TWENTY-SEVEN #2
“I suspected she’d hired an assassin, given she was out of town when her husband was killed but she had a strong motive, but the assassin claimed to have been hired by the Wulver.”
Graham’s eyebrows rose further up his forehead. “Is that all? The word of an assassin?”
“One of his colleagues—Edzan—received a blackmail letter sealed with a wolf’s head, like the Wulver uses,” Calum said.
Beside him, Clare inhaled sharply. “And Gibson received a similar letter to Edzan, though his didn’t have an identifiable seal.
” Calum’s pulse fluttered at his throat.
“Edzan’s assistant told me that he’s seen someone having secret meetings with the burgesses, and gave a description that matches one that an informant of mine gave of the Wulver. ”
“Well, what are you standing around for? Get a warrant already.” Graham lowered his voice, stepping closer to Calum. “The sooner you can resolve this, the better. There’s a by-election in Gibson’s ward next week, and it would look better for you if you’ve been able to tie this all up by then.”
Calum’s stomach dropped. “But sir, there’s not enough—”
“Get a warrant, or DS McIntosh will do it for you.”
Calum’s skin went cold. He opened his mouth to protest, then slammed it shut, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He glanced around the station house, at the faces of colleagues he regarded with varying degrees of tolerance.
The only one of them he could trust was Clare, who stared at him, white-faced and thin-lipped.
Any of the others could be on Grant’s payroll—any of them, even, could be the reason Grant suspected Aly of meeting with Calum.
Particularly so in Shit House Eight where everyone, Graham included, was looking for an opportunity to dig themself out of the gutter.
If he objected on the basis of the danger to his informant, it could get back to Grant that Aly was that informant.
He could try explaining that the Wulver was also a well-respected guild master; Graham would be far less aggressive about getting a warrant for Grant Mercer than he was for the Wulver.
But so few people knew that Grant and the Wulver were one and the same, it would naturally raise the question of how he’d come by that information and would, again, point directly to Aly as his informant.
So all Calum said was, “Yes, sir,” as his mind whirred, hoping he could find a way to get a message to Aly in time. Hoping that if he didn’t, she would already be far away—and fearing that she wouldn’t.
Aly felt like a skittish cat around Grant the next morning.
She hadn’t seen him since he’d drained her near death—or since she’d learnt he’d been the one to commission Gibson’s murder.
She took a deep breath and the gentle pressure of her stays around her torso calmed her frantic heartbeat like an embrace.
She tugged the sleeves of her woollen bodice down over her wrists as she approached him, her scars stinging with phantom pain.
The sunlight seeping through the leaded window shone on his chestnut hair as he bent his head over his desk.
Aly’s skin prickled as she recalled the way he’d questioned her about Calum.
If he knew what she was doing, she could only hope for a swift blade from the Cailleach.
Grant looked up, the corners of his mouth tipping in a smile. “I owe you an apology. I overtaxed you, and I’m sorry.”
Aly stared at him, stunned. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually apologised, let alone taken responsibility for anything he’d done to her.
She lifted a shoulder, trying to seem nonchalant.
“It’s fine. I probably just needed something to eat.
” She didn’t want to admit how much he’d scared her.
It would only serve to grant him more power.
Grant stood and stepped towards her, taking her hands in his own. His grip was warm, the pads of his fingers soft against her palms. “Let me make it up to you. We’ll skip that dull luncheon with the Munros and go to the theatre, just the two of us. The Kinairgid Affair is playing.”
Aly forced a smile. The last thing she wanted was to spend more time with him alone.
Being around Grant had always been something of a dance, never knowing if the next step would be a waltz hold or a twirl, always knowing she’d teeter and fall if she made the wrong move. Now she was holding his hands and spinning so fast that the moment he let go she’d fall and crack her head open.
A knock at the door made Aly jump. Only Grant’s most trusted lieutenants knew where the catch was to break the soundproofing spell on the room.
Grant dropped Aly’s hands and crossed the room, taking a letter from the person on the other side.
He split the seal and unfolded it, his eyes moving swiftly from side to side.
Anger flickered across his face for a moment before he tossed the letter in the fire, the red wax dripping over the grate before Aly had a chance to make out the seal.
“What was that?” Aly asked, trying to keep some levity in her tone.
Grant’s eyes flashed, but he smiled and said, “Nothing for you to worry about.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind Aly’s ear, his fingertips trailing along her jaw and tilting her chin up.
His kiss was soft and gentle, his lips moving lightly against her own.
Aly curled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer, sliding her tongue into his mouth.
He responded in kind, pressing her against the panelled wall with such force that the top edge of her stays bit into her shoulders.
The tenderness was an act, a trap he set to draw her back in every time his true disregard for her showed through the facade.
But his lust was real; the way his breath hitched as her teeth scraped along his throat, the way his fingertips dug into her thighs as he lifted her were real, and she could cope with real.
Her skin was hot and feverish where he touched her, his hands sliding up her legs, beneath her skirt. She hated him, but she loved this, loved how he touched her and sent sparks skittering through her veins.
A sudden crash tore her back to reality, the thud of the door slamming open vibrating through her bones. She pulled away from Grant, her head snapping round to find several police constables standing in the doorway.
And in the centre of them, a piece of paper crumpled in his hand, stood Calum, staring at her and Grant with an expression of horror.