As he took off in pursuit of Claire, the “woman in danger of doing a bad thing,” he realized that maybe he really was like his father after all.
Robert Brooks. The name stared up at Claire, mocking her with its neat loops and precise corners. The person who’d written this passenger list had lovely handwriting, and if he stood in front of her at this moment, she’d make him eat the damn list before she reached down his throat and pulled it and his guts out.
It wasn’t as though anyone who worked on the ship could know that Howard was traveling under her brother’s name. It would be simple enough to get acceptable identification, false as it was. But this . . . insult felt personal—as though Howard had known they’d come for him, and he wanted to rub a little extra salt in her already-raw wounds.
She was not going to kill him quickly.
“I suspected I’d find you here.”
Despite all else, the sound of Alastair’s voice brought an unexpected smile to her lips. “That doesn’t surprise me.” Her smile faded as she raised her gaze to his. They were all alone in the captain’s office. The woman had handed over the passenger list without hesitation. It was amazing what people would do when they thought you were one of the good ones. “The bastard’s using my brother’s name.”
He didn’t look surprised. “I know. I spoke to my mother. She told me.” There was just the right amount of sympathy in his tone. “Do you have his stateroom number?”
She could lie and tell him no, so that she could sneak off later by herself, but it would be as easy as glancing at the page in front of her to see the truth. “Yes. He’s in first class. Number A18.”
He didn’t remark on the fact that it was not too far from their own cabin. “The captain’s hosting a party tonight in the ballroom. If Howard’s there, we can search his cabin and hopefully discover what he’s up to.”
She frowned at him. “He’s a Company agent. What else do you need?”
“He’s on this ship for a reason. A man that gifted with disguise doesn’t permanently alter his face unless he’s done something so vile, he’ll have practically every agency in the world after him. Howard is up to something, and I want to know what it is before we make a move against him. He could have more than one associate on board, and that increases the danger to all the other guests.”
Claire returned her focus to the passenger log so he couldn’t see the impotent rage in her eyes.
“We’ll get him, Claire. There’s nowhere he can run to in the middle of the ocean. ofer eyes.”
“Not unless he has a submersible like we do. Hell, he could steal yours, Alastair.”
“For his sake, I hope not. It’s programmed to lock down if anyone tries to take it. No one can get in or out except for me.”
Of course not. It must be nice to think of everything. She used to be like that. At one time she would have also planned to search Howard’s room and gather as much information as they could. Now she just wanted him to die a slow and torturous death. Everything else paled next to her desire for revenge. At this moment, it didn’t even matter if Alastair hated her afterward.
She closed the leather-bound book. She knew the cabin number, and staring at her brother’s name for much longer was going to surely drive her insane.
“Your mother is a very interesting woman.”
His lips quirked. “That’s a remarkably polite way to put it. She’s quite something, yes. I hope she didn’t give you too much trouble.”
“She did—a bit.” Claire frowned. “I think she likes me.”
“Oh, she does. She wouldn’t pretend if she did not. You’re a little bit like her, you know.”
“Complimenting a woman by saying she reminds you of your mother is a good way to remain single for the rest of your life, my lord.” She rose to her feet as she spoke.
Alastair chuckled. “In this case I’m not entirely certain it’s a compliment.”
“That’s good to know.” She wasn’t the least bit insulted that his comparison between herself and his mother wasn’t entirely complimentary. It would be a little too disconcerting if it was, especially since he claimed he wanted to sleep with her.
Now, that would be a pleasant way to spend the rest of the day. Forget all about Howard, and her fear that he was going to win after all. Even if—when—they caught him, it wouldn’t bring Robert back.
In fact, at that moment, she didn’t even understand her need for revenge. She hadn’t seen Robert in a long time. He was always busy or gone on a mission. They hadn’t been close since shortly after they joined the Company, perhaps even before. He used to pick on her something terrible at times. He had spent as much time as he could away from home, away from their father, with whom he often clashed.
He held out his hand. “Come.”
Entwining her fingers with his felt as natural as breathing. “Where?”
“For a walk.”
“Is that really what we should do right now? We should plan; we should follow Dr. George Stephens.”
“The last thing we want to do is call too much attention to ourselves,” he reminded her. “Let’s go for a walk and see who we can run into.” As soon as the words left his mouth, a female crew member ran into the room.
“Where’s Captain Winscott?” she demanded, her cheeks pale, eyes big as horseshoes.
“She was d">td">going to the bridge,” Claire informed her. The poor thing looked as though she might be ill at any moment.
Alastair’s brow knit in concern. “What’s happened?”
“There’s been an accident in the cargo hold,” the woman informed them in a voice that was both sob and gasp. “A steam carriage fell off its rigging.”
“Is anyone hurt?” Alastair demanded, stepping closer and bringing Claire with him.
A tear trickled down the woman’s cheek. “A man. It fell on a man.”
Alastair ran so fast, Claire couldn’t keep up with him. Her strong but normal legs were no match for his augmented ones. He seemed to know where he was going, so she pushed on, keeping him in sight even when her lungs began to labor and her muscles burn.
She followed him down staircases, along long corridors, around sharp corners, and down even farther, into the low recesses of the ship. At the bottom of the stairs, just outside the cargo hold, she stopped and braced a hand against the wall, gasping for air. Damn corset.
Claire paused only for a moment, then followed after Alastair. It was easy enough to locate him; she just followed the panic—and the screaming.
A small crowd of people had already gathered—mostly crew. Some wore uniforms that bespoke of a position abovedecks, while others were grimy, coal dusted, and obviously worked down here, rarely seeing daylight, like dwarves in underground mines. Artificial light filled the cavernous space, casting shadows over passenger belongings and transport items.
The carriage that had fallen from its moorings was a bright red Daimler with cream-colored wheels and brass fittings. It didn’t look to be too damaged by the fall. Of course the man beneath it couldn’t say the same.
His screams had diminished since she arrived, and they were now more like anguished cries. She understood only bits of what he said. Her Russian wasn’t as good as it ought to be, though she had spent some time in St. Petersburg a few years ago.
The crew members tried to lift the carriage, with little success. Every time they tried to move the vehicle, the screams began anew—hoarse, tortuous sounds that made her stomach roil.
Alastair pushed closer. “You there, take the side. And you, help him.” He pointed at where he wanted them to be. Then to the others, he said, “I’m going to lift the back, and when I do, I want you two to pull him out. Understood?”