Olivia Twist(82)

Her gaze was drawn to a lanky man nervously glancing over his shoulder. He wore a blue knit cap, and as he opened the door to Nemo’s, she caught a flash of gold in his ear. The kidnapper! Olivia forced herself to take several breaths before she folded her paper, stood up, and signaled to Brit, who was stationed under the Temple Arch. He moved out of the shadows and jogged over.

After telling him the plan, she darted around a passing carriage and crossed the street to Nemo’s. She stopped inside the doorway, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom within. Sparse sunlight penetrated the windows stained with years of smoke. A long wooden counter flanked the right side of the narrow room, and round tables with mismatched chairs were scattered around the rest of the floor. The sharp scents of tobacco and fermented spirits flooded Olivia’s nose as she sauntered up to the bar, as if she frequented dingy pubs every day, and ordered a pint. The barkeep raised an eyebrow at her grungy appearance, but when she flipped him an extra shilling, he turned with a shrug and brought her a frothy mug.

Olivia hunched over her drink, tucked a strand of wig behind her ear, and glanced around the room. Baldy had removed his hat and sat alone at a table near the front door. His back was to her, so she sauntered over to the table behind him and took a seat. From what she could see from the corner of her eye, he was reading a book. What kind of thug snuck into a pub to read?

Carefully, she drew her knife and turned it so she could press the blunt hilt into his back—revolver style. She roughened her voice, letting her anger punctuate every word. “Do exactly as I say and I won’t blow a hole through your ribcage.”

The man straightened one vertebra at a time and began to turn his head.

“Stop,” she ordered. He froze midturn as Olivia pressed the knife harder into his side, keeping the weapon hidden behind his coat. “Stand up slowly and walk out the front door.”

With careful movements, he set the book on the table and rose. When they reached the street, Brit and the others fell in around them. They turned onto a side street and then into a deserted alley. Olivia spun the man by his shoulder and pushed him up against the wall. Getting a good look at his face for the first time, she was jarred with the recognition that he was one of the men who’d harassed her at Paul’s Pawnbroker Shop. “Critch?”

“How do ye know my name?” he demanded, warily eying the knives Brit and Archie held on him.

Olivia took her stroke of luck and ran with it. “I know a lot about you, Critch. Including that you kidnapped my mate.” Olivia nodded to Brit. The boy grabbed Critch’s arm and pressed the tip of his blade against the man’s throat. When their captive met Brit’s still-bruised face, he swallowed, his hazel eyes widening.

“I also know that gold in your ear is new, and means you’ve sold your soul to a devil named Monks.”

“Whot do ye want from me?”

Olivia tucked her weapon into her pocket and began to pace in front of him. “Just a bit of information is all.” She stopped and pinned him with a narrow stare. “Unless you want to hang for kidnapping.”

“I spared the boy. ’E’s supposed to be floatin’ in the Thames!” Critch jerked away from the wall. Archie grabbed his other arm and poked his blade in the man’s stomach. Critch froze.

“It’s no matter.” Olivia tilted her head to the side. “If you tell me what I want to know, it will all be forgotten.”

Critch only stared, seemingly afraid to move as a thin line of red trickled down his throat. Brit was angry; she could see it in his coiled posture and clenched jaw. She just hoped the kid could hold it together. Jack’s life depended on it.

“Your boss is in possession of a specific document that I am in need of. A last will and testament. Just tell me where he keeps it and you’re free to get back to your reading.”

As Olivia spoke, the color slowly leached from Critch’s face. “I can’t tell ye that. Monks would kill me!”

Olivia’s heart thumped against her ribs. He knew where the will was hidden! But he feared her half brother more than the blades pressed into his flesh, or the threat of persecution. She paced to the other side of the alley. There was one other thing she knew he dreaded, and could only pray it would be enough. With her back to him, she pulled off her hat and wig and then slipped the hairnet off, freeing her long curls with a shake of her head. After scrubbing at the ash on her cheeks, she turned and walked toward Critch, letting a sneer slide across her face. “Remember me? From Paul’s shop?”

Critch blinked several times as if not believing his own eyes. “Yer . . . Yer D . . . Dodger’s girl.”

Closing the distance between them, she ran a finger down the side of his sweat-covered face and whispered, “Yes—and if you don’t tell me what I want to know, the Dodger will rip you limb from limb. With pleasure.”

Critch raised his eyes to heaven, his hands balling into fists. Brit sensed their captive’s tension and slanted his knife across the cords of Critch’s throat. Olivia waited, unmoving, praying he hadn’t heard of Jack’s arrest.

Finally, Critch met her gaze, a kind of defeat written in his eyes. “I . . . I . . . don’t know for certain, but . . . but Monks has a safe box at Tellson’s Bank . . . where he keeps all ’is valuables.” He sealed his lips and Archie gave him a poke between the ribs.

Critch glanced down and saw the blood blooming on his shirt. His next words rushed out in a jumble. “He goes on Tuesdays and . . . and sometimes Thursdays to make ’is deposits. Tha’s all I know. I swear it!”