Chapter 43
The maths of a woman weighing nine stone confronting a man a foot taller and nearly twice her weight was not promising. Luckily, maths was not Saffron’s strong suit.
Kadriye’s voice rose as her invectives increased in pace and fervor. Feldman growled back. Saffron inched closer.
A particularly shrill statement from Kadriye had Feldman stepping forward, raising his voice and the gun to point more directly at the girl.
Heat spilled over Saffron in a panicked wave, and she lunged for the weapon.
Time took on that strange, stretched-out quality that only happened in moments of dire straits. Her feet left the ground, her hands made contact with Feldman’s arm. It recoiled slightly as she fell onto it and Feldman’s reflexes responded. The pistol barked.
There was a crash, voices cried out—maybe her own—and then she was on the floor, and something struck her square in the back so hard the breath left her lungs.
Instinct told her to roll, and she did until she found herself nearly wrapped around something hard and stout—the foot of the couch, she saw when she opened her eyes.
Her lungs heaved fruitlessly, wrenching in an uneven pattern that burned against the blow to her back, but she scrambled away, too aware of the echo of the gun’s report in her ears and the shot’s acrid scent in the air.
She spun in time to see Kadriye dive for the food scattered all over the floor. Feldman was also on the ground, hands skittering over the carpet like he was searching for something.
The gun.
Saffron rolled to her belly, stretching her arms so her hands could feel for it. Her back screamed with pain at the movement.
Her arm struck something under the couch, and it skidded heavily over the wooden floor. Feldman froze just as Saffron did. He crawled forward, lurching and desperate, and she scrambled for the pistol, stretching hopelessly against the bulk of the couch.
With a furious grunt, Feldman shoved the couch.
One of the legs smashed into her chin, leaving a burning, stinging throb.
A sound she’d never heard before tore from her throat, somewhere between a sob and a frustrated growl.
She rolled out from under the couch and climbed over it, ready to pounce on Feldman and—
He rose before her from behind the couch like a cliffside materializing from fog before a hapless ship.
She wheeled back, wobbling on the couch cushions, and just as he raised the pistol to point at her, something thrummed through the room. Feldman’s face went slack, and he crashed down to his knees.
Kadriye stood behind him, teeth bared. She smacked him on the back of the head with the tray with another resounding thrum, and he collapsed forward, hitting the ground hard enough to shake the room.
A male voice swore.
Saffron bit back a scream when she caught sight of a man’s silhouette in the doorway.
He propped his hands on his hips, and with childlike petulance, grumbled, “I was gonna do that.”
All of Alexander’s swirling, panicked thoughts congealed upon taking in the empty room.
Nick’s dilapidated headquarters in the kemeralti was vacant. No papers, no furniture or creature comforts, no Nick.
And no Joseph Clark.
If the place had shown signs of continued occupation or a quick escape, cold dread might not have trickled into Alexander’s gut. If he’d received word that their security had been compromised, that they were moving Clark elsewhere—
But no. This was absolute, purposeful. The place looked like no one had touched it in years.
He knew what this was. Nick had disappeared the moment a valuable witness had appeared.
Not a witness on behalf of Saffron, but of the smuggling operation he’d been tracking.
Clark was valuable to Nick, and Alexander had been too stupid to realize Nick wouldn’t hesitate to use him to the greatest advantage for himself.
He’d left Alexander and Saffron at the most critical moment. He wouldn’t let Saffron hang? Liar.
A moment of pure, blackest rage overtook him, and it cleared from his vision only when he came back to himself, chest heaving and shaking hands filthy.
The room no longer looked undisturbed. Broken furniture littered the floor.
Before the reality of his actions could sink in, a bit of white in the debris caught Alexander’s eye.
He lunged for it and discovered it was a sheave of papers, apparently overlooked in the cleanup.
He could barely make them out in the weak yellow glow from the gaps in the boarded windows, but they looked like official documents.
Fierce, vindictive pleasure struck him. Nick would be back for these. And then Alexander would nail him to the wall. All he had to do was wait.
A noise stirred from below stairs, and Alexander couldn’t help but smile. No wait was needed, apparently.
He melted into the shadow behind the door and lifted his hands before him, ready to strike.
The stairs creaked, and a moment later, the door swung open, accompanied by a shaft of light that swung around the room before freezing. An oval of light illuminated the destruction Alexander had wrought.
Voice low, Alexander asked, “Looking for these?”
The oval of light jerked, a footstep sounded, and then the light found the papers in Alexander’s hand.
“You again?”
That adolescent, West Country voice belonged to Bagshott, not Nick. Very well. Alexander wouldn’t be picky about who told him where the hell Clark was.
Alexander didn’t flinch when the light flashed in his face. “Yes. Me. The man whose witness your boss absconded with. Where is Joseph Clark?”
Bagshott dropped the light to the floor. “Give me those papers.”
“A trade?”
Through the barely-there light reflecting off the dusty floor, he could make out Bagshott’s scowl. “I need those papers, mister.”
“And I need Clark.”
Bagshott took a slow step away. “If you’ll just—”
“The only way you’re getting these papers is if you give me Joseph Clark’s location. He is the witness that can save my wife from being convicted of murder.”
“The woman—she’s your wife?”
“Saffron Everleigh,” Alexander said, squinting into the flare of the light. “He’s told you about her?”
Silence stretched between them, straining Alexander’s already paper-thin patience.
Then the light of Bagshott’s torch went out, and the thundering sound of feet on the stairs disoriented Alexander for a split second before he realized Bagshott was running away.
A vicious curse preceded Alexander diving down the stairs after him.