“Ah, of course.” He stepped away, leaving her in the cold. “How wonderfully convenient.” His hand grasped the ledge of the roof. “And how very loyal of you to keep it.”
“He deserves my loyalty,” she snapped. “He saved me, after all.”
Talent went quietly still. His grip on the wall was bone-white. “Did he?” He didn’t sound surprised, or particularly interested.
“Yes.” It was she who came closer. “Do you know how I died?”
He swallowed hard but did not answer, his face going pale as if he didn’t want to know. How unfortunate for him, because he was going to know. She’d had enough.
“My mother was a courtesan. A poor Irish beauty who made the world believe she was an exotic French opera singer. Only she forgot that money fades along with beauty.” Mary glared up at his blank expression. “And when that happened, she offered me up for a neat sale to the highest bidder.”
Talent seemed to step back, but he hadn’t moved, barely breathing as she let her past out. “I ran from that room and into a pack of thugs who raped me in a back alley.” Even now, all these years later, the memory turned her stomach, made her blood ice-cold. “After the third one had me, I got away. I ran. Straight into a bloody gin wagon that crushed me into the pavement and left me where I lay.” Mary took a deep, cleansing breath. It wasn’t as simple as that. A world of regret lay between one action and its inevitable conclusion. She still remembered the pain of that regret with sharp clarity.
Sweat bloomed over Talent’s brow. Did her tale disgust him? Upset his narrow view of her world? She didn’t care. Not anymore.
“Despite… well, despite what they’d done to me, I found myself wanting to live.” She laughed shortly and without humor. “Devil of a thing to realize once one is already dead.” Mary held Talent’s gaze. “Lucien Stone offered me life anew. A home. A way to live as few women are allowed to do, with autonomy. Do you think I’d find the small act of being his mistress for show so much of a sacrifice?” It hadn’t been. Not in the beginning. Not even now did she regret it. Only in regards to the way this man thought of her. A man who hated her, and who, for some reason, she could not let go of. “So, yes, I am loyal.”
His eyes searched her face. “What do you want from me? Why do you tell me this?” It was a harsh plea, as if he’d like nothing more than to leave her, but stayed out of pride.
“I do not like working in strife! I go about, walking on pins and needles for fear of upsetting your tender feelings, but I’m rather tired of it all now. If you do not approve of my choices, that is your misfortune. But I suggest you buck up or get your arse off this case, because I am not going away.”
His expression was murderous, his teeth bared, his eyes flaring bright green. Then he looked away, his shoulders so tense that they visibly bunched beneath his coat.
Mary sighed, her anger deflating as she glanced back at Darby’s window. “I liked you. When we first met,” she clarified when he turned sharply. “You seemed a good sort. Until you began to look at me as though I were something found under your boot.”
Talent cursed beneath his breath. “I liked you too, when we met. Enough to believe that you did not deserve such treatment. But you let it happen. You say it was an act? Fine. Then either you liked the attention or you have no understanding of your own worth. Loyalty ought not come at the price of your reputation, Chase.”
A shiver started at the base of her spine and worked its way violently upward. Her throat hurt, and her head pounded. He didn’t understand. And yet he’d just voiced the very reasons why she had left the GIM and found her own way. She was prepared to sweep by him in a grand gesture, but he ruined it by brushing past her instead, his expression fierce and on the street below. Mary stopped. “What is it?”
“There.” He pointed to a shadowy figure slinking across Darby’s back lawn. And then Jack Talent leapt off the roof.
“Damn it!” Mary shouted. She was his partner, which meant she had to follow him.
Jack hit the ground running, his booted feet flying across the pavement and his coattails flapping. Ahead, the bastard in a similar coat raced off. He was a fast fucker. As if he knew it, the fiend threw a taunting glance over his shoulder at Jack.
With a growl of annoyance, Jack increased his speed. At the periphery of his vision, he saw Chase launch from the rooftop, her graceful arms windmilling as she arced through the air, suspended for a flicker of time. His heart stilled, his pace faltering just enough for him to take note of her landing safely and racing after them, her hair loose and streaming like a bronze banner.