By the time Skeeter extricated his fingers from hers, tucked her hand beneath the blankets, and reached the door, she was sound asleep. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, just watching her, then turned on his heel and headed out into the Commons once again. Bergitta was alive, thank all the Yakka gods of the upper air, and with a little luck, the Ansar Majlis wouldn't ever threaten anybody again.
But he still had to find a job, doing something to pay for his apartment and groceries, and he still intended to spot and turn in every pickpocket and confidence artist he could find. And somewhere, down one of the station's gates, his dearest friends in the world were hiding for their very lives. Marcus and Ianira and their beautiful little girls...
He didn't yet know how, exactly.
But Skeeter intended to find them.
And bring them safely home once more.
Jenna Caddrick sat beside the window of her bedroom in the little house in Spitalfields, listening to the angry shouts in the streets outside, as word of the latest murder in Whitechapel spread through the East End. She'd sat in almost this same spot for a whole week, now, exhausted and trying to recover from the gunshot to her skull. Jenna could no longer doubt Ianira's pronouncement that she was carrying a baby, either. Even with the stress of the past few days, she should've started her period by now and hadn't. And she'd never felt so monstrously queasy in all her life, had been feeling nauseated for days, right through the pain medication Dr. Mendel had prescribed. She hadn't wanted anything more than dry toast in days, had been forcing herself to eat, terrified that she'd lose the baby if she didn't choke food down.
Below her window, angry working men shouted at a police constable, demanding better patrols through the area, and frightened women huddled in doorways, clutching shawls about their shoulders and crying while they talked endlessly of the madman stalking these streets. Jenna brought her eyelids clenching down over wetness. What am I going to do? She was in disguise as a man, with fake mutton chops and moustaches which the time terminal's cosmetologist had implanted. That false hair would require a cosmetic surgeon to remove. Not a single doctor anywhere in this city would begin to understand if a seemingly male individual showed up ready to deliver a baby, for God's sake. Talk about attracting unwanted attention...
And she couldn't go home to deliver her baby, either, might never be able to go home. That was something else she'd been running away from, these last few days, sitting in this chair and staring out this window while her scalp wound healed. She didn't want to face the knowledge that the faceless men her father worked with might never stop trying to kill her, even if Noah managed to destroy her father's career and bring down the men paying him.
None of them might ever be able to go home again, not Jenna or Noah Armstrong or Ianira's beautiful, precious family... And they didn't even know where Ianira was, or what had become of her in the hands of the lunatic who'd shot Jenna down in cold blood. Jenna's lips trembled and tears came again, a flood of them as bitter anger threatened to choke her. Somehow, her father was going to pay for this. All of this... She didn't hear the first knock at her door and only looked up when someone cleared a throat and said, "Hey, mind if I come in?"
Jenna, eyes streaming, looked around. It was Noah Armstrong. The detective, still playing the role of Marcus' sister, was dressed in a plain cotton skirt and worn bodice, leaving Armstrong's gender even more a mystery than ever. Jenna couldn't even bring herself to care. Noah lifted a tray with several slices of dried toast, a hot meat pie, and a steaming mug of tea. "I bought you something to eat."
Jenna swallowed against the nausea any smell of food brought. She wasn't hungry, hadn't been hungry in so long, she'd forgotten what hunger felt like. "Thanks," she made herself say.
Noah set the lunch tray on the table at Jenna's elbow. As she choked down the first bites, the detective rested a hand on her brow. The gesture was so caring, Jenna's eyes stung and the tears came again. She set down her fork and covered her face with her hands.
"Hey," Noah hunkered down beside her, grey eyes revealing a surprising depth of concern, "what's this? I won't let anyone hurt you, kid. Surely you know that?"
Jenna bit her lip, then managed to choke out, "I... I know that. It's why... I mean... everybody who ever cared about me died," she gulped. "Noah, I'm so scared..."
"Sure you are, kid," Noah said quietly. "And you've got every right to be. But look at this another way, Jenna." Noah traced the line of fake whiskers down her jaw, brushed limp hair back from her brow, the gesture curiously gentle. "As long as you're alive, as long as your baby's alive, then at least a part of Carl's still aliv e, too. And that means they've lost. They've failed to destroy the witnesses, failed to destroy quite everything you love." Noah took her hand, rubbed her fingers and palm with warm fingertips. "You're not alone, hear? We're all with you in this. And we'll need your help, Jenna. To find Ianira."
Jenna looked up at that, met Noah Armstrong's gaze. The concern, the steely determination to keep her alive gave Jenna a renewed sense of strength. She found herself drying her wet cheeks. "All right," she said, voice low. "All right, Noah. I'll do whatever it takes. Maybe we can try hunting the gentlemen's clubs over in Pall Mall, find some trace of him that way. We have to find her."
"And we will."
"Noah..." She bit her lip, half afraid to broach the subject they'd all been avoiding.
"What?" the detective asked gently.
"When you go back up time with that evidence? I want you to do me a favor, will you?" The bitterness in her voice would have shocked her, once, long ago, at least a week previously, before her father had destroyed her entire world. "Don't put a bullet between my father's eyes for me."
Noah's grey eyes showed surprise.
She grated out harshly, "I want to do it, myself."
The lunch Noah had brought, forgotten on the table at her elbow, slowly cooled while Noah gathered her in and let her cry. One day, she didn't yet know how, she would make her father pay. She had never been more certain of anything in her life.
to be continued in:
THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT