“Stables are empty.” Walter joined them. He pulled a knife from his hip and nodded at Charles’s hands. He cut the bonds then slid it back in its sheath. “Where’s Miss Moore?”
“He has her,” Charles gritted out. He trotted to the stables and saddled up the closest horse.
“So there’s no doubt Lincoln is your man then?” The fifth voice made Charles start. He turned, and another shadow peeled itself away from the darkness.
“Duffy?” The last Charles had heard, the other agent had been away on his honeymoon. “What are you doing here?”
“Just got back today. Decided to check in at the office and was there when we got the message you might be in trouble.” Brogan Duffy cracked a knuckle on one of his meaty hands. “The men filled me in somewhat on the way here.”
Charles tightened the cinch around the horse’s middle. Duffy was a good agent, smart, but what appealed most now was his size. The man was a brute who could throw down with the best of them.
Charles led the horse out the door into the night air. “Lincoln has a home in Genoa. He’s leaving England, and took Cassie with him as protection. We approach, and he kills her.” The words tasted like gravel in his mouth.
“Only if he sees us coming.” Hereford brushed hay off his trousers. “Do you know which port he’s going to?”
Charles jumped into the saddle, his pulse pounding in his throat. His body ached to be off, to be in motion, to do something, but he needed to be smart about this. Cassie’s life depended on it. “No, but what are his choices? He and Cassie are in a gig. He could make Portsmouth by morning if he rides hell to leather, but it’s a risk. I think he’ll board passage at the London docks. But in case I’m wrong….”
“I’ll go.” Hereford strode to one of the horses in front of the building and untied it’s reins.
“I’ll join you.” Walter got onto his own horse. “If they’re on the road south, we’ll get her.”
Charles nodded, his throat thick.
“There’s a chance he’d head to Shoreham.” Cyrus watched the other men ride off.
Duffy mounted his bay. “Passage to the continent only leaves once a week from there. After planning my honeymoon, I am very familiar with shipping times. And prices.”
“I agree. If Lincoln wants to leave now, he’ll depart from London.” And if Charles was wrong, well, they’d have a couple of days to track him down before a ship sailed.
Cyrus swung into his saddle. “Did he admit to killing Miss Lydia Moore?”
“He admitted to it all.” Charles kicked his horse into motion. His head throbbed with each beat of the horses’ hooves. The usual role of the courts, to determine guilt or innocence, was irrelevant. There was no doubt Lincoln was the killer.
He flicked his rein at the horse’s neck to spur him faster. A killer who held Cassie’s life in his filthy hands. If anything happened to her….
His eyes blurred as they rushed through the streets of London. Cassie’s words about handing over responsibility rung in his head. If anything happened to her, making Lincoln pay for his crimes was a responsibility Charles didn’t want to give to anyone else. It was a responsibility Charles would take great pleasure in carrying out with his own two hands. He didn’t know what that said about him, and at the moment, he didn’t care. He only needed one thing; Cassie back safe in his arms.
The streets became busier around the docks. This was the one section of London that never slept. Cargoes were loaded and offloaded all through the night, and the pubs that served the sailors and dockworkers stayed open to keep them company.
They tied their horses up. “I’ll check with the dockmaster,” Cyrus said. “The ticket office isn’t open until six, but if you wave enough money around, anything can be had.”
Charles nodded but the man was already hurrying away. “We’ll split up,” he told Duffy. “You go right. I’ll go left.”
Duffy grabbed his arm. “I don’t know what either of them look like.”
He cursed. Duffy should have gone to the dockmaster and Cyrus should have helped him search. “Just ask the sailors or captains of each ship where they’re going and if a man and a woman recently booked passage.”
“Will do.” Duffy turned on his heel and marched off.
Charles got to work with his own questioning. The first two ships were going to the Americas. The third, Belgium. He was interrogating the first mate of the fourth when Cyrus hurried up, Duffy a step behind.
“Got ‘em.” Cyrus jerked his chin further down the row of ships. “Let’s go.”
“Did he see her?” Charles tripped after him. Please, God, let her still be alive.
“The dockmaster just spoke to a man, but he bought two tickets, for him and his wife.” Cyrus craned his neck. “Ship sailing for India, with stops in Cassis and the port of Genoa.” He slowed his pace. “There it is. The Antoinette.”
They hid behind a stack of burlap covered crates. A row of dockworkers filed up and down the gangplank, backs bent climbing up to load the ship before she sailed, and with a hop in their step when they came back down empty-handed. A group of passengers stood on deck, getting their last looks at London before they sailed.
