Page 121

Jacobs didn’t smile or gloat. He looked a little tired.

“Then I start cutting the woman, Mr. Bates,” he replied.

Ellie forced herself to breathe. Her head spun as the tent seemed to grow smaller around her.

“You enjoy that sort of thing? Mutilating women?” Adam’s voice seethed with threat.

Jacobs’ response was level.

“I am here, Mr. Bates, because I do whatever needs to be done.”

Silence lingered. Mendez scratched uncomfortably at his ear as he avoided looking at Ellie. Dawson pouted over by the desk. The threat to Ellie was obviously of far less concern to him than the fact that Jacobs had impugned his scholarly capabilities.

Adam was a tense, untouchable presence beside her. Ellie couldn’t tell what he was thinking. For all she knew, he might have been a thousand miles away.

“Is your concern for the woman sufficient motivation to secure your cooperation?” Jacobs demanded.

“What happens if it’s not?” Adam replied.

Listening to these men casually discuss her fate over her head would normally have filled Ellie with a righteous rage. Instead, she felt as though the room was tipping away from her.

Adam hadn’t looked at her since Jacobs’ revelation. Ellie might as well have turned invisible beside him.

She had lied to him about her name. She had lied to him about a fair bit more than that, even if he didn’t know it yet… but perhaps he’d already begun to suspect.

How much worse would it be when she told him the rest?

Because she would have to tell him, just as she should have done a long time ago… if she got the chance.

“Then Miss Mallory becomes a liability,” Jacobs replied. “I do not need to tell you how we must deal with liabilities.”

“No. I don’t suppose you do,” Adam returned, his voice tight and cold.

“Then answer the question,” Jacobs ordered as he locked his gaze on Adam’s face.

Ellie looked as well. She couldn’t stop herself, even though she knew it was almost certainly a mistake—that what she saw in Adam’s expression would only twist the knot in her chest even tighter.

“It’s sufficient,” Adam said flatly.

His eyes were as cold as his tone.

Another of the armed guards stepped into the tent. He was a slender Creole man who stood a couple of inches shorter than Adam. His hair was combed into place with an indulgent smear of pomade.

He held Adam’s map canister in his hand.

“Here you go, boss,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Staines.” Jacobs accepted the canister, popped open the lid, and glanced idly inside before extending the tube to Dawson.

The professor snatched it and clutched it to his chest possessively.

“Mr. Bates will stay here and plot the remainder of our route on the map,” Jacobs announced. “The professor will review your work. If there is any indication that you are doing less than your utmost, I will reinforce my instructions on Miss Mallory’s skin. Mr. Staines will remain here to monitor the situation. Mr. Mendez?”

“Yes, boss?” Mendez replied.

“Secure Miss Mallory in the foreman’s tent for the evening. She will need to be kept under watch.”

“Claro.”