“I told you about the fortune telling cards. And she was fascinated by astrology. As I recall, she was rather delighted that both of us were born under the sign of Virgo.”
Harrison plowed his long fingers through his hair. As if with a will of its own, her gaze followed the movement. What was it about this man that captured her interest with the smallest, most inconsequential movement?
“Would either of you explain why any of this is relevant?” he asked.
“Care to do the honors?” Jones turned to Simon.
“I suppose I shall cut to the chase,” Simon MacMasters said. “Belle Fairchild fled her home in New York after her father’s death. There is good reason to suspect she may be his killer.”
Chapter Five
By hellfire, so that was what Jones was up to in England. Harrison rubbed at the sudden tension in his neck. The American agent had trailed the Notorious Heiress—as the New York press had dubbed her—across the Atlantic. And now, the arrogant arse expected Grace to exploit her acquaintance with Belle Fairchild to his advantage.
“Belle—a killer? Surely you are not serious,” Grace protested. Evidently, she was not familiar with the full facts of the case. Unfortunately for the American’s harebrained plot, Harrison was. He’d see that Jones’s scheme never came to fruition.
It was bad enough that the reckless fool had thought to put Grace into danger. But like a dolt, Simon had gone along with his plan. What in the name of Robert the Bruce was his brother thinking? How could he consider putting a woman—a conniving thief who possessed no knowledge of defensive tactics—within a murderer’s reach?
The heiress might well be a killer. And her fiancé, an actor by the name of Raibert, was known to be a volatile man who’d left a trail of violence in his wake. During his most recent return to his family home in the Highlands, he’d engaged in a loud dispute with a shopkeeper in Glasgow, a curiosities dealer rumored to dabble in the arcane arts. Days later, the unfortunate merchant had been pummeled within an inch of her life by a masked assailant. Nothing had been taken from the shop, save for a valuable antiquity. The silver pendant containing a peculiar, iridescent stone had been ripped from the shopkeeper’s throat. Questioned by the local authorities, Raibert had produced a convenient alibi and promptly sailed back to the States.
“Simon, have you lost all sense of reason?” Harrison spoke up. “I won’t allow you to drag a woman into whatever it is you’ve got planned.”
“As it stands, there’s not much choice. Miss Winters is the best chance we’ve got of reaching Belle Fairchild and getting to the truth.”
“Belle is not a murderess,” Grace scoffed. “I’ve seldom heard a more ridiculous accusation. Why, the woman would not hurt a fly.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Jones said, his expression grim.
“The New York papers said her father died in an accidental fall,” she replied. “Rumor has it he liked to imbibe. Evidently, he’d had too much to drink one night and took a tumble down the stairs.”
Jones slowly shook his head. “That explanation only partly fits the evidence. There were certain details withheld from the press—circumstances that suggest murder, rather than an unlucky twist of fate. Are you aware that Miss Fairchild was accompanied by Donnal Raibert when she left New York?”
“The actor?” Grace’s tone betrayed her surprise.
“Miss Fairchild confided her intentions to an old friend—she plans to marry Raibert and use her fortune to restore his family home,” Simon explained.
“Are you certain? It seems an odd match. Belle is not at all the type to enjoy Raibert’s flamboyant lifestyle.”
Simon nodded. “Her father believed Raibert to be nothing more than a treasure hunter seeking a wealthy bride. Witnesses overheard him threaten to cut off his only child’s inheritance if she did not call off the engagement.”
“Rather conveniently, Herbert Fairchild died a week later,” Jones added. “Belle and her fiancé left for Scotland the day after the funeral. Her solicitors are currently administering her inheritance. She’s said to be financing a restoration of a Highland castle that once belonged to Raibert’s ancestors.”
Harrison paced the floor, expending a fraction of the raw energy coursing through his body. Nothing about this night made sense. Jones’s interest in an American heiress who may or may not have killed her father to speed up her inheritance could be justified. But why in blazes had Simon involved the Antiquities Guild? Belle Fairchild was known to be an avid art collector, but she preferred works by the old masters, not Scottish antiquities.
He turned to his brother. “This is all quite interesting, but I fail to see why we would be involved in this matter. Miss Fairchild’s guilt or innocence is not a concern for our organization.”
Simon frowned, an all-too-familiar look of dismissal that arose whenever one of his brothers challenged him. “There are elements of this case I am not at liberty to divulge. Rest assured I will brief you privately.”
The muscles in Grace’s throat visibly tensed. “I deserve to be informed of the facts. If Belle Fairchild is indeed guilty, I will be the one standing face-to-face with a murderess.”
Jones flashed Simon a look. “Tell her. She’s right—she needs to know.”
Simon walked to the window and peered into the night, seeming to stall the inevitable. Finally, he turned to them.
“Miss Fairchild’s interest in the supernatural was not limited to telling fortunes. She’s known to interact with individuals who embrace unholy rituals…the occult. We suspect a connection exists between O’Hanlon, Raibert, and the heiress.”
Anger coursed through Harrison’s veins. “You sent a woman to tangle with that blackguard, O’Hanlon—what in bloody hell were you thinking?”
“Miss Winters was well-suited to the task,” Simon explained with an infuriating lack of emotion. “With you on her trail, we were confident she would be protected.”
“I don’t understand,” Grace said. “I’ve gotten you what you wanted—the evidence you need is in that book, and you have O’Hanlon in custody. What more do you want from me?”
Simon let out a low breath. “Belle Fairchild may be the villain in this piece. Or she may be an innocent woman who is being set up as prey. Once she takes her vows with Raibert, he will be the sole heir to her fortune—at which point, she may well become the next victim. We are counting on you to use your acquaintance with Miss Fairchild to our advantage. Her wedding is in ten days. And who better to infiltrate the wedding party than you, the professional bridesmaid?”
…
Unholy rituals. The occult. Pondering Simon’s words, Grace bit her lower lip. How was it possible that these intelligent, seemingly level-headed men were standing before her, spouting nonsense about the supernatural?
In any case, she’d had quite enough. She’d done what Mr. Jones had required. She’d no intention of becoming bogged down in this nonsense. Stiffening her spine, she summoned her courage. “I am well aware you view me as a thief and little more. But I am not a fool. I’ve no intention of playing along with this farfetched tale. My aunt and I will be on that ship in the morning. I’ve had quite enough.”
Mr. Jones glanced at his pocket watch. Light gleamed off the thick gold links of the chain. “I should remind you that at this point, you have not fulfilled the terms of the agreement.”
“You tricked me,” she said defiantly. “I will find an attorney.”
He shrugged. “You did not allow me to finish. You may believe you have honored your part of the bargain. You might even convince some pencil-pushing bureaucrat of that fact. But are you willing to leave Mrs. McTavish behind to rot in a Scottish jail?”
His words were a body blow, but she held her chin high. “Surely you do not think I would abandon her.”
“Miss Winters, I do not pretend to know what anyone is capable of, but I believe a sweetener to a deal is more effective than a threat. I have been authorized to offer compensation. I’m confident you
will find it more than adequate—you’ll never have to worry about money again. In addition, we will wipe your record clean.”
She blinked. Could this all be a lie, another enticement he’d snatch back once she’d fulfilled her part of the deal?
“Clean?” She struggled to conceal the hope in her voice, knowing it was one more weapon he could use against her.
He nodded solemnly. “Any reference to your crimes will be removed. It will be as if you’d turned back time.”
“And my aunt—you will do the same for her?”
“If that will ensure your cooperation, consider it done.”
Grace’s heart thudded wildly. She was not naive. The job that Jones wanted her to do was no doubt dangerous. But the rewards would be considerable.
With that money, she’d never again lose a night’s sleep over expenses she couldn’t afford to pay. She’d have ample funds to provide for Claire’s education. The ladies’ academy was doing a fine job of nurturing her sister’s mind and spirit. And Grace would be able to provide for Aunt Thelma in her old age, offering her a life of comfort and peace.
But still, she held back. Why was this mission of such critical importance? What hadn’t they told her? She had to know before she entered Belle Fairchild’s world.
After all, a dead woman would enjoy neither a fresh start nor the money Jones dangled as bait.
“Tell me this, Agent Jones—why is Belle Fairchild’s guilt or innocence so important to someone in the United States’ government? I deserve to know why you’re willing to offer me so much to perform this task.”
“Fair enough.” Jones hesitated, seeming to consider what he could reveal. “Herbert Fairchild and his father were valued members of President Cleveland’s inner circle, dating back to the president’s years in Buffalo. Currently, Miss Fairchild’s grandfather is a high-ranking official in the administration. Believe me when I say he has the ear of the president. John Fairchild has already lost his son. Understandably, he is determined to protect his only grandchild. If Raibert had a hand in Herbert Fairchild’s death—if he had the man killed to get to his fortune—Belle may be the next victim. Given the potential danger to her life, we have the president’s full support.”
“While I understand the gravity of this situation, the risks are too great.” Harrison’s voice was edged with flint. “You’re talking about putting a woman—an untested, untrained confidence artist, no less—in a perilous situation we cannot control.”
“She is the best person for the job,” Jones replied.
“You’re a damned fool. I’ve heard enough about you to know you’re reckless. Your reputation precedes you.” He turned to Simon. “As your brother, I cannot comprehend your willingness to go along with this scheme. If this charade goes wrong, the consequences could be disastrous.”
“You will be leading the mission. I thought I made that clear. Miss Winters will be your partner. As such, you will provide her security.” Simon’s response was laced with anger thinly disguised as civility. “We have full confidence you will take all actions needed to ensure a successful outcome.”
“Have you forgotten she is a thief? She is not to be trusted.” The cool contempt in Harrison’s words cut to the quick.
“That will not be a problem,” Jones said. “Miss Winters has a great deal riding on her performance. If she carries out her end of the bargain, the rewards are considerable. And if she does not, suffice it to say she won’t like the consequences.”
A vein pulsed in Harrison’s temple. He shot Simon a glare. “And if I refuse to be involved in this farce of a mission?”
“In that case, I am fully prepared to accompany Miss Winters.” Jones flipped the watch back and forth in his right hand in a deceptively idle movement. “I’m not known to Raibert or Miss Fairchild. To them, I’d be just one more American come to take in the scenery.”
A muscle in Harrison’s jaw hardened. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Raibert is known to display a canny ruthlessness that exceeds the typical criminal.”
“I didn’t come here to get a lecture from you about Raibert.” Jones tapped a finger against the face of the watch, tension infusing each movement. “I have my duty. I have my orders. Now, Miss Winters, what’s it going to be? I need your answer. Now.”
She gulped against a fresh wave of apprehension. Harrison’s gaze stayed on her, as if trying to will her to refuse. His concern was real—not for himself, but for her.
Oh, dear.
She had much to gain from accepting Jones’s offer. Surely he’d planned this out. They weren’t sending her into a lion’s den—were they?
The question played in her thoughts. Her fears were unfounded. The very thought of the heiress engineering her father’s death was preposterous. Herbert Fairchild had lost his life in an unfortunate accident. That was the most logical explanation. Belle was no more a killer than Grace was a princess.
She slanted Harrison a glance. The taut set of his jaw spoke even louder than his words. What did he know about Raibert that had set him so intractably against her involvement?
Couldn’t he see that she didn’t have an alternative? If she didn’t cooperate with Jones’s scheme, the consequences would be dire.
In the end, they’d find this mission was a wild goose chase. Nothing more.
She’d suffer through one more wedding. And then, she would be looking at a future that included neither prison nor poverty.
Pulling in a breath to steel herself, she met Jones’s dark eyes. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter Six
Harrison roamed to the sideboard and helped himself to a pour of Simon’s fine scotch. Now that Jones had left to escort Miss Winters to join her aunt at the Therrimen Hotel, he might actually be able to talk some sense into his usually rational sibling.
“When you sent me after Miss Winters, you failed to tell me she is working with the American. Why in damnation did you keep that rather crucial fact from me?”
“Would you have gone if I’d told you all of it?” Simon replied.
“If I’d known she was in danger, I would have kept her out of O’Hanlon’s reach.”
“Which is precisely why I did not reveal the specifics of her task. You would have upended the investigation.”
“An investigation that should not involve a woman like Gracie Winters. She’s not prepared to defend herself against violent criminals.” Harrison kept his voice purposefully bland. Earlier, he’d allowed unexpected emotion to color his tone. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Simon understood logic, not instinct. He had little patience for gut feelings and the like. His brother wanted facts. And he expected results. His cool rationality served him well in his role as director of the Highland Antiquities Guild.
Settling wearily into a chair, Simon propped his feet up on his desk, leaned back, and laced his fingers behind his head. “I suspect you’re right.”
Harrison whipped around. Had his ears deceived him? “What the hell are you saying?”
“Miss Winters is ill-suited to this mission.” Simon kept his voice low. “She possesses the necessary skills, and she’s a competent actress. But she’s soft.”
“She’s cunning. And she’s manipulative. Don’t let that pretty face fool you.”
“I don’t doubt that. But she’s never dealt with the likes of Raibert,” Simon said. “The American has confidence in her abilities—I cannot say the same.”
“She’s made a devil’s bargain with Jones, but she cannot be trusted. Dispatch another agent—a well-trained female operative.”
“Our options are limited, and time is of the essence. If Belle Fairchild was not involved in her father’s death, she may be in grave danger. Typically, our organization would not become involved with such a case, but we’ve reason to believe her father had acquired a relic of considerable significance, a sgian dubh forged more than a thousand years ago—the MacKendrick dagger.”
“That dirk was stolen from a museum
in Glasgow more than a dozen years ago. You believe Herbert Fairchild purchased a stolen antiquity?”
“We don’t know how he obtained it, but there’s evidence the dagger was the crown jewel of his collection. Shortly before his death, he hired an investigator to make discreet inquiries regarding its whereabouts. Evidently, the knife had been taken from its case, but he refused to contact the authorities. There’s good reason to suspect that one of them—Miss Fairchild or her fiancé—took the dagger.”
“What evidence do you have?”
“Nothing strong enough to make a case to the American authorities.” Simon raked a hand through his hair. “Fairchild’s investigator may have uncovered proof, but he wasn’t available to be questioned. The poor bastard was murdered in a Manhattan alley the night Fairchild died.”
“Bloody hell. You think he learned too much?”
“There’s a slim chance the timing of his death was a coincidence. Felix Lowry made a living digging up skeletons others wanted to stay buried. But we now have definitive evidence that O’Hanlon killed him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Lowry was known to wear a family ring bearing a valuable emerald. O’Hanlon took…shall we say…a token from the man.”
“A token? This sounds like something Poe might have dreamt up.”
“The unfortunate bloke was missing not only his ring but a digit.”
“Good God. The killer cut off his finger to get to the jewel.”
Simon shook his head. “We suspect Raibert demanded proof of death. The book Miss Winters took from O’Hanlon had been hollowed out. Within its pages, he’d concealed Lowry’s ring—as well as his severed finger.”
“Good God. Jones sent Miss Winters after a killer’s prize.” Harrison scowled. “He had to know how much danger she was in.”
“In the man’s defense, he was keeping watch over her. If you had not intervened, Jones was close by. He would have taken action.”
Harrison pinned Simon with his gaze. “Before or after O’Hanlon choked the life out of her?”
Tempting the Highland Spy Page 5
