When nearly an hour had passed, cold air whisked past him as a strapping man stalked from the entrance straight to where she sat. Her fingers instantly stopped moving when he took the chair opposite. Valentine was sitting too far away to hear their conversation, but he could see the strain around Bronwyn’s mouth as her lips grew translucent.

“Where’s…Richard?” He couldn’t quite make out her words, but it seemed like this wasn’t the person she was supposed to meet. The man shook his head and answered something that made her hands go to her lap, her entire body much too still. Her shoulders went up into a slow shrug, that vapid look that he was much too used to coming over her face. The man’s hand slamming on the tabletop quickly put an end to whatever game she was playing.

What the hell was going on?

Valentine stood and quietly slipped around the periphery of the room to where he could better hear the conversation. It was a risky move. If Lady Bronwyn glanced up in his direction, she would see him, but she was much too focused on the man at her front.

“You’re not who I expected,” she was saying.

The man, an ugly-looking brute with pockmarked, pale skin, scowled. “Change of plans. Hand over the list.” From the sound of his accent, Valentine deduced he was American.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m here to meet a friend.”

“Stop playing games, lovey. We know you have it.”

We? At that, Valentine’s eyes darted around the tavern. Other than the man, no one else had entered, but that didn’t mean that others weren’t lying in wait. It could be anyone in there, including the barman or any of the patrons. Bronwyn’s stare narrowed, too, and then hardened as though some deeper, survival instinct was kicking in.

Every sense in his own body grew heightened, alerting him to the threat. After so many years, he’d honed his nature to recognize trouble, and it was there in the form of this hulking man who was growing more agitated by the second. However, Valentine couldn’t tell if he was more agitated because she had noticed the signs of danger and was about to act or whether the instincts were his own. Both, probably.

“I believe, sir, you have me confused with someone else. I am not in possession of any list.” She paused, a thoughtful, calm stare returning to the man. Her posture had changed again. Instead of being rounded with submission, it had become straight and keen like a knife edge, as though crossing her would get a man slashed to ribbons. Who was this girl? “However, if you have a message for the Kestrel, please let me know.”

“The fuckin’ what?”