Even now, seventeen years later, guilt flayed him like a lash, and Malloryn closed his eyes for a second.
After all this time, it was difficult to conjure Catherine's face, but he saw the flash of her smile, the haunted blue of her eyes. Saw them widen as Balfour turned his pistol from its lock on Malloryn's chest to settle upon her.
Crack.
He flinched as the memory of the pistol firing cascaded through him. It was the same memory that had haunted him for years; the moment Balfour set this vendetta into play forever.
Oh yes, it was bad. But no one watching would ever understand why.
It should have been me.
"Do you know her?" Garrett asked, looming over Malloryn's shoulder.
"No." Malloryn opened his eyes. "I know who killed her though."
Tense silence echoed through the alleyway as the pair of Nighthawks standing on guard shifted uneasily.
"Who?"
"An old friend," he replied, leaning down to examine the body. There was a calling card clutched tight in her hand.
His calling card.
No wonder the Guild Master had contacted him.
Malloryn plucked it from her fingers and straightened slowly. "Who found her?"
"A lamplighter," Garrett said, dismissing the nearest pair of Nighthawks, leaving only the three of them. "Called it in around dawn. Thinks he might have heard a shot, but he wasn't certain and I doubt he truly heard a thing."
"It didn't happen here."
"No. Not enough blood. She was placed here deliberately, where someone would find her."
"Can you smell the killer?"
"I'm picking up traces of gunpowder, mechanical oil, and hints of bergamot. But no personal scent, which means it was either a blue blood or a dhampir," Byrnes said, squatting beside the girl and examining her fingernails. "She's not upper class."
"No."
Bergamot. He almost flinched again. Jelena had dabbed the oil at her pulse points. The scent of it made his heart beat a little faster, though his senses weren't as highly refined as Byrnes's.
"So she could have been just a girl plucked off the streets," Byrnes murmured.
"Why her?" Garrett asked.
"She looks a little like Gemma," Byrnes said pointedly. "Think Balfour's going to go after her? She did ruin all his fun in Russia, after all."
"It's not meant to represent Gemma," Malloryn replied, locking all the pain, all the panic deep inside him.
Byrnes's gaze sharpened.
"It's meant to remind me of Catherine Tate. You were right. It is a message for me. But what is he trying to tell me?" Malloryn slowly unfolded to his full height, glancing down at the calling card. "We know he's back. He left a letter on my fucking desk. So this is a threat. Or a taunt."
"We need to keep an eye on the female Rogues?" Byrnes asked. "After all, he did want Obsidian to put a bullet through Gemma's heart and leave her on your doorstep."
Malloryn's mind raced. "He wants me to suffer. He wants to take away every last thing I care for. All the Rogues need to watch their backs. I daresay this won't be the last time we find a body."
The Guild Master waited, arms folded across his chest nonchalantly, even as his sharp blue eyes took in everything. "So Balfour is back and now he's killing young women with black hair?"
"Unfortunately, yes. I may need you and your men before this is done."
"You have them," Garrett replied, without hesitation. "I'll set Perry to try and track the killer."
His wife was the best tracker the Guild had to offer, but she also had two young daughters now.
"Tell her to take others with her and watch her back. She's looking for a dhampir woman with silvery blonde hair, an eye patch over one eye, and a scar on her cheek. Track the killer, but don't engage. She's lethal."
Byrnes sucked in a sharp gasp. "Jelena."
"Bergamot," he murmured. "I'll never forget the scent."
It haunted every single one of his nightmares.
"In that case, maybe I should join Perry?" Byrnes's expression hardened. "You might need a dhampir to counter her."
Malloryn nodded.
"Find her," he said, locking down the sharp fury that bit at the back of his throat. "If we find Jelena, then we find Balfour."
"Yes, Your Grace," they both echoed.
This time, Lena came to her.
Adele led her into the gardens behind Malloryn House, where they could have some modicum of privacy. "Will was successful? He tracked my husband?"
She hadn't seen him since that moment in her bedchambers, beyond a brief note saying he had "business" to attend to. The question of precisely what he'd been up to last night niggled through her brain like a worm spreading rot.
"You wouldn't know what your husband's style is."
Devoncourt's words bothered her more than they should.
Because I know my husband likes games and he played me like a fiddle. What if this entire act is a game?
What sort of business required Malloryn stay out of all hours?
"Yes." Lena squeezed her hand, and her entire demeanor made Adele swallow. "I'm sorry, Adele. So sorry. Malloryn led him a merry chase across half of town, but Will managed to track him. There's a small, discreet house in Hardcastle Lane in Clerkenwell. Malloryn went in the back door as if he knew the place well. Will doesn't know what Malloryn was doing there, but there were several others coming in and out, and... a woman. A very beautiful woman with black hair."
Adele's heart fell. "He told me he'd let Mrs. Danner go."
"It wasn't Mrs. Danner. The butler called her Gemma. Gemma Townsend."
That lying wretch.
Adele turned around abruptly, pressing her knuckles to her lips. She couldn't believe she'd ever let him touch her. Kiss her. Press her down on the bed and ravish her, the way he'd done....
And the entire time he'd been lying to her.
Though technically, she supposed it wasn't lying. He hadn't been with Mrs. Danner, but no wonder he'd been able to promise her—with a completely straight face—that he'd ended things with the opera singer.