“Sorry, sir,” he called, slightly louder than he needed to. “Didn’t hear you knock.”
Which was why nobody bothered anymore.
“What have you got for me?” Garrett asked, prowling among the workbenches littered with a scattering of items. Crates full of the mysterious pieces they’d taken from the laboratory.
“This,” Fitz said, slapping Garrett’s hand absently as he reached for one of the crates. “Don’t touch.” Gently he slid his hands under something and lifted it almost reverently. “Look at it! She’s a beauty. I’ve never seen the like… I couldn’t even begin to imagine how to create such a thing.”
The smooth, polished brass lump in his hands began to take form. Bile rose in her throat. “It’s a clockwork heart,” Perry said.
“Gibson removed it from the chest of the first unidentified victim during the autopsy.” Gently easing it onto a stand, Fitz reached for his forceps. “Mechanical limbs are usually crude, unless they’re formed by the blacksmiths the Echelon control. But I’ve seen their work—even their iron lungs—and I can honestly say that I’ve never seen anything like this. Watch.” He gently slid the forceps under one of the beaten brass sheets. The rivets had already been removed and it opened, revealing a chamber of sorts.
“Whoever he is, he has the genius of da Vinci. This is almost a perfect replica of a human heart, only slightly enlarged. There are clockwork pieces inside—here…” He tapped at the top of the specimen. “And here.” The bottom. “But from what I can see, I think the entire thing works on pressure. As soon as one chamber fills with fluid, the clockwork at the bottom releases the mechanism blocking each valve, and the blood pours through into the next chamber. It’s…the most amazing device I’ve ever seen.”
It was vile. Pulsing with evil. Perry shut her eyes and shuddered. “Put it away. I’ve seen enough.”
Shooting her a surprised glance, Fitz complied, nestling the heart back in the straw-filled crate.
“The same device resides in both Miss McLaren and Alice, doesn’t it?” Garrett asked.
Fitz nodded. “Gibson examined them. They both seem quite well, considering their ordeal. He’s going to do some tests on the effectiveness of the device; how much blood it can pump; whether its limits impede either girl’s rigorous movements—”
“No,” Garrett said, the firmness of his voice echoing a little. “They are women, Fitz. Not an experiment. And they have just been rescued from a hellish ordeal. You are not to question either of them without my authority, and neither is Dr. Gibson. I won’t have them performing some sort of macabre tests for your own curiosity.”
In that moment, she loved him just a little more fiercely.
Looking chastened, Fitz gave a stiff nod of the head. “As you wish. I shall restrict my experiments to what I have here.” He gave the mechanical heart another covetous glance. “Whoever he is, he has access to the craving virus. The one thing I am certain of is that all four girls were blue bloods. No human could survive this. And if you see here”—Fitz pointed to the aortic valve—“the heart was joined to the body with the process the Echelon’s blacksmiths call fusion. Using the healing components of a blue blood’s saliva, he managed to fuse the metal with the body.”
Perry exchanged a glance with Garrett. “Our killer is far more educated than we imagined.” Like Hague had been. It troubled her. “Could he be one of the Echelon’s blacksmiths?” Such men were rare, devoting their lives to their bio-mech work. They were also strictly controlled, often accepting patronage with one of the Great Houses.
“The Academy of the Greater Sciences would have names of all of their previous students. I’ve not heard of a master smith who hasn’t earned his degree in their hallowed halls,” Fitz said.
“I’ll send Byrnes to search the register,” Garrett said. “What else do you make of our killer?”
“He’s a scientist,” Fitz said. “He doesn’t see himself as a killer, nor does he see the girls as human. They’re experiments to him.”
Both she and Garrett exchanged a glance. Garrett’s lip curled. “Yes, I think you’re correct.”
“He has access to money,” Perry added. “Setting up such a laboratory would have cost him a fortune.”
She could see Garrett thinking. He frowned. “He has financial backing—either an inheritance of his own or patronage. Someone out there knows what he’s doing, but why would they allow such a man to live freely?”
“Genius,” Fitz murmured. “Whoever he is, he can create something no one else can.”
“And if he leaves a trail of bodies behind him, who should care?” Garrett scowled. “I despise men like that, though it does sound an awful lot like a blue blood of the Echelon backing him. Who else wouldn’t give a damn about the life of a human girl?”
“There’s something else, sir. I’ve examined the laboratory itself, several times. Do you recall that space in the corner?” Fitz asked.
“With the drag marks on the floor?”
Fitz nodded. “There was something there, something that was removed. I found copper pipes in the walls nearby and managed to trace them back to the blood storage vats in the factory above. Whatever he was creating in that corner, he needed blood for it. There are marks on the ceiling too, like scorch marks. Whatever it was, it was quite large. He must have dismantled it to remove it.”
“Blood,” Perry murmured. “That sounds ominous.”
“That corner was out of the line of sight from where Ava and Alice were kept,” Garrett mused. “They wouldn’t have seen anything, either.”
“What could he have been building?” The possibilities were infinite.
“A device of sorts, something powered by blood?” Garrett looked toward Fitz.
Fitz shrugged. “I doubt it. Steam power, I’d imagine, judging from the soot marks on the walls. However, it certainly used a great deal of blood—for some unknown purpose—if the sizes of the pipes are anything to go by.”
Garrett swore under his breath. “Keep searching. I want to know everything I can about his laboratory and what manner of man he is. As for us…” He looked at her. “Time to go see if our mysterious, missing foreman is a diabolical genius.”
“Sykes’s house? You do take me to all the best places.”
Sykes hadn’t been home in days.
The cold, almost-metallic scent of emptiness filled the small flat he rented. Perry dragged her fingertips over the dining table. All she could smell were the remnants of Garrett’s cologne. He’d declined to put it on that morning out of deference for her senses, but it lingered in his skin enough for her to be haunted by it.
“Anything?” He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest.
“Nothing.” Almost as if… “Nothing human anyway.” Human scent imprinted everything they touched, most especially their homes. Only blue bloods gave off no scent. The bed was made, the sheets folded with an almost military precision. What wasn’t she seeing? “What do you think?”
“I don’t think he lives here.”
“What?” As soon as she said it, she began to see the signs. If Sykes lived here, he didn’t spend a great deal of time at home.
“Mallory said he likes to drink.”
If Sykes was gin-stricken, then he didn’t fit the mold. The place was too clean. “So you think this is just a facade?” Perry asked, crossing to the door.
“Nobody seems to know much about him, except that he rarely comes in early.” Garrett scratched at his jaw. “It’s all adding up. Fifty quid it’s Sykes.”
“Fifty quid it’s Steel Jaw,” she countered, a nervous little shiver sliding over her skin. What were the odds that after she’d cut half of Hague’s face off, now there were rumors of a man with a steel jaw prowling the East End, just as two girls were murdered—and the events weren’t related? She could ask Garrett; he was a sporting man. If she could explain how she knew about the doctor.
Or perhaps Sykes, Hague, and Steel Jaw were the same person? But how would he disguise his deformation? Synthetic skin? It was never quite the same as real skin, but it helped disguise mechanical enhancements if one could afford the exorbitant price.
Then she remembered something. “Sykes has a beard, doesn’t he?”
“As thick as the hair on his head allegedly.”
Her heart started pounding. “Do we have any old cases like this?” Garrett had access to more case files than she did, and she rarely bothered to go through them. “Cutting out a girl’s heart is a rather distinctive murder pattern.”
She held her breath, hoping that Hague had been indiscreet in the past. Moncrieff had evidently covered Hague’s tracks in the fire, but perhaps there were others. Men like that never stopped. They had to start somewhere, and perhaps Garrett would recall word of it. She needed to let him in on the Hague angle somehow. By herself, she was clever enough to pick out facts and put them together, but working with Garrett always produced better results.
“Nothing, as I can recall. And the experimental aspects are definitely unusual.” He sighed. “Well, no sign of Sykes but we might as well search the place while we’re here. Do you wish to take the washroom?”
“My pleasure,” she drawled. “I shall leave you the bedchamber.”
Several minutes later, she made her first discovery in a jar on the vanity. The jar was filled with inch-long hairs of a russet brown. “What the devil?”
Garrett poked his head through the door. “What is it?”
She held up the jar. “Someone collects his hair clippings.”
“No toenails?”
“That’s disgusting.” Still, she opened the jar and unrolled the small leather kit that Fitz had given her onto the vanity. Tucked in each slot was a small glass tube with a rubber seal. Using thin pliers, she popped several hairs into a tube and capped it for Fitz to examine at the lab. Just in case.
The hair troubled her. If it was Hague’s, then it was a good deal lighter than it had been. The man had thick, almost-black hair that he combed precisely into place. A little niggle of doubt washed through her.
“Anything?” Perry tucked the kit behind her belt. Garrett had given her a detailed description of Sykes from the witnesses—thick brown beard, gruff voice, tall and stocky with the sort of shoulders that belonged on a dockworker. It didn’t sound like Hague at all, but he might have disguised himself. The hair proved otherwise, unless he’d taken it from someone else. One of his victims? Why would he keep it here? She leaned forward, her coat riding up over her hips as she took one last look behind the mirror.
“Nothing you’d wish to see.” His voice sounded slightly distracted.
There was a flicker of movement in the mirror and Perry looked up, catching his eyes directly on her bottom. “You’re right,” she drawled, and those devilish blue eyes lifted to meet hers in the reflection.
The damned man smiled.
Slowly her heart began to beat a little faster.
Treacherous
thing
. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him admiring certain female characteristics. Still a part of her felt flushed and heated that this time it was her. As a young girl she’d been hopelessly tall and slender, and until she’d finally grown into her body, she’d been prone to clumsiness. Men hadn’t looked at her then, not like this. The only one who’d ever seen something attractive in her had been a monster.
Dressing as a man had its advantages, but sometimes she wished she could acknowledge her female desires. Sometimes she wished that a man would look at her like that, and now Garrett was and she didn’t completely trust it…
“Stop thinking so much about it,” he said, lifting one hand to grip the door frame. An eminently masculine pose that flexed the muscle in those strong arms. That smile grew, stretching in an entirely satisfied way across his face. “You’ve colored up.”
“I’m not thinking about it.”
“No?” Far too satisfied with himself. “You look pretty when you blush.”
Soft, dangerous words.
“And I’m not pretty when I’m not blushing?”
“You’re pretty when you smile. That shy little smile I can win from you if I work hard. You don’t smile enough, do you realize that?”
She didn’t smile enough?
Garrett’s arm lowered. “And you’re pretty when you get that stubborn look on your face, which means I have no chance of winning the argument. I still try. Because I enjoy teasing you. Or when you’re focused on beating me in the ring when we’re sparring. And you’re dangerously alluring when you’re soft and relaxed and drinking blud-wein… In fact, I think I like you best like that.”
His gaze lost its focus and she knew he was picturing it. Holding her in his arms. Slowly dragging her leather leggings down her long, slender legs… “You let me see
her
then. The woman I got a glimpse of at the opera. The woman who ran her hands all over me in that alley. The woman who smiles and teases and looks at me as if she’s stripping me naked.” He took a step toward her.
Perry took a step back. This wasn’t what she’d expected. “
Her?
” she replied nervously. “You make it sound as if I’m two different people.” Her back hit the wall.
“You are.” Garrett stopped. Looked at her. “I know she’s in there somewhere. You just like to hide her, to keep her locked away so that no one sees her. I don’t know why. I know you don’t like letting me—or anyone—know your secrets, but I wish you’d let me in.” His fist tightened. “It’s growing increasingly frustrating. I never pushed because I thought you would tell me in your own time. But you have no intention of revealing anything, do you?”
Because one secret would lead to another, and Perry didn’t know how to tell him who she was. She wanted to, she suddenly realized, with a fierceness that almost ached. Garrett was the only one who might understand.
And she knew immediately what he’d do if he found out what the duke and Hague had done to her.
“There’s nothing interesting about me,” she replied quietly. For his own damned sake.
“I’d beg to differ.”
That brought heat into her cheeks. “What are you doing?”
Garrett arched a brow.
“This flirtation,” she said. “You never paid one ounce of attention to me before, and now you’re flirting. And…you kissed me last night.”
“Did I?” Noncommittal, damn him. “That wasn’t a kiss, Perry.”
Perry made as if to shove past him, but he was blocking the washroom door. Filling it with his body. Sometimes she didn’t notice just how tall he was. “Move.”
“Why should I?”
“I have a dozen reasons. Most of them involving rather painful nerves and certain pressure points.”
Slowly he gave way, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Bare inches separated his hard body from the other side of the door frame. She could fit through. If she squeezed.
Damn him, why was he pushing at her like this? She was so angry she wanted to kick him. Did he think this was a jest?
Suddenly he leaned close, the heated spice of his cologne overwhelming her. The largeness of his body caged her in, trapping her against the doorjamb. If she turned her face, her lips would brush his jaw.
Do
it.
Her treacherous heart leaped into her throat.
“I have one thing to say in my defense about the kiss…” Garret whispered, sending shivers across her skin. “You asked me to.” Then he was gone, pushing past her and sauntering back into the main room. “The next time you ask, I’m not going to be a gentleman, Perry.”
She collapsed back against the doorjamb as he vanished.
Bloody
hell
. This was getting out of hand. Idle flirtation was one matter, but he didn’t sound idle at all. Not anymore. No, he sounded as if he had no doubt that she’d ask him to kiss her again.
Stomach dropping through the pit of her abdomen, Perry pushed away from the door frame. Time to pull herself together. She could barely think with the nightmare of Hague and this mysterious killer looming at the edges of her life, and now Garrett was confusing her.
“This needs to stop,” she blurted.
Garrett froze, a slightly incredulous expression lighting his face. “What?” His brows drew together. “Why?”
She skirted around him. “We both know this is a game. It’s…it’s been amusing, but…you’re my friend, Garrett.”
“Which didn’t stop you at the opera. You weren’t thinking about friendship then, Perry. Now things have changed—”
“I don’t want them to.”
His brows shot up. “You don’t want—” Garrett gave a shaky laugh. “I cannot believe this. You”—his jaw tightened—“you have that look on your face.”
“The one that says this isn’t an argument you can win?”
Nothing.
She watched a dozen emotions roll across his face like clouds covering the sun. Thinking. Always dangerous. Garrett rarely fought with her. He outpaced her. One moment she would think the argument over, and the next she’d realize that he’d flanked her and was coming back at her from another direction.
“Whatever you’re plotting, don’t,” she advised. “I can’t think about this—about what’s going on between us right now. I do know it probably isn’t a good idea.”
“Too messy,” he agreed, with a telling gleam in his eye.
“Yes.”
“And you would have to take a risk.”
There was no answer to that. He wasn’t arguing, but she couldn’t see where his slippery mind was going with this…
The anger melted out of him. Definitely not a good sign. “Fine. Let’s play this your way. No more touching. No teasing. Back to the way things were, which means—” He reached out, his fingers pausing just before they brushed the hair off her face. His eyes were smoldering. Daring her. The touch sent shivers racing along her skin. “Definitely no more kisses.”
She swallowed. “You said you didn’t kiss me.”
“I lied.” The hand dropped and Garrett stepped back, his expression closing over. “For what it’s worth, I was willing to take the chance.” With a clipped nod, he turned and strode out into the streets.
Perry stared after him.
I
was
willing
to
take
the
chance…
The thought of it ached more than she’d thought it would.
She’d earned that. And she knew it in her heart too. But Garrett didn’t understand. If she didn’t stop this now, he’d destroy her. She’d never be able to be what he wanted, and she didn’t think she’d be able to withstand seeing the disappointment in his eyes when he realized that.
No
more
kisses…
Damn him.
***
Hours later, Garrett stepped out of the White Hart with Perry at his heels. They’d spent the intervening hours questioning local businesses about the mysterious Mr. Sykes. This close to the factories, soot clung to the white walls of the pub they’d exited, making it seem as though it too was choking on the taste of coal. The moment he stepped outside the pub, the smell of piss and rotting fish hit him in the face like a shovel, and Garrett tried to stop breathing.
Perry’s delicate little nose wrinkled and she tucked her hand up in front of her face, no doubt breathing in the scent of the Bourbon vanilla that she dabbed at her wrists. He’d bought it for her years ago when she complained about the filthy places he dragged her to. “For a man known to have a certain proclivity for drink, Sykes rarely imbibes much at all,” she said.
Just one pint of ale every Friday night, the man behind the bar had murmured. Ten o’clock regular.
“So either Mallory is lying about him being a drunk—”
“Or Sykes allows him to believe it,” she replied, a small frown furrowing her brow. “Why?”
“He needs an excuse to explain his absence at work. Mallory said in his first statement that Sykes never arrives before ten.”
“So what’s he doing until ten?”
A flash of the darkened laboratory swept to mind. “He’s in the laboratory. I’ll bet a quid on it.” The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. “The factory shuts down at night—or at least it used to until the recent factory burnings put them on double shifts. The equipment we saw down there requires boilers. Noise and smoke. So he goes in the morning to see to the girls and do…whatever he’s doing, because the work in the factory shields him from discovery. Nobody would hear him or notice a little extra smoke. Explains why he’s there late too. Or maybe he doesn’t leave. I’m fairly certain he rarely stays at his home.”
Another little frown, her eyes a million miles away. “I like the theory, but I don’t believe we should discard others.” A little hesitation. “I want to go through some old case files when we get back to the guild. See if anything like this has happened before.”