Read Online The Suspect's Daughter by Donna Hatch - Free Book Online Page B

hung low in a somber sky in a reminder that moisture could fall again at any moment. Blocked by the enormous building, the unique scent of the Thames failed to reach Grant, but the usual smells of the city remained, held in by the oppressive sky. He glanced at Jackson, one of Bow Street’s best Runners, dressed as a shopkeeper, who walked across the street with his head down as if he were really going somewhere.
    Members of Parliament vacated Westminster in small groups, some walking together, others waiting for their coaches. Mr. Fairley exited in the company of a familiar-looking lord, their postures relaxed. Grant held back, pretending he admired the impressive, seven hundred-year-old building that housed Parliament, and hadn’t noticed the men.
    The lord said something Grant didn’t catch, and Fairley clapped him on the back. “Well said, St. Cyr.”
    To Grant’s left, a non-descript middle-aged man wearing the suit of a clerk strolled along the opposite side of the street. A few carriages passed and a dog trotted by, but the clerk made little progress. Moments later, the clerk crossed the street, eyed Fairley and St. Cyr, and then rammed Fairley.
    As Fairley staggered back, the man steadied him with both hands in a classic pickpocket move. Grant’s senses sharpened. So quickly that Grant almost missed it, the man slipped a scrap of something white into Fairley’s pocket. He repeated the action into St. Cyr’s. Odd. Thieves didn’t usually pick pockets in reverse.
    “Sorry.” The strange thief put his hands in his pockets and strode off.
    Intrigued, Grant drew nearer.
    “Clumsy fool almost ran me down,” Fairley muttered.
    “Odd, that,” St. Cyr said. “Well, good evening, Fairley.” He strode off toward a fancy coach with a coat of arms on the door.
    As Fairley headed toward his own coach, Grant called out, “Mr. Fairley. Good evening, sir.”
    Fairley turned. “Ah, Mr. Amesbury.”
    Grant caught up and strolled with him. “I enjoyed your party Saturday evening. I don’t, as a rule, socialize much, but you and your daughter made me welcome.”
    “Our pleasure. My Jocelyn sure outdid herself. Planned the whole evening. Her mother would have been proud.”
    Grant managed a polite smile. “You must be proud, as well.”
    Fairley grinned. “Indeed I am.” He stopped in front of his coach and glanced at Grant curiously as if to ask why Grant had hailed him.
    Before the footman reached them, Grant waved him off, grabbed the handle of the door, and opened it. “Here, sir, allow me.” He steadied Fairley as he climbed up. As Fairley’s back was turned, Grant slipped the note out of Fairley’s pocket.
    Meeting postponed one day. Same place .
    A message about a covert meeting; it had to be. If only it had given the address. Grant slipped it back in before Fairley turned.
    Once Fairley had seated himself, Grant shut the door and stepped back. “Have a good evening, sir.”
    Fairley hesitated. “Is there something I can do for you?”
    “No, no. Just waiting around for my brother.”
    Fairley glanced at the doors of Westminster. “Ah, yes. Of course. Good evening.”
    Jackson had already started tailing Fairley’s coach. Satisfied, Grant turned to the doors as if he really were awaiting Cole. His brother stood watching Grant with an unreadable expression. Perfect. Mindful of Fairley’s possible gaze, Grant strode directly to his brother. Cole wore his signature blue colors, stylish enough that less confident men of fashion imitated him, but no one would accuse him of being a dandy.
    Cole’s brow dark raised. “What’s this new fascination with Fairley?”
    “Just following a lead.”
    Cole’s gaze shifted to Fairley’s departing coach. “If a majority votes no confidence on Lord Liverpool, I’d planned to nominate Fairley as the new prime minister. Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?”
    “None at all.”
    Cole put on a hat and started slowly toward his coach. “I realize you can’t