Noah met the men’s gazes. “Keep her between us at all times. I shall lead the way. Cole will take the rear. Bower, you will wait at the bottom of the stairs should Hemming or Dunn attempt to escape.”
Both men nodded.
They alighted the carriage, veered around the pedestrians who seemed happy to amble and were in no rush to get home. They entered the alley through the wrought-iron gate next to the apothecary. As expected, the door leading to Hemming’s premises was locked.
“Allow me, sir,” Bower said, rummaging in the deep pocket of his greatcoat. He removed a ring of odd-shaped keys and began sifting through them.
“We could give the door a hard kick,” Cole said.
“What, and alert Hemming of our intentions?” Noah wanted to take Hemming by surprise. It was the best way of ensuring no harm came to the lady standing nervously beside him.
Bower tried various keys before finally muttering that he’d found the right one. With the key firmly in the lock, he produced a length of wire and slipped it into the hole. It took a few seconds of fiddling before he opened the door leading to the narrow hall.
“You’re wasted as a butler,” Noah whispered.
Bower smiled. “I seem to spend more time on the streets, sir, than dressed in finery.”
They mounted the flight of stairs cautiously, the odd board creaking beneath their feet, hoping to hell they didn’t alert Hemming. Cole and Eva waited on the landing while Noah checked the clerk’s office. Once confident there was no one hiding in the shadows, Noah eased the door closed, locked it and slipped the key into his coat pocket.
“Do you not have a weapon?” Eva whispered, the cold grip of fear wrapped around every word.
Noah shook his head and tapped his finger to his lips. Now was not the time to explain that a coward with a pistol would likely fire when his opponent flashed a blade.
They crept along the landing. The door to Hemming’s office was ajar, the room beyond dark, eerily silent.
Noah gestured to Cole, indicating he intended to examine the room before mounting the next flight of stairs. Indeed, he slipped inside and was gone less than a minute before returning and pointing to the ceiling.
The stairs leading to the third and fourth floors were narrower. Every step creaked as they made their ascent. If Howard Dunn was being held captive in the attic, he would be expecting their arrival.
They paused on the landing leading to two small wooden doors. Noah shrugged and motioned to the left. He tiptoed closer to the door. The absence of candlelight spilling out from the gap between the jamb and the ill-fitting frame suggested the room might be empty.
Noah breathed to settle his racing heart and then wrapped his fingers around the handle. A faint gasp from behind made him pause and glance over his shoulder.
Eva had covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with panic. It was as if she were about to witness her worst nightmare—a terrifying scene concocted from a wild imagination. No doubt she pictured Hemming waiting to lunge at them in the dark, bludgeon them to death. Like Noah, did she wonder if Smith had lied to lure them into a trap and both devils were hiding behind the door, eager to exact their revenge?
But then another emotion mingled with the frantic look in her eyes. A tender emotion that squeezed his heart. She placed her hand on his arm. “Please be careful,” she mouthed. “I cannot lose you. I love you.”
His world stopped.
Every nerve in his body thrummed.
The power of those last three words proved to be invigorating and crippling. They roused hope and fear. Excitement and dread. It would be so easy to run, to protect his heart. But he couldn’t live without her.
A muffled groan echoing from beyond the paint-chipped door put paid to his need to tell her he loved her, too. A loud thud followed, like someone stomping on the boards or the weight of a body falling from a bed.
Forced to concentrate on their present dilemma, Noah tried the door and found it locked.
“Step back,” he said as the ghostly mumbles in the darkness grew louder. He barged the door with his shoulder, the frame splintering and snagging his coat.
The attic room was a dingy, cluttered space, the air musty and damp. Hazy slivers of moonlight pierced through the dirty skylight, landing on the mounds of paper and books stacked high in the gloom. Broken chairs and old trunks littered the floor. Cobwebs clung to the rafters. The mumbles emanated from the truckle bed near the old shipping crates that still carried a whiff of tea.
Guard raised, and filled with clawing apprehension, Noah approached.
A man lay curled on the floor, his arms and legs bound with rope, a filthy rag tied around his mouth. His clothes were dusty and splattered with blood. The stench of stale sweat wafted into the air along with the sickly sweet smell of opium. Anger and frustration had the man squirming and banging his feet on the floor, though he had no hope of breaking free of his restraints.
The light pad of footsteps behind brought Cole and Eva. Cole made a quick scan of the area before disappearing to inspect the second attic room. Eva stepped closer and stared while Noah hauled the fellow to his feet.
“Howard,” she whispered, studying the man’s swollen face, but she did not sigh with relief. She did not race forward, desperate to untie the ropes.
Howard Dunn was a handsome man with a weak chin and sloping shoulders, though he looked tired, pale and thin. Bruises—some small, some green, some blue—marred his cheeks and forehead. A trail of dried blood ran from a crusty clump of brown hair, down his neck, staining his shirt.
Noah might have pitied the reprobate had he not moaned and groaned and thrust his bound hands at him, demanding he remove the constraints
