Valentine turned and ran back to where he’d left Bronwyn, but the bloody chit wasn’t there. Had she been attacked? Taken? A quick glance over the space showed that there was no sign of a scuffle, and rage spun through him. She’d run! Where would she go? She’d either get a hansom back to where she was staying or head for the ship.

Or… He glanced down the street to the tavern.

No, she wouldn’t do something so unreasonably reckless, would she? He exhaled. Of course she would. Valentine sprinted as fast as he could, stopping just before he barged in with the force of a bull in a shop full of china. If she was meeting the Kestrel, he had to know, and that required stealth not a commotion. He slipped in the side entryway that he’d exited the day before—which seemed like a lifetime ago—and crept along the quiet corridor. It was early yet, but the tavern was already open for business, given the low murmur of voices.

He spotted the slight figure still wrapped in his cloak, but he tamped down the urge to rush over and demand answers. That wouldn’t help anyone, and if her companion wasn’t the Kestrel, there would be no point. She was speaking with someone he couldn’t see from the back, though they appeared to be small in stature. Curious. He couldn’t get any closer without attracting attention so Valentine crept back down the corridor and put his ear to the thin wooden wall on the other side of where they sat until he could hear hushed snatches of the conversation.

“Thank you, sorry…yesterday,” the other voice was saying. “Couldn’t come.”

“Was an attack. A man tried to take…message by force.” That voice was Bronwyn’s, and it was trembling. Was it because of fear or worry that he’d catch her? Or that someone else would? “Glad…you were here. Lucky.”

“Waited for you,” the other voice said. “This information…is paramount.”

Valentine frowned, straining to hear more. What information? He wished he had gotten there sooner to learn whatever secret it was Bronwyn had shared. And paramount to what? Shit, this went much deeper than a stolen page from his report after Brent Sommers’s arrest.

“Paper with names was…lost. They…John Surratt…also Powell. They…league.”

Valentine blinked and reached for the page from his pocket. At the very bottom, it detailed names of Brent Sommers’s network, all men who were known spies and criminals. Both those names were on it. What the devil was Bronwyn up to? There was no way he was going to be able to help her, or her family, if she didn’t tell him the truth. And that had to start right now.

“That is helpful. Be safe…Kestrel…thank.…”