“I called the police, just in case,” the man’s voice said, from behind him. “After all, you’re supposed to be dead. Or maybe you’ll just come with me before anyone gets hurt? It’s the kind of thing Philippe and his friends would have done.”

Rory stayed, frozen on the curb, Arthur’s hat clutched tightly in his right hand, the ring heavy in its lead box in his left pocket.

And as he watched the first cops start pouring out of the car, his left hand went into his pocket.

Arthur had just turned onto the church’s street when he heard a high-pitched whistle behind him. “Oh no.”

He slammed on the brakes just as the wind barreled into his car from behind. His car was blown forward as if he’d been rear-ended, catching him at enough of an angle that he spun like he’d hit ice.

Arthur gripped the steering wheel as tight as he could and tried to ride out the spin as the wind blew past at gale strength—and then abruptly ended, a breeze far too sudden and powerful to be natural.

A shout and then a crash shuddered down the street, metal against metal.

Arthur leaned out of the car just in time to take in the scene in front of the church up ahead: a three-car pileup at the curb, a black police Model T smashed into an Essex and a Gray tourer, and four officers knocked to the street with a man in a suit sprawled with them.

And Rory, left hand extended, shoulders heaving.

“Teddy!”

Rory looked down the block, and even from a distance, Arthur could see the fear on his face.

He turned the wheel and screeched up in front of the church as Rory sprinted toward him. Arthur leaned over and opened the passenger door just as Rory leapt in.

“Drive!”

Arthur didn’t need to be told. He spun the car back in the direction he’d come and hit the gas.

Chapter Ten

Arthur’s heart was still pounding as he sped through streets with no mind for where he was going except south, toward New York, away from the river, to lose any tail. “I wasn’t actually expecting you to need the wind at Mrs. Brodigan’s wedding.”

“There was no wedding.” Rory was facing backward, eyes glued to the road. The fedora was on the seat on top of his newsboy cap, and the ring still glinted on his finger. “It was a trap.”

Arthur’s stomach plummeted.

“Did you see the fella in the suit?” When Arthur nodded, Rory added, grimly, “He’s the one that set me up. Zeppler tipped him off.”