She glanced again at Slade’s back. “So you assumed the identity he had created for himself, but which used your own name and history. How very convoluted.”
“Good word.” The smile he shot her may have been shadowed, but it was at least a smile. That was something.
“I think these must be KGC codes.” She tapped the booklet.
She expected him to straighten and come see, but apparently he was more intrigued by whatever was in the crate. When he pulled out a wicked-looking knife, she understood why. Backing into the table, she stared at it. Perhaps it was a hunting knife…though neither Lucien nor Dev knew how to hunt. Protection against the violent streets? Perhaps, but both wore pistols for that.
Though it hadn’t done Lucien any good that final dark night.
“There’s blood on it.” Slade held the blade up toward the lantern. “Not much. Looks like it was cleaned pretty well, except where the blade meets the handle.”
He no doubt had more experience with weapons than she, though her father had taught her how to handle a gun with reasonable accuracy. “Why would he have that here?”
Slade shrugged. “Protection. Utility. Hunting. Could be an heirloom, given the styling.”
“With blood on it?”
“Might be fifty years old for all we know.” He put it back as if it didn’t matter. As if his eyes weren’t as hard as jet as he considered it. Then he straightened and came to look at the booklet. “Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
He glanced from the pages to her. “There’s a book across the street I’d like to compare this too. Would you mind if I took it? It’s easier to transport the smaller one without being seen.”
“So long as you have it back before Dev gets home.” She folded her arms over her middle and scanned the small room again. She was ready to escape the cellar. It was too cold on the one hand…and too warm on the other, with Slade Osborne taking up all the air. His coat smelled like him, citrus and spice, and filled her with the foolish longing to lean close again. She shrugged out of it. “I’d better return before I am missed.”
He nodded and put the coat back on, his breath catching on an inhale, eyes flashing to hers. Then he reached to his inner pocket and tried to slip the booklet in. It apparently wouldn’t slide easily, for he pulled another slender tome out.
A familiar slender tome. Ignoring the chill air that surrounded her again, she snatched it from his fingers. “Granddad’s book of prayers.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath but didn’t look up. It had been years since she had last held this treasured volume, with its aged leather binding and yellowed pages. The ink within had long ago faded to reddish brown. “He gave this to you?” It would be just like Granddad, to save something for years and then pass it along on a whim to a near-stranger.
Or, as he would say, at the prodding of the Spirit.
“You can have it if you want.” Uncertainty did strange things to his voice, made it lower, so that it thrummed over her nerves.
“No.” Much as she loved this book, she didn’t need the original—she already carried it inside her mind. She closed her eyes now to flip through the pages as they had been a decade earlier, paused to read a few of the words transcribed by her great-great-grandfather. The words whispered out. “ ‘God of my end, it is my greatest, noblest pleasure to be acquainted with Thee…’ ”
“I just read that one this morning. The prayers are beautiful.”
“Yes.” She opened her eyes and let her fingers remember the feel of the cover. It had a scratch that hadn’t been there ten years ago. Summoning a soft smile, she handed it back. “He must have seen something special in you to give you that. It has been in my family for a century.”
Uncertainty edged toward panic. “Then I shouldn’t—”
“He gave it to you. Keep it.”
His eyes went still again, the wavering vanished, and that hint of a smile reappeared on his lips as he tucked both books into his pocket. “Interesting family you have, Yetta. What’s his story?”
No one but Walker had ever called her Yetta. So why did it sound right coming from Slade’s lips? Warm enough to make her aware anew of the cold, familiar enough to tease the smile back to her mouth. “Oh no, Slade. One kiss does not entitle you to that information.”
“No?” His hint of a grin grew to a full one, and full of mischief as he slid closer. His hands settled at her waist again, and her foolish heart beat too fast. What was she doing? “What about two? What will that get me?”
Why did she have no desire to fend him off? She rather chuckled and rested her hands on his arms. “Trouble.”
“Convenient. It’s an old friend.” He leaned down, his intent as obvious as it had been in that flash on the steps.
Marietta lifted her face and waited, watched his wolf eyes gleam, flicker…and then shift, as if he heard something. He halted several inches away, inclined his head, and then retreated a step with a scowl. “Blast it.”
“What?” She heard nothing. No footsteps, no carriages…