He thought he’d been showing Gemma that he wanted her to return home, to at least spend the remainder of her time in London with him. He’d been careful not to press the matter, wanting her to make her own decision but knowing he hoped she would stay.

But she was, apparently, happier living in a tiny closet of a room, sleeping on a pallet on the floor, a guest in someone else’s house, than returning home.

Confused frustration was likely not the best mindset for attending a DPS meeting. But timing was not on his side. Too much was happening in London’s underworld for dithering.

Not every member of the organization would be present, but there was plenty to catch up on and business to attend to.

Nolan was sleeping lightly in the entryway, and Barnabus paused, listening to his slow and steady breathing, making certain he heard no rattling or wheezing. The man was like a favorite uncle to all of them: odd, yes, but beloved.

“I ain’t dying, Doc,” he said without opening his eyes.

“See to it that continues to be the case.” Barnabus placed his penny on the small table alongside several others.

Nolan pressed the well-hidden button, and the wall slid open, affording Barnabus entry into the parliamentary room. It was far from empty.

Barnabus dropped himself into his usual chair and waited for things to begin. He was in no mood to talk and had no desire to exchange social niceties. He would, of course, help if someone were ill, but he wasn’t looking to gab pointlessly.

“With me, gentlemen and lady,” Fletcher called out to them all.

In near perfect unison, they rose, recited their oath, re-took their seats, and waited for the meeting to begin. The mood was more somber than usual. The entire organization knew they were facing a bigger threat than they ever had before.

“I’ll not belabor things,” Fletcher said. “Serena, the housekeeper what was being held by the Mastiff, is at one of Doc’s safe houses now, along with her children.”

Fletcher had let Barnabus know this already, but it sent a surge of relief through him to hear it repeated. They had convinced Serena to trust them, even knowing she wasn’t exaggerating the violent nature of the Mastiff’s vengeance. They’d vowed they could keep her and her children safe, and they’d keep that vow.

“Stone and Brogan are keeping an eye on Gemma Milligan,” Fletcher said. “Móirín is accidentally helping us there.”

“Mighty good of her,” Martin said with a chuckle.

Fletcher tossed out a smile but didn’t stop his recounting. “The rotating guard we have near Doc’s house ain’t seen signs of danger, though there’s been a starched bloke loafing about.”

That brought their eyes to Barnabus.