Page 87 of You Only Love Twice
They had to get Miss Hamilton back before the Chameleon killed her.
* * *
Coldrush Guards swarmed through the Hamiltons’gardens.
There was no sign of the bride, and Malloryn's voice had turned lethal as he barked orders, though his expression held no outside trace of his turmoil.
Gemma caught a hint of some of the wedding guests’ whispers:What a shock ending to this fiasco of a wedding; Malloryn couldn't even get his bride to the altar; has someone taken her?
Half a dozen of the blasted peacocks were on the balcony, watching proceedings with an amused eye. Some of them even had champagne. Bets were being placed, which made her feel a little uncomfortable, for while COR had opened a betting book on the event, none of them had done it with malicious intentions.
Gemma glared at them. She wasn't going to let Malloryn become a laughingstock. And the poor girl might still be alive.
Think, damn you. You know him best.
The Chameleon liked to take credit for his kills.
He'd begun to send Malloryn a bullet-ridden playing card before them with a clue as to his target.
He wants to taunt Malloryn.
Taking Miss Hamilton was nothing more than an insult. A means to strike at Malloryn, as if to say,I can take anyone you care to protect.
He knew Malloryn.
He knew the day's program, and the house.
It's always an inside job....
And it was clear Miss Hamilton was no longer on the premises. Gemma's head turned, and she slipped to the gate at the edge of the garden. There'd been guards here earlier, but perhaps they'd joined the search?
The scent of blood caught her attention.
A minute amount, but any sign of it might be a clue.
Gemma strode into the streets. A single dark crimson droplet of blood marred the cobbles. It seemed surreal to find an area of Kensington so devoid of traffic, but Malloryn had insisted the streets be cleared for half a mile around, what with the queen in residence.
Guards loomed at the roadblock to the north of the street.
But Gemma's head turned south, her nostrils flaring as she followed the trail of blood.
A single drop splashed here and there; dark enough to be a blue blood with a low CV level. She tracked it to a narrow lane, where she found a man stashed behind a pile of refuse, stripped of his clothes. The pale linen of his undergarments was stark white. Someone bleached them, which argued for certain uniform standards. His hair was close-cropped, almost military style. Clean-shaven. Polished Hessian boots. Blood dripped from his ear where someone had most likely stabbed a stiletto directly into his brain. Some of the blood was thickened, congealing, which gave her a timeline.
A Coldrush guard.
This was how the Chameleon got in.
She started putting events together in her mind. The Chameleon took the guard out first, as cleanly as he could, and dressed in his uniform before returning to the guard's post. There should have been a second guard, but she had no idea where he'd gone. Dead, perhaps, the body hidden.
The guests started arriving.
Everyone retired to the ballroom for the ceremony.
And that was when he made his move.
Discarding the decorative overlay of her bustle, Gemma hurried back to the foggy street. All her gowns had been modified to her specifications to make it easier to move within them. A froth of gold lace spilled through the two slits on either sides of her skirt, a subtle display of gorgeous fabric that disguised the fact the slits gave her room to move. One second she could be ready for the wedding of the year, the next, able to kick a man in the face.
Gemma drew her pistol out of her reticule, as well as a curious brass gauntlet she'd stolen from Jack's laboratory. He didn't want her testing it yet, as he hadn't quite gotten the power pack sorted, but she'd been preparing to protect the queen and needed every edge she could get. Slipping the ultraviolet illuminator gauntlet on her hand, she locked it into place.
