The demon slammed open a lower door and disappeared through it. Winston followed an instant later. Dimly lit and barren of any fripperies, the corridor stretched in four directions. The sound of the demon’s retreating footsteps echoed throughout, coming at them from everywhere.
“Where are we?” he snapped to Talent.
“Cargo level, I’d say.”
Winston tossed his hat aside. He’d left his walking stick somewhere on deck and had only the gun for protection. “Divide and conquer. There are two main cargo holds. You take the fore, and I’ll take the aft.”
“I’ll take aft.” Talent flashed a grin. “It’s farther away and I’m faster, human.”
They both knew the demon more likely had fled aft—being as it was farther away. Thus it was more dangerous. As Win hadn’t the time to argue, he let it go.
“I’ll give you that one.” He nodded toward the dark stretch of hall. “Go then. We meet in the center.”
Talent ran off without another word. Taking a deep breath, Winston did the same, going about twenty feet before he encountered the first cargo hold entrance. The door hung wide open. A sign of entry? Or a diversion?
Inside was a cavernous space, cool and slightly damp. Far above, iron beams, painted a dull red, ran along the ceiling like the ribs of Jonah’s whale. Towers of crates, lashed down by thick hemp netting, made a tight maze ideal for hiding.
“Perfect,” he muttered, keeping his back to the wall as he entered with his gun pointed down but at the ready.
Careful to keep his step light and silent, Winston moved to the first crate. Being deep in the bowels of the ship, the hum of the engines was immense and enough to vibrate his bones. Farther in he went, on a bloody wild goose chase, he feared. Something creaked and he tensed. Puddles of yellow electric light from the overhead lamps were far and few, leaving too many corners for darkness to dwell.
The heaviness of the gun in Winston’s hand brought to mind another time. Of a foul alleyway, filled with fog and death. He’d nearly lost his life there.
Don’t think of it. But his vision blurred as his mouth filled with saliva. Hands shaking, Winston pressed himself against the wall of the ship, and cold iron bore into his shoulder blades as he fought for control. The squeak of a door hinge had him freezing. From his vantage point, he could see nothing more than the crate in front of him and darkness beyond. He cannot be destroyed. What if Poppy had been telling the truth? And here Winston was, armed with only a gun. Hell. He ought to go back. But, if he stayed and fought, it could end here. Winston swallowed hard. He had to try.
Bugger, but he couldn’t hear a thing over the roar of the blasted engines. His breath and heartbeat sounded overloud in his ears, an irritant that could get him killed. And something was coming. He could feel it by the dip in his guts.
Focusing on a spot before him, Winston let every muscle relax, going still and quiet. Exhale. Inhale. Softly. The pumping of his blood slowed too. And with this came an elevation of his senses. It was a trick he’d learned in his training days from his grizzled old partner, Nelson, when Win had come too close to getting his head knocked off by a suspect. He’d forgotten it in his recent fears. No more. Win exhaled again and concentrated on the air about him and the sounds of the engines thrumming, a steady beat that—
There! The scuff of a shoe from the left had him adjusting his grip on his pistol. Sweat trickled along his neck, tickling him. He stared at the edge of the crate until the wood grain blurred and the shadowed passage came into sharp focus. Another scrape, the shuffling of fabric. The bastard was coming closer.
Win’s heartbeat thumped against the side of his throat. His thighs quivered, and his arms burned, aching with the need to move. Steady. And then he heard it, the lightest intake of breath.
With a burst of strength and speed, Winston whipped around the corner, slammed into the body standing there, and aimed for the head. His finger was already pressing down on the trigger when a flash of shining red hair and the scent of lemons stayed his hand. A second later, he registered the sharp point of a knife digging into the underside of his jaw. For a moment, he could only stare. Bulging purple glass lenses stared back at him, giving the impression of coming nose to nose with a mechanical owl. But the delicate slope of her nose and the sharp angle of her jaw was pure Poppy.
Another moment more and he became aware of the fact that his gun was pressed hard against her temple.
“Shit!” He lurched away as if burned. “What in the bloody hell?”
Poppy wrenched the enormous brass goggles from her eyes and glared. “What are you doing here?”
Her smooth cheeks were flushed, and her red hair straggled from beneath the leather straps of the goggles, but she appeared collected and cool. Not so for him.
“What am I—” He scrubbed a damp hand over his face. “Infernal woman, you nearly gave me an apoplexy. They ought to count you among the ten plagues of Egypt!”
Her mouth puckered. Not from irritation, he realized, but from repressing a laugh. Obstinate, crazy…
“Oh, I’m much more effective than a plague. Well, more accurate at any rate.”
“I almost blew your head off!”
With a deft twirl of her fingers, she tucked her knife back into the sheath strapped around her hips. “And I almost filleted you. Had I not such fine reflexes—” He snorted, and she spoke louder, “I’d be a widow right now.”
“We’ll have to thank God for small mercies.” He grasped her elbow and towed her behind the crate. His voice lowered. “Why are you here?”
“There’s a dead man up on deck. He’s causing quite a commotion.”
“Yes, I know. Talent and I almost caught the bastard who did it in the act. It was a demon. We followed him down here.”
Damn it all, he’d almost killed her, and she talked as though they were at tea. Her sharp eyes took in their surroundings. “Where is Talent now?”
“Ferreting the demon out from the other end of the ship. Hopefully he won’t run afoul of Miss Chase and nearly kill her as well.”
“She’s up inspecting the body, so that is doubtful.” Poppy kept her profile to him. “I think he got away.” Her gaze returned to him. “I came in through the east entrance. You?”
“West.” His fingers twitched at his side.
“As I thought. Either we missed him or he’s gone.”
How could she be so calm? The thrill of the chase, even the fear, had transmuted into something earthier and basic. His blood was up, and to his horror, he had a cockstand one could hang a hat on. Winston wanted nothing more than to toss up Poppy’s skirts and pound into her. Like a rutting animal. Worse, the blasted woman appeared completely unaffected and would most likely slap him should he try anything. He shook his head and took a breath.
“Go back to the cabin, and I’ll search the rest of the area.”
They’d been together long enough for him to know her “surely you jest” look quite well. He did not care a whit. The woman wasn’t facing that thing. Nor could he think with her nearby. His hand curled around Poppy’s arm, holding her secure lest she get any fanciful notions of leaving his side. “Either you go, or we both wait it out here.”
Her breath was cool on his cheek. “Listen, I’ve more experience with these matters than—”
“Forgive me, but I was under the impression that your role within your organization was of an administrative nature.”
Moss brown eyes flashed darkly. “Are you suggesting that I cannot handle myself in the field?”
“I am suggesting that one of us has greater experience in the field and that person is not you.”
“Of all the preposterous, pompous—”
Winston clamped a hand over her mouth and dropped to a crouch. The step of a boot had sounded beyond, and his blood froze. Poppy did not fight, and he let his hand slide free.
“Left corner about ten yards off.” Poppy’s voice was but a breath. Which rather amused him, given that they’d just been talking loud enough for anyone to hear them. Still, he simply nodded and held her tight against him. Christ but they’d been squabbling like infants, and now they were trapped. His muscles tensed as a deliberate step sounded just around the crate. Whoever it was wasn’t bothering with stealth. Poppy stiffened as well. Their eyes met, and her hand slipped into his pocket and wrapped around his gun. Bloody blasting hell. He held her gaze, his heart wrenching in his chest for fear for her. It ought to be him protecting her. But he gave a slight nod. Let her aim be true.
Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow loomed. Everything slowed and yet sped up as he twisted to the side, and Poppy lifted the gun and fired. Her arm bobbled at the last second. A bad shot. Winston reached out for the gun, ready to take it from her and shoot the demon down. Smoke clogged his throat and ruined his vision. His ears rang from the report of the gun. But not enough to miss Talent’s irate shout.
“What the bleeding devil?”
Gun smoke dissipated, and Talent stood, glaring pure murder down at them. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Poppy wrenched free of Winston and rose. “Had I been, you would be dead, Mr. Talent.”
Getting to his feet was far harder, for visions of Poppy being cut down before him still swirled within Winston’s head. But he straightened and adjusted his lapels if only to do something to calm himself. “You shot wide, didn’t you?” And damn if pride didn’t swell within him. Fancy that.
Poppy did not smile, but it lurked in her eyes. That, and a certain smugness that irked. “How good of you to notice, Mr. Lane.”
“Well, I didn’t,” snapped Talent. “You scared ten years off my life.”
“Mr. Lane and I were defending ourselves. You ought to have made your presence known.”
Talent snorted. “Right. ‘Excuse me, Mr. Demon, I’m walking toward you to ascertain whether or not you are my mates. Care to clarify for me?’ ”