Page 69 of A Treacherous Trade
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He gestured sharply. “Getting information is what I do.”
Amelia stood at my back. “He’ll be on guard around you. But around a desperate, lovely woman in need of some… discreet photos taken? He’s certain to be bold. He won’t be able to help himself.”
“You could be close by as a witness,” I said. “Ready to arrest him should I find evidence of a crime, or,” I added for his benefit, “the barest hint of danger.”
“Brilliant,” Amelia agreed with a satisfied smile. “That’s settled. I’ll dig out some cosmetics to help with your bruising.”
“No,” Croft roared. “This isn’t happening, Fiona. How could you chase after this villain now? Look at what you’ve done to yourself already.”
“I didn’t do this!” I said. “It was donetome. Which means I’m onto something, don’t you think?”
He didn’t deny it, but a breath whistled through his tensed throat. “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed, and I’d… I’d never hear the bloody end of it from Amelia if anything happened to you.”
It was almost like he cared. “I’ll survive, Croft. I always do.”
He snorted. “Until you don’t. And then what?”
“Isn’t that everyone? Nobody gets out of this existence alive.Yourisk your life all the time to keep people safe, to find out who is dangerous. May I not do so as well?”
“That’s different, and you know it.” His jaw jutted forward, advertising his increasing stubbornness.
“Because I’m a woman?” I asked.
“Yes, dammit. Because you’re a woman.”
“Well… that’s just too bad.” I lifted my own chin, setting my jaw as I’d often done against seven burly brothers. “History is littered with women who risked—who lost—their lives saving others. They’re not always as canonized as soldiers are, or generals. But women can be fierce and cunning and yes, even dangerous.”
“Don’t I know it,” he muttered.
“I’m not going to war or anything, Croft. I’m trying to stop women from dying in the streets, because no one else will.”
That poked at him, and I watched the fire flicker in his eyes before it banked. His face softened just a few increments, and it made breathing easier somehow. “You don’t need to martyr yourself for them, Fiona. That doesn’t help anyone, especially Mary.”
As his ire died, mine kindled, and I clenched my fists at my sides, unaware that Amelia’s shawl slipped from my shoulders. “Obviously, martyrdom isn’t my first choice, and maybe, justmaybe, I’ll be successful in solving these crimes. Did that ever occur to you? How about this? I wouldn’t have to put myself in such danger if men likeyouand Davies did their bloody jobs!”
“You seem intent enough to do it for them,” he growled. “And don’t you dare put me in the same category as Davies.”
“I’m trying tohelpthese women. And it’s a damned shame your sister had to ask me to, when she has you in her back pocket. You’re one of the best detectives in this city, and you can’t be bothered to lift a finger?”
“It’s not my case! I’d be putting my job—our livelihood—in jeopardy.”
“But the man in charge of the case could be the murderer!” I gestured wildly, knowing full well someone might hear us on the street, and I didn’t even care. “Davies is so dirty he could bathe in the muck of the Thames and come out smelling better. Tell me how any of these women will get justice when there’s none to be had?”
He turned from me and jerked the kitchen door open, letting in a blast of cool wind. He stood in the doorway for a moment, skin red with rage, now visibly prickling with the cold as he took three slow breaths. “Where’s your proof?” he asked the night. “What evidence or information can you provide other than the words of a few—”
“A few what, Gray?” Amelia’s voice could have been lost in breeze of a moth’s wing, but it landed like a hurricane.
He whirled, and it was the first time I’d ever seen Grayson Croft look afraid.
“Amelia.” He reached for her.
“A fewwhat?” She let out a dry sob, wrenching away when he would have taken her hand. “A few whores? Who would listen to what they had to say, right? Who would take their word?”
His features crumpled. “You know I don’t think—”
“Fiona.” Amelia’s face hardened, her expression turning into something so forbidding, I wanted to flee from it.
She never looked at me once as she addressed me, but held her brother in thrall with the force of her gaze. “Be a dear and go to the washroom. Use warm water to clean away the poultice. I need a private word with my brother.”
