“I’ll see you dead before I let you finish this.” Her voice was husky, low. And breaking free while he was still absorbing the unexpected shock, his grip loosened, she lifted her arm.

He saw the flash of a knife and spun away.

She came after him, raising it again. Determined. He caught her wrist, and the thinness told him who it was.

“Mrs. Holden? It’s Rutledge!” He spoke quietly, the words no more than a hiss. But she gasped, and said, “Oh, no!” in horror.

He moved closer to her, whispering, “What are you doing here?”

“He told me there was proof at The Reivers. He said he was coming to find it. I thought he meant the christening gown— But he had promised Oliver and the Chief Constable to have a drink with them first. So I came ahead, to stop him.”

She pressed something into his hands. He felt the cold steel of a dagger and the warmth of the hilt where her fingers had been. “It’s sharp,” she warned. “I was going to kill him with it. You must take it. You must kill him for me! If you won’t, I shall!”

“Mrs. Holden, you must go. Please! How in the name of God did you get in here without a key?”

“But I’ve had a key. Fiona gave me one after her aunt died. A precaution, if anything went wrong and I needed to reach Ian.”

“Then give it to me and go. I’ll see it’s returned tomorrow!”

“Will you kill him?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Not if I can help it.”

“You have the dirk. It was my father’s! If you won’t do it for me, do it for Fiona!”

And then she was gone, moving down the steps with the same silent care she’d used coming up them.

His heart still racing, Rutledge took a long breath. Then he listened. Somewhere a door opened and closed quietly. The only sign of it was the brief rush of cold, damp air. She was gone.

He went back into the bedroom. Something brushed past his leg, and this time he knew it was the cat. He bent to touch her, and she wrapped herself around his calf. He pushed her away then, afraid that the loud rumble of her purr would mask the other sounds he was waiting to hear. She went off, and he heard the small plunk! as her body leapt onto the bed.

There was a soft cry—

It came from the bar, and he stood where he was, tense and poised to move fast.

A decoy? To draw out anyone hidden in the darkness? Hamish was warning him to stay where he was—

Or had Holden run into his wife in the street?

There was nothing Rutledge could do but find out.

He went to the stairwell and listened, but heard nothing.