tavern, who was still staring at them with some suspicion in his gaze as Jonny pulled her close.
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“I do,” he said. “I knew him as a child. He has a thing for redheads, and trust me, you don’t want him to be interested in you. He likes things rough.”
Ada couldn’t help the shiver that coursed through her.
“We should go,” Jonny said. “I’ll see you home. You can curse me out as we walk.”
“I am perfectly fine seeing myself home,” she said. “I can look after myself.”
“Oh, I know you can,” he said, his eyes darting down to the pocket of her cloak, where he must have felt the pistol when he had her caught in his embrace. “I’ve seen your work.”
Ada swallowed, remembering the comment Jonny had made to her that night, about her missing a spot on her hands. He had recognized the gunpowder.
She stared at him, ignoring the people that pushed by them, the smell of ale that permeated the air, the crashing of glass as someone dropped a pitcher.
“Why haven’t you said anything?” she asked, and he only shrugged, the corner of one lip curling slightly.
“Why haven’t you told them about my connection to Blackwood?”
She nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken agreement they were making to keep their secrets where they belonged.
“Come,” he said. “Trent is making his way over again.”
“Trent is his name?” Ada said, startled enough that she let Jonny lead her toward the door.
“His last name. I can’t even remember his first,” Jonny said, and when they stepped into the night, the fresh air washed over them both like an incoming wave.
He dropped her elbow as they walked through the docks, weaving their way among the quieter side, where all the freight was held, ready for shipping the next morning.
“What—” Ada began, but a small rumbling noise stopped her. She stopped walking, looking around, trying to see where it was coming from. Then there was a scraping noise that seemed to be coming from—
“Look out!”
It was the last thing she was aware of before she was flying through the air.
Jonny sat up, breathing hard as he looked around them, torn between wanting to chase after whoever might have tried to hurt them and making sure Ada was all right.
He finally settled on the latter, only realizing then that he was lying half on top of her, covering her with his body.
He took a moment to recognize the soft curves beneath him before he pushed himself up and off of her, scrambling back before he allowed himself to feel anything.
It wasn’t a privilege he allowed himself.
He reached his hand down to help her, but she was already sitting up, dusting herself off as she got to her feet.
“What the hell was that?” she threw at him, causing him to place his hands on his hips and stare her down.
“I saved you.”
“I never asked you to!”
“So, you would prefer to be lying here right now, crushed by the crate that would have fallen on top of you?”
“I would have jumped out of the way.”
“You can’t shoot a crate with a pistol.”
They stood there, staring at one another, breath coming hard for both of them, and Jonny was aware that most of it was due to the unsettling thought that they had just narrowly missed getting attacked by that crate full of what appeared to be a rather heavy shipment.
“Do you have enemies?” Jonny finally asked her.
“Not that I know of. Do you?”
“Far too many to count.”
“Then I’m sure that you were the target,” she said, far more accusatorially than he thought was necessary.
“Maybe it was an accident,” he attempted. Yes, he had refused Sharpe’s demands, but he had a feeling the man wouldn’t kill him for it. He still needed Jonny, otherwise he would never get the ledger that he wanted so desperately.
"You should never have come here,” he muttered, shaking his head, taking her arm again as he practically pulled her through the docks.
“Let go of me,” she shook him off. “And do not tell me what I should or should not have done. You are hardly one to talk.”
“Is this about the game today?”
“The team was counting on you,” she said, her eyes shooting daggers at him. “You show up halfway through, completely unprepared, expecting to what, hop onto the pitch as though it was no concern? Where were you?”
“You are aware that I have no need to answer to you? If Rhys wants to talk to me, he can talk to me.”
“Hopefully, he’ll tell you not to come anywhere near the team.”
“What does this all matter to you?” he burst out, his words bouncing off the crates, the docks, the water around them. “You are friends with my teammates’ wives. That’s it.”
Her shoulders squared. “I know who you are, Jonny Tate. Where you come from. They don’t. They trust you when they shouldn’t, and nothing I say seems to make a difference.”
“So, you’ve come to warn me off?” He had no idea just what she thought she knew about him, but he was almost too afraid to ask.
“I’ve come to tell you that they are better off without you around. That you are putting them in danger.”
The weight of her words sunk into him, and as much as he wanted to rebuke her, to tell her what she could do with her opinions, he hated that, most of all, she was right. They probably would be better off without him, especially now that Sharpe was back in town and Jonny was in his crosshairs.
“Fine,” he bit out. “If that’s what’s best, then so be it. Tell them they won’t see me again.”
She stopped, whirling on him. “Are you serious?”
“Is that not what you wanted to hear?” he asked, his hands flinging out to the side. “It’s hard to keep up with you.”
“What kept you away from the game today?” she asked in a somewhat milder tone as she stepped toward him. “What was so important?”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
“Was it your brother?”
“He had something to do with it,” he admitted. “Let’s just say that I would have been there if I could have, but I was caught in a circumstance beyond my control.” He stopped, no longer looking at her. “How do you know me so well, anyway?”
She stiffened, looking away, before returning her gaze to him.
“I know far more about Blackwood — and everyone associated with him — than I’d like to.”
But how? He stared at her, really studied her, more than he had before now, despite seeing her time and again.
He had always thought there was something familiar about her, but he had never been able to put his finger on it.
He had never considered that the friend of his teammates’ wives might not be someone from his present, but from his past. If she knew so much about Blackwood, however…
“What’s your connection?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “Have we met before?”
She stared at him, focusing in sharply. “It was a long time ago,” she finally confessed, her gaze flicking away.
Jonny scratched his head, thinking. A redhead should be more than memorable, and yet…. Ada Jones. Jones.
Suddenly a memory came flooding back. A girl, no more than twelve.
Her hand in her father’s. The man had been an investor, had connections, had made much of Blackwood’s unsavory business possible, until he refused to partner with him any longer.
Jonny and Will had been sent to give him a message one way or another, but then they had seen the girl and had told Blackwood that they had made a deal with him instead — that as long as Jones never made a move against Blackwood, he and his family could live their lives.
His eyes widened as he took her in. “I do know you,” he said. “You’re Edward Jones’s daughter.”
Her lips crooked into a wry grin. “Took you long enough,” she said. “Now, tell me, are you still so changed, or are you the same man as you were then?”
“That depends,” he said, swallowing hard.
“On what?”
“On you.”