Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(36)

Edison smiled weakly. He couldn’t find the words to string together a response.

“Glad you found it illuminating,” he managed finally.

“Quite.” The chief set his hat on his head and strode off.

Edison pulled himself out of the chair one more time. He hoped he didn’t look as old and frail as he felt. The fresh pulses of fear had left him limp as an old rag.

Ada was watching him, curiosity plain on her open face.

He cleared his throat. “It’s past time we found something to eat. Might as well do that now. We’ve a lot to accomplish today.”

“He’s going to find me, isn’t he?” she asked, her voice high and tight with fear.

“No.” Edison set his hands on her shoulders and stared straight into those coffee-colored eyes. “I’m going to find him. I’m going to find him and make damned sure he can’t come after you again. Ever.”

She laughed, but it sounded thin and strained. “I’ve no doubt you’ll find him.” She ran a finger across Burke’s desktop. “But we both know you can’t make any promises about the future.”

Edison slid his hands down her arms, then took her hands in his. He squeezed gently. “Yes, I can. I’ve never failed yet.”

Though he still felt as if half his strength had been siphoned off, he squared his shoulders, hoping to project a confidence and serenity he wasn’t feeling.

He let go of her hands and reached out to pluck her coat from the rack. He held it out, but his fingers were still clumsy with fear. The heavy tweed slid to the chipped linoleum tile.

Ada stared at Edison’s shaking hands. Her face paled again. “There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”



*

Light and flaky, nestled in a pool of béchamel sauce, the Dover sole looked excellent. Any other time Ada would have enjoyed it immensely.

At the moment, she was more interested in its utility as a weapon.

“I’m putting you on the train to Brighton,” Edison announced from across the cafe’s small table.

“No.” Ada forked up a bite of fish while she indulged in an image of white sauce sliding down his nose.

He scowled. “Burke’s right. Whoever hired those men already knows they failed.” His knuckles grew white as his fingers tightened around his knife and fork. “I should have thought of that.”

Ada shrugged. “And we agreed that was inevitable. It only changes things by a day or two.”

His utensils paused, suspended above his own plate. “Watching over you complicates things.”

She was a complication?

That’s what it had come to?

Ada wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of his asinine assessment, but their waiter appeared to refill their water glasses.

While he poured, Ada ripped a warm dinner roll in two.

The instant he glided away, she dropped the roll onto her plate and pressed her palms into starched tablecloth. “I do not need you to watch over me.”

Edison snatched up the mangled roll and set about buttering it. His silence spoke for itself.

“I’m on my guard now,” she said. “They won’t surprise me again."

He studied a piece of roll, undoubtedly assessing the butter to bread ratio. “That’s the sort of conceit that’ll get you killed.”

Ada swallowed around the sharp edge of fear lining her throat. “I assure you, I have a healthy fear of whoever is after me.”

“I know.”

“Then where did this come from all of a sudden?” she asked, although she thought she knew.

He was afraid.

Something had happened in that detective’s office. She hadn’t known him long, but she doubted fear was an emotion Edison Sweet experienced often.

Something about the police station had triggered a profound reaction in him. A reaction that had nothing to do with her situation.

Not that he’d admit it.

She studied her untouched food. Poking at his fear seemed unnecessarily cruel.

He wasn’t trying to dismiss her. His brain was still swirling with the after effects of his own poisonous emotions.

It was quite logical.

And highly infuriating.

He held the buttered bread up between, considering his masterpiece from every angle. “It doesn’t matter,” he responded finally. “It’s for the best.”

“As you see it.”

“As anyone with a crumb of common sense would see it.” He dabbed the roll in last of his fish sauce and chewed.

Ada pushed her plate away. She was trying to remain calm, but the more the man spoke, the more he fed her urge to hurl a glass of water in his face.

All around them, other people were having civil—even enjoyable—conversations. The clink of silverware against porcelain set a cheerful beat for the rise and fall of voices, punctuated by staccato bursts of laughter.

At every table but theirs.

Ada glared at Edison, who was so unperturbed he’d managed to tuck away his entire meal already, sublimely ignorant of the fact that he was toying with her life.

He’d even managed to ruin what should have been a memorable meal, sod him. Too angry to bother with manners, Ada planted her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her hand.

The cafe was lovely. Bright brass railings sparkled in the afternoon light, adding an air of excitement to the bustling space. The smells coming from the kitchen had made her mouth water from the instant Edison opened the door.