Nemesis Unlimited [1] Sweet Revenge (40 page)

He sat on one of the backless chairs while Harriet made her last adjustments to his dressings. Gauze crisscrossed over his bare chest. He was bruised, battle weary—a warrior.

Jack had fought for her, been willing to do anything to keep her safe. Warmth centered in her chest and spread outward.

He caught her looking at him, but he didn’t smile. Just stared right back. She wanted to press her lips to his bandages. Feel the thrum of his pulse beneath her hand, and swallow his breath. The seconds kept creeping forward, toward a time when she’d no longer know the texture of his skin or hear the rough rumble of his voice. She had to gather close what she could while she still had time.

“If you rest and not push yourself overly hard,” Harriet cautioned him, “you’ll be healed within a few weeks.”

Jack grunted softly. “Don’t know what you mean by
rest
.”

“Familiarize yourself with the term.” Harriet patted him on his shoulder, missing the sharp glance Lazarus aimed at her.

Jack stood and was slipping his arms into the sleeves of his shirt when Miss Jones and her parents entered. The young woman and her mother took one look at a partially dressed Jack before they immediately turned their gazes to the floor.

“Perhaps we ought to come back a little later,” Mr. Jones suggested, red faced.

“Be done in a trice.” Jack quickly did up the buttons of his shirt, though his face tightened in pain from the effort. “There. Presentable as a sermon.”

It was still scandalous for a man to talk to anyone without a jacket, let alone tucking in his shirt, but they’d long moved past social niceties by this point.

“You’ve read the papers,” Eva said to Mr. Jones.

“So we have,” he answered, somber. “A very bad business.”

“Given the evidence of Lord Rockley’s treason,” Simon noted as he came forward, “there isn’t going to be much of an investigation into his death. Imagine you’re rather shocked by it all.”

“Glad, more like,” Miss Jones said with surprising vehemence. “But Lord Rockley’s fatality … did any of you…?” She glanced at Jack.

Before he could speak, Eva said, “Nemesis always protects its clients, even after the job is done. The less you know of the circumstances surrounding his demise, the better.”

“So, it’s all over, then?” Mrs. Jones asked. She gripped her daughter’s shoulder. “My girl is safe?”

“From future threats by Lord Rockley, yes,” Eva said. Unfortunately, a woman’s reputation was a fragile thing, easily broken and difficult to repair. Everyone in the room knew this, acknowledging it with a brief silence.

“You may find it easier to begin again in a new city,” Marco suggested gently.

“I’ve a brother in Wolverhampton,” Mr. Jones said. “He’s been after me to join his business there for years. Perhaps now is the time to take him up on the offer.”

“We’ve many contacts in Gloucestershire,” Simon added. “If you ever have need, they can assist you.”

Mrs. Jones said earnestly, “I cannot find sufficient words to thank all of you for what you’ve done for us.”

“Wasn’t no more than you deserved,” Jack said. “Than any wronged woman deserves.”

Eva handed Miss Jones the case. “And here’s something that might make the transition into your new life a bit easier.”

With a puzzled frown, the young woman set the case on a table and opened it. She gasped. Her mother took one look at the contents and tottered over to a chair, with her husband fanning her using his hat.

Miss Jones stammered, “But … that’s … it’s…”

“Enough to start over,” Jack said.

Coldness seeped through Eva. “One more thing.” She gave Miss Jones an envelope. As the girl examined the papers inside, Eva explained, “A deed to a country estate. It’s yours now, to keep or to sell, as you see fit.”

For a moment, Miss Jones could not speak. Holding the deed, her head bowed in thought, she walked the length of the room then back again. “I know precisely what to do with it.” She glanced at her parents. “I won’t be going to Wolverhampton.”

Mr. and Mrs. Jones exclaimed in surprise, but Eva, Jack, and the other Nemesis operatives kept quiet, waiting.

“I aim to take possession of this estate,” the young woman continued. “With the money you’ve given me, I’ll start a school—a refuge, for girls who’ve been abused. I can help them gain new lives, as you’ve given me mine.”

“Are you certain, my dear?” her mother asked.

“I am,” came the confident answer. “This is what I’ve always truly wanted to do.”

“An excellent idea,” Marco said, and the sentiment was echoed by everyone in the room. This, Eva felt, was Nemesis’s true purpose—that no one person or organization should be responsible for addressing wrongdoing, but that everyone labored together for justice. Eva’s own parents could not fault her for wanting this.

Miss Jones suddenly looked abashed, and glanced shyly at Jack. “Mr. Dalton, if you wouldn’t mind … I’d like to name the school after your sister. But … I’m sorry, I can’t remember her name.”

“Edith,” he said. “Edith Dalton.”

“The Edith Dalton Home for Girls,” Miss Jones said, trying out the name. “Would that be all right?”

Eva’s chest tightened at the look of pure, humble wonderment on Jack’s face.

“I’d…” He cleared his throat, but his voice was still hoarse when he spoke. “That’d be an honor. A right honor. Thank you.”

“Thank
you
.” Miss Jones gazed around the room, looking at each of the Nemesis agents in turn. The youthful fear had left her face, replaced by confidence and purpose. “All of you.”

“What of payment?” Mrs. Jones asked. “Surely you’ll want compensation.”

“We’ve taken a share from Rockley’s money,” Simon answered. “For operating expenses. But we won’t accept any from you.”

The members of the Jones family made sounds of protest, but no one would be swayed. At last, seeing that this was an argument he couldn’t win, Miss Jones’s father said to her, “Come, my dear. It’s time for us to take our first steps in our new lives.” Trepidation edged his voice, and Miss Jones looked daunted by the prospect of the unknown that lay ahead of her, but she attempted a brave smile.

Before the Joneses left, there were handshakes all around, and Mrs. Jones wept delicately into a handkerchief, murmuring over and over her gratitude. And then they were gone. But a minute hadn’t passed before Ockham himself came into the back room, bearing a little muslin-wrapped parcel.

“I was to give you this,” he said, handing it to Eva.

She opened the parcel, revealing a few one-pound notes. Judging by their crumpled appearance, they’d come from Miss Jones’s own pocketbook. A scrap of paper read,
For additional operating expenses
.

After a moment, Simon handed each member of Nemesis a banknote. Including one to Jack.

“The hell is this for?” Jack demanded.

“Everyone on the team is paid equally.” Simon met his gaze levelly. “That includes you.”

Briefly, Jack appeared as if he’d argue, but then, with a shrug, he tucked the money into the back pocket of his trousers. “Nobility ain’t for the likes of me. Besides, I’ll need this for when I start over, too.”

Eva smiled, but fractures spread through her heart. The clock had already begun to tick. Toward the hour when Jack would have to leave, and she would discover what it truly meant to be alone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jack stared at the envelope. It seemed like an ordinary piece of paper, but he knew that inside, it held an entire life. His new life. Sitting on a table in the Nemesis headquarters parlor.

“It’s all there,” Simon explained. “Fifty pounds. Train ticket to Liverpool, and a ticket for one berth on the steamship
Catalonia,
which docks in Boston. The train leaves from Euston Station tomorrow at twelve-thirty. Oh, and Marco’s provided you with a passport.”

“You’re now Mr. John Dutton,” Marco added, “born May 18, 1854.”

Jack opened the envelope and studied the passport, including the made-up birthday. “Never knew the actual day I was born.”

“Now you’ve got something to celebrate,” said Lazarus, puffing on his pipe.

Jack stared at Eva, standing on the other side of the room with her arms wrapped around herself. Her face had a far-off look, as if she was walking complicated paths in her mind. She hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the public house, not even the entire way back to headquarters, when she’d sat opposite him in the growler. As if she was already getting used to him being gone.

“Guess I do,” he said, distracted.

“Vengeance, for one thing,” Harriet noted. “Rockley’s not only dead, but disgraced. That’s got to give you satisfaction.”

At one point, Jack would’ve wanted that more than anything. Now …

“America, eh?” Lazarus said. “Never been there, myself. They say it’s nothing but Puritans and rowdies.”

“Got the rowdy part down,” Jack said. “So maybe I’ll fit in.”

“You could become one of those cowboys I’ve read about.” Harriet’s eyes lit up with excitement. “A Stetson on your head and a six-shooter on your hip.”

Jack snorted. “Had enough of guns, and I ain’t wearing that stupid hat.”

“What
are
your plans?” Eva broke from her reverie to stare at him intently.

Jack stood quickly, his chair tipping back and falling to the ground with a loud clatter. “I don’t bloody know.” He threw the money, passport, and tickets onto the table.

Silence. Everyone looked back and forth between him and Eva. Her face was a tight mask, clear of any expression.

Finally, she pushed away from the wall, walked past him, then up the stairs leading to the next floor.

Jack left the parlor, aware of all the Nemesis folk watching him. For all that he was bone weary, he took the steps two at a time.

Eva waited beside the window in his room. As he entered, he shut the door behind him. The walls in this damn building were made of paper and excuses, so anyone would be able to hear whatever he and Eva said, but he didn’t want to help out the eavesdroppers.

“We knew this was coming,” she said.

“Doesn’t make it easier.”

“No,” she said quietly, “it doesn’t.”

He’d taken more than his share of hits. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the first time he’d felt a punch. They were just part of his life. He’d even lived with the agony of Edith’s death.

So he knew what pain was. But thinking of not having her beside him, not hearing her voice, not feeling her hands on him or knowing all her sharp, clever thoughts … it was like someone had come along and torn him open and everything inside was shredded and bleeding. The way she looked at him now, she felt the same pain.

No—they couldn’t suffer like this.

“We
can
make it easy, though,” he said.

She looked baffled. “How?”

He gripped her shoulders. “We stay together, you and me.”

“What?”

“Come with me. To America. Or wherever you want to go.” The more he talked, the more sense it made, the more excited he got. “Canada. Australia. Hell, I’d go to Nigeria if that’s what you want.”

She said, so quietly he barely heard, “I don’t want to go to Nigeria.”

“Anyplace. Just name it.” He spoke quickly, urgently.
God, why didn’t I think of this sooner?
“We make a good team, you and me. In every way. It don’t matter that you’re an educated lady and I’m just Bethnal Green trash—”

“You’re
not,
” she insisted, angry on his behalf. “You’re one of the finest men I know, and if you or anyone else calls you trash again, I’ll punch them right in the face.”

He grinned. “There, see? Brandishing your fists like a born fighter. We’re meant to be together.” His mind churned. “I can start a boxing school. You can tutor, and…” It came to him then, and the moment he thought of if, he felt a rightness he’d never known. “We’ll be married.”

Her face went white, and she twisted out of his grip. One hand pressed to her stomach, she said, “Stop. God, stop. No talk of leaving England, or marriage.”

“So I ain’t good enough for you.” He spat the words like acid.

Her cheeks turned an angry red. “Damn it, that’s not what I meant!”

“Tell me what you
do
mean.”

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and drew a shaky breath. Collecting herself. “What you’re offering me—it’s so tempting.”

“Then give in to it.”

Taking her hands from her eyes, she spread them open at her sides. “Nothing’s that simple, Jack.”

“Never said it would be simple.”

“And my work here, with Nemesis?” she demanded. “I’m supposed to just walk away from it?”

“I … don’t know.” He hated saying these words, but he had no answer, no solution.

“But you want me to choose. Nemesis or you.”

He swallowed hard. “Maybe I do.”

She shut her eyes, said nothing for a long while, and in those moments, fresh and unfamiliar hope broke apart into nothing.

The raw pain in her face cut him deep. She held everything inside, kept herself shielded, but not now. In this room, with him alone, she was exposed. Suffering. Her pain rang through him, metal against bone.

When she opened her eyes, they gleamed wetly. “It’s got to be Nemesis, Jack. It always has to be Nemesis. I’ve dedicated everything to our work. That’s my choice. I’m staying here.”

There was a strange rushing sound in his ears. Someone had wrapped metal bands around his ribs, because he couldn’t breathe. He turned away from her and stared out the window, but all he saw was emptiness.

“And now you hate me,” she said, sounding far away.

“Can’t do that.” He looked back at her, but the sunlight had bleached his eyes, and she was a ghost in the middle of the room. “But you need to do something for me now.”

“Anything,” she answered at once.

“Tomorrow, when I leave, I bet you’re going to go somewhere, someplace that’s your favorite, the place that always cheers you up.”

She thought about it, then gave a small smile. “The British Museum.”

“Take me there now.”

“Been quite tight-lipped about your interest in museums.”

“Never gone to one. But when I think of you tomorrow, and the days after that, I want to be able to see you. Want to picture you where you’re happiest.”