Piss and shit. Jack should not listen. He strained against the words. But that dark, haunted place that lived and breathed within his shattered soul soaked it in and cried out for more. To feel peace. Could it ever happen? The man had the list.

Swallowing against temptation, Jack took a step back. “Not interested.”

“Liar.”

Again came the nearly vibrating need to hunt. “I won’t give you my blood.”

“Oh, I think you will.” So very assured. A slow smile spread over the man’s face, and a glimmer of fangs appeared behind his lips. “It would be a pity if your secrets came out in the open, would it not?”

Hell. Bloody, bloody hell.

“I suggest you think hard on that before you refuse me. I’m quite comfortable continuing on, exposing your underbelly as I go. I’ll have that blood. One vial. In return, you can have the list of names.”

“That’s all you want?” Jack did not believe that for a moment.

“One hour,” was the answer. “Paddington Station. Look behind the Pears baby, and you’ll have your names.” He stared at Jack with something akin to mad pride. A strange look that had Jack turning cold.

Jack gritted his teeth. “If you think—”

“Talent?” Chase’s worried voice rang out from the other side of the freight car.

Shit. Jack glanced between the man and the direction of Chase’s voice. A mistake.

The crunch of gravel echoed. Everything in him screamed to go to her and draw her close. It was too late. An evil gleam lit the man’s eyes.

“The lovely Miss Chase,” said the man. “Shall we say hello?”

Before Jack could move, the man gave a great push to the side of the freight car. It rocked toward Chase and then started to fall.

It all happened too quickly. Mary had been standing beside the train, walking toward the sound of Talent’s voice, when the whole car came hurtling toward her. Then he was there. She made a grab for Talent, and he for her. Their hands collided, a messy tangle, then he was throwing her down, with the massive freight car following him. Her head cracked into the rough gravel, and his face smashed into hers. An instant later another blow came, so hard and swift that it knocked the air from her lungs. Talent grunted, his breath whooshing too, but then his body, flat against hers, arched and braced, as if forming a human cage around her.

And then it all stopped.

Mary blinked, taking stock of her bruised body and the fact that Talent was lying flush against her, grinding her into the ground. The rough, green-painted boards of the freight car loomed behind him. On him. She tried to catch a breath and failed. The bloody thing was on top of them.

From beyond came the shouts of men. “Cor! Did you see that?”

“What made it crash?”

“Dunno. It just seemed to fall over. Thought I saw a couple of people for a moment. Don’t see ’em now.”

A hard snort. “If they’re under there, they’s flat as a fritter by now.”

Mary’s focus narrowed back to Talent, just visible in the dim light. They were nose to nose, his chest, belly, and h*ps crushed against hers. From what she could feel, his thighs straddled hers. Mary took light breaths, trying to ignore the sensation of his large, male body all around her.

His arms, bracketing her, shook with strain. Dear God, but he was holding the worst weight of the car off of her. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Well enough. You?”

“I’ve got a freight car on my back,” he managed with a grunt. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry,” she offered weakly. For, really, what did one say in such a situation?

An amused snort left him, and his warm breath gusted over her lips. “As am I.” Oddly, it did not sound like a quip but an honest apology. The ghost of their earlier argument whispered between them once more.

When their gazes met, his mouth canted. “If I move, the car will topple back on the men.” His voice was barely a sound.

“Hell,” she whispered, then glanced toward the sliver of light beyond. And if they alerted the men to their presence, they’d have to explain how the train hadn’t crushed them.

Mary licked her dry lips. “What happened?” She hadn’t been able to see a thing in the sudden fog that had rolled in. Sounds had been distorted, and for a moment she’d been quite vexingly lost.

Talent’s voice turned flat. “He ran, I almost had him, he tipped the car over onto you, and so forth.”

Lovely. So their current predicament was her fault. Mary winced. “Thank you, Jack.”

He flinched, then stilled. “You’re welcome, Mary,” he whispered back. Only then did she realize she’d used his given name, and he hers.

As the two fellows beyond nattered on about how to right the overturned car, the small space between her and Talent grew thick with quiet. And all the sharp words and anger that lay between them had no place to grow here.

The wide expanse of his chest mashed her br**sts against her rib cage. An uncomfortable sensation. And yet awareness of his chest, so solid and strong, had her ni**les pebbling. Did he feel it? Did he know? Or did he choose to ignore it, just as she tried to ignore the thick length of c**k pressed impossibly hard against her belly?

Mary wasn’t so ignorant as not to know that a man might have a cockstand merely because he was in close contact with a woman. It did not stop the empty space between her legs from growing warm, or a soft, insistent throb from developing there. The sensation was so unexpected, so unfamiliar to her, that Mary didn’t know what to do with herself. For lack of a better place to go, her hands settled on the sides of his trim waist, and a tremor lit through him. She let her hands fall, but it didn’t seem to help. Every dull thud of his heart reverberated through her.

So closely pressed, they had to adjust their breathing. With each exhale Talent made, so must she inhale. Back and forth, in and out. Sharing the same air, building a soft, slow rhythm. She had no escape, nowhere to look but at him, into his eyes. His gaze was unwavering, studying her as though he saw her soul. And perhaps he could, for she felt splayed open. His mouth was a word away, close enough to feel every breath he took.

Deep within her a shiver began, and her neck ached with the urge to cant her head, tilt her chin just so until his mouth fit to hers. Dear God, she wanted to kiss Jack Talent. Perhaps he saw the knowledge dawn in her eyes, for his gaze narrowed, his breath coming faster.

“Christ, Chase, close your eyes or something.” As if leading by example, he closed his own, turning his head slightly.

It was a two-shot knockdown to her heart, and her breath hitched, the action pressing her farther into him. A strangled sound wrenched from deep within his chest.

“Why?” she managed to ask.

His throat moved on an audible swallow. “Because the sight of you is causing me pain. And even if I do not look, I can feel your gaze on me.” The confession was raw, agonized, and angry.

It destroyed what was left of her pride. Mary closed her eyes. It hurt to look at him too. His head moved an inch, bringing his cheek flush with hers, and the stubble of his beard scratched her skin. She squeezed her eyes tight, fighting to ignore the feel of him, and his earthy scent made her mind a muddle.

“Admit it,” he whispered wryly. “I am the last person you’d want pressed into you in this manner.”

She stilled. Was he? Rocks gouged her from head to foot. A particularly sharp one had her shoulder blade screeching for relief. Nothing was comfortable about the situation. And yet where his h*ps ground against hers had grown unbearably hot. She wanted to move, if only to grind back. Her cheeks flared with the knowledge.

Good God, would those blasted men ever leave? She could not breathe anymore. She needed out. Her chest sawed as she tried to get more air. But there was only Talent, surrounding her, making her think things she shouldn’t.

He did not miss her distress. A ragged sound broke from his lips, and he adjusted his position, the action making her squeak.

“Toss it, I’m going to shift,” he said against her skin. “It will be sudden, and hopefully it will knock the car clear of those chatterboxes.” His breath tickled her ear. “The moment I do, run. Don’t look back. Run all the way home.”

“I am not going to run away. I can help you.” She wanted to run, but she couldn’t leave him.

She felt him smile against her. “I am going to be quite nude when I shift back.” He paused. A beat that pulsed through her. “Do you truly want to be around when that occurs?” He was laughing at himself.

But she couldn’t. Not when the very image filled her with disquiet. How horrible, when he couldn’t even look at her. “No,” she admitted. “I’ll go.”

“Good thinking. Besides, I’m running too. I will see you again tomorrow, little fritter.”

Something soft brushed her cheek. His lips. It was so light and fleeting she couldn’t be sure if he’d truly kissed her or simply moved his head. And then she couldn’t think at all.

A violent swirl of energy and movement licked over her, disturbing the air. A hard limb struck her elbow, another her knee, and Talent was a blur above her. Then the freight car was flying to the side. Cool air hit her face as men shouted. Mary leapt to her feet, running despite the screaming pain in her limbs from the sudden action. She dashed over the tracks as cries rang out. Only when she was nearly clear did she look back. And a laugh burst from her as she saw one man faint and a great black horse race across the yard.

Chapter Thirteen

Darkness greeted Jack when he returned home. He lived alone now. Ian, that thickheaded, stubborn Scot, had insisted that Jack was his heir apparent. As such, Jack was entitled to a third of the vast Ranulf fortune. When Jack had tried to return the funds, Ian flatly told him to “either take it or throw it into the Thames, but give another word of protest and I’ll stuff it down your bloody throat.”

So Jack bought himself a modest home and let Ian’s man of business take care of the rest.

He had more than enough money to employ a full staff, but it felt wrong. He wasn’t a lord, or even upper-crust gentry. Acting the part wouldn’t make it so. He had a housekeeper come round to clean and launder, and see that his pantry was stocked, but that was the extent of it. Hell, he’d been a valet long enough to look after his own wardrobe, and he could cook when needed.

He was grateful for the solitude as he stood in the cold, dim hallway with the memory of his discussion in the rail yard playing in his head, and with it came temptation. To find his tormentors. To end it all.

Bare-arsed na**d and shivering from the cold, he made his way up the stairs and into his room. But just at the threshold, he tensed and paused. Every muscle in his body quivered as he inched his way in, claws extended and at the ready. Stupid that he’d come this far into his home without taking proper precautions. And f**king miserable that he still worried about being ambushed.

Nothing stirred. No scent of something off. He was safe. Relatively.

Jack bolted the door to his room, then made his way to the bathing chamber. Heedless of the cold porcelain, he sat his bare arse in the tub and let the water fill up around him. The rush of water and the still hollowness of the bathing room calmed him as he stared up at the medallion on the ceiling. He’d lit one lamp, and a golden halo of light kept the shadows at bay. But it was too quiet. He used to love silence. Now it only allowed thoughts to creep in.

Hot water lapped at his chest, stroking his skin like a tongue. Jack’s throat constricted on a gag, and he lurched up, grabbed the soap, and scrubbed it over his flesh. Lather foamed, his skin stinging as he used his nails. And still a sticky film of muck seemed to cover his skin, sinking into his guts and churning them.

They were out there. And Jack could have their names. If he wanted them.

“No. Let it go.” It was too dangerous to go out now. And he’d have to face her. With blood on his hands. He rocked in the tub, need and vengeance crawling through him. “Let it go.”

Scrubbing, scrubbing. Not enough. The soap dissolved, and his fingers swept over his skin like a caress. Sly caresses, hard hits. He never knew how they would touch him next. A sob broke from him. He sank beneath the water, and it folded over him and burned his eyes. His world was silent and warm. Suffocating. A second later he burst from the watery womb on a snarl, his body trembling and tight.

They were out there. And Jack could not live while they did.

By the time Mary limped home, the sun was close to setting. She was bruised, battered, and exhausted. Nothing else mattered save stripping off her dirty clothes and sinking into a hot bath with a cup of tea and a good book to keep her company. Decadent. And necessary. Limbs aching, she climbed the steps that led into her building, only to stop when a cloaked figure stepped in front of her.

In an instant Mary had one knife pinned to her visitor’s throat and the other poised to sink into the person’s gut.

A breathless feminine laugh filled the cold air. “Bleeding hell, Mary,” said Tottie. “I thought you were more hospitable than this.”

Mary studied the GIM’s eyes and listened for the telltale sound of her whirring heart. Satisfied that it was truly Tottie, she slipped her knives back into their hidden wrist holsters and moved back. “One cannot afford hospitality in our line of work, Tot. Something you ought to know.”

Tottie gave a curt nod. “It was careless of me.” She scanned the area around them, taking in the shadows that grew along the stairwells and fenced front walks. “Especially now.”

Mary’s back tensed, a trickle of forewarning creeping along her spine with cold feet. “Has there been another murder?”