Page 103 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

Their eyes met briefly in the moonlight. There was so much left unsaid between them.

Now there was only the warehouse.

Hector turned away before either of them could linger in that moment. His attention narrowed completely. Every lesson drilled into him since boyhood returned effortlessly.

He could hear his father’s voice.

Control your breathing. Observe before moving. Never assume silence means safety.

He slipped into the shadows bordering the warehouse yard, each step deliberate. Behind him, he could feel Jane watching. Trusting him. That trust weighed more heavily than any weapon.

He circled slowly along the ivy-covered wall. The old bricks felt cool beneath his fingertips. Another faint light flickeredsomewhere inside. Then he heard muted voices, too indistinct to understand.

His heartbeat quickened. Someone was definitely inside. More than one person. He edged closer toward a cracked window where one board had loosened with age. He leaned forward just enough to peer through the narrow opening.

At first, he saw only stacked crates and hanging lanterns. Then movement caught his eye. Two armed men crossed the far end of the warehouse. Both carried pistols.

One rested a musket casually over his shoulder. They were definitely guards. Hale had been right. Hector eased backward without making a sound.

As he retreated toward Jane, another realization struck him. The guards looked relaxed, as though they believed no one knew this place existed. That advantage might not last long.

When he reached Jane again, she searched his face anxiously.

“Well?”

He kept his voice barely above a breath. “There are guards.”

Her face paled slightly. “How many?”

“I’ve seen two.”

“Only two?”

“I said I’veseentwo.”

Understanding dawned immediately. “There could be more.”

“Almost certainly.”

Jane drew a slow breath, steadying herself. “What do we do now?”

Hector looked once more toward the warehouse. Then toward the road behind them. Ambrose would come. Soon, if all had gone according to plan. Until then, they would wait.

Because charging blindly into a building guarded by armed men was precisely the sort of mistake Strachan would expect desperate people to make. And Hector had no intention of giving the crime lord that satisfaction.

Time dragged. Where was Ambrose? Hector decided that he needed to do something. He didn’t want to waste the element of surprise that they had.

The warehouse door groaned softly as Hector eased it open. Cool, stale air drifted out, carrying the scent of damp timber, mildew, and old rope. He stepped inside first.

Darkness swallowed the corners of the cavernous building. Moonlight filtered through cracked windows high overhead, casting pale bars across uneven floorboards and rows of towering crates stacked nearly to the rafters.

Behind him, he heard Jane’s quiet footsteps. She moved to come alongside him.

Without looking back, Hector lifted one hand. “Wait.”

The word came low and firm. She stopped. He advanced another few paces, every instinct sharpening.

He heard nothing. Warehouses were never silent. There should have been laborers snoring in corners, rats scrambling through sacks of grain, guards exchanging bored conversation.