which of them survives.”
“Because what matters is making sure Joshua is occupied while you kidnap me.”
“Indeed.”
“He will survive,” Beatrice said. “And he will come looking for me. He always finds what he sets out to find.”
“Eventually he will find you. But it will take some time for him to track you down—a couple of days, at least. By then I will no longer need you. Our business together will be concluded by dawn this morning. Now put that ridiculous little gun on the console and turn around.”
“Why should I turn around?”
“Do it.”
She put the stocking gun on the table and turned slowly. Victor moved with terrifying speed. He came up behind her, secured her with an arm around her throat and clamped a cloth over her nose and mouth.
She smelled chloroform and tried not to breathe but in the end she had no choice.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
Forty-Five
The first wave of rumors rippled through the Red Dog Tavern shortly after midnight. Joshua was alone in a booth at the back. He was dressed like the other patrons, in the rough clothes and heavy boots typical of a man who made his living in dark and dangerous ways. The scar had proven to be an asset in places like the Red Dog and the other establishments he had visited that evening.
He caught some of the low voices in the next booth and was certain he heard Weaver’s name but he could not hear the details. The crime lord’s name was always spoken in a whisper.
He had made the rounds of the gaming hells and taverns near the docks, setting the stage for the trap. There was some gossip about the killer called the Bone Man, but no hard facts. No one seemed to know the identity of his current employer, but there was speculation that he was working for an up-and-coming crime lord who intended to challenge Weaver and the others in the old guard who controlled the criminal underworld.
When the barmaid, an attractive, hard-eyed blonde, approached with his ale, Joshua took out a few extra coins and set them on the table. The woman glanced at the money, interested but wary.
“What do I have to do to earn that much money?” she asked.
“Tell me the news about Weaver.”
She glanced around uneasily and then leaned down to set the ale on the table. She lowered her voice. “No one knows for certain yet but there is word on the street that he’s dead.”
Joshua went cold. “Someone killed him?”
“No, that’s the odd part. They’re saying his heart failed him.”
Joshua thought about what Beatrice had said that afternoon. He is dying.
“Do the rumors say when he died?” Joshua asked.
“It’s very strange. According to the story, he went out to meet someone earlier in the day. When he returned to his office his footman opened the door to his carriage and found him slumped over, dead as you please. Word is his enforcers kept it quiet as long as possible so that they could make one last visit to all of his businesses tonight to collect their protection fees.”
“Which the enforcers will now keep for themselves.” Joshua pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his cane.
He had wasted an entire evening. Weaver had not lived long enough to set the trap.
“What about your ale, sir?” the barmaid called.
Joshua did not respond. He made his way through the crowded room, desperate to get to the door. His hand was a fist around the hilt of the cane. He had to fight the frustration and cold anger that spilled through him. He was vaguely aware that people scrambled to move out of his path but he paid no attention, intent only on getting outside.
He knew that Lancing’s tentacles were closing around Beatrice at that very moment. So much time lost.
Hazelton will protect her, he thought. But even as he tried to reassure himself, he knew that he could no longer be certain of anything. He had been wrong too often in this case, and Beatrice would pay the price.
He finally made it outside onto the street. The chilly night air and the stench of the river helped him focus. He forced himself to control his breathing, slowing it down, reining in his emotions. He could not think clearly when his brain was consumed by thoughts conjured up by his feverish imagination.
There was no point dwelling on the hours that had been lost. His original strategy lay in ruins. He had to craft a new one immediately or