Olivia Twist(41)

Their eyes locked for a moment, and then she motioned for him to follow her up the slender ramp. “I’ve brought a friend,” she announced as she reached the landing.

Jack walked quickly up the slope, his days of scaling the rooftops and hidey-holes of London a physical memory not easily forgotten. Stepping into the upper room, he was met by eighteen pairs of wide eyes—if he counted correctly. He scanned the little faces, most of them open with curiosity. Until he reached a tall boy, arms crossed over his chest, feet spread wide, his dark eyes narrowed, chin lifted in challenge. This had to be Brit.

“Everyone, this is Jack. He’s a good chum and he’d like to help.” Olivia met Brit’s gaze, mirrored his stance, and spoke her next words with deliberation. “You can trust him.”

As if she’d uttered the magic code, Jack was surrounded and tugged over to the one fireplace in the open room, little hands grasping his fingers and his clothes. One of his knives appeared in a boy’s hand and Jack snatched it back, making note to take stock of his pockets before he left. They led him through a path of pallets scattered on the floor, chattering like a nest of mice.

“How do ye know Ollie?”

“Have you gots kids?”

“How old are you?”

“Do you live wit’ Ollie?”

At that, Jack met Olivia’s amused gaze and arched a brow. She laughed and shrugged before kneeling to dig into the bag she’d brought with her. Realizing he was on his own, Jack took a deep breath and answered each of their questions. “We’ve known each other since we were children. No. Twenty. And absolutely not.”

The boys were silent for a moment, digesting what he’d said, and then they converged on Olivia as she pulled random food items from her sack. Jack leaned against the warm bricks of the chimney and assessed his surroundings. A pile of tin dishes sat next to a cast-iron pot on the hearth, coats hung on a line of pegs on one wall, and boots and shoes were arranged in a neat row. There was even a beat-up table with six pieced-together chairs, a few books and slate tablets organized in the center.

Between the moonlight coming in from windows on both sides of the room—which surprisingly still held their glass panes—the fire, and several candles on the table, the room was far less gloomy than he’d expected. He could see why the boys were reluctant to move, despite the threat of Monks and his gang. Leeford. A pain shot through his jaw at the thought of the bloody menace.

Jack unclenched his teeth and focused on his goal. These boys were the key to taking the crime lord down once and for all. Why he felt compelled to do so, and what Olivia was to him, he could not easily identify, but he did know he couldn’t let her brother succeed in his Machiavellian plans. Nor could he allow the dinger to terrorize and extort children all over Holborn.

Revenge had little to do with it.

At least that’s what Jack told himself as he watched Olivia cut a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese into rations, while chatting with the kids, ruffling hair, teasing and calling them by name. The little blond one, who Jack assumed was Chip, sat on her lap. The boys may be vital to finding Monks, but they were also Olivia’s weakness. It was only a matter of time before her brother caught on to that fact as well.

Watching her now, it was clear she would never agree to walk away from them, even if it meant saving her own life. She was stubborn . . . and determined, and courageous. Jack cut short his thoughts. Emotional detachment equals control. He would have to find a way to lure Monks out, without exposing Olivia’s vulnerability.

With that aim in mind, he turned his focus on Brit, who’d been throwing him furtive glances since he arrived. The kid’s dark coloring fit the old pawnbroker’s description of the one who’d sold him the locket. Between that and his unique name, it wouldn’t take long for Monks to follow the trail.

Jack pushed off the wall and walked over to the young leader. “We need to talk.” Brit gave a tight nod, and held Jack’s unwavering gaze. The inner strength Jack saw in the boy’s eyes gave him hope. Hope that what he was about to do would not be in vain.

It was time to go on the offense and resurrect a past he’d hoped to leave behind forever. The Dodger was coming out of retirement.





CHAPTER 12


Olivia held her hat in place as wind whipped the thick strands of her wig against her cheeks. The crisp scent of coming snow had her wishing for her fur-lined jacket and muff. Jack trudged along beside her, his ragged-looking coat little protection against the elements. The harsh turn in weather didn’t allow for easy conversation, but that didn’t stop the questions spinning in Olivia’s head.

She’d just overheard Jack instruct Brit and the boys to tell anyone who would listen that the Dodger was back and he was their new kidsman. They’d all heard of the Dodger; he was a legend among the street folk. And tonight, watching him fight like a warrior, Olivia had witnessed a good part of the reason why.

Stunned silence had clouded her brain as the boys threw questions at Jack from every side. True to his nature, he avoided giving specific answers, all while rallying the boys around his plan—If Monks wants a turf war, he’ll get one!

Then he’d helped them invent ideas to fortify the hideout. Jack pointed out vulnerabilities, such as the accessible opening in the floor, and then led the boys through possible solutions. They’d agreed to build a hatch with a sturdy lock. As the little ones drifted off to their beds, Jack, Brit, and Archie addressed the windows, concocting an elaborate rope and pulley system that would dump wet paint on anyone who attempted to break in.