The Mystery Woman (10 page)

“Hannah and her housekeeper were doing very well when I got there, but it is difficult to stand against an enraged man armed with a knife who is bent on murder.”

Memories of the iridescent prints around the dying Roland Fleming sent a ghostly shiver through Beatrice.

“That is what Roland told me that night when he lay dying on the floor of his office,” she whispered. “He said my stocking gun would be of little use against a determined killer.”

“That is especially true when that killer is experienced in his craft,” Joshua said. “You would have gotten only one chance to fire the gun—if that. And if you had missed or if you had not hit a vital spot, which is unlikely with that small weapon—”

“I know.”

“Hannah was right,” he said. “You do deserve to know the truth. But the more people who share a secret, the more risk there is that sooner or later that secret will no longer be a secret.”

“I give you my word I will not tell a soul.”

He did not respond to that. When she looked at him she saw that he appeared lost in thought.

She frowned. “I am well aware that you do not trust me, Mr. Gage. There is no need to be rude about it. I would remind you, however, that I, too, am a professional. Over the years I have kept a great many secrets for my clients both in my role as Miranda and now as an agent for Flint and Marsh. I will hold your secrets close as well.”

“Oddly enough, I do trust you, Miss Lockwood.” He smiled. “Damned if I know why.”

“Do you find me amusing, sir?”

“No. It is myself I am laughing at.”

“Because you have decided to trust me?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “I have concluded that I trust you, as well, Mr. Gage, and there is no logical reason for it.”

He stopped smiling. “I have a certain reputation in that regard.”

“Perhaps, but that is not what persuades me to trust you.”

He frowned. “Why do you trust me, then?”

She gave him her coolest smile. “Because I can read your energy prints and I am reassured by what I see. But I know you do not accept paranormal explanations so why bother to explain my reasoning?”

“What do you think you see in my prints?”

She widened her eyes. “Are you sure you want a psychical reading from a fraudulent practitioner?”

“I think of you as an accomplished actress, not a fraud.”

She laughed. “A very smooth response. I’m impressed.”

“It’s the truth.” He went back to studying the crowd. “What do you see in my prints?”

“Why do you want an answer from an accomplished actress?”

“I have no idea. Call it professional curiosity.”

She debated the wisdom of giving him the information he sought and then decided there was no harm in satisfying his curiosity. He was no different from any of her clients in her days at the Academy. People—even those who did not believe in her talent—always wanted to know what she perceived in their prints. In this case Joshua would no doubt attribute the results to her lively imagination.

Mildly annoyed, she opened her other senses and studied the fierce energy in the prints Joshua had left on the floor. There were more of his prints on the glass case and the dagger.

Currents of dark, iridescent light in a spectrum of colors that had no names radiated in strong, stable patterns from the residue of energy that glowed on everything he had touched.

“Very well, Mr. Gage,” she said, “I see power, control and underlying psychical stability.”

“What the devil is psychical stability?”

“In my experience, weak or unstable currents in prints usually indicate some degree of mental or emotional strain. We all experience occasional shocks to the nerves. We all go through periods of depression, grief and anxiety, just as we all suffer bouts of physical illness. But certain highly erratic waves that appear to be permanent or very weak are marks of an underlying lack of stability. They are the hallmarks of madness or a total absence of conscience.” She paused. “It is the latter sort I find most frightening.”

“How often do you encounter such prints?”

“They are more common than one might think.” She shuddered. “Believe me when I tell you that I do not go out of my way to look for them.”

“What did you see in the prints of the assassin who murdered Fleming?”

“The cold energy of a man who has no conscience. He not only kills without remorse, he takes satisfaction and pride in the act, perhaps even a perverse pleasure.”

Joshua clamped both hands around the hilt of the cane and looked thoughtful. “Definitely a professional.”

“You never answered my question, Mr. Gage,” she said quietly.

“What question?”

“What in heaven’s name were you thinking when you elected to retire to the country a year ago?”

“I was thinking that I no longer possessed the attributes and abilities that had once made me a good spy.”

“Because of the nature of your injuries?” She glanced at the cane. “Nonsense. I understand that you now face certain physical limitations that would necessitate a different approach to your work, but you still have your analytical abilities.” She surveyed the beard that concealed the scar. “And obviously you still possess a talent for concealing your identity.”

Joshua did not take his eyes off the crowd. “There was more to my decision to retire than my injuries, although they were a factor.”

“I see.”

He did not volunteer any more information. He just sat very quietly, watching the elegant guests mill around the hot artifacts.

And that was as much as he was going to tell her, she thought. Whatever had occurred in the course of his last assignment had left psychical wounds as well as his physical injuries.

“Allow me to tell you, Mr. Gage, that the reason you are feeling invigorated isn’t because of me,” Beatrice said. “It’s because you have been summoned to consult on a case of great personal importance. It has given you an objective. You needed a suitable goal to bring you out of retirement, a reason to use your talents once again.”

“Invigorated,” he repeated, as if speaking to himself. “You may be on to something. I have been feeling more . . . vigorous lately.”

There was a little heat in his eyes. The woman in her recognized it at once. She was annoyed by the realization that she was blushing.

“I’m not surprised to hear that, sir,” she said, keeping her tone brisk. “It is obvious that, your need for a cane aside, you are possessed of a sound physical constitution and an agile mind. Rusticating in the country for an extended period of time was bound to prove depressing to a man of your nature.”

“An interesting theory,” he said. He paused a beat before adding, “I will admit it was a very long year. In fact, sitting here with you now, I am acutely aware of just how long this past year has been.”

Something in his voice, a hint of sexual innuendo, jolted her senses.

“Yes, well, one way or another, I’m certain we can contrive to muddle through with our partnership because, for now at least, our goals are aligned,” she said quickly.

“As long as that is the case we can work together, is that what you are saying?” he asked.

“Precisely. I do understand that your first priority is to catch the person who is blackmailing your sister. If that person proves to be the same individual who hired an assassin to murder Dr. Fleming and kidnap me for unknown reasons, I will be exceedingly grateful to you.”

“I do not want your gratitude, Miss Lockwood.”

Each word was delivered in ice. Before she could respond, Joshua gripped his cane and pushed himself to his feet.

“Leaving already, Mr. Gage?” she asked. “I do hope it’s not on my account.”

“This conversation has been quite . . . stimulating, but I think we have exchanged enough pleasantries for one evening, don’t you? If we continue along these lines, I fear we will soon be at each other’s throats. And while that might be entertaining in some ways, it would no doubt cause a scene that would interfere with the investigation. Good evening, Miss Lockwood.”

“Good evening, Mr. Gage.”

She could make deliveries in ice, too.

“I will watch for the candle in your window,” he said.

He disappeared back into the shadows of the passage from which he had appeared a short time earlier. For a moment longer she thought she could hear the faint tapping of his cane echoing down the hallway. The sound faded into silence.

When she was certain that he was gone she rose and crossed to the display case that he had opened.

Steeling herself, she raised the glass lid and heightened her senses. The hilt of the blade blazed with the intense energy of Joshua’s prints.

Gingerly she reached inside to touch the gilded handle.

Small shocks of lightning sparked across her senses.

“Damn,” she whispered. “That hurt.”

Hastily she withdrew her hand and lowered the lid.

She had known that the ancient blade was saturated with the dark, seething energy of old violence. But the invisible lightning that danced through her just now was not ancient. It had been laid down by Joshua. Her senses found it very stimulating, very masculine and, yes, quite vigorous.

A
s long as I have told you the reason I am being blackmailed, I may as well tell you what brought me to see you at the Academy,” Hannah said.

The reception in the great hall had ended. The guests were drifting upstairs to their rooms. Beatrice and Hannah were in Beatrice’s bedroom waiting for Sally to finish turning down Hannah’s bed.

“Please do not feel compelled to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Beatrice said. “The source of your anxiety is none of my affair.”

“That may have been the case at the time, but things have changed,” Hannah said. “You are now involved with Josh and it is plain to see that your relationship with him is not a simple matter of business.”

“That’s not true,” Beatrice said quickly.

“I know Josh,” Hannah said. Her brows rose. “It is clear to me that he is fascinated by you. Now that I have met you, I understand why.”

“No, really, you are mistaken.”

“I told you, I know my brother,” Hannah said. “I love him, but he is part of the reason why I cannot find any peace of mind these days.”

“There is no need to confide in me.”

“I must talk to someone. You now know more of my family’s secrets than anyone else outside the family. I did everything I could to protect Josh when he was young. In the end I failed. I lost him to the wildness that runs in the men of my side of the family. It was that streak of recklessness that made it so easy for that dreadful man to turn Josh into his own personal weapon.”

“What, exactly, did Victor Hazelton do to your brother?” Beatrice asked.

Hannah went to the window and stood looking out over the night-darkened gardens. “When Josh was in his late teens it became clear that he had inherited the wild blood that runs through the male line of our family.”

“Wild blood?”

“I swear, it’s like a curse,” Hannah said. She took a hankie out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “It draws them to danger and risk. The wild streak killed my father. A year ago it nearly got Josh killed. And now my son, Nelson, is showing every indication that he has inherited the same taste for violent excitement.”

“I understand. You fear this wild blood will be the death of your only child.” Beatrice went to stand with Hannah at the window. “No wonder you were in such a state of anxiety when you consulted with me.”

“Nelson tries to protect me from the truth.” Hannah sniffed into the hankie. “He moved out of the house and into his own lodgings a few months ago.”

“Many young men do that.”

“I know. He never tells me what he is doing and he visits me faithfully. But I recognize the same pattern in him that I saw in Josh when he was the same age.”

“Men that age yearn to experience the world.”

“Trust me, I am well aware that Nelson does not want his mother hovering. I’ve tried not to fuss.” Hannah blinked away a few tears. “But my intuition tells me that he is doing what Josh did at that age. At night he is going out into the worst neighborhoods looking for excitement. He is risking his neck in the gaming halls. Hanging out with a bad crowd.”

“In other words, he is looking for trouble.”

“And sooner or later, he will find it, just as Josh did. In his case, trouble came in the shape of Victor Hazelton.”

“Mr. Smith.”

“Yes,” Hannah said.

“I see.” Beatrice hesitated. “Perhaps you could ask Josh to speak with Nelson? It might be easier for a mature man to nudge a younger man in the right direction.”

Hannah’s fingers clenched around the hankie. “The last thing I want is for Josh to lead Nelson down the same dark path that Hazelton set my brother on all those years ago.”

“I understand,” Beatrice said. “But in this situation—”

She broke off because Sally had opened the connecting door.

“I apologize for interrupting, ma’am,” she said to Hannah. “But I found this envelope on your pillow when I turned down the bed. It’s addressed to you.”

Hannah went very still. She looked at Beatrice.

“I’ll turn down the lamps and light a candle,” Beatrice said.