“I hope so.”

“You’re Lizzie Rush.” Abigail struggled to focus, one eye markedly less swollen than the other. “My father looked into your mother’s death in Ireland. It was ruled an accident.”

“It wasn’t,” Lizzie said.

Abigail nodded. “No, it wasn’t.”

Following Fletcher’s lead, Lizzie concentrated on the immediate problem, quickly explaining the situation to the detective. “I told Myles I can get us out of here.”

“Myles…” Abigail swallowed visibly. “Fletcher. He’s an interesting character. There are at least two other men in addition to him and Estabrook. A third-I think he’s dead.”

“Yes. Fiona O’Reilly and I found him yesterday. It’s a long story. Let’s focus on getting out of here before Norman pays us a visit. Can you stand?”

She nodded, allowing Lizzie to help her to her feet. “You obviously have something in mind.”

Lizzie smiled. “My cousins and I used to pretend we were prisoners on a pirate ship.”

“And this room was the ship? There’s an exit?”

“Sort of.” She pulled the ratty couch away from the wall and pointed to a knee-high door. “It goes under the stairs to the laundry room. My cousins and I would…well, we liked our adventures. You’ll have to crawl.”

“I can do it. I should have found this myself. The laundry room-there’s an exit just outside the door, isn’t there?”

“It leads right into my grandmother’s hydrangeas.”

“If Estabrook or his men catch us-”

“We end up back here playing cards,” Lizzie said lightly.

Abigail tried to smile. “My optimism took a hit along with my face.” She studied the door a moment. “I’ll go first. If I run into problems, get back here and blame me.”

Lizzie didn’t argue with her and squatted to unlatch the door. “I wonder if the adults in our lives realized the door was here and wanted to encourage a certain amount of creativity and rebellion in my cousins and me.” She looked up at Abigail. “I’m not promising we won’t happen upon mice, dead or alive.”

“I heard mice running in the walls.” Abigail got down low and peered into the pitch-dark crawl space. She gave Lizzie a beleagured smile. “I figured they were better company than the rats upstairs.”

She got on all fours and went through the small opening. Lizzie pulled the couch back as close to the wall as she could, but it wasn’t enough-Norman and his men would know exactly what had happened the minute they entered the room. She shut the door behind her, anyway, as she ducked into the crawl space. She breathed in dust and in the darkness, thought she really did hear a mouse scurrying. But she moved fast, making her way to another small door, which Abigail had left open.

Lizzie emerged in the laundry room. It was equipped with an old washer and dryer, a freezer and a wall of hooks and shelves. Abigail, panting and ashen, held a pair of large, rusted garden shears. “I’d rather have my Glock. Stay behind me, Lizzie. Let me-” Abigail frowned as Lizzie grabbed her grandmother’s old walking stick. “What are you doing?”

Lizzie held the stick at her side, felt its worn, smooth wood as her eyes misted. “My gran…I can see her now, walking in her garden. She was so proud of her delphiniums.” She shook off the memories. “I’m pretty good with a bo.”

“You know martial arts?”

“Harlan Rush arts,” Lizzie said with an attempt at a smile.

“We can do some damage with garden shears and a walking stick, but they’ve got automatics.” Even bruised, Abigail looked like the experienced homicide detective she was. “Nothing crazy, okay?”

They eased out into the hall. Lizzie pulled open the door, wincing at every noisy creak it made, and they slipped outside, into the fog, squeezing along the edge of the six-foot hydrangeas that grew on the hillside. She shut the door tightly behind her.

Abigail was clearly done in, fresh blood oozing from a cut on her cheek. Lizzie smelled the hydrangeas in the damp air and fought an urge to hide under their low, thick branches. But she knew what she had to do. “You’re hurt, and you’ve been through hell,” she said softly. “Let me do this, Abigail. Norman thinks I’m on his side-”

“No. We stay together.”

She touched Abigail’s shoulder. “Fletcher needs something from Norman. It’s important, and I can get it. If he gets away now, we’ll never find him. He’ll win. He will be your father’s nemesis.”

“I can’t let you-”

“I’ll at least buy you all time. I won’t take unnecessary risks. Here.” Lizzie pointed Abigail to an old wood bench hidden among the hydrangeas. “I knew I didn’t have these bushes cut back for a reason. They’ll hide you.”

Abigail sank onto the bench. “Stay here with me.”

“There’s no way Fletcher can do this alone. Norman trusts me. If I don’t do what I can now-” Lizzie didn’t finish. “Make sure Will and Simon know Fletcher’s one of the good guys. Another reason for you to stay behind. We don’t want a friendly-fire incident.”

“No, but-”

Lizzie straightened with her walking stick and smiled. “Don’t make me knock you out. I’m trusting you and our fairy prince, Prince Charming and dark lord to come save me.”

“Simon, Davenport and Fletcher.” Abigail smiled weakly. “Very amusing. You can take my garden shears.”

“Take a look around at all the overgrown stuff. Do you think I’m any good with garden shears?”

Lizzie didn’t wait for an answer and walked out from the cover of the hydrangeas toward the stone steps. She couldn’t see anyone through the fog and continued down the sloping yard. She debated calling out for Norman, but she spotted him by himself next to the wild blackberries and roses above the rocks.

She waved and ran toward him. “ Norman! Abigail just almost killed me! She used me as a hostage-I’m sorry. I took off. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s gone upstairs. She’s looking for you. She thinks she can take on your men.”

“She’ll learn otherwise.”

“ Norman…” Lizzie caught her breath. “This is for real, isn’t it?”

His eyes were cold, and beads of sweat glistened on his upper lip. “Very real,” he said. “And whether or not you’re lying, Lizzie, you’re mine now.”

Fog enveloped the coastline in its shroud of gray. Abigail shivered as she crept toward the sounds of the ocean, staying in the cover of overgrown shrubs and gnarled, drooping evergreens. She ached and she was sick, but she would do what she could to distract and divert Estabrook and his men-anything to back up Lizzie Rush.

Her teeth chattered now.

Simon materialized through the fog as he came up from the rocks. He lowered his pistol when he saw her. A tall, light-haired man, also armed, came up beside him. Simon’s British friend, Will Davenport.

Lizzie’s Prince Charming.

Abigail fought back a surge of emotion. “Estabrook has Lizzie Rush.”

Simon took in her injuries with a quick scan. “We’ll take care of her, Ab.”

Her cut, swollen lip cracked painfully as she gave him the barest of smiles. “Ab. Hell, Simon.” She focused and described the situation to the two men. “Lizzie’s trying to stall Estabrook. She thinks Fletcher needs information from him. He’s-I don’t know what he’s doing. Estabrook has two other men. Hired guns.”

Will squinted toward the water, into the gray, then turned to Abigail. “Myles has been alone long enough.” He seemed to struggle a moment. “Lizzie’s as stubborn and independent as he is.”

Abigail hugged her arms to her chest, the damp air making her ache even more. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her,” she whispered.

“No one’s been able to stop her for a year,” Simon said.

Will looked at him. “I have to go.”

Simon straightened, a federal agent taking charge. “Will-hell. Fletcher’s a British agent, isn’t he?”

“Now. Yes. I didn’t know.”

“You two can at least try not to kill anyone else on U.S. soil.”