Chapter 17

With a blade in hand, Ford cautiously moved the window latch and eased open the window. He squeezed inside, carefully stepping onto the floor. Trying to adjust his eyes to the dimly lit room, he stood blinking for a long moment.

He had been in this house twice before, although the first time, he hadn't progressed beyond the hall, and the second time, he stopped in the kitchen. That was enough for him to map out his current entry.

He now stood in the kitchen, only a short distance from the large table where he had sipped on the strangely alluring cup of tea a week before.

He didn't expect anyone to be here after what had happened earlier in the day. The women were probably afraid that whoever had abducted Harmony—and it was reasonable to assume she was abducted—would return for them.

If Ford was to solve the mystery of the harlot's and Jamison's disappearance, he needed to start here. In this house.

He had already circled it a few times in hopes of finding any signs of the earlier struggle, but it was useless. The rain had washed away any footprints, and even if it didn't, three more women and Thomas had already obscured any evidence.

It would be ideal if Ford could speak to Grace and ask her what documents were stolen and if they had any significance. Except he didn't know enough about her to know where she would be hiding.

She had a strong personality, Grace. It was obvious she didn't ask for help easily. Which added a bigger wound to his pride as she had asked him for help and he had failed her. Twice.

First by not figuring out the mystery of the aristocrat's murder and then by not protecting her friends from whoever it was that ransacked this house.

Ransacked, Ford thought as he surveyed the house, wouldn't be the word he'd use, as the entire ground floor was tidy with nary a chair out of place.

From what he could discern, the spacious kitchen sat empty and undisturbed. No signs of disarray or evident struggle. The downstairs sitting room appeared equally untouched. Moving on silent footfalls, Ford ascended the grand staircase, one cautious step at a time.

He made his way methodically through the upper halls, checking room by room. The house was not big, but it had a couple of guest chambers that had been previously occupied. He saw the signs of slight disarray in those rooms. It didn't seem as though an intruder had ransacked the chambers, though. It looked more as if the occupants had left the room, grabbing their most precious belongings in wild panic.

At last, Ford reached the door to the room with the most damage. This must be Grace's chambers. The room was more spacious than the others, meticulously decorated in shades of light blue. Even from outside the entry, the disarray was palpable—furnishings knocked askew, upturned rugs, and strewn volumes. Gripping the latch, he slowly pushed the door inward, opening it wider, careful not to step on anything valuable.

Ford squinted in the dark room, loath to light a candle that beckoned him from the desk in the corner. Someone might see the light from the outside.

He shouldn't risk it. It wasn't easy to take stock of the full extent of damage in the moonlight. But even with his limited vision, it was obvious that this room was targeted.

Whoever stole the money and the documents—

Thump!

Ford hissed as his boot hit something hard on the floor. He knelt over a loose floorboard. Ah, there it is. He crawled across the floor until a narrow opening appeared before him. That's where Grace's treasures were held, he was certain. No fancy iron safe in this house.

He cursed under his breath. Everything he'd observed in this room told him only one thing. Whoever did this was not only familiar with the house but also with this room.

It seemed more and more like Jamison had conspired with his new lover, robbed Grace, and fled.

But what did they take besides money? What documents could they have stolen to make Grace fearful enough to flee her house?

He unfolded himself and continued his aimless wandering around the room. Perhaps something within the walls would give him some answers.

So far, there was nothing unusual. The clothes and bedsheets were scattered across the floor. He paused and squinted, then reached out his hand and touched the strange object. Ah, a wig. And an elaborate one at that.

He snorted. It reminded him of Triss…

No doubt, left over from Grace's harlot days.

Ford paused in his thoughts. Was she truly ever a harlot?

He'd known her as a healer, someone who looked after his sister, Eloise, when she had nearly drowned in the dirty river. She had also looked after Hades at the same time. She had never dressed, nor had she ever acted like a harlot.

He shrugged. She had told him she used to be one, and he had no reason to doubt her words.

He wondered what she knew about Triss. Did she know where she lived? What sort of past did they share? Ford stopped by the desk and fingered a few pieces of paper lying on top. He brought one piece of paper closer to the window, letting the weak beam of moonlight illuminate the drawing.

An odd image greeted him. A woman sat on an odd contraption resembling a chair, except that there was a pad under it—a bed?—where a man lay, his face resting directly under the woman's… private parts. He squinted and leaned closer to make certain he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. A drawing in the corner showed the seat without the occupants, and he could clearly make out a round hole in the chair cushions.

Ford blinked and shook his head, trying to dispel the image from his mind, but it had permanently etched itself to the back of his eyes. Curious what other treasures were buried within those papers, Ford grabbed another sheet to inspect—

A floorboard creaked in the hallway.

Ford instantly stilled, the paper clamped between his fingers, straining to hear more. There… the barest whisper of movement, a soft scuff of leather on wood.

He glanced out the window onto the quiet street. No horses were waiting for their owners, no carriage had brought any visitors. The silence with which the intruder managed to enter the house told Ford that the person was most likely alone.

Good news. He could overpower a single assailant.

Ford dropped the piece of paper and gripped the handle of his dagger as he pulled it out of the sheath and moved silently toward the exit. Flattening his back against the wall beside the door frame, he glanced up and down the corridor only to see nothing.

There had to be someone out there. He could've sworn he'd heard the movement. Ford's fingers tightened around the reassuring weight of his dagger, holding it close to his side when—

Crash!

A blur of motion exploded from the other room into the hallway, all whirling limbs and flashing steel. Ford blocked the wild knife thrust with his own dagger, dodging one blow after another as he attempted to move out of the narrow corridor. In the pitch-black darkness, the fight quickly devolved into a maelstrom of grunts and the sharp clink of blades whickering together.

The mysterious assailant fought ferociously. He wasn't big and his strength was inferior to Ford's. What he lacked in power, however, he more than compensated for in speed and precision. There was no movement out of place. Every cut and thrust of the blade was calculated and exact. Ford could not see the attacker in the darkness, but there was something… familiar in his movements.

A lithe, predatory grace that he'd seen before. The movement that flowed seamlessly as if in a dance was almost feminine.

Triss?

An odd thought flicked through his mind. And it was enough to distract him. In the next moment, the assailant pushed Ford against the wall and pressed the cool steel blade of his— her?—dagger against Ford's neck.

There was a pause with no sound but the heavy breathing of both Ford and the person pressing a blade to his throat.

Then a soft voice cut through the tense silence, "Ford?"

Ford blinked and squinted at the dark figure before him. "Grace?"

* * *

Grace instantly pulled the dagger away and took a step back. "What are you doing here?" A part of her hummed in happiness from seeing him again.

"I could be asking you the same question," Ford grumbled and rubbed his neck where the blade had rested a moment ago.

"I live here."

"It can't be safe for you to be here." He looked around the dark house. "I thought you fled. Thomas said you collected your belongings and left."

She huffed a breath. "I dare you to show me a place that is safe for me at the moment." A pause. "I came here to see if I could figure out who took Harmony. I noticed an intruder and decided I could confront him—you."

"By yourself?" Ford's lips twisted in anger.

What did it matter to him? "What else was I supposed to do?"

"You could have come to me!" He ran a hand through his hair, irritation obvious on his face.

"I can take care of myself."

"Obviously." He snorted.

"You don't think I can?"

"I think you're incredibly foolish if you think you can deal with this on your own."

She reared back. Foolish? "Did you just call me foolish and incompetent?"

He shrugged. "It seems that I did."

"How dare you," she gritted through her teeth.

"I am not going to stand idly by and feed into the delusion that you're going to solve Harmony's disappearance at the expense of yourself," said the arrogant boar. "Especially since I do not believe anyone actually took Harmony."

After speaking to Thomas and inspecting the house, she had come to a similar conclusion. Although she refused to believe it fully. "What are you talking about?"

"Think about it rationally and look around." He waved a hand at their surroundings. "No other rooms were ransacked but yours. Whoever stole the documents from beneath your floorboards knew exactly what they were looking for and where to find it."

Grace wasn't stupid, despite what Ford thought of her. She already knew this. "She could have been forced. In fact, I think your thief-taker friend, the one who was supposed to protect us, was the one who did it."

Ford grimaced. "They were together on this. They were lovers. Didn't your harlot friends tell you this?"

Grace had noticed this, too. But she'd seen too much in her lifetime to just immediately think the worst of Harmony. Women in her situation could be easily manipulated by a few empty platitudes and rosy promises. She was no mastermind. She was just a woman who thought she was in love.

She might have left on her own two feet, but she was taken—manipulated into leaving her friends, people who truly cared about her.

Either way, the moment the thief-taker got what he wanted, he would no doubt discard her. And Grace wanted to be there when it happened to save Harmony from further heartache.

"The real issue here is not Harmony," she said. "There is no way she would've done any of this if it weren't for your thief-taker, Jamison."

Ford threaded his fingers through his hair. "There is no time to deflect blame. The question is, what will they do with the documents they stole? What is so important that they ransacked your room and fled?"

Grace pursed her lips. The logbook, the deed to the brothel declaring her the owner, every other document that proved her identity thereby putting her in danger from both the Brotherhood and the King's men. But Harmony didn't know they were there. She'd seen Grace cover up the hole in the floor and no doubt had thought that Grace had money in there. She wasn't wrong. And they took it all.

The documents were likely a lucky mistake. Grace only prayed they didn't realize their significance.

She couldn't tell Ford any of that. "Just the documents that revealed my past criminal dealings with Hades," she lied. "Enough to have us both hanged."

"For Heaven's sake, Grace! You are talking as if they are old soup recipes!" He scrubbed his face, fidgeting with his hands increasingly in irritation. "The documents that revealed your criminal dealings involving Hades," he muttered to himself. "What about Madame Tricheuse? Any dealings involving her?" There was a glint of some feeling in his eyes. Grace could not identify it.

She swallowed. "Her too." Technically, it was all about her.

Ford shook his head. "And they know where you live now. They, no doubt, sold this information to the Crown. You should not be here."

Grace let out a sigh. "I have nowhere else to go."

Ford shook his head once more, like an old man disapproving of an insubordinate youth. "You should have come to me. The moment the documents were stolen—"

"Why would I have come to you?" she exploded. "I have no reason to trust that you—the thief-taker—would not give me away in a heartbeat. Especially after one of your friends fled with one of mine after stealing from me. I can't trust anyone."

"I don't see that you have a choice," he growled. "I am all you've got right now. Hades is away on his late wedding trip. William is always looking out only for himself. The only person you have to help you is me. So, you either have to trust me or I don't foresee you surviving for much longer."

She took a step back and raised her dagger. His threat didn't sit well with her. He arched a brow and waited for her next move. Grace tempered her breaths and replaced the dagger to its sheath strapped to her waist. "What do you propose?"

He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. "We need to find Jamison. Perhaps he didn't have time to sell the documents yet or even to read them. I don't know if he'll realize their significance right away. We can intercept them and perhaps you'll be able to plead your case to Harmony. Either way, Jamison cannot live beyond this night."

A shudder went through her body. "You are going to kill your friend?"

The stare that Ford gave her was answer enough.

"So… no second chances?"

Ford raised a brow. "Would you like to find out if he stabs you in the back for the second time?"

Grace shrugged. "I've seen plenty of people make mistakes. I won't pretend like I haven't made any. Have you?"

"Not the kinds that led to the death or arrests of the people who put their trust in me." He gazed deeply into her eyes, the intensity in them making her shiver. "I take care of the people under my protection, and right now, that includes you…" He paused, a weighty silence settling between them, until he said, "And Triss."

Something shifted within him as he said her alternate name. Dare she hope he was starting to care about her?

Grace gave him an easy smile. "Very well, then. Lead the way." She pulled the cloak over her head, covering most of her face. She couldn't see much aside from a patch of road in front of her, but that way she could not be identified when they exited the house.

"Come." Ford walked quietly but confidently toward the back door. He peered out to make certain there was no ambush outside before letting Grace exit.

Then they silently made their way toward Jamison's house.

"How far away does he live?" Grace asked after they'd walked for a few minutes in silence.

"Not far." He was lost deep in thought. "It is probably a huge mistake for me to bring you along. If Jamison did indeed sell those documents already, there could be an all-out hunt for your head."

"There probably is," she agreed. The price on her head was set a long time ago. The difference was that now people actually knew the name attached to her head. If Harmony and Jamison provided the King's men with her description, she was an easy target.

"You seem calm about that," he noted.

Grace looked within herself for why she wasn't more bothered about this. She'd gone through so many frightening things in her life and the one thing she realized early on is that panicking never solved anything. She needed to keep her head clear.

She also learned that she only had herself to rely on. If she decided to bury her head in the sand and wait until everything got resolved, she might as well wait forever. Hiding was not something she did. Not anymore.

"Jamison was once one of my most trusted friends," Ford said after a brief silence. "He even asked for my sister's hand in marriage, and I agreed."

Grace turned to look at him in surprise. "Eloise was betrothed to him?"

Ford let out a chuckle. "Yes. I would never have imagined I'd be glad she selected a criminal instead."

Grace bit her lip. "That ought to teach you not to judge a person based on their reputation and past activities."

His laughter was hoarse and slightly bitter. "I suppose it should." He paused and looked around the empty street.

"Is something—"

"Shush!" He raised a finger in the air, but after a moment, he shrugged, and they continued on their way.

He led her through obscure, tiny, winding streets, obviously concerned that someone might have been following them, but he said nothing.

His stomach rumbled, and he pressed a palm to it. "Damn empty stomach," he muttered. "I can't seem to remember to eat on time."

Grace pursed her lips to avoid laughter threatening to erupt. With deft fingers, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a carefully folded handkerchief with a piece of bread and cheese inside. She offered it to him without another word as was her habit.

He reached for the offering easily, too.

Only when he paused, his hand still wrapped around hers, the deep furrows of his brow smoothing as understanding bloomed in his widening eyes, did she realize what she had done. For the briefest moment, she saw it—the dawning knowledge of just who and what she was.