Chapter 13 Kane #2
“Right place, right time. I need you to find out how many bits are on the key to the Waterhouse exhibit. That’ll tell me how many levers are inside the lock. It’s impossible to see the interior workings—the design specifically makes sure of that.”
“Why don’t we just try to steal the key?”
“Because the second someone notices it’s missing, they’ll either change out the lock, increase security, or move the exhibit. I don’t want to risk that.”
Fletcher gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll see what I can do. Naturally, this couldn’t be simple.”
“Nothing ever is,” Kane said. He pulled out his pocket watch, grimacing when he saw the time. “I’d better get back to Zaria. She’ll wonder where the hell I’ve ended up. This place is a maze.”
“How’s it going?” Fletcher wondered, too innocently. “Has she stopped glaring at you yet?”
“I think we’re getting there.”
“Kane.”
Kane turned. “What?”
Fletcher shot him a meaningful look. “I know you love a challenge, but don’t convince her to like you. It’s not in either of your best interests. You can’t give her any of what you’re promising.”
For some reason, Kane didn’t think Fletcher was referring only to the money.
He kept his voice light. “I don’t think I’m in danger of her liking me.”
“I’m just saying.”
Kane gritted his teeth. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did.
Getting people to like him was part of his unofficial job description.
Zaria, though, was different. She’d known who he was from the very beginning, and Kane hadn’t bothered doing much in the way of convincing her otherwise.
Why should he? They’d made a deal. They both wanted something, and he suspected they’d both do whatever they needed to in order to get it.
Zaria Mendoza was temporary. Kane’s desire to win her over was borne of habit, nothing more.
“Well, stop saying,” he said to Fletcher. “I’ll see you later.”
Fletcher touched the brim of his police-issue hat, a clear indication that he wouldn’t broach the subject again, but Kane didn’t miss his friend’s eye roll.
Now that he knew more or less where he was going, it didn’t take him long to find Zaria.
She’d moved, but not far, her attention on an enormous telescope angled toward the ceiling far above their heads.
It was at least three times as long as Kane’s entire body, shiny and intriguing.
For a fleeting moment, he ached to put his eye to it.
To see whether it really did allow one to cast their gaze into space and track the movement of the stars.
“You’re back,” she said as Kane came to a halt beside her. “That took a while.”
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but this is a fairly large building.”
He expected her to snap a retort. To roll her eyes or make a dismissive sound in the back of her throat. Instead, though, Zaria smiled.
It was an insidious thing, that smile, and it stole Kane’s breath away. It occurred to him that he hadn’t yet seen her smile—not at him, not really. It changed the entire structure of her face somehow.
Kane thought of Fletcher’s warning. He shouldn’t let Zaria soften toward him, not with what he was planning. But he was, after all, a selfish boy.
So he gave a small smile back, a ghost of the real thing.
“What do you think of the telescope?”
Zaria’s question came unbidden, another thing catching Kane off guard, and for a heartbeat, he wasn’t sure how to respond. He was no longer thinking of the telescope at all. He was thinking of perilous plots and dangerous betrayals and all the things he wanted but didn’t deserve.
“It’s interesting” was the reply he settled on. He wasn’t about to tell Zaria how he’d always been intrigued by space—how he loved to be able to see the stars on those rare clear nights, because they made him feel small, and lately he felt far too big for his corner of London.
Zaria’s gaze was fixed on a well-dressed man gesturing animatedly at the telescope, his voice a wavering boom as he provided a lengthy explanation to a middle-aged couple. “It is interesting, isn’t it?”
There was a sly note in the way she spoke, and Kane stared at her, hard. It wasn’t often he encountered someone he couldn’t decipher. Some sixth sense told him Zaria was hiding something. But what?
Before he could settle on a response, an unwelcome voice drifted over to them.
“Hunt?”
Kane stiffened, careful to react as little as possible. He knew who he would see even before the man who had spoken drew up beside him.
“Lord Saville.” He turned, plastering a grin onto his face.
Saville was a tall man, thin shouldered and bespectacled. Kane ought to have expected he would be here, yet the prospect hadn’t so much as crossed his mind over the last few days. Fool, he chided himself as Saville’s sparse brows drew together.
“How the hell did you get in here? Conned your way in, did you, the way you conned me?” The lord’s scowl deepened. “I don’t appreciate men who enter my employ only to disappear. I’ll have you know, I’m not inclined to—”
Kane grabbed Saville’s elbow, steering him away from the crowd before his voice could carry any farther.
The weight of a dozen eyes was tangible.
“You must have me confused with someone else,” Kane said loudly, injecting a jovial note into his laugh.
Then he hissed, “My lord, I really must insist you keep your voice down.”
Anger flashed in Saville’s eyes—he was quite clearly unaccustomed to having anyone insist anything of him. He puffed his chest out, wrenching his arm from Kane’s firm grip. “Hunt, I can get you thrown out of here faster than you can flutter your lashes.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kane said, head spinning as he fumbled for a plan.
Had Saville been anyone else, he would have killed the man.
He couldn’t have anyone here knowing he was not, in fact, Theodore Wright.
But Lord Saville, owner of Saville Shipping Co.
, was a complicated problem, and one Kane couldn’t simply dispatch.
Had he seen Fletcher, too, and recognized him despite the constable’s uniform?
And with that thought, a solution came to Kane.
This was the thing about cons: You had to commit to your character in order to truly sell it.
If your character was impatient, your impatience had to be such that no one would dare question it.
If your character was confident, the type who didn’t take no for an answer, you had to make it clear that refusal wasn’t an option.
Kane had always been good at that. He slipped into a role with little to no trouble at all, and had no difficulty imagining how he might behave if he were truly that person.
Perhaps it was that he longed not to be himself, if only for a moment.
Perhaps it was the fact that he forgot, for a moment, the persistent sensation of wanting to claw his way out of his own skin.
“Listen, my lord,” he murmured to Saville, pitching his voice even lower. “I didn’t think it would come to this, but since it appears we can’t avoid it… I hope we can rely on your discretion the way you’re going to have to rely on ours.”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Saville said, drawing himself up tall.
Kane gave an audible sigh, beckoning Saville over to one of the glass windows where no one would be within earshot.
“Mutual discretion,” he reminded the lord firmly before continuing.
“Fletcher and I are part of a special task force put together by the Metropolitan Police to investigate dark market vendors. Magical items are a rarity, as I’m sure you well know, but they’re becoming more common as demand increases.
Luckily for you,” he intoned, because Saville showed signs of wanting to interrupt, “we’re not focused on buyers right now.
Our instructions are to go directly to the source. Walk with me.”
Saville opened his mouth, then closed it again, appearing not to know what to say. Kane couldn’t tell whether the lord believed him, and his question was answered a heartbeat later.
“You’re boys,” Saville hissed, overlarge eyes narrowed in suspicion behind his spectacles. “You expect me to believe the police entrusted you with such a thing?”
“We’re older than we look. It’s part of the job, you know, to appear unassuming. And before you say anything else, my lord, I would suggest you not encourage us to rethink our policy of not prosecuting buyers.”
“I’m not—” Saville sputtered, face reddening. “What I mean to say is, I’m not buying—”
“Don’t make a fool of yourself. We both know exactly what I saw and heard while in your employ.”
Saville quieted, fury still lingering in the lines around his mouth. “Say I pretend to believe you. What are you doing here, at the Exhibition’s private viewing?”
“Why, my lord.” Kane pretended to be miffed. “I think we both know that to be none of your business.”
Saville snorted, an indelicate sound. When Kane came to a halt, so did he, rotating so their gazes locked. “And I think we also both know I’m never going to believe this little charade without proof.”
“You’re right,” Kane allowed. “You’re the type of man who doesn’t accept anything at face value. I expect that’s why you’ve had so much success.” He flashed a cold smile, indicating with his chin. “It’s also why I’ve brought us here.”
Saville followed Kane’s gaze. It was clear the moment his eyes found Fletcher: They bugged out even more prominently, shock entrenching itself between his brows as he took in the uniform. “I—”
“Say nothing,” Kane said. “Say nothing to anyone. Even if you do, they will pretend not to know what you’re talking about. Do I make myself clear?”
Saville nodded, never looking away from Fletcher. “With regard to my own involvement—”
“Nothing, my lord. You’re a powerful man, and we aren’t looking to meddle. But keep a low profile from now on, would you? You can never be too careful when deciding who to trust.”
Saville nodded a second time.
“Now go,” Kane urged him. “And remember—mutual discretion.” He made it a warning.
“You’ve made that very clear,” Saville said smoothly. “You needn’t worry.”
Kane didn’t relax until the lord was gone, swept into the slews of important patrons. One potential disaster averted.
How many more would he have to contend with before this was over?