Zoë Archer - Sweet Revenge

Time slipped away. Nothing either of them could do to stop it.

Fishing around in his pocket, he found a handkerchief, and used it to clean them both. Slowly, they collected themselves, righting their clothing.

“They’ll know what we’ve been up to,” he said, tucking strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Can’t bring myself to give a damn.”

He bent and kissed her. “That’s my lass.”

A flash of loss crossed her face, and he realized that he’d spoken of something that couldn’t ever be. She wasn’t his lass. Just as she’d said, surviving tonight meant they’d have to go their separate ways—her to the life she’d built for herself and him to an unknown future. He’d never given much thought to what the future held for him. As he and Eva left the park and walked back toward Nemesis headquarters, he saw that if he did live past tonight, the time ahead without her would be emptier than the heath surrounding Dunmoor Prison.

* * *

As Eva and Jack neared Nemesis headquarters, she felt herself sharpen and focus—as though she were a telescope aimed skyward and the blurred forms of stars were gaining clarity, precision. The riotous, angry pounding of her heart steadied with each step.

He had done that. Or rather, they had, with the heat of their bodies and the strength they drew from each other. She trusted her Nemesis colleagues, but somewhere during this mission, she’d learned to trust Jack with a conviction that reverberated all the way to her marrow.

Natural as oxygen, he’d taken her hand for the return journey to headquarters. She glanced down at the sight—his hand so much bigger than hers, roughened from hard labor—and a sudden, sharp throb pierced her calm. How had this happened? She’d been so careful. But it had. Losing him would be a wound she’d carry with her the rest of her life. But she had to stay here, in London, with Nemesis. This was her work, her life. She couldn’t turn her back on it. Not even for her own happiness.

She made herself concentrate on what was to come. If her thoughts strayed, she put herself and her team in danger. Yet both she and Jack were tensely silent.

They approached the chemist’s shop, and Marco and Simon emerged from the shadows. Simon had slung his rifle on his shoulder, as he had when he’d been in the army. It was the same Martini-Henry he’d used at Rorke’s Drift, and she knew he trusted the weapon far more than most people. He never lost his military bearing, but with the rifle on his back and his expression blade-sharp, he looked every inch the soldier.

Marco appeared unarmed, but she knew that he had a revolver in a special shoulder harness he’d constructed—his preferred method of carrying weapons. Where Simon favored forthright military tactics, Marco held fast to the methodology of subterfuge. The vestiges of being a spy.

Neither men spoke as she and Jack approached. Simon and Marco both gazed at Jack’s and Eva’s joined hands. Difficult to read her colleagues’ expressions in the darkness. They were all of them expert in hiding their emotions. Unblinking, Eva returned their opaque looks.

Jack, however, wasn’t as adept at concealment. His jaw formed a hard, square line, and he seemed to grow even larger, more intimidating. A deliberate challenge. His body language said plainly, I’m not sorry, and if you’ve got something to say about it, I’ll make you hurt.

Damn, there was that pain in her heart again.

At last, Simon gave a brusque nod. He held something out to Eva. Her gun and a pouch of ammunition.

She took the weapon and bullets and tucked them into her pockets. “I didn’t bring you anything.”

“Next time.”

Marco handed Jack a revolver, ammunition, and a leather portfolio. “These are the forged documents.”

Rifling through the papers, Jack said without looking up, “He’s going to double-cross us.”

“Certainly he will,” she said. A man like Rockley would never hold to his word. Of course, Nemesis also planned on deceiving Rockley. He didn’t know that, however. Rockley would want his money back and his blackmailers—particularly Jack—dead.

“We’ll make the swap,” Jack continued, stashing the revolver in the inside pocket of his coat. “And he’ll give some kind of signal. The blokes he’ll have stashed somewhere will start shooting.”

“How will you recognize his signal?” Simon asked.

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

It was a measure of everyone’s faith in Jack that none of them questioned his instinct.

“When Rockley gives his signal,” Jack went on, “I’ll give mine. That’s when you lads lay down some cover for me and Eva.”

“What’s the signal to be?” Eva asked.

Jack thought for a moment. “Bollocks,” he said with a smirk.

“It couldn’t be something a little more elegant?” Marco complained. “ Bach, perhaps? Or Bernini ?”

“He’d know for certain something was up if I start talking like a toff.”

Marco glowered.

“ Bollocks it is, then,” said Eva.

“No heroics, no attempts on Rockley’s life,” Simon cautioned. “We’ll provide enough cover for you two to get out of there, and then all of us retreat.”

Jack scowled at that word.

“This is how it’s got to be,” Simon continued.

“So long as we all make it out alive”—he glanced quickly at Eva—“then I’m happy as a goddamn Sunday roast.”

She made herself ignore the shard of fear that embedded itself in her heart, thinking of Jack hurt or worse, and pulled a timepiece from her pocket. “It’s approaching two. We need to arrive with enough time to get Marco and Simon into position.”

As she spoke, a hackney clattered to a stop in front of them.

“To the minute, sir,” the driver said, tipping his hat at Simon. The weapon on Simon’s back made the cabman start, but he didn’t drive off.

Marco climbed lightly into the carriage. The vehicle tipped, however, when Jack did the same. Before Eva could take a step into the cab, however, Simon’s hand on her elbow stopped her.

He said in a low voice, “If there’s the slightest chance—”

“My mind is clear,” she replied. “I won’t endanger anyone on the team.”

He frowned. “It’s you I’m concerned about.”

“Have I ever fallen short?” she countered.

“You’ve never had such a distraction before.”

“He’s not a distraction.”

“And she can bloody well take care of herself,” Jack added with a snarl, sticking his head out of the carriage.

Simon exhaled through his teeth. “I know that.”

“Then get the hell in the cab,” she said.

Fortunately, Simon made no further comment. But he was still gently raised, and so he insisted she climb into the carriage before he did. Once they were all inside, Marco rapped on the roof, and they were off. Jack was a solid, warm presence beside her in the carriage. She did not care if Simon and Marco watched as she took Jack’s hand. All that mattered was surviving the next hour.

* * *

In the darkness, the Tower Bridge construction site looked as if some massive creature had fallen dead beside the Thames and rotted away, leaving only jutting bones. Scaffolds in various states of assembly clustered on the bank. Girders stacked atop each other, and cranes waited like vultures. Metal tracks crisscrossed the ground, partially completed. Construction had only recently begun, with the support structures still being built before the real work could start. Eva had seen sketches of the proposed bridge in the newspaper, but it was difficult to imagine such an engineering marvel could emerge from this chaos.

That was a concern saved for the construction workers and engineers. Right now, she was more worried about the number of places Rockley might hide his own hired guns, and the treacherous terrain. With the moon waning and only a few lamps casting dim pools of light here and there, shadows were too abundant. But the darkness could be Nemesis’s friend, too.