Free Wicked Temptation (Nemesis Unlimited) by Zoe Archer Page B

man I’ve ever met.”
    “But you’ve admitted to being somewhat sheltered.”
    “Yet instinct tells me that there aren’t many men like you roaming this earth. And I do believe that’s for the best.”
    He laughed. “I’m deciding whether or not to be insulted.”
    “I’m deciding whether or not I tried to insult you,” she answered.
    Unexpected heat pulsed through him, rattling him. Though he moved quickly when it came to missions, he liked knowing all the variables ahead of time, understanding exactly how every component worked, and what to anticipate. It made him nimble, fast to react, and completely confident in his actions.
    Yet here was this little widow, sheltered but struggling against the bonds of her insulated life, carrying a small yet bright torch of rebellion. Consistently unbalancing him. He didn’t like questioning his own judgment. It made everything dangerous. Including himself.
    He was grateful when the cab pulled up outside headquarters. After paying the driver, Marco let him and Mrs. Parrish into the chemist’s shop. Together, they went through the secret entrance, and within a minute, both stood in the parlor, where they were met by Harriet and Lazarus. Their voices abruptly stopped the moment Marco and Mrs. Parrish set foot in the parlor, but judging from the dark stain on Harriet’s cheeks and the way Lazarus tugged on his beard, yet another argument had been interrupted.
    “Now what?” Marco asked.
    Harriet pointed an accusing finger at Lazarus. “Please tell Colonel Numskull that if you can’t get to the groin, the best way to incapacitate a man is to slam the side of your hand into your opponent’s throat.”
    “A good, solid punch to the solar plexus,” Lazarus retorted. “ That’s the way to take a bloke down. He can’t prepare for it, and you can shock the hell out of him. Or knock the wind out of ’im. Maybe even stop his heart.”
    “A hit to the throat is always going to hurt,” Harriet argued. “And it cuts off any way of breathing. No better means of disabling your enemy.”
    “ Madonna, is there nothing you two won’t fight about?” Marco said with a sigh.
    “No,” they said in unison.
    “Well, that’s an agreement about something,” Mrs. Parrish offered.
    They both looked appalled at the idea.
    “What did you learn?” Harriet asked, as if trying to distract herself from the notion that she and Lazarus might be in accord about anything.
    Striding to the rickety sideboard, Marco poured himself a few fingers of whisky. He threw the drink back, letting its heat singe away thoughts of the spirited Widow Parrish. But alcohol wasn’t entirely successful, and he felt himself all too aware of her dark, still presence in the room.
    He quickly briefed Lazarus and Harriet on everything the evening had revealed, including Devere’s citywide debts and sudden disappearance.
    “Maybe someone caught up with him,” Lazarus offered. “Didn’t like the bloke’s habit of holding on to his money instead of paying up. Then gave him what for.” Lazarus mimed sticking a knife into someone’s gut.
    “Charlie would’ve heard about it,” Marco countered.
    “Perhaps she knew and didn’t tell us,” Mrs. Parrish said. “She did say that information was powerful. She didn’t want to give us that power.”
    The widow was thinking more and more like a devious Nemesis agent. Did that mean she was being strengthened, or corrupted? “She’s got nothing to gain by withholding the possibility of Devere’s death from us,” Marco said. “It’d serve her better to tell us everything she knew so we could find him and she’d get her thirty pounds.”
    “What’s it to be, then?” Lazarus asked. “Got everything you could from his offices.”
    “His lodgings next, I’d wager,” Harriet suggested.
    “He wouldn’t leave anything important there,” the old soldier countered. “Not if he owes half the city blunt. It’d be the first place the chaps wanting him would