Page 70 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
The irony wasn’t lost on him that Jack Demming was leading him toward that reckoning because he was a faithful brother.
Exiting the train, he took in deep lungfuls of fresh air and rolled his shoulders. He could face this place again. And once this case was resolved, he’d face George again too.
Demming stood silently at his brother’s grave, head bowed, his broad shoulders hunched.
The thief had come alone, and that was a boon for Ben, since he still had healing bruises from their last encounter. Still, he approached slowly, and the grass did an excellent job of masking his footsteps.
“Didn’t think you’d follow me this far,” Demming said when Ben was only a few steps away.
“When did you know?”
Demming turned back, a bemused look on his face. “Not as subtle as you think you are, Detective.”
Ben glanced around, wondering if he’d walked straight into some snare the thief had set. But there were no men lurking behind the cemetery’s trees.
“What do you want with me, Drake?” Demming rocked on his heels and cast another glance Ben’s way. “Or did you come to pay your respects to my brother too?”
Ben approached until they were shoulder to shoulder, both staring down at Howe’s modest marker.
“Do you know the man who killed your brother?”
Demming scoffed, gesturing at the ground. “Amos didn’t even give you the man’s name and look where ’e is.”
“Don’t you yearn to see him caught? For Amos’s sake?”
Demming glared at him. “Not that simple. As you well know.”
“You fear M that much?”
“I ain’t a fool, whatever you think. Got minions everywhere, he does. And riches to spare. Bastard can buy anyone. Manipulate anyone. Want to know the maddest part?”
“I want to know his name.” Ben resisted the urge to haul Demming back with him, throw him in a cell, and let him sweat awhile before doing his damnedest to get the name out of him.
“Devil of a man. Doesn’t care if ’e succeeds. Blackmail. Theft. Corruption. It’s all a game for ’im.”
“So he wants us chasing our tails.”
Demming grunted, but a smile began to inch up the edges of his mouth. “It’s working, ain’t it?”
Ben clenched his teeth and shot a glance over his shoulder. George’s plot wasn’t far away, and guilt warred with frustration inside his chest.
“Someone back there?” Demming didn’t turn, but Ben sensed the tension in his stance.
“No, no one. I have family here too.”
For the first time, Demming looked at him with something other than loathing and distrust.
“My brother,” Ben said quietly.
“So you’ve been ’ere.”
“Not in a long while.” He looked at Demming directly. “Too long.”
Demming dipped his head, considering.
Ben willed him to relent, to give him something. Anything.
“You’ve probably already met ’im.”
