“Ring to arrange pickup and payment.”

“Do it now,” I said. “Tell her you’ve got me sedated but you’re two men down and it’ll just be you coming to the exchange point.”

As the distant sound of sirens invaded the air, the woman pulled out her phone and made the call. When the number started to ring, I reached across and hit the speaker button.

“I take it your mission has been successful given that’s the only reason you should be ringing this number.”

The voice was low and had a somewhat tinny sound to it, suggesting some sort of voice moderating app was being used. It was obviously a woman, but more than that, I couldn’t say.

“Yes,” our captive said.

“Any problems?”

“Well, she really wasn’t happy about the possibility of being kidnapped. It took some doing to get her under control.”

The woman laughed, and there was something vaguely familiar about it. “I did warn you she could fight.”

“That is something of an understatement. The bitch took out two of my men.”

The woman laughed again, and that sense of familiarity strengthened. Damn it, who did I know who laughed like that?

“I take it she’s now trussed up tighter than an antique clock?”

Familiarity sharpened to recognition and, for several seconds, I couldn’t breathe. All I could do was stare at that damn phone and wish, with everything I had, that I was mistaken. That one of the closest living relatives Lugh and I had left wasn’t betraying us.

I certainly hoped she hadn’t betrayed Mom.

Because that term was one rarely used outside my small family unit. Or, more specifically, my gran, my aunt, and my cousin.

Gran was dead, and despite the voice modulations, it didn’t sound sharp enough to be my aunt.

Which left only one possibility.

Vincentia.

It would explain not only the multiple break-ins at the tavern over the last six months, but also Mom’s reaction the fateful night she’d disappeared. This would explain why she’d left the tavern without taking the knives, as she usually did. She’d deliberately left them behind so that they wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.

The hands of the niece she’d known was betraying us.

It was all I could not to reach out, grab the phone, and unleash every bit of anger and heartbreak at the woman on the other end of that phone.

But that would only give her the chance to hide—not that there was anywhere in this world that was now safe for her. I’d find her, no matter how long it fucking took, and tell her exactly what I thought of her.

And she’d spend eternity wishing she’d never walked betrayal’s path.

“We’ve force fed her tranqs,” my captive was saying, “she won’t be any trouble for hours.”

“Ah, good. Exchange at Churton, as agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Understood. Thanks.”

There was amusement in Vincentia’s modulated tone, and the urge to vent was so damn strong again that I half reached out.