Page 51 of Waifs And Strays
Swallowing the dregs of my coffee, I padded upstairs to check on Thane; if he was awake, he’d be chewing over Nick’s abduction. Maybe he’d come up with a new theory during the night and there was another line of enquiry we could pursue.
The door to the upstairs flat was ajar and for a horrified second I thought that Thane had been attacked in the same way as Nick. Then I realised I was being daft: the door was already broken and there’d been no time to fix it. Thane wouldn’t have bothered to close it.
Just to fully reassure myself, however, I pushed it open gently so I could sidle inside. I wanted to see him with my own eyes to be sure he was alright.
Perhaps the thought of sleeping in Nick’s bed was too painful, but Thane was fast asleep on the living-room floor. There would have been more than enough space for him on the sofa but he’d chosen the hard floor; maybe that was what he preferred after spending years of his life squatting in rundown buildings. This strange ginger werewolf with his dark history, troubled intelligence and fascinating acquaintances had experienced a tough life.
I watched him for several seconds. He was lying on his side, one arm flung upwards as if he were reaching for something. He hadn’t closed the curtains and moonlight dappled his bare skin.
It was the first time I’d seen him in anything other than baggy clothing and, as I’d suspected, his body was taut with sinewy muscles that indicated his innate physical strength. There were several faint silvery lines stretching across his back and I bit back a gasp: they were scars. They were old, perhaps even decades old, but they told a story of hideous pain and punishment.
My heart went out to him. I might have been an experiencedassassin used to the art of killing, but I wouldn’t brook any form of torture – and there was no doubt that Thane had been tortured.
I dragged my eyes upwards to his face. He looked different in sleep and his features were softer somehow. I gazed at the rough stubble on his jaw and the line of his cheekbone, as well as his surprisingly long eyelashes…
He emitted a brief snore and I jerked. I was being a voyeur: I had no right to come in here and watch him like this. I left quickly, feeling guilty for spying on him even as the curve of his muscled shoulder and the way the moonlight illuminated his skin filled my mind.
The dim glow from the Glebe caught my eye when I returned outside. I stared at it and then, for lack of anything else to do to ease my restless thoughts, I slipped out of my garden gate and headed towards it.
Chapter
Twenty-One
Ididn’t have a plan, I simply needed a distraction. I was also curious as to how bad the Crushers’ situation was because if things had been different Nick could have been caught up in it. Maybe I could help in some way; I still wanted to maintain a reputation as a good citizen, even if Alexander MacTire was about to chop off my pretty little head for allowing such terrible harm to come to his nephew. And I’d liked Tommy; he’d struck me as a good guy who was doing his best under difficult circumstances.
When I turned the corner and crossed the invisible line that led to the Glebe, the level of devastation became obvious. Very little of the existing warehouse remained; only one wall was standing and the rest had collapsed in heaps, several of which were still aflame. A few water witches were in attendance, however, suggesting that the fires were under control and they were waiting for the last of them to burn out.
It was no surprise that there wasn’t any sign of Captain Montgomery or any other MET officers. Whatever had happened was over now and it was still the middle of the night.They’d probably return when dawn broke to continue their investigation – although it was possible I was giving Montgomery too much credit.
I cast a dispassionate eye over the scene. I wasn’t a huge fan of fire. Several of my fellow assassins used it to cleanse murder scenes of annoying scraps of evidence that could lead their way, but in my experience its effects were too unpredictable. Besides, the best assassins didn’t leave any evidence behind.
A group of people were huddling at the edge of what had once been the perimeter of the warehouse. From the hulking size of the figure at the end, one of them was Tommy, the foreman. I walked towards him, hoping for their sakes that there’d been few casualties.
Tommy was still standing, though he must have been exhausted. When I’d met him earlier it had been obvious he had worries but he’d been managing them; now his shoulders were hunched, his head was drooping and he seemed to have collapsed in on himself. It was hardly surprising; all his hard work and hours of toil had gone up in flames and he’d probably lost everything.
I sidled around the group, most of whom appeared to be employees who were lingering out of loyalty, and approached Tommy, trying to appear sympathetic without being pitying. ‘Hello again,’ I said softly.
He swung his head slowly towards me and blinked as if trying to place me. He was a shadow of the man I’d met. ‘I’m so sorry about what’s happened,’ I said.
He ran a hand over his head and shook himself. I wasn’t sure if he recognised me or cared who I was. ‘It’s all gone,’ he said desolately. ‘All of it. There’s nothing left.’
‘Was anybody hurt?’
‘A couple of the guys were taken to hospital with burns andminor injuries but they’ll be alright, thank goodness.’ He paused. ‘And there are a few more who need to have their stomachs pumped, but I’ve been told they’ll recover.’ His voice cracked. ‘This is all my fault.’
‘The contentment potion,’ I murmured. ‘In the coffee urn.’
Tommy’s head drooped. ‘We told them not to drink too much of the coffee, but with all the overtime…’
Uh-huh. ‘What happened?’
‘Several of my workers overdosed and went crazy. I didn’t notice anything was wrong at first – they were a bit louder than usual but I didn’t think anything of it. I only noticed when the shouting progressed to throwing things around. When I went to intervene, two of them took off to a different corner of the warehouse and decided to have some fun with fire.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Because they thought the flames were pretty.’
That was pretty much what I’d expected; there was such a thing as too much happiness. ‘You know it’s not their fault,’ I said, not unkindly.
He sagged even further. ‘I know,’ he muttered. ‘But the deadline…’ His voice drifted away. ‘The only reason I’m still here is because one of the church deacons is on his way to talk to me.’
‘Now? In the middle of the night?’
