Page 60 of One Dangerous Desire
“Did you learn anything about him?” Cross and his ilk would avoid all of the usual record trails, but Rex knew Sullivan still had connections with the Met’s H Division, which policed Whitechapel. If his father was a public menace, coppers there would have heard of him.
“There’s very little to find. He’s not a man who makes the newspapers, nor has he spent any time in a cell, though it’s difficult to be certain on that count. Apparently, he employs aliases, but several of his associates confirm him as George Cross.”
“I don’t doubt his identity, Jack. I want to know what we’re up against.”
“Danger, as you say. Violence. Deception. The man lacks scruples, to put it mildly.” Sullivan cast him an inscrutable glance. “I’m sorry.”
Rex jerked back, uncertain what Sullivan was offering with his regret. Then it struck him. He was apologizing for referring to Rex’s father in such bald terms, for knowing that the man who’d sired him had turned into such a deplorable human being.
“Not necessary, Jack. I have no affection for George Cross. He’s a kind of . . . malady that’s come to infect my life. I can’t have him crashing into the Pinnacle whenever he wants to demand money from me.” He swallowed hard and found the next words stuck in this throat. “I can’t have him anywhere near May. If he harmed her, touched her . . . ” Finishing the thought was impossible, especially if he intended to maintain any measure of rational thinking for the encounter ahead.
“We won’t let it come to that, sir.” Even as the traces continued to rattle and the carriage swayed, it grew quiet and tense within its close confines. “How far are you willing to go?”
Rex stared ahead, remembering his father’s words—that May had a face a man would be willing to die or kill for. Cross had no idea of her worth, that she was a great deal more than her lovely face and million-dollar dowry.
He’d never killed anyone, but he knew those who had. After the orphanage, he’d fallen in with a gang of pickpockets, some more hardened than others. As a punishment for snitching on the group’s activities, one young man had been beaten so badly he later died of his injuries. That was no longer the life Rex wanted. Those memories had nothing to do with the man he wished to be—for his own peace of mind and, especially, for May.
Finally, he turned his face toward Sullivan. “I have no craving for violence, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”
“If it comes to violence, he may have allies who’ll wish to avenge him.”
“You mean it won’t end easily.” Rex found it hard to imagine that the man who’d been so disloyal to the woman who loved him could inspire such fierce devotion in others, but Sullivan was right to voice the warning. Honor among thieves was a strange, intangible impulse. “What do you suggest?”
“Honestly?”
“Spit out your damn opinion, man.” Rex loathed being twice questioned, loathed being stuffed into this bloody bouncing carriage, loathed that he had to find a cure for a man who’d already caused him enough trouble for one lifetime. “You’ve never been unable to do so before.”
“Either pay him or leave him to the law.”
“If I pay, it will never end. I can’t have him in my life. In May’s life.” Despite her father’s attempts to keep them apart, no matter what she decided, Rex could no longer imagine a future without her.
Sullivan glanced at him, and the carriage’s oil lantern lit his cold expression. “Pay him enough, and he will stay away. But I prefer my other suggestion. Let the law do its worst. He’ll be shipped off to Pentonville Prison.”
Before either of them could say more, the cab lurched to a bone-shaking stop. Whitechapel Road was still busy in the dusky evening light. People, horse carts, and carriages moved like a swift-flowing river down the murky thoroughfare.
“We’ll try the Princess Alice first. A constable at H Division says Cross frequents the pub.” Sullivan pulled his collar up, and Rex followed suit. He’d visited the East End rarely. The furtive glances, the threadbare clothes, children begging in the street—it all reminded him too much of his past.
The Princess Alice proved to be a noisy, crowded, low-ceilinged box with a sticky floor and very little standing room. A few steps into the throng and a tall man with a neatly trimmed beard approached.
“Looking for Cross, are you?” He skidded a squint-eyed gaze across them and then stared ahead, as if he found a random spot on the wall particularly appealing. “Follow me up Dorset Street, and I’ll take you to him.” The man’s accent was crisp, nearly as polished as Sullivan’s, and Rex thought he might be one of Jack’s compatriots from the Metropolitan Police.
Whoever the man was, Sullivan seemed content to follow him, and they proceeded out of the pub and up Dorset Street. The lane was dark, the gas lamps so blackened with smoke that only a dull glimmer filtered through to light their way.
Suddenly, Jack turned as a long weapon arced toward him. A sickening crack echoed off the buildings. Jack’s body slumped to the ground. The man from the pub wrapped an arm around Rex from behind. Rex elbowed him hard, then pivoted around, grappling for his knife. A fist exploded out of the darkness, connecting with his left cheek. He held his ground and swung for the man, fist connecting with a wall of brawny flesh. Rather than falling back, the man stumbled forward, forcing Rex against a brick wall. The man’s weapon, a rough-hewn cudgel, slammed into Rex’s throat, and three thugs, including the gentleman from the pub, pushed in around him.
“Mr. Cross says pay up, or next time he visits you.”
Then they were gone, feet stomping on cobblestones as they merged with the darkness at the end of the lane.
Rex rushed to Jack. As soon as he gripped the detective’s shoulder, Jack’s eyes fluttered open, and he turned to push himself to his feet.
“Easy, Jack. You’re bleeding.” Quite profusely. Even in the dim moonlight seeping through the fog, the severity of the man’s injury was clear.
“Head wounds bleed. I’ll be fine.” Jack ran the back of his sleeve across his forehead. “Shall we try the next pub?”
“Your tenacity is impressive, but I doubt even your thick skull could bear another thrashing.”
Back on Commercial Street, they secured another hired cab. A moment later, the horses jolted their carriage into motion. Body tense, head a chaos of dark thoughts, Rex couldn’t bear to sit and keep still. He wanted to act, needed to cut George Cross out of his life. He pounded the side of the carriage with his fist, but it did nothing to ease his frustration.
