“The case, Taylor. It worked perfectly for me to get there over Christmas. Don’t worry about that now. There’s no way he’s getting to me. Besides, I’m armed.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Which you need to fix immediately. It’s a working castle, correct? Surely there’s something less than ceremonial around there. Check with the gamekeeper. He should have something you can handle.”

Have Jacques take you ferreting for rabbits. That’s great fun.

Jacques, the driver, the bodyguard, and his blatantly visible shoulder holster. She would go to him. And hopefully, he would help her.

“Yes, I know who to talk to. Okay, that’s one thing settled. I have Lincoln doing some searching for Madeira James’s past. Sam couldn’t find any record of her having a license to practice, in the States or the U.K.”

Her other line beeped. She glanced at the caller ID. It was Lincoln.

“Let me take this, it’s Linc. He may have found something.”

“I’m going to look at some mode of egress for you. See what we can do to get you out of that castle. Or at the very least, get someone in who can protect you until I can get there.”

“I can protect myself, Baldwin. I can handle this bitch.”

“You’re compromised, Taylor. Just remember that. If you have to be around her, and she starts trying to get you to relax, leave the room. Sing. Do anything to interrupt her flow of words. Okay? Just promise me you’ll be vigilant. Last night you were saying your goodbyes. I’m not ready to lose you.”

“I’m on my guard now, Baldwin, I have it back together. Don’t worry.”

She clicked End and the line automatically switched over to Lincoln.

Lincoln’s voice was breathless. “Thank God I got you. Taylor, you’ve got a problem. A very big problem.”

ENDS

“Rue not my death. Rejoice at my repose, It was no death to me but to my woes. The bud was opened to let out the rose. The chain was loosed to let the captive go.”

—ROBERT SOUTHWELL ON MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Memphis was getting closer. He was exhausted. He’d been stuck in the car for hours, crawling up the A1. Seventeen hours to make a two-hour drive. He nearly cheered when he saw the signs for the A9. He was almost home.

His cell phone had died after the message from Maddee. He’d turned it off for a bit, let it build up a tiny charge. Then he’d put in a call to Pen, heard just enough about what had happened after he rushed out of the prison.

She was going to be the toast of London tonight—she’d used the information Madison gave them about the house on Baker Street to solve the case. She’d stormed it with a team. All three girls were found, in various states of disarray, held against their will by the enigmatic Urq. But alive. Roger Waterstone had been arrested.

Pen was jubilant. He’d been right to let her take over the case. She needed a few wins under her kilt to get the right attention from the commanders. He was happy for her, and happy his gut had been wrong for once.

He just hoped it was still wrong now.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Taylor sat in the chair in front of the fireplace. Lincoln’s nimble fingers had gotten the information they needed. This was bigger than Taylor and Memphis, bigger than a petty jealousy. Bigger than they could possibly imagine.

As she suspected, Dr. Madeira James wasn’t who she said she was.

Taylor had taken fifteen minutes, laid out everything that had happened, and emailed the summary to Sam for safekeeping. If something went south, Sam was to use the information to make sure Maddee was taken down.

But Taylor didn’t think it was going to get that far. She had every intention of dealing with the doctor herself.

She had a fresh notepad in her lap, was mapping the castle corridors and stairwells. She couldn’t stay in her room, locked away, pretending she was sick. She had no choice. She had to venture out.

She needed two things, and needed some stealth to gain them.

A gun.

And Maddee’s laptop.

She sketched the rooms she knew from memory, filling in staircases, locked doors, rooms she’d been in, rooms she’d walked past. This place was so damn big. Maddee could be anywhere. Waiting. Watching.

A soft knock at her chamber door broke her concentration. It was followed by a high-pitched, girlish voice.

“I’m here to clean your room.”

Ah. One of Trixie’s elves. Perfect.

Taylor went to the door. She wasn’t taking chances. She opened the peephole and double-checked. Breathed a sigh of relief. The girl was alone.

She unlocked the door and let her in, then shut and latched the door behind her. It was the serving maid who’d brought Taylor’s breakfast on her first morning in the castle. That felt like weeks ago.

She had a pail and mop, started over to the bed. Taylor stopped her. This was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.

“What’s your name?”

“Maisrie, mum.”

“That’s a beautiful name. This has to be between you and me. We need to keep this a secret from everyone, Maisrie. Can you promise me that?”

The girl looked surprised, her forehead creasing momentarily. “Yes, mum?”

“Good. I need you to do something for me. I need to see Jacques. Is he here, on the estate?”

“Why, yes, mum, he surely is. But he’s probably down wi’ the sheep. All the stock was brought in, but there was some sheep as he couldn’t find.”

“So where would he be?”

“In the barns, maybe?”

“Can you take me there?”

She hesitated. “Well, yes, mum. I can take you to him. But it’s snowing something fierce out of doors now. Ye may want to wait until the storm’s passed.”

Oh that I could.

“I need to see him now, Maisrie. And we need to go the back way. I don’t want anyone knowing that I’ve seen him. It needs to be a secret. Okay?”

The poor child. She would probably promise most anything to the wild-eyed woman towering over her if she would loosen the grip on her arm.

“I must tell Trixie though. She’ll skin me alive if I disappear.”

Taylor dropped to her knees. The girl was only about five feet tall; this brought her to eye level. She looked her dead on, imploring.

“Listen to me. This is a matter of life and death. No one can know. Not Trixie. Not Dr. James. This will be between you and me.”

“Och.” The girl shook her head in disgust. “I’d never be telling her anything. I don’t like her.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth then. Talking poorly of her betters was surely discouraged.

Taylor suppressed a smile. For better or for worse, she had an ally.

Taylor wound her hair back from her face and secured it with a ponytail holder. She’d need her jacket if they were going to the barns, and her boots. She grabbed these items while Maisrie fretted by the door, waiting for her.

She wasn’t about to go into the corridor with just her bare hands to defend herself. The glass shards from the lowball wouldn’t work, she would cut herself trying to use it.

But the bar had a corkscrew, a professional sommelier version. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. When extended, the Teflon-coated worm sat perpendicular to its base. Awkward unless you led with it, like a dagger among brass knuckles. But the foil cutter was a two-and-a-half-inch-long serrated knife. It faced the opposite direction of the screw, which was too bad, but it was better than nothing.