Mr. Leigh scanned the area. Elise followed his gaze and saw—only if she looked hard—the faintest motion in shadowed nooks: men positioned where fishermen would not stand, too still and too watchful. They were near enough to protect, yet far enough away to remain unseen.
His assurance had not been empty.
Elise felt a mixture of gratitude and dread. Whoever these men were, they had come because of what had begun long ago—because of Charles, because of Singleton, and because of that cursed ledger that had refused to stay buried.
“We wait now,” Mr. Leigh murmured.
Elise drew her cloak close, taking a position with her confidant where they could see the approach to the hut and the stretch of wharf beyond. She kept her face turned slightly down,as if she were merely a woman up early to fetch provisions rather than a woman who had placed herself deliberately in the path of a predator.
Minutes crawled by. The village began to stir. A fisherman crossed the lane with a net over his shoulder. A boy ran past with a bucket, yawning. A gull screamed overhead. Then Elise saw him.
Holt walked as if he owned not only the wharf but the air above it. He wore a heavy coat with a hat pulled low, and he moved with that lazy confidence of a man who believed himself untouchable. Two men lingered at a distance—watchers, not companions.
Holt stopped near the hut, surveying the area as if testing whether the world had arranged itself properly for his convenience.
Elise forced her feet to move.
Mr. Leigh’s voice came low at her shoulder. “Remember,” he murmured, “remain calm. You give him nothing of your fear. Try to keep him outside, but there is someone inside to help you if you cannot prevent it.”
Elise did not look at him.
His breath warmed the air near her ear. “I will be right behind you.”
Elise stepped into view.
Holt’s gaze snapped to her at once, and his mouth curved in satisfaction. “There you are,” he called softly, as if greeting a friend rather than a victim. “Mrs. Larkin.” He bowed.
Elise stopped at a measured distance. “You threatened my house,” she said, her voice carrying across the damp boards. “If you hoped to inspire friendliness, you chose a poor method.”
Holt laughed. “No. I want only one thing.”
“I do not have it,” Elise replied.
His eyes gleamed. “And yet you came.”
Indeed she had—because she had no choice; because Charles had taught her that sometimes the only way out was through sailing onward. Elise kept her face composed. “I came to tell you to stop threatening me.”
Holt’s gaze flicked behind her, clearly searching. “You have come alone?”
“As you wished,” Elise said, and hated the lie even as she spoke it.
Holt stepped nearer, his boots thudding on the stone. He smelled of damp wool and stale spirits. “Then where is it?”
Elise lifted her chin. “You have killed the one person who knew it.”
“I do not believe you. Larkin was too proud of his work not to have left a record of it,” he argued.
“No,” Elise said evenly. “If I had had it, you would not have had to threaten me. You would already have taken it during your search.”
Holt scowled. “Do not be clever with me.”
“It is all I have left,” Elise replied.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You have the key. You have always had the key. Your husband trusted you—poor fool. He thought he could keep you safe by teaching you what he knew.”
Elise felt the old rage rise, swift and hot. She barely managed not to growl. “My husband is dead, because of you and your comrades.”
“Aye,” Holt said with a smile that made Elise’s stomach turn, “and I enjoyed watching his ship sink.”
