Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(96)

Another second and she had his coat on and buttoned. A fashionable new bowler completed her disguise.

Next, cab fare. She raced to his desk, the back of her neck prickling as the sounds from the factory floor grew louder. She yanked open the top drawer and scooped a handful of coins from the jar he kept inside.

She had crossed the threshold before she thought of it.

A note. She should leave a note.

She turned so quickly, she stumbled and almost went down on the something Persian carpet. The lantern in her hand hit the corner of the desk. She winced at the loud crash.

Frantic now, she tore a sheet from the notepad on his desk and grabbed a pencil from the cup, sending the rest of his collection clattering to the floor.

Distinct voices now reached her ears. Think, she urged herself. Write something. Anything.

She tapped the pencil on the edge of the desk, cursing her lack of words. Not so easy to say good bye as she thought.

The glimmer of an idea struck, and she scribbled quickly, not giving the least thought to penmanship, or even legibility.

Her note completed, she raced back out of the room. A delicate walnut table sat between the couch and two wing backed chairs.

A good a place as any. Ada dropped the note on the table and set her lamp on the edge to anchor it.

“Henry, you bring the carriage around.” Edison’s deep voice rose above the din. “We’ll drop this garbage at headquarters, then we can return for the rest of you.”

She’d recognize it anywhere. Always would, she feared.

They could have a few more moments together. The thought froze her.

No. She shook her head, making Stanton’s hat wobble about her ears. Drinking in the sight of him would only increase the torture.

Ada flew out the door without a backward glance. She ran around the first corner she came to, and the next. She ran until her lungs burned.

She was a coward. A love sick, broken-hearted coward.

Not even Caldwell Nance could create a world in which she could hold the interest of a man like Spencer Crane.



*

“Ada?” Edison called out over the rattle of the handcart’s metal wheels. “Ada, where are you?”

He and Burke were keeping an eye on Grenville while Henry and Spencer pushed the cart across the slick gray floor. Not that he expected the man to try anything. Burke had handcuffed one thick wrist to the cart’s handle. Edison didn’t think that was even necessary. The man sprawled across the cart like a deflated balloon.

Even propelled by two strong bodies, the cart would only move so quickly. Edison forced himself to slow, but he wanted to run. Wanted to see Ada, to reassure himself she was all right.

Once they reached the doors, he surged ahead oof the group, his gaze raking the dim lobby. On a credenza in the reception area, a lantern glowed, but there was no sign of her.

He raised his head, sniffing the air for signs of her violet scent.

Or her stinking rags.

He sensed neither. His heartbeat ticked up, making his heart pound uncomfortably against his ribs. Where the hell was she?

He whirled around to face the group. “She’s not here.”

Briar crossed to the table. She snatched up a scrap of paper, holding it in the beam of her lantern. Her shoulders stiffened, and her chin jerked up, as if she’d gotten an unpleasant shock.

“What?” Edison raced to her side.

“Here.” He grabbed the slip of paper from her hand, all thoughts of manners fleeing the instant he recognized Ada’s precise hand.



Thank you. Thank you all. You’ve done more than I can ever repay. It’s the world’s great fortune to have such heroes.



Ada T.



“Ah.” He crushed the scrap in his fingers and nodded once. Twice.

A curious ache swelled at the back of his throat, making it impossible to swallow. Impossible to speak. The flames in the lanterns surrounding him seemed to flicker in unison, flaring bright, and then dimming. Flaring. Dimming.

It was nothing less than the result he’d so carefully engineered.

The rhythmic squeak of the cart was muted on the carpeted reception area, but Edison had no difficulty hearing Grenville’s deep wheeze over the sound.

“Kicked you over as well, did she?” The older man tittered like a little girl.

It was a nasty sound. A sound Edison hoped he’d never have to hear again.

He crushed the scrap of paper in his fist. He wouldn’t turn. Wouldn’t give the sweating pig the satisfaction of a response.

“That’s enough out of you,” Burke ordered. “Won’t be anything to laugh about where you’re going. Help me with the doors,” he directed the others.

Feet scuffled about, and Edison felt the rush of cold night air on the back of his neck as the group wheeled Grenville off to meet his fate.

A soft footfall told him he wasn’t alone. He turned to see Nelly in the center of the room. Hands fisted on her hips, mouth set in a straight line, she exuded far more disapproval than such a slight form had a right to. “For a right charmer, you’re dumber than a sack o’coal when it comes to romantical situations.”

Edison shrugged. “We wouldn’t suit.”

Nelly snorted. “Says you.”

“She’s refined. And brilliant.” He stubbed the toe of his boot into the floral carpet. “She deserves far better than me.”