“Anything?” Maxen asked, gaze fixed on his brother. Tension knotted his shoulders so tight he had to roll them once to loosen the stiffness.
Knight shook his head. “Not a trace of her or the dog.”
“You searched the inns?” Drake asked.
Knight nodded.
Maxen’s hands curled into fists, pulling apart every damn possibility. What route she might’ve taken. Who she might trust. No clear answer besides John Fitz came up, which meant she might be heading toward London. His, gut, however, told her that wouldn’t be her destination.
“She has to be bloody somewhere,” Drake muttered, perplexed. “She couldn’t have gone far on foot.”
“She’s already where she wants to be,” Maxen bit out. What other explanation could there be?
Knight looked up sharply. “Someone slipped our notice?”
Maxen bit down on his jaw. “It seems that way.”
“Who the hell would she trust?” Drake questioned. “Rollings?”
Maybe. The women from her shop came to mind, but he quickly dismissed that idea. She wouldn’t wish to put anyone in possible danger. But there was another name that sat like acid in the back of his mind. He’d spotted them together on more than one occasion. But it couldn’t be. Could it? “No, not possible,” he muttered.
Drake arched a brow and muttered, “Everything is damn possible at this point. Just look at us scrambling like headless fowl.”
Saint rounded the corner ahead and slowed when he spotted them. He walked over, the breeze tugging at his hair, his expression grim.
Maxen tensed, his gut already answering before his mouth did. “You found her?”
“She was on foot,” Saint confirmed solemnly, “but not for long.”
Maxen clenched his fists. “You saw her with your own eyes? You’re sure?”
Saint nodded. “Caught sight of her and her hound near the edge of the market district.”
“Not alone,” Knight guessed.
Saint shook his head. “No, not alone.”
Maxen had a feeling he was not going to like the answer. “Who?” Maxen demanded.
Saint met his gaze, expression turning even graver. “Peregrine.”
The name landed like a stone in Maxen’s gut. Peregrine. Again. A vulture who never seemed to respect boundaries and delighted in testing his. For a fleeting moment, Maxen imagined his hands closing around the man’s throat and squeezing the life from his eyes. He gave a vicious curse, forcing the image from his head.
Too damn tempting.
“That miscreant?” Drake asked sharply. “What the devil is he playing at this time?”
Saint nodded. “He stopped his carriage. She got in.”
Maxen’s lungs turned to damn ash. The image of throttling Peregrine flashed again.
Drake swore under his breath.
“Then sheisa spy?” Knight tested. “For him.”
“No,” Maxen ground out. “I refuse to believe that.”
“She willingly went with him,” Saint pointed out.
