Lydia stumbled at the implication. “Are you saying you fear the other three men will die before you catch him and that you need more potential victims for him to claim?” The thought was horrifying. “I cannot condone or be a part of such a plan.”
“We’ll catch him. Have no fear.” Abraham’s confidence reassured her like a soft touch. “We won’t need future novels to lure him out.”
Mrs. Hawking opened the door, and Lydia led the men into the parlor.
Theresa popped to her feet from the sofa and rushed to her. After a brief inspection of Lydia’s face, Theresa pulled her into an embrace. “You did it, didn’t you? Oh, Lydia, I’m so sorry.”
She pulled back, and the friendship from their youth that bound them in sisterhood meant nothing else needed to be said. Theresa knew the depths of Lydia’s pain in walking away from writing, and Lydia knew by the ferocity of Theresa’s expression that the woman was ready to go to war for her. If Billy Poe wasn’t arrested soon, Theresa would blow the battle horn and call their clan of Guardians together for a trap-plotting session.
“I’ll be okay.” Lydia put up a courageous front. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to your sitting with me for a while.” A much safer alternative to the possibility of Abraham claiming a position next to her on the sofa.
Obviously she was too emotional to think clearly. Her imagination was reveling in the freedom to take every kind gesture from him as the potential for something more.
Detective Lawson claimed the seat directly in front of Lydia. Abraham chose to stand farther away, but there was a protectiveness in the way he watched her—like he was prepared to step in and rescue her should Lawson’s questioning become too much.
Theresa pressed Lydia’s hands and drew her attention—and, thankfully, her imagination—away from Abraham. “How did O’Dell take the news? Was it as terrible as you thought it would be?”
“I think he took it better than Marcus, but Mr. O’Dell did practically beg to buy the unfinished manuscript from me.”
Detective Lawson scooted to the edge of his seat. “You have an unfinished manuscript?”
“I was almost finished when I discovered the Billy Poe murders were occurring. I haven’t been able to add a word since.”
“That could be the piece we need to lure Poe out of hiding. May I see it?”
He couldn’t be serious. Yes, it could work for bait, but she would not be so foolish as to believe there wouldn’t be consequences to such a scheme. “No, you cannot. Not one person, aside from me, has seen it, and I intend to keep it that way. I’ll not risk giving Billy another target.”
“But don’t you see? That manuscript gives us control. Your best choice is to hand it over to us. You can trust us to keep it safe and use the information only when necessary.”
“Whennecessary?” It wasn’t even a matter ofif. She tried her best to hold the disdain from her voice, but it slipped out thick as syrup. “If you can’t catch Billy Poe before he murders three more men, then I’m not going to give you the means to provide him with another.”
“There won’t be three more deaths. Two have fled the city after the report of Ross’s murder, and the third might as well be dead. He’s in a consumption sanatorium in Colorado.” Detective Lawson leaned his elbows onto his knees, imploring her with his nearness. “Your manuscript is the only way to direct his next move.”
“No. Absolutely not. There are other ways to trap him than to put another man’s neck in the guillotine and dangle the drop rope for Billy to grasp.”
“Lydia’s right.” Theresa’s countenance brightened, a sure sign of the suggestion about to fly from her mouth. “If you allow her, Nora, Flossie, and me to put a plan together, we’ll have Billy Poe trapped and begging to be arrested rather than deal with us within a few days.”
A choked laugh came from Abraham. The curve of his lips betrayed his thoughts—probably along the lines of her and Theresa being enough trouble even without the aid of Nora and Flossie to force Billy to beg for mercy.
At Lawson’s scowl, Abraham schooled his countenance. “I have to agree with Lydia, Lawson. It’s an unnecessary risk, and we can’t force her. It’s bad enough that having the manuscript makes her more of a target. Marcus knows she has it, and is desperate to retrieve it.”
“All the more reason for her to give it to us.”
Lydia jumped to her feet. She hadn’t walked into Mr. O’Dell’s office and broken her contract just to turn around and use the manuscript anyway. “I’m not going to do it. I’d rather burn the thing.”
Detective Lawson leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “I will not force you to give it to us, but I do encourage you not to burn the manuscript. Having written a story myself, I know how much work goes into creating one. Once this is over, you may change your mind and choose to publish it. Don’t allow your emotions to drive your decisions.”
“Just because I show my emotions doesn’t mean I allow them to rule me. I am capable of sound judgment. Don’t you dare make that face, Abraham.” She didn’t even have to look at him to know he either smirked or gave her a dubious frown.
“I’m not making a face,” Abraham said. “You absolutely are capable of sound judgment. Whether youusethat judgment is another story.”
Lydia snapped her attention to him, ready to knock him off his feet by a completely different method, but his stupid smile disarmed her. Teasing her was entirely unfair. The familiarity of it drew her in like a novel’s promise of a happily-ever-after.
“You’re lucky you’re so charming, or I might have to show you sound judgment isn’t the only thing I can deliver.”
His eyes sparked. “Are you implying that you want to knock me off my feet? Because I don’t think that would be wise. I just might turn around and teach you how to do it properly.”
His answer completely discombobulated her. She didn’t know whether to blush, melt into a puddle, slug him, or run away and try to figure out what on earth was going on between them. Friends. They werefriends.
