The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(80)

Vaulting from the carriage, Andrew could see what the other meant. A pack of brutes milled in front of their destination, a decrepit tenement. At a glance, he counted a dozen men.

“Welcoming party, I see.” The comment came from McLeod, who along with Lugo and three additional guards, had joined them from the other carriage.

“Twelve to our eight,” was Lugo’s laconic reply.

“I like those odds,” Andrew said.

The partners looked at him—and grinned.

Shaking his head, Kent led their group toward the tenement. They hadn’t made it within ten feet of the entrance when a hulking, whiskered fellow in the rough-woven uniform of the stews blocked their path.

“Wot’s yer business ’ere, eh?” he demanded.

“We’re here to see someone,” Kent said calmly. “Step aside, if you please.”

“Ye ’ear that? The guv’s ’ere to see someone.” Turning to his snickering companions, the man said, “Any o’ ye expectin’ such fine company?”

“Not me,” a gap-toothed fellow called out. “Already ’ad me tea wif the King yesterday.”

More guffaws came from the group.

“Step aside,” Kent repeated. “I will not ask again.”

“And I’ll not take orders on me turf from some nob.” A knife flashed in the leader’s grip. “Be gone, or I’ll gut ye like a fish.”

When Kent didn’t budge, the brute charged. The investigator moved quickly for a man of his size, neatly sidestepping his attacker at the same time grabbing hold of the other’s arm, wrenching away the weapon with efficient force. The man yowled with pain, his knife clattering to the stones.

Pandemonium erupted.

A cutthroat came at Andrew, swinging for his head. He ducked the blow and went in low, plowing his fists into the other’s gut. The other staggered back a few steps, then came again. Andrew feigned to the right, catching his attacker off balance and landing a right hook to the jaw. Bone cracked against bone, the impact searing down Andrew’s arm. The other collapsed to the ground in a heap.

His blood fired up, Andrew took stock of the situation: Lugo and McLeod were fighting in tandem, fallen cutthroats piling around them. Kent and the guards were also holding their own. He spotted Harry being circled by three villains. As he sprinted over, he saw Harry’s powerful hook and jab combination, and his brows rose.

Andrew grabbed the scruff of one of Harry’s foes, plowing a fist into the bastard’s face. He threw the moaning man to the ground and went to Harry’s side.

“You’re monopolizing the action, Kent,” he said.

Harry swiped at a bleeding cut on his cheek. “There’s plenty to go around.”

More cutthroats had joined the fray, five of them forming a ring around Andrew and Harry.

Anticipation simmered in Andrew’s veins. “Excellent.”

The ne’er-do-wells rushed all at once. Back to back, Andrew and Harry fought them off. Andrew traded punches with one burly cutthroat, at the last instant dodging the other’s blow—which swerved into the jaw of another villain, who groaned, crumpling to the ground. Andrew defeated his remaining opponent with well-aimed jabs to the gut. Pivoting, he saw that Harry had taken care of two more of the bounders. The remaining one stared at Andrew… and then turned and ran, his tail between his legs.

Kent jogged up, followed by his partners.

“Let’s find that shooter before we have to take on the whole damned rookery.” From his greatcoat, he produced whistles and passed them out to each man. “There are four floors to the tenement, so we’ll split up in pairs and each take one. If you find our suspect, sound the alarm.”

Andrew and Harry were assigned the ground floor. Inside, the building was even more dilapidated than the exterior. The cesspit of human misery felt eerily familiar to the dwellings of Andrew’s childhood. He’d lived in more than his share of such places where sewage festered in the open and vermin invaded every crevice. Wailing babes and shouting adults sounded through the paper-thin walls.

Andrew caught a movement up ahead: at the end of the corridor, a woman stood against the wall, her skirts raised, a man rutting between her legs.

Her face was turned to the side as her customer took his pleasure, grunting, and even from a distance, Andrew could see her flat expression. It knotted his insides. Reminded him too keenly of his own mother and the resignation that had led her to drink away her cares… and her life.

Until Primrose had asked about his mother, he’d never spoken of her. It had been strange bringing those memories into the light. Strange… but not unwelcome.

“I count at least twenty doors, so we’d best start knocking,” Harry said.

“Wait.” Andrew saw that the whore had finished with her customer. The man buttoned up his trousers, deposited coins in the woman’s palm, and disappeared around the corner. “Let’s speak to her first.”

He approached her as she was pulling her patched skirts into place. “Miss?”

The woman’s head snapped in his direction. She was young, yet life had aged her prematurely, her eyes filled with weariness.

Still, she looked him and Harry up and down, working up enough sauce to say, “Lookin’ for some fun, me fine gents? I can show ye a good time, anything ye want—”