Page 116 of The Bachelor Spy
“I won’t,” Grace promised. “Just let Zahra go, and I’ll come with you willingly. I’ll help you find the jewels.”
“The key first.” Pennington’s attention fixed on her hand.
Grace held it up—she’d been clutching it so tightly her palm hurt. “Let Zahra go, and it’s yours.”
Another pause. Another heartbeat where everything hung in the balance.
Then Pennington lowered the shears slightly from Zahra’s neck. The girl slid free, slumping backward.
Instantly, he snatched the key from her hold, pocketing it, before clamping Grace’s arm in a painful grip. She winced, his hold making it difficult for her to hang on to the lantern. He pointed the shears toward her chest. “If you try anything—”
Grace ignored the tiny shiver crawling up her spine at the warning in his voice and turned her attention to Zahra, who stood in the doorway of the building.
She’d go to Frederick. She’d find help.
Grace gave the slightest nod—silent entreaty, silent instruction.
Run, darling. Run and find your papa.
And Zahra dashed through the door into the night. Grace released a relieved breath.
Being captured herself was one thing. Having her daughter taken, quite another.
And Grace knew how to navigate being kidnapped … woman-napped.
It wasn’t her first time.
“I told you I would help you, Mr. Pennington. And then you’re going to let me go. That’s how this ends, because I know you wouldn’t want to have the regret of my death”—her hand went to her stomach—”nor that of my child on your head.”
The man’s eyes widened as he looked from her face to her stomach and back.
Well, that threat seemed to have worked well.
She swallowed through a rising lump in her throat.
She hoped.
Frederick had barely stepped inside when Brandon’s words hit him like a physical blow.
“Nurse Wilson, my lord. We found her bound and gagged in a linen closet off the west wing.”
Frederick’s steps came to a complete halt. “What?”
Brandon continued speaking as Frederick resumed moving along the corridor, his pace increasing with each piece of the unfolding story. “She’s been there for at least an hour, sir. Since supper, from what she can recall. Dr. Shaw is with her now, but she’s quite distressed.” He cleared his throat. “She keeps saying Rivers did this, that Rivers is … a spy, sir.”
Frederick released a soundless burst of air.
The spy Blake had refused to name.
Rivers. Could Smith be the accomplice then? The other missing patient? “Where is Rivers now?”
“We don’t know, sir. But everyone’s searching for Rivers, Smith, and Pennington. I’ve placed John to keep watch on the nurses. They were feeling a bit frightened, as you can imagine.”
“Indeed. Good thinking, Brandon.”
They reached the small sitting room where Dr. Shaw had taken Nurse Wilson. She sat hunched in a chair, a blanket around her shoulders, her wrists dark and raw from rope burns. Her usually severe hair hung in wild sprays around her face, and tearstains streaked her dusty, reddened cheeks.
Thank God Rivers—or whatever her real name was—hadn’t done worse.
