disapproving of her choice. Looking from her to Able, he said, “Stay here with her and keep vigilant.” He tested the door latch and once he found it locked he motioned for her to hand over the key.
Glory sighed, but she handed it over.
“It’s possible someone doesn’t have a key so they picked the lock,” Hunter explained. “Better to use caution and check it out now.” He grabbed a gun from his boot and took up sentry at the door to her darkened apartment ready to rush to help should Zane need him.
Realizing they were right, but still not liking the additional invasion of her privacy, Glory turned her attention back to Able who was staring down at the letter. “What do you make of this?”
“It’s blackmail.” Able spat the word out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth and walked to the window again. The glow of the streetlights backlit him, making his medium-brown skin appear darker. He ran a hand over his head, his palm skimming right over his short hair. “I can’t abide that cowardice.”
“Do you think it’s real? Do you think it’s possible someone really knows who we are?” There was no doubt in her mind that if someone knew who she was that they’d know who Able was as well. She and Able had escaped together.
He looked back at her and even in the dim lighting she caught the flash of worry that crossed his eyes. Solid, confident, levelheaded Able was concerned. The fear she’d felt earlier came back, only this time it wasn’t creeping and cold. It came over her in a wave of panic that was cold and then hot, nearly sending her to her feet in a rush to do something. Anything.
“We need to find out where this letter came from,” said Able. He paced over to lean a hip on the edge of her desk, clearly too agitated to stay still for long. “I’ll start questioning the staff. There’s an account number here where you’re to deposit the money. We can have it traced.”
Yes, there were things they could do. She wasn’t defenseless anymore. She shoved the panic down again and held on to that one fact. “Right. That’s the first place to start.”
Able nodded. “I’ll go out in the morning—”
“No,” Glory interjected. “We can question the staff discreetly, but we can’t let anyone know about the note. And we especially can’t let anyone connect us to whoever owns this account.” She pointed at the numbers written on the piece of paper. Turning her attention to the man guarding the door to her apartment, she said, “Hunter, this is the main reason I came to you for help. Your family owns shares in the bank.” Hunter’s father was one of the wealthiest men in town. The Jamesons had been major shareholders in the bank since its founding. “Surely you can make some confidential inquiries and figure out whose name is attached to this account without tying that inquiry back to us? I think if we could make some headway on that front, we can wrap this up quickly.”
“I can make some inquiries in the morning,” said Hunter.
She nodded, already feeling a little better now that they were making plans to deal with this. As if sensing her disquiet, Able put his hand on her shoulder.
“He won’t be able to touch you here, Glory. You know that?” Able asked.
There was no need for Able to elaborate on who he was. He had been the dark phantom hovering over them ever since they’d escaped; the monster they both feared in the dark of night. She nodded and Able squeezed her shoulder. Here they were again after all these years. Trying to reassure each other that Justin wouldn’t get them. To be honest, she wasn’t quite sure she believed it fully. There were still times she woke up in the middle of the night expecting him to be there. If he found his way to them, she was certain that he would kill them.
Instead of putting voice to her fears, she squeezed Able’s hand and took his offer of comfort for what it was. He’d become the family she’d had to give up. An older brother who would always be there to look out for her. Only now that was threatened and she needed to do something about it.
Zane moved silently into the sitting area of Glory’s suite of rooms. The only light came in through the window facing the street, casting the small space in shadow and shades of gray. Alert to any movement, he switched on the wall sconce. Yellow light filtered over the landscape paintings on the wall and the overstuffed, comfortable-looking furniture that made up the bulk of the room’s decor. It was much cozier than he’d been expecting. All the furniture downstairs was elegant and chosen for fashion more than comfort. He’d been expecting more of the same in the madam’s private rooms.
It wasn’t a very large space, but it was relaxed and homey. A full bookcase sat on one wall and the other held what he assumed was a phonograph, though he’d never seen one in person. The large brass cone sat silently. Everything appeared well-kept and undisturbed.
On quiet feet, he glanced inside the tiled bathing chamber to find it empty before making his way to her bedchamber. A strange feeling came over him as he opened the door and switched on the light. A sense that he was intruding on her private sanctuary, the place she came to get away from the world, washed over him. It was a place he very much wanted to know. Her bed sat neatly made with a faded blue-and-yellow quilt. Given the understated elegance of the rest of the space, he’d expected something slightly more grand. Maybe something made of silk or satin. But it was an ordinary quilt. Her grandmother’s quilt, he realized.
How many people knew about that quilt? The rumor was that she never entertained men privately. While that seemed to be true, rumors could be wrong. At the very least, it was highly likely that her staff had been to her private rooms. The list of people who knew that detail was endless.
He tried to imagine her sitting on the bed, reading the book that sat closed on the nightstand. Her bare feet peeking out beneath the hem of her gown with her hair down around her. He couldn’t do it. He knew so little of the woman he couldn’t imagine her as anything other than the self-possessed Glory Winters. Calm, elegant and always proper. Did she ever lounge in her bed without a corset? He grinned at the thought.
Stepping farther into the room, the soft scent of roses washed over him. Nervous energy moved through him at the same time his skin tightened, muscles deep in his gut clenched in pleasurable anticipation. The scent of roses had always filled him with wary trepidation, reminding him of the words of warning he’d been given as a child. Roses were a sign of death. Yet, ever since he’d met Glory, he’d associated the scent with her, leaving his body a mess of confusion.
A dressing table sat across from the bed with cosmetics and perfumes scattered across the surface as if she’d dressed in a hurry that morning. He felt like an interloper as he examined it. He should be checking the armoire and under her bed, but he couldn’t make himself walk away just yet. He gently ran his fingertips over a handkerchief she’d left blotted with rouge from her mouth. The shape of her lips stared back at him.
A clouded glass bottle sat backed up to the mirror, and he picked it up. Bringing it to his nose, he closed his eyes as he inhaled the familiar scent of her perfume. It always lingered behind her, lying faintly in the air when she passed, sweetly calling him to his doom. The usual warning sounded in his head, warring with the desire that had flared to life within him. No matter how he reminded himself of the premonition, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to inhale that scent directly from her skin.
He shook his head at the thought. In all the years that had passed since he’d left his mother’s people, he’d never quite
