Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(88)

Ada struggled up onto her elbows. Though her neck seemed too weak to hold up her head, her gaze was clear. Clear and intently focussed on him.

Edison tried to swallow, but his throat had seized up. He slipped his hand off of hers slowly, carefully, as if yanking away would serve to draw more attention to his ill-timed blathering.

She cleared her throat. “You were saying?”

“How do you feel?”

Ada waved away his question. “You were saying something about my heart?”

He coughed. “Just worrying out loud. You’ve been out a long time.”

Ada considered him for a moment, the corners of her mouth quirked up as if she were working out whether to push for a real answer.

Edison stilled like a cornered mouse, hoping invisibility would ensure she passed him over.

Ada sank back down and put a hand to her head. “My head is pounding.” She frowned. “Chloroform,” she muttered. “It was chloroform.”

“That’s how they got me, too. Bastards.”

“Nelly and Henry!” She bolted upright and immediately groaned as the effort clearly made her head pound. “They were with me. They—”

Edison put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. “They’re not here. No good reason to add more hostages. It only leaves more people to guard. More to attempt an escape.”

“Do you think?”

“I’m sure of it.” He squeezed her hand, trying to infuse the gesture with all the confidence he could muster. “I have no doubt it’s just the two of us.”

She shook her head slowly, as if trying to clear it. “Chloroform spray.” She looked up at him. “A strange young woman…”

“A boy, I believe.” He clenched his teeth. “Whoever did this has a street gang in his employ.”

Ada picked at something on her dress. “We’re outnumbered then. By a great deal, I should guess.”

Edison smiled. “That’ll make them over-confident. We’ve faced down their like before.”

Ada jerked her head toward the door. “Guards?”

“Three at least. All armed.”

Ada looked around the empty closet. “And we have nothing at our disposal.”

“That covers it. But I have an idea.” Edison unbuttoned his vest and threw it off, then he attacked the buttons on his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

Edison cupped a hand over her mouth. “Shhhh.” He waited until he felt her relax against him before he let go. “Quicker to demonstrate than explain,” he said, and finished removing his shirt.

He twisted the shirt from cuff to cuff, transforming it into a makeshift rope. When he’d finished twisting the fabric as tightly as he could, he wrapped the ends around his knuckles, and pulled the length taut.

He nodded toward the guards outside. “Might only get one chance,” said softly.

Ada scrambled to her feet, but stumbled sideways, as if her legs weren’t yet steady. The wide-eyed look of panic on her face suggested her stomach was heaving from the effects of the gas.

He recognized that look. He’d fought the same nausea several hours past.

As it had with him, the wave quickly dissipated, and she straightened up and let go of the wall. She reached beneath her skirts and began fussing with her petticoats.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“My petticoats. I could use a weapon as well.”

He had the odd feeling she was avoiding his gaze, but then the whole situation was exceedingly odd, he had to admit.

Shadows cut through the light from beneath the door just as Edison caught the sound of shoe leather scuffing across a smooth surface.

He put a finger to his lips. Ada nodded, and moved to the other side of the tiny room, ready to spring forward on his mark. She tightened the makeshift rope around her hands and held it up, at shoulder height.

Focussed. Intent. And so very brave, she waited for his signal.

Edison’s heart did a funny little flutter.

There were no tears. No hysterics. No swooning. Just a determined glitter in her dark eyes. Whatever awaited them, she’d face it like a hero.

“We’ve got several weapons pointed at you now, Mr. Sweet,” a plummy, unctuous voice called out. “We’re about to open the door. I’d suggest the two of you step to the back of the closet.”

He knew that voice.

Not well, but he knew it. Edison squeezed his eyes shut, chasing the snippet of memory that niggled at him, but it skittered away. No time to bother about it now. Every fiber of his being was focussed on the door, ready to spring the instant an opportunity presented itself.

Ada seemed puzzled as well. Her nose wrinkled up in that way she had when she was thinking.

“Open it slowly,” the man commanded the guards.

“Holy Christ.” Edison couldn’t help the curse that exploded from his lips at the sight of their jailer.

And then he remembered.

The figure in the shadows. The chloroform must have erased the memory.

He cut a glance at Ada. She’d given up any pretense of a fight. Hands at her sides, the mangled petticoat dangled in a loose arc across her thighs. Face slack with disbelief, she stared. Simply stared.

“Stanton,” she whispered. “Why?”



*