Page 18 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
Ah. There it was.
“Oh, so she’s a criminal. Bit of an important thing to leave out, considering the circumstances. You prepared to face some uncomfortable realities if I turn up proof she’s alive and well?”
“I just need to know if my sister is safe. Can you help me or not?”
“I’ll ask around. Tap a few sources. Can’t make any promises.”
For a horrifying moment, Callahan thought she might hug him. He took a hasty step back, just in case, because the last thing he needed was an armful of emotional woman.
He turned his attention to Alexandra. “And you. Try anything to interfere with my work, and I’ll toss you straight into the bog out front.”
Alexandra placed a hand over her heart. “No tricks from me. Just compensation for services rendered. Fifty pounds.”
Miss Dumont’s jaw dropped. He could practically see the calculations running through her head, the realisation that such a sum was far beyond her means.
But right now, she wasn’t his mark. The lady was.
His mouth curved into a sardonic smile. “Double it. I have expensive tastes.”
It was a lie, of course. Callahan lived simply, and most of his earnings supported the network of street children and informants he’d cultivated over the years. But Alexandra didn’t need to know that.
The noblewoman’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed his threadbare flat. “The evidence of it appears to be absent. Sixty, you extortionist.”
“This flat is a front, and I have mouths to feed. Seventy-five in advance.”
“Seventy,” Alexandra argued. “Half in advance, and no more arguing.”
Well. Seventycouldfund plenty of whiskey for future brooding, at least.
“Wait.” Miss Dumont’s voice was tinged with panic. She grabbed Alexandra’s arm. “I can’t pay that much. Surely we can find someone less expensive—”
“Consider it a gift between friends. It’s nothing.” Alexandra turned back to Callahan. “Well? Do we have an accord?”
He rolled his eyes. “I suppose so.”
Alexandra propelled Miss Dumont towards the door. Finally.
“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Alexandra called over her shoulder. “Send word if you learn anything.”
She paused on the threshold, spearing Callahan with a look that could have stripped paint from walls. “And remember, if you even think of cheating my friend, I’ll tell your superiors about Hong Kong.”
Callahan’s jaw clenched. “I said I’d find her. Now get the hell out of my flat, you wretched harpy.”
Then he slammed the door in their faces.
Time for another drink.
5
Callahan wove through the tangle of Whitechapel’s night-dark streets.
Light spilled from the taverns and brothels crammed on either side of the narrow lanes. The chill air hung heavy with soot and stale ale – scents as familiar as breathing.
This was the only place he’d ever felt at home.
Faces peered at him from darkened doorways and alleys, looking for any hint of weakness. Any opening to lighten his purse by a few coins.
But he’d grown tall and strong and vicious in this festering corner of the city. Earned his scars in these streets. Bled and bartered for the right to stride through hell’s antechamber unmolested. The wolves knew better than to nip at his heels.
