Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(26)

He was running his hands over her body, checking her for injuries. Then he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, wiping away the damp tracks of her tears, and smiled down at her. “I’ll gloat later, if you don’t mind.”

“I certainly will, but I’ve earned it.”

The slightest whisper of a smile tugged at his lips as he whipped a wicked little knife from a vest pocket and began sawing at her bindings. Ada jerked at her restraints, which quickly parted.

She moaned with relief and circled her wrists round and round, trying to restore feeling to her fingers.

“Let’s get you up.” Edison took her under the arms and lifted her to her feet.

She swayed as the feeling in her legs and toes returned.

“Can you stand?” Edison pulled her to him, holding her against him so tightly she had a hard time drawing air.

Not that she minded.

She pressed her cheek to his chest, allowing the strong, steady beat of his heart to soothe her.

“They’ll be back.”

“No, they won’t.” Edison tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear. “All taken care of. Stacked out by their carriage like a cord of firewood. I’ve got a man watching them.”

He set her gently away from him and circled the room. Hands on his hips, he poked a booted toe into each dust pile. When he came to the desk, he stopped.

“What?” She hurried to join him.

“Damned diabolical,” he whispered.

Ada leaned against him, trying to inch him to the side so she could see. He held up a sheet of clean while foolscap. The writing was neat and feminine.



Let it be known that I, Ada Templeton, took my life of my own free will. I am ashamed to admit that my female sensibilities overcame my better judgment. It seems the man I thought would end my loneliness is in fact a heinous cad—and a married man.





She gasped and jerked back, away from the vile thing.

“Exactly.” Edison folded the note and stuck it in the inner pocket of his vest, then he reached for a jar of clear liquid that had anchored a corner of the paper. He held the jar up to the light still trickling in though the shuttered windows. Unlike everything else in the room, save the suicide note, it was clean and free of dust.

“Dare we open it?” Edison shook it gently.

“Don’t!” Ada grabbed it. Though clear, the liquid had the faintest blue tinge. The color tickled her memory. “Prussic acid.” Her breath caught in her throat, and her fingers trembled. “It’s highly flammable. And most deadly.”

Edison removed the jar of poison from her limp fingers. “Hydrogen cyanide, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Exactly.”

Slowly—with exquisite care—he unscrewed the lid and took a cautious sniff of the air far above the rim. “Awful. Like old socks.”

“And almonds.” Ada blew a strong breath out of her nose, trying to flush out the foul odor. The stench was its unique marker, bitter almonds layered with the putrid sweetness of decay.

“Instantly lethal if ingested.” He screwed the top of the jar back on. “And did you say… flammable?”

“Its flash point is preposterously low. If it vaporizes, even warm sunlight could make it explode.”

Edison glared down at the jar. His chest rose and fell with deep, rhythmic breaths, as if he was attempting to throw off some great emotion.

“Are you all right?”

“I am.” His wide shoulders trembled, then rose and fell as he heaved a great sigh. His gazed hardened. “I will be soon.”

Ada picked up the jar. “We should take this to the police.”

“We can’t.”

“We most certainly can.”

Edison gave her a strange look. “You, Mrs. Templeton, are supposed to be dead.”

Ada gaped at the jar, horrified.

“They were supposed to get the battery, then dispose of you.” He frowned, thinking hard. “But why do it so publicly?” He tapped a finger to his chin. “They could have dumped you somewhere you’d never be found. Why go to all this trouble?”

“So they can claim the battery process for themselves.”

He gazed at her, confused.

“Given time, a good chemist could discern the precise mixture at the heart of the battery,” she explained. “If they’re not in a hurry, they don’t need me for that.”

“Right.” Edison slapped his thigh. “If you died by your own hand, there’d be no investigation. No risk of the murderer being found out. He’d have as much time as he needed.”

Ada hugged herself and shuddered. “Damned diabolical indeed.”

Edison was staring down at the liquid as if it held the secrets to the Universe. Then he nodded to himself and reached for her hands, rubbing her fingers as if to infuse them with his own warmth.

A moment later and he yanked them up to eye level. “You’re hurt!”

Rivulets of dried blood ran between her fingers and down her wrist. It did look rather worse than she would have thought.

She wiggled her fingers. “Hardly more than paper cuts.”

Edison snorted. Admiration—then frightening flash of anger—crossed his handsome face. “We will find them.”

“I know.” She pointed at the jar of acid. “You were about to say?”