A low sound emerged from Lisbeth’s throat. “If Payne is involved, this is beyond us, Val. I would need to get our superiors involved. He’s a piece of shit. While we were in Philadelphia, I found out that Lewis Payne was arrested for beating a maid who ousted him as a spy.” She frowned. “Coincidence? I think not. It has to be him.”

“We have no proof,” he said. “Beyond a cad’s word.”

“What do you mean to do?” The question came from Rawley, whose face showed concern, obviously for his cousin’s sister.

“If these men are after her, then we have to take her in for her own safety,” Valentine said, the pain at the base of his skull expanding to a deep throb. “It’s the only way.”

Lisbeth’s face pulled tight. “What if we don’t?” When he gaped at her, she lifted a palm and dragged him a few feet away, presumably out of Rawley’s hearing. “Hear me out. What if we let her go home, post a man on her heels at all times, and find out who her contact is. Whoever that is has to be the real ringleader, if there is one. She’s just a means to an end to someone. A homing pigeon.”

Valentine glared at his former partner, even though he’d had a similar thought just before. She’s the Kestrel, he wanted to shout. Bronwyn wasn’t a simple pigeon that someone had used to send a message. She was a bird of prey! The Kestrel had been setting the Home Office on its collective ear for months.

Lisbeth’s idea had merit—he didn’t want to expose Bronwyn to his peers or the presses—but Valentine couldn’t protect her without more resources. He glanced at Rawley, wondering if the man suspected his plan wasn’t to safeguard his cousin’s sister once they got to England, but to turn her in. However, the man’s face was unreadable. Valentine guessed he would not like it. Nor would Ashvale, for that matter. His best friend would be livid at such a betrayal.

Then again, neither of them knew of the Kestrel’s true identity.

Letting Bronwyn go, as slippery as she had been to track or catch in the first place, would be a mistake. He’d gotten lucky. He hadn’t caught her out of his own skill; it had been pure luck that events had unfolded the way they had. In his gut, Valentine knew that she would not let herself be entrapped a second time. She was much too clever for that, which meant that the minute he let her out of his sight, she was as good as gone. He had to do the right thing, and the right thing was trusting in the justice system. And protecting her as well, while he was at it. A tremor slid through the pit of his stomach.