Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The carriage slowed to a crawl as the last traces of London gave way to open stretches of road broken by clusters of weathered warehouses and neglected docks.
Moonlight spilled across the Thames in fractured ribbons, turning the sluggish water into polished silver. The rhythmic clatter of the horses’ hooves became the only sound for several moments.
Hector glanced through the narrow carriage window. “There.”
He hit the roof of the carriage, and the driver followed his instruction without a word.
A squat brick warehouse stood apart from the others, its walls stained by decades of soot and river mist. Once, it had likely bustled with merchants hauling crates from barges moored along the riverbank.
Now it looked forgotten, its roof sagging slightly in the middle and several upper windows boarded shut.
At least, that was how it appeared. Hector knew better. The building was too isolated. And according to Hale’s information, far too well guarded for an abandoned warehouse.
The carriage rolled another hundred yards before stopping behind a cluster of neglected sheds.
The driver climbed down. “We’ve arrived, Your Grace.”
Hector nodded. “Remain here.”
He stepped from the carriage first before turning to offer Jane his hand. She accepted it without hesitation.
The instant her boots touched the ground, she pulled her hood farther over her hair and looked toward the looming warehouse.
“So, that’s the place?”
It looked even more unsettling from the road.
The warehouse stood on slightly higher ground than the neighboring buildings, its broad double doors facing the river. Thick ivy climbed one wall, disguising cracks in the old brickwork. Several broken crates lay scattered near the entrance as though discarded years ago.
Nothing moved. Nothing stirred.
Jane folded her arms against the cool night air. “It hardly looks occupied.”
“It isn’t meant to. Someone wants us to think it is empty.” He studied the structure carefully.
Boarded windows. Uneven patches of mud surrounding the entrance. Fresh wheel ruts. Very fresh.
Someone had been here recently. His gaze dropped lower. Boot prints.
“What is it?” Jane whispered.
He pointed toward the ground.
She followed his gesture. “I see wagon tracks.”
“They’re recent. And footprints. Several men.”
Jane frowned. “How can you tell?”
“The edges haven’t softened.” He crouched, running two fingers lightly over the damp earth. “It hasn’t rained in a day or so. They’re only hours old.”
She watched him with open fascination. “You notice everything.”
“I try.” His eyes continued searching.
One corner of the building caught his attention. A faint glow escaped through a narrow gap where warped boards failed to meet properly. Candlelight.
His pulse quickened. He rose smoothly. “There.”
Jane narrowed her eyes. “I almost missed it.”
“Most people would.”
A long silence stretched between them. Neither spoke above a whisper. The river lapped quietly against old pilings. Somewhere farther away, a gull cried into the darkness.
Even old warehouses creaked. This one seemed almost to be holding its breath. Hector disliked that more than he cared to admit.
Jane took a cautious step forward. “I should do something.”
“No.” His voice came low and firm.
She stopped immediately. Hector was surprised. She had listened without argument. For some reason, that unsettled him more than if she had challenged him.
He turned slightly towards her. “Stay here.”
She nodded once. “I will.”
“If I raise my hand,” Hector said, “you stay. If I wave twice, you come in.”
She hesitated. “Hector.”
He looked back. “Be careful.”
Something warm settled unexpectedly beneath his ribs.
Their eyes met briefly in the moonlight. There was so much left unsaid between them.
Now there was only the warehouse.
Hector turned away before either of them could linger in that moment. His attention narrowed completely. Every lesson drilled into him since boyhood returned effortlessly.
He could hear his father’s voice.
Control your breathing. Observe before moving. Never assume silence means safety.
He slipped into the shadows bordering the warehouse yard, each step deliberate. Behind him, he could feel Jane watching. Trusting him. That trust weighed more heavily than any weapon.
He circled slowly along the ivy-covered wall. The old bricks felt cool beneath his fingertips. Another faint light flickered somewhere inside. Then he heard muted voices, too indistinct to understand.
His heartbeat quickened. Someone was definitely inside. More than one person. He edged closer toward a cracked window where one board had loosened with age. He leaned forward just enough to peer through the narrow opening.
At first, he saw only stacked crates and hanging lanterns. Then movement caught his eye. Two armed men crossed the far end of the warehouse. Both carried pistols.
One rested a musket casually over his shoulder. They were definitely guards. Hale had been right. Hector eased backward without making a sound.
As he retreated toward Jane, another realization struck him. The guards looked relaxed, as though they believed no one knew this place existed. That advantage might not last long.
When he reached Jane again, she searched his face anxiously.
“Well?”
He kept his voice barely above a breath. “There are guards.”
Her face paled slightly. “How many?”
“I’ve seen two.”
“Only two?”
“I said I’ve seen two.”
Understanding dawned immediately. “There could be more.”
“Almost certainly.”
Jane drew a slow breath, steadying herself. “What do we do now?”
Hector looked once more toward the warehouse. Then toward the road behind them. Ambrose would come. Soon, if all had gone according to plan. Until then, they would wait.
Because charging blindly into a building guarded by armed men was precisely the sort of mistake Strachan would expect desperate people to make. And Hector had no intention of giving the crime lord that satisfaction.
Time dragged. Where was Ambrose? Hector decided that he needed to do something. He didn’t want to waste the element of surprise that they had.
The warehouse door groaned softly as Hector eased it open. Cool, stale air drifted out, carrying the scent of damp timber, mildew, and old rope. He stepped inside first.
Darkness swallowed the corners of the cavernous building. Moonlight filtered through cracked windows high overhead, casting pale bars across uneven floorboards and rows of towering crates stacked nearly to the rafters.
Behind him, he heard Jane’s quiet footsteps. She moved to come alongside him.
Without looking back, Hector lifted one hand. “Wait.”
The word came low and firm. She stopped. He advanced another few paces, every instinct sharpening.
He heard nothing. Warehouses were never silent. There should have been laborers snoring in corners, rats scrambling through sacks of grain, guards exchanging bored conversation.
His hand drifted instinctively toward the pistol concealed beneath his coat. His gaze swept across the shadows.
Nothing.
Behind him, Jane remained exactly where he had left her.
A faint creak echoed somewhere overhead. Hector stopped. It wasn’t the building. He heard footsteps. Before he could turn, figures emerged from behind the stacked cargo. Five men in total. Each carried a weapon tucked visibly into their belts.
Their expressions were relaxed. One of them smiled. “Thought someone might come snooping.”
Hector slowly shifted his stance. “You’ve been expecting visitors?”
“We’ve been expecting you.”
Another man stepped around the opposite stack of crates, cutting off the path back to the entrance. Jane inhaled sharply behind him.
Hector spoke without taking his eyes off the men. “Stay behind me.”
The tallest thug laughed. “That won’t save either of you.”
Hector’s pulse steadied. He thought of his father in that moment. There were five men in close quarters. There were too many to evade, but that would not stop Hector from trying to protect Jane.
The leader spread his hands. “Mr. Strachan sends his regards.”
“So it would seem.”
“And he says you’ve asked far too many questions already.”
The first blow came without warning. A cudgel swung toward Hector’s head. He ducked beneath it. The heavy wood crashed into a crate instead. Splinters exploded into the air.
Hector drove his shoulder into the attacker’s chest. The man staggered backward. Hector followed immediately. His fist connected with the man’s jaw. Bone cracked. The thug collapsed before he even struck the floor. One down.
A second man lunged at him with a knife.
Hector caught the man’s wrist before the blade reached him.
They struggled for only a heartbeat. Then Hector twisted.
The knife clattered across the floor. An elbow drove hard into the man’s ribs.
Another strike landed beneath his chin. The fellow folded wordlessly.
Two down.
Movement flashed to Hector’s left. Another attacker swung a club. Hector barely blocked the blow with his forearm. Pain shot toward his shoulder. The fourth man rushed him simultaneously.
He retreated a single step. This was a tactical error. The fifth man slipped past him and headed straight toward Jane.
“No!” Hector turned, but another punch caught him across the cheek.
His vision blurred. By the time he shoved the attacker aside, two men had already reached Jane. One grabbed for her wrist. The other circled behind her.
“Easy now, my lady.”
Jane didn’t scream. She reacted exactly as he had taught her. She turned with the grip instead of fighting against it, lowered her weight, and rotated beneath the man’s arm.
Then, sharp and quick, she struck the vulnerable point beneath his thumb. His fingers opened involuntarily, and Jane slipped free.
Hector’s heart lurched. She had remembered. Pride surged through him. Then the second man seized her shoulders.
Jane twisted again, but not quickly enough. His fingertips caught her sleeve. The fabric tore, and she stumbled backward.
“Run!” Hector shouted.