“There it is.” Anthony tied his horse to the tree. “Do you recognize it?”
“I’ve heard about it, of course”—she lifted her hand to brush her hair out of her eyes—“but I have never been here. It looks empty.”
He cast another glance at the stone structure and took his pistol from his waistband. “Stay here with the horse.” He paused and squeezed her hand.
“Be careful,” she whispered, her brows drawn together.
Anthony pressed a kiss to her lips and left the small cluster of trees, careful to crouch as he moved to be hidden by the moorland grasses, all the while scanning the area.
For as long as he could remember, this cottage had stood empty. According to local folklore, a man name James Thom had once lived in this house. Legend had it he murdered his wife in a jealous rage when he found that she had taken a lover. Now the murdered wife haunted the grounds, and no food would grow on the premises, and no flame would stay lit within the house, keeping it in perpetual darkness. As a result, the house had remained uninhabited for nearly a century, and no one ever stepped foot on the overgrown property.
It was merely a story, and Anthony did not believe in ghosts and curses, but the tale made this location perfect for a hideaway after a heist of this sort. It was out of the way. Unobserved. Avoided.
He crept down through the tall grass and stones a fair distance from the cottage. Charlotte was right—at first glance it did appear empty. No smoke puffed from the chimney, and no light shone from the windows. But as he rounded the cottage, he noticed asmall stone shed, and out of it a horse’s black tail swooshed. His heart squeezed.
Someone was here.
He glanced back in the direction of where he’d left Charlotte. Feeling confident she was safe and out of sight, he made his way to the shed and approached it from behind. He peered through the wooden planks to see two horses—Timmons’s and Ames’s.
The sight propelled fresh fire through him, for it confirmed his suspicion.
Despite everything, Timmons’s betrayal stung.
Anthonyhadtrusted him. He searched his memory for signs that Timmons was involved in something nefarious but could find none.
Perhaps he did not want to find one.
Verifying no one else was present in the area outside the house, Anthony readied his pistol. The back of the stone cottage had but one window. He approached it at an angle to ensure he’d not be detected, and he crouched beneath it for several moments. Despite the cold and rain, beads of perspiration dripped down his temples. He pulled his hat low and took several deep breaths. He had completed assignments like this dozens of times, but the fact that Charlotte’s son was possibly inside added a challenging level of complexity.
He inched his way up until he could see through the deep window.
The cottage was a single, narrow room. No fire danced in the fireplace at the room’s end. A single bed stood in the dark corner, and a table with two chairs was positioned in the middle. Therewere two entrances to the cottage—one on the south end and one on the north. He spied Timmons, sitting at the table, cleaning a pistol. He pivoted to see Rebecca sitting near the bed, and it appeared that Henry was sleeping on the bed.
Shock held him captive. He expected more of an armed presence. He had told Charlotte that it was imperative they wait for reinforcements of some sort. But based on what he saw, that would not be necessary.
He’d assumed Broadstreet was involved in this. But he wasn’t here.
And an idea formed.
Chapter39
Seconds ticked into minutes as Charlotte waited anxiously with the horse for Anthony to return. Her nervous impatience impacted her sense of time, and she had no idea if a quarter of an hour or an hour had passed. She focused her attention on the decrepit structure with steadfast intensity. The fact that her baby might be in there, cold and scared, sent a bolt of fire through her. It took everything she had not to take the emeralds, burst through the door, and demand her baby back.
But she had promised Anthony she would wait for his return, and had she not just learned her lesson? It was not wise to do this alone. What was more, she did not want to do it alone. She trusted Anthony—genuinely trusted him.
When he did finally emerge through the grass and trees, she secured the horse to the tree and rushed to him. “What did you find?”
He drew a deep breath and stepped past her to the horse. “Two horses tied in the back. I was able to creep up to the cottage and peer in one of the back windows.”
“And Henry?”
Anthony nodded and pulled another pistol from the satchel. “He’s there.”
Relief, powerful and enthusiastic, overcame her.
“’Tis only one large room in the cottage, which is helpful for us,” he continued. “Timmons and Rebecca are in there. That’s it.”
She frowned. “No one else?”
