Libby’s progress was slow. Perhaps by design, perhaps because her feet were unaccustomed to the wet stone and her mind no doubt full of the stories of Johnnie slipping and cracking his skull and never rising again.

But not slipping. It was him, whoever it was hiding in the shadows in there, that had done it. He knew that now.

Oliver slid a few inches closer to the ledge so he could drop down again if necessary. He didn’t know what he could do that wouldn’t just get them both killed, but he prayed with every quarter of an inch that the Lord would show him something. Make a way. Send a bolt of lightning or an earthquake or a tsunami or something to distract the man long enough for Libby to get back out to him.

She’d made it only halfway to where the voice had come from when it echoed again. “Stop!”

She stopped, hand still braced on the cavern wall.

“What exactly is in that bag?”

Her fingers gripped it tightly. “Silver.”

“You’re growing tiresome, Elizabeth. What kind of silver?”

“Coins.” Though this was true, her voice shook just a bit. He couldn’t blame her—his would have been shaking if he were approaching a gunman too. Even if he had exactly what the other wanted.

A growl rumbled its way out. “What kind of coins?”

He could imagine Libby picking through the answers they’d devised to the possible questions. This one among them, or close enough. “I can only give what I have, sir. Now I’ll thank you to let me uphold my end of the bargain so that you can uphold yours and end this nonsense.”

Her voice was stronger that time and nearly sounded like Beth’s. They’d schooled her a bit in his sister’s intonations and phrases over the last two weeks. Just in case whoever met her tonight relayed her words to someone who actually knew Beth.

If only they really were capable of upholding whatever bargain Beth had struck.

But the man in the cave didn’t seem amenable anyway. His voice emerged cold and cruel from the shadows. “If those are modern coins, you’ll pay the price for your deception. You know well we want Mucknell’s hoard. Nothing less.”

Blood pounding, Oliver slid his foot forward again.

Libby dashed the change purse to the ground in the exact fashion Beth would have done, with the right snort of exasperation—they’d made her practice the move that Beth was famous around the islands for. “You don’t want it? Fine! I’ll keep it myself, and you’ll either shoot me and lose all hope of recovering the rest, or you’ll give me the time I asked for!”