He took my hand and put it on the side of my stomach.

“I don’t feel-” Something jabbed my hand. “Oh, my God. A kick! That’s a kick.”

“Or a punch,” Clay said, still grinning. “If it’s our baby, it’s probably a punch. Trying to fight his or her way out already.” He steered me across the room. “Here, look in the mirror. You can see it.”

After a minute of watching, a lump poked from the lower right of my belly, then disappeared.

“Can you feel it?” Clay said.

I nodded and realized that Jeremy was right. I had been feeling the baby moving for weeks now, though never this obvious. Even this didn’t feel so much like a kick as a stomach gurgle. I don’t know what I expected-I guess when someone says “kick,” I think of something hard enough to hurt.

A knock at the door. Clay leaned over to open it.

“I didn’t hear shouting,” Jeremy said as he walked in. “Have you come to an agreement already?”

“The baby’s kicking,” Clay said. “You can feel it.”

“And see it,” I said, grinning like an idiot.

And so, for a few minutes, all thoughts of our meeting with Hull were forgotten in the simple excitement of a baby’s kicks. When he or she stopped bopping around and settled, though, the question still needed answering. By then, Clay wasn’t in the mood to argue, and even Jeremy had to agree that I looked much better, having gotten my second wind.

We decided to walk. It was a bit of a hike, but if this was a trap, the zombies might start tracking us from the hotel. The sooner we smelled them, the sooner we could catch them.

Not a single whiff of rot came my way, though, and when we arrived at the park, Hull was already there. Antonio and Nick stayed out of sight, watching and patrolling the perimeter.

Hull was under a tree, scanning the growing dark. He started when he heard footsteps, and once again, he seemed relieved when he saw it was us.

“Expecting someone else?” Clay said as we approached.

A weak smile. “Fearing, I would say. Though I suppose I’m only a minor threat. For now, they’re much more interested in-” He met my gaze, then looked away, as if naming the target would be rude.

“We know who they’re after,” I said. “The question is why?”

“A question we’re hoping you can answer,” Jeremy added.

Hull looked over at the new voice. “Oh, you’re not-I thought it was-” A nod to Clay and me. “-your friend from earlier.”

“He has other business to attend to,” I said.

Hull cast another look around the park, as if he knew darned well what the “other business” might be.

“You said you had information for us,” Jeremy said. “A firsthand account, Ibelieve, was the phrase you used.”

“Yes, of course.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure where to start…”

“Try the beginning,” Clay said.

Hull nodded. “Before all this, back when I was…” The sentence trailed off.

“Alive?” I said.

Dismay flashed across his face. “Oh, no. I’m still alive. That is, I think I am. I didn’t die. I’m certain of that.”

“Let’s move to that bench.” Jeremy nodded at me. “She should get off her feet.”

“Yes, of course,” Hull said. “I should have insisted. My apologies.”

As we moved to the bench, Hull relaxed.

“Now,” Jeremy said. “As you were saying…”

Hull nodded. “Yes, right. Well, I was employed as a bookkeeper, as I had been for many years. At the time, though, I only had one client.” He gave a small laugh. “That doesn’t sound very good, does it? As if I couldn’t find enough work, but this particular gentleman gave me more than enough, and the remuneration was excellent, so I’d temporarily given over my other clients’ accounts to my business partner. This man-my client, not my partner-had recently arrived from Ireland, with sizable holdings to transfer and invest, and therefore required my undivided attention. His name was Edwin Shanahan.”

He looked at our faces, waiting for a reaction. When no one obliged, he continued. “Yes, well, I suppose you guessed that this device originated with the Shanahan family, where it has apparently remained. As I was saying, Mr. Shanahan was my only client and, being a widower, without a wife to complain about such things, he conducted most of his business from his home. I was there much of the time, my presence forgotten, as employees often are. I quickly learned that some of Mr. Shanahan’s business was…”

He flushed. “It wasn’t my place to judge. My father always said a bookkeeper’s responsibility was to protect his client’s assets, not to question the source of those assets. Yet with Mr. Shanahan, it wasn’t just the source of his money. Some of his associates were less than savory characters. One in particular. He called himself a surgeon, but he and Mr. Shanahan would laugh when he said it. When this business in Whitechapel started-”

Hull swallowed. “I…heard things, between Mr. Shanahan and his friend. I tried to tell myself I was wrong. Then one night this friend brought over a woman. A…paid companion, but not the sort you’d expect a man like Mr. Shanahan or his friend to consort with. I was supposed to be working late in the offices in the south wing, but I was curious, so I crept over to the main quarters. Nothing seemed particularly amiss. They were laughing and talking in the dining room.