I’m going to find the bastard who put that fear in her eyes, Felix silently vowed, and I’m going to rip him limb from limb.

If Ezra Whitten thought he was safe in his gilded house in Grosvenor Square he was sorely mistaken. There was nowhere he could go. No place he could hide. Felix would find him. And when he did…when he did there would not be enough of the viscount left to identify his body.

He could feel the tight leash he kept on his temper beginning to loosen. Others must have felt it as well for he was given a wide berth as made his way towards Bow Street. Two well-bred ladies, parasols in hand, nearly stepped into the path of an oncoming carriage in their haste to get out of his way.

“Watch where you’re going,” he growled after he had yanked them both back to the safety of the pavement. Unfortunately, they did not take very kindly to his kindness.

“Unhand me, you brute!” one of them cried in a voice so shrill it made Felix wince. He winced again when the other woman struck him on the shoulder with her beaded reticule.

Bloody ‘ell. What the devil was she keeping in there? Rocks?

“Now see here,” he said, rubbing his shoulder, “I was only tryin’ to–”

“Is this ruffian bothering you?” Appearing seemingly out of nowhere, Grant offered the women a charming grin that had them instantly flocking to his side. It certainly didn’t hurt that he looked every inch the duke in his snowy white cravat, royal blue tailcoat, and high-waisted breeches. He might as well have had ‘Rich Nabob’ scrawled across his forehead whereas Felix, in his loose-fitting jacket and open collared shirt, could not have appeared more common.

“He was trying to rob us!”

“He tried to take my reticule!”

Felix snorted. “I’d need a damn winch to lift it off your arm.”

“I am not surprised,” Grant said seriously. “We’ve had complaints about him before. Not to worry ladies, I promise he will not bother you again. In fact, I will see to it he is delivered straight to Bow Street.”

“Oh thank you, my lord,” they both gushed. “You saved our lives.”

“And who kept ye from being flat as a flounder?” Felix wanted to know. “Aye, that’s right. I did. You’re bloody welcome,” he grumbled under his breath as the women gave Grant one last adoring glance before they snapped open their parasols and glided away.

“Wooing the ladies first thing in the morning, are we?” Sunlight reflected off Grant’s mocking grin as he fell in step beside Felix.

Grinding his teeth, Felix considered the consequences of sending the arrogant bounder sprawling on his arse…and ultimately decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. He may have gotten in one lucky clip to the jaw, but Grant was surprisingly agile for a blueblood and he didn’t pull his punches. The two men had gone toe to toe before and although neither one had been able to claim victory, they’d both been laid up in bed for the better part of a week. Felix had no interest in repeating the experience, or the blustering reprimand that had followed when the Captain discovered two of his best runners were out of commission.

But that didn’t mean he had to be civil.

“Sod off,” he grunted before he turned left down an alley so narrow his shoulders nearly scraped against the walls. 

“We’re both going to the same address.” Undeterred by the small space, Grant fell back behind him but continued to follow; an annoying shadow he couldn’t get rid of. “Unless you want to stop by Newgate first. I’m certain they have a cell ready and waiting with your name on it.”

“Aye you’d like that, wouldn’t ye?” Felix sneered.

“Nothing would please me more.”

“Then ye should have put me there when ye had the chance.” His sneer turned into a smirk when he angled a backwards glance over his shoulder and saw Grant’s jaw clench and his green eyes flash. He knew it stuck in the aristocrat’s craw that he was the one criminal he hadn’t put behind bars. Which was why he reminded him of his failure every time the opportunity presented itself. There were few things he liked better than getting under Grant’s skin. And nothing infuriated Grant more than the knowledge that Felix was not only out walking the streets, he was policing them.

“There’s time yet.” Although Grant’s tone was light, the underlying threat was unmistakable. Felix allowed it to slide off his back without a moment’s concern. High Society may have deemed Grant the worthier man in the ballroom, but on Bow Street they were equals. And unless Owen suddenly keeled over and Grant became the captain, there was nothing he could do about it.

The two men continued on in silence until they reached the building that served as their main office, a traditional three story brick house set back from the street behind a wrought iron fence. White shutters framed large windows and green ivy covered one wall, creeping up along the reddish brick in a tangle of leaf and vine.

The stately residence had once been the private home of Henry Fielding, Chief Magistrate and founder of the Runners. Following his death, his brother, Sir John Fielding, had taken control and turned the Runners – then a ragtag group of eight – into a fully functioning agency. He had eventually stepped down at the ripe old age of sixty-seven and Owen, with great reluctance, had taken his place.

At its height Bow Street had boasted a force of nearly four dozen men. But a diminishing crime rate and the rise of the Metropolitan Police Force had seen that number gradually shrink to ten over the past few years. Eleven if they counted Mrs. Wadsworth, a black cat who had been living at Bow Street for as long as anyone could remember.

Felix gave the feline an absent pat on her head as he walked through the front door and into the large, sparsely decorated room where they conducted most of their business. A large table cluttered with stacks of paper, pieces of evidence, and Runner’s boots took up most of the space. Taking one of the few remaining seats, Felix found a place for his feet between a pile rags and a pitcher of water while Grant went to the far end.

Linking his hands together behind his neck, he tipped his chair back and took a cursory glance around the table as he noted who was present and who they were still waiting on. Morning meetings were a carryover from when the first Fielding had been in charge. He’d used them to check in with his Runners, discuss ongoing cases, and air any complaints. Now they were held more out of habit than necessity, but woe be the man who was late under Captain Steel’s watch.

As was his right, Owen sat at the head of the table. Tall and broad shouldered with dark hair that was beginning to gray at the temples and a glacial stare, he was a man of great integrity and responsibility. The son of a baker, he had come from the humblest of beginnings and risen to a position of high authority solely off of his own merit, a feat which not very many men could claim.

Felix still remembered, with vivid clarity, the first time he’d met Owen. How could he ever forget? It had been in the wee hours of a December morning so cold his breath had turned to frost the moment it touched the air. He should have been in bed with his mistress, a doe-eyed blonde actress whose talents between the sheets far exceeded those on the stage. But instead he’d followed a tip that had led him straight into a trap.

It was still a point of embarrassment for Felix that he’d made himself such an easy target. He’d known something wasn’t right. He’d felt it in his bones. But he had been arrogant, and greedy, and he’d gone after Lady Irvine’s emerald necklace even though the little voice in the back of his head had told him not to.

The house was pitch black when he entered. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust as he silently untied his boots and left them by the servant’s entrance before proceeding up the stairs. Dressed from head to toe in all black, he was nothing more than a shadow as he walked quickly down the hall, counting out the doors he passed in his head.

Lady Irvine’s private dressing quarters were six doors down on the right. He knew that because he’d overhead it at The Three-Eyed Stag the night before. Just as he’d overhead that she’d recently been given a necklace by her lover rumored to be worth more than the King’s own crown.

It was rare that Felix relied on second-hand information, but the opportunity had been too good to pass up. Something which Owen, only just appointed as captain of the Runners and seeking to prove he deserved the title, had been counting on.

He let Felix feel the weight of the necklace in his hand before he stepped out from behind the curtain. Another Runner appeared at the door, and yet another emerged from the closet. Still holding the necklace, Felix slowly turned to face them and lifted his arms above his head.

“Out for a midnight jaunt, are we boys?” he said easily even as his stomach sank and a line of perspiration gleamed above his brow. Bloody buggering hell. He’d really stepped in it this time. There would be no scraping his way out. Not when he was surrounded by three Runners holding pistols pointed straight at his heart.

“Why don’t ye go on and lower those,” he suggested. “Ye’ve caught me fair and square lads, and I’ve no intention of going to Newgate with a hole in my chest.”

“You’ll go how we want you to go,” growled a tall, lean man with green eyes. “It’s over, Spencer. This is it. The end of the line.”

Felix mustered a grin. “Well at least I led ye on a merry chase. I suppose you’ll be wanting this back.” He look up at the necklace dangling from his fingertips with genuine regret. It was easily the prettiest piece he’d ever held. And he’d been this close to pocketing it. Damn Runners. Couldn’t they leave a man be to live his own life? What had he ever done to them?

“You have been a thorn in London’s side for too long,” Green Eyes continued. “It is going to be a pleasure to finally pull you out.”

“Too bad your father didn’t think to do the same with your mother,” Felix muttered.

Those green eyes flared and then narrowed to slits. “What did you just say?”

“Ye heard me. I said too bad–”

“That is enough.” The man who’d stepped out from behind the curtain did not need to raise his voice for the other Runners to snap to attention, which told Felix who was really in charge. He held out his hand. “Lady Irvine’s necklace, if you please.”

Felix bloody well did not please, but what other choice did he have? He’d been caught fair and square and there was nothing to do now but surrender with dignity.

With great reluctance he handed the necklace over and then was forced to watch as it was put back into Lady Irvine’s jewelry box. All in all it had been a good run, he decided. If he had to go out he’d rather it be like this: caught in the act with a fortune’s worth of emeralds glinting in the palm of his hand. But instead of putting him in handcuffs, the leader asked the other two Runners to step outside.

“Are you sure, Captain?” Green Eyes frowned. “Spencer’s a tricky one.”

“If I am longer than five minutes you can presume Mr. Spencer has knocked me out cold and escaped out the window.” His teeth flashed in a humorless smile. “But I hope I would not be so inept, or he so foolish. Would you, Mr. Spencer?”

“No sir. Wouldn’t dream of it,” Felix lied.

“There, you see? Now go,” he told the other two Runners brusquely. Once he and Felix were alone he cupped the back of his neck and walked to the window. Staring out into the night he said, “We have been chasing you a long time, Mr. Spencer. You’re better than most.”

Felix lifted his chin. “I’m the best.”

“Yes,” the Captain agreed. “You are. Which is why instead of wasting your talents, I’d like to use them.”

“I…don’t understand.”

“It is quite simple, Mr. Spencer.” The Captain glanced back at him over his shoulder. “Would you like to spend the rest of your days rotting way in a cell…or would you like to come work for me on Bow Street? The choice is yours.”

 

Felix often wondered why Owen had given him a second chance. The closest he could figure was that the Captain had looked at him and seen a bit of himself. He’d never been a jewel thief, but he knew what it was like to come from nothing. Something Grant, who had been born with a silver spoon shoved so far up his arse his teeth glinted, would never understand.

Owen caught Felix’s gaze across the table and gave him a cursory nod which Felix returned. Hawke sat to the Captain’s left, looking surly as ever, and beside him was Archer Brentwood, a gangly, fresh-faced lad straight out of Eton. Like Grant, he came from noble blood. Unlike Grant, he wasn’t a complete and utter wanker.

Felix liked the boy. He may have been a tad odd, but he was also smart as a whip which was why the Captain had recruited him. Archer saw things others didn’t. He had an impeccable eye for detail and nuance and had an uncanny knack for always being able to tell when someone was lying.

Two chairs down from Archer was Tobias Kent, a brooding, black-haired Irishman with a thick brogue and a very personal reason for being at Bow Street.

His wife had been murdered three days shy of their first wedding anniversary. Killed on her way home from the market, her throat slit clean across and her body left out for the beggars to pick clean. Kent had become a Runner shortly thereafter and even though two years had passed since his wife’s death he was still consumed with finding her killer. Recently his vengeance had taken a dark turn, leading everyone to give him a wide berth. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of that unpredictable Irish temper.

Sitting a safe distance away were the Ferguson brothers, Ian and Colin. Different as night and day, those two were, even though to look at their rugged faces, wheat colored hair, and hazel eyes one would be hard pressed to tell them apart.

Ian was a serious, by-the-letter sort while Colin tended to flirt with the edges of the law. Which most likely explained why he and Felix got on so well.

There were only two Runners missing and as soon as they arrived Owen began the meeting by going through their current cases, the majority of which consisted of petty theft, burglary, and two highway robberies.

“And where are we on our slippery jewel thief?” he asked, raising a brow at Grant.

“She’s struck ten houses over the past six months. Every time I believe I’m closing in she disappears again.” The corners of his mouth tightened. “I think she has at least one accomplice.”

“Or maybe you’re just too slow,” Felix suggested.

“Or maybe it’s one of your old lovers and you’re giving her fair warning.”

Felix tipped his chair forward. “Is that an accusation?”

“No. That’s–”

“Enough,” Owen said mildly. “That’s enough. This thief needs to be caught. Lord Munthorpe is threatening to take his business to the Bobbies if his wife’s necklace isn’t recovered and I can’t say as I blame him. Which is why the two of you are going to work the case together.”

“Us?” Felix and Grant exclaimed in unison.

“Yes,” said Owen, blue eyes glinting with amusement. “You.”