Speed Read online

  SPEED

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  ALSO IN THE SERIES

  Shades

  Echoes

  Speed

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  FROM THE PUBLISHER

  ALSO IN THE SERIES

  Chapter One

  Maker sipped the tea.

  Lukewarm.

  Usually he drank it scalding hot, often burning his tongue just to reduce the time he had to spend with his wife, but today he had been distracted.

  He looked at her. Beautiful, composed, elegant. She appeared to be the perfect wife.

  Appearances could be very deceptive.

  “What’s wrong, husband?”

  A lesser man might mistake this for a query of kindness, a demonstration of interest. Maker knew better. When they had to be together, it was Violet’s delight to torture him. He put the still full teacup on the small table between them. “Nothing, dear.”

  She scowled. “I am not your dear.”

  “Apologies.” He knew better than this. Single word answers only. For safety. Though his patience with that was wearing thin.

  “You’re thinking of her again, aren’t you?”

  The sneering demand needed no explanation because he had indeed been thinking of her. In truth, Amethyst Forester seemed to be all he could think about these days. A no would be both simple and politic, but he wasn't that good a liar, so he said nothing.

  Violet’s face scrunched, from paragon to Punch. She might be a woman, but she was every bit as vile and violent as the abusive puppet. He bit his cheeks to hold in his dark amusement at the idea.

  “Of course. The great Lord Fotheringham, Fifth Earl of Umbria -”

  Maker hated when anyone used his full title, especially Violet. She cared more for it than she ever had for him.

  “- thinking about a little miss nobody who’s only someone because she inherited money. And probably because she gave the old Professor just what he wanted.”

  “Yes. Time, respect, and friendship.”

  Violet sneered. “She was his mistress, everybody says so.”

  Maker found keeping his countenance neutral a Herculean task. His hands clenched so tight, his nails bit into his palms. “You say so, they repeat, obedient little sheep. The truth, however, is innocent.”

  “Ha!” She sneered again. “You only wish to believe that because you want to bed a virgin.”

  “Well, it would be a first!” He sprung to his feet, but not in time to avoid the hurled cup of tea, which stained his pristine shirt and collar. For a moment he paused, towering over his hated wife, fighting the temptation to slap her. He turned on his heel, and long angry strides carried him away.

  That sound!

  Amethyst froze.

  Some things could never be forgotten. Some sounds.

  Sounds like the creak of floorboards when there should be none. Two break-ins which had ended in her being knocked unconscious were enough. The idea that someone had broken into her home again grabbed her stomach with icy hands. She wouldn’t keep being a victim; she’d spent too much money changing the locks on every door and window. Slowly, she put aside her aetheric musings and reached out, her hand curled around the string-bound handle of the nearby cricket bat.

  Carefully placing each foot, Amethyst crept from her room, raising the bat before her, ready to strike. The door to the spare room stood open, and she heard movement inside. She tensed, swallowed her fear as she stepped forward and swung the bat - only missing the yelping Jade because he allowed himself to fall to the bed.

  “Jade!”

  “Amethyst!” Jade stood upright and she lowered the bat. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  He might be her twin, but his six-inch height advantage made quite a difference when he stepped closer and she had to look up at him. “I thought someone had broken in!”

  “You told me I didn’t need an invitation. Is that my cricket bat?”

  Amethyst sighed. “You don’t, and yes, it is. But you only moved out two days ago. I’m didn’t expect you to come creeping about the place at some ungodly hour!”

  Jade drew out his fob-watch and checked it. “It’s eleven-forty.”

  Their Great-Aunt Flora, who lived with Amethyst as her chaperone, was insistent that she took a half hour’s rest before noon in preparation for the prime visiting hours of between noon and three. As Amethyst didn’t get many visitors, she generally considered this forced rest unnecessary, which was why she’d obeyed by retiring to her room, but had in fact been reading on her day bed.

  Jade reached for the bat, but she pulled back, not ready to give it up.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I can’t find my dragon.”

  She frowned, tempted to point out that dragons didn’t exist. Then she remembered. “The little jade dragon?”

  He nodded. “The one Paul brought me from Chinatown.” He return
ed to looking around the room.

  Paul. Amethyst swallowed. She’d liked Paul. So much so she’d agreed to marry him for Jade’s sake, to be what she had since learned was known as a ‘beard,’ but it hadn’t worked out. Just as well, really, given that Paul had ended his own life a couple of years ago and that would have been a stigma worse than the truth. “You took it with you when you moved out. Just two days ago.”

  Jade turned back, pinned her with a glower. “So, I definitely did have it here?”

  “You did. It sat on the tallboy.” She pointed. Gladstone, the black cat she had taken in when it had been run over in the Square, slunk into the room, and jumped on the bed to demand attention. The animal’s mechanical eye glinted in the light more than the natural one, and a small metallic click sounded as the cat sat. Amethyst had never been happy with the way she’d mended that broken hip, but she would not cut the poor little thing open again just for a clicky hip. It had almost become a part of the cat’s charm. “Have you checked behind it? Under it?”

  Jade stepped up to the tallboy and did just that as Amethyst idly ruffled the cat’s fur in return for some heavy purring.

  “Not there.”

  “Mrs. Shaw would have told me if she’d found something.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Amethyst realized his snap owed more to the catch in his voice than to any distrust of her staff. He’d loved Paul, and that jade dragon had been the last gift Paul had given him. It meant so much to him that losing it would be like losing Paul over again. She put the bat on the bed and moved to Jade. “I’m sure. She’s an extremely good housekeeper.” Her hug expressed all the sympathy she could no more vocalize than he could express or explain his lost, forbidden love.

  The office door opened and closed.

  Inspector Jenson looked up from the report he had been reading, closed the file and sat straighter to face the man who had come in.

  “Most people knock and wait,” Jenson said steadily.

  “I’m not most people.”

  Rhett Lagina most certainly was not most people. Though his appearance could best be described as ‘everyman,’ this man defied every detailed description, especially in that discreet brown suit that was neither so new as to be fashionable, nor so old as to be shabby. He stood five feet eight inches tall, had mid-brown hair, and no distinguishing features. Though clearly not ugly, Jenson wasn’t sure the American would be considered handsome.

  “No. So, what can the Metropolitan Police do for the Queen’s Own today?”

  “Well, dropping the sarcasm would be nice.”

  “It’s not sarcasm,” Jenson said carefully, very much suspecting it had been. “It’s… civility.” Jenson’s eyes narrowed at the pinched features of the other man. “Or was it not my sarcasm that’s the problem?”

  There was fire in the man’s eyes when he looked up again. “La-GEEN-ah, okay? That’s how my name is pronounced.”

  Jenson knew that, but given how the American’s name was spelt, it did lead to a lot of unpleasant comparisons with the most intimate part of the female anatomy. Name calling that he suspected the man had had to deal with all this life. “Who?”

  “Rosyth.”

  “The man’s a vazey mutton shunter, unfortunately, he’s also a chief inspector and higher up the food chain than I am, so there’s nothing I can do but advise you to ignore him. So, what can I do for you?”

  “Have you made any progress on the Professor Richards case?”

  The very case he had been reviewing; the file currently sitting under his hands. Professor Richards had died in May, of an opiate overdose far too high to be accidental. He hadn’t been an opiate user, and no drug paraphernalia had been found in his home. Someone had injected him and left him to die. Professor of Aetheric Studies at London University, the man had been a leading light in his field, and he’d made enemies. Thus far, Jenson had narrowed the search down to one man, a man known variously as Mr. Quinn, Mr. Brown, and a number of other pseudonyms that seemed to change as often as toffs changed their clothes. Quinn was the name that turned up most often, so Jenson assumed it might actually be his real name, or at least the one that might leave a trail to be followed. Jenson often closed on Quinn’s tail, but the man remained elusive. Still, other avenues existed to be checked. The chase was still on. “Not much, why?”

  Lagina pointed to the chair in front of Jenson’s desk. Jenson nodded once in response. Even as Lagina sat, Jenson wondered. Lagina played his cards with care, and frequently had more information than he would share. Such, he supposed, were the joys of working for a secret organization that answered only to the monarch.

  “And Miss Forester hasn’t been of any more use?”

  Amethyst Forester had been Professor Richards’ student, and his heir. She now lived in the house where Richards had lived and had been through most of the man’s papers since he’d died. She had passed Jenson anything she considered might be useful to the investigation. Some had, some hadn’t. “She’s found nothing new since last we spoke.”

  Lagina nodded. It was quite clear he had something he wanted to say, but he wasn’t yet ready to say it. Jenson would have to let him work through it in his own time. He wove his fingers together to keep from tapping them and waited.

  “Have you had any contact with Lord Fotheringham of late?”

  Ah, now Jenson thought he saw the route Lagina was taking. Lord Fotheringham. Friend of both Richards and Amethyst. Lived on Belgravia Square, opposite Amethyst, and he’d helped Amethyst through the difficult transition from middle-class merchant’s daughter to high society heiress. Or at least as much of the transition as Amethyst was prepared to make.

  “Actually, no,” Jenson admitted. “In truth I haven’t seen him since the Apollo’s Tower incident.”

  “In which we found a link between the New Jacobites and Earl Pembrey.”

  “We did.”

  “You do know who Earl Pembrey is, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Iestyn Pritchard-Jones is one of the richest men in the country. He has investments in a great many industries. Rumors abound about how he manages to always pick the winners, and not one single shred of evidence of wrongdoing has ever been found.”

  “Suspicious, don’t you think?” Lagina leaned in.

  “Or confirmation of doing no wrong,” Jenson countered. “Pembrey is also Lord Fotheringham’s father-in-law. Did I miss anything you consider relevant?”

  For a moment, Lagina’s jaw tightened. “Is Lord Fotheringham aware that Earl Pembrey knew Professor Richards?”

  Jenson took a moment to consider the question. “I can’t guarantee the contents of another man’s mind, but I’ve seen no indication that he knows.”

  Lagina looked away, apparently pondering. “Fotheringham is related to Pembrey. Fotheringham was friends with Richards. He must have known that the two worked together.”

  “Not necessarily. If Earl Pembrey is half the man people say he is, then it’s altogether possible he may have dealt privately with Professor Richards without Lord Fotheringham’s knowledge. Why do you presume Earl Pembrey and Professor Richards were acquainted?”

  Lagina looked at him. “I didn’t say I do.”

  “Your questions suggest you do.”

  Again, the wait while Lagina decided what to say. These conversations were always a balance of information flow, or usually information trickle from Lagina’s side. “Pembrey funded Richards’ research.”

  That wasn’t quite accurate. “The Wales and Midland Investment Consortium funded a number of the projects Professor Richards and the Aetheric Department of London University worked on. Yes, one of their largest investors is Pembrey, but many rich men use their money to support university research, it links commerce and education. It can be expensive and risky, but also very valuable when it pays off.”

  “You sound like you know a little of investing.”

  Jenson shrugged. “I’ve never risked more than I can afford to lose. Many speculations a
re beyond my means and I must be careful, given my profession. Earl Pembrey’s involvement in the Investment Consortium doesn’t necessarily prove a connection to Professor Richards. You’ll need better evidence than that.”

  Lagina pulled a fold of paper from his jacket’s inner pocket and passed it to Jenson. The inspector took and opened it. A formal letter requesting Professor Richards work with Mr. Brown on the qualities of aether in printed or painted media, signed by Earl Pembrey.

  “Did you find a response in Professor Richards’ hand?”

  “No, just this.”

  Jenson nodded. Given that Professor Richards had found the way to cure the brainwashing achieved by the aetheric art Quinn had been peddling, it seemed unlikely that he’d actually agreed with the request, but it was impossible to be sure. Maybe remorse and the cure had come only after seeing the effects of his help.

  “I gather you’re planning a little trip.”

  Lagina’s announcement surprised Jenson. “Is there nothing you don’t pry into?”

  “Were you organizing a personal holiday, I could assure you of my complete disinterest, but you’re not.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “You’re encroaching on my territory. Again.”

  Jenson’s brows rose. “Says the American in England.”

  “I am investigating the New Jacobite threat.”

  “What threat? The New Jacobites are all but finished.”