Page 74 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“Is a hotel okay?”

“No. If someone sees me while I’m in this condition, they’ll ask questions. A short-term rental with a lockbox and remote check-in? Maybe another hour down the road? I’d like it to be dark when we⁠—”

Her chin trembled, and I stopped. She took a breath that shook all the way through her. “I trusted him, Arthur. Dr. Hopkins. I thought he was⁠—”

“It’s okay, Gwen.” My arms ached to reach for her. To pull her against my chest and let her fall apart where she was safe. But a gravel shoulder in the near-dark, two feet from the tracker’s last known position, was anything but safe. “He got past my team, too. But right now, I need you to find us a roof.”

Chapter 24

Gwen

Arthur pulled the car into the driveway beside the house and killed the engine. He unlocked his phone and held it toward me. “Can you get the key? The lockbox code should be in the booking confirmation.”

I took the phone and stepped out into the dark. We’d driven over an hour after stopping on the side of the road. Four hours ago, we’d left the archive. Arthur had refused to let me treat his injury and had kept pushing through. Stubbornness? Or it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared.

Either way, I was stuck somewhere between completely wired and utterly exhausted.

I headed to the side of the house where the lockbox hung, searching for the confirmation message.

Meanwhile, Arthur rolled a gray garbage bin to the back of the car. Not to the car—to the plate. He was hiding us.

“Do you think they’re following us?” I punched in the code and withdrew the key as he reached me.

“I think we’re fine to stop for the night.” He took the key, unlocked the door, and ushered me in. He shut it behind us. “Wait⁠—”

“I know. Wait here.” We’d done this enough times that I knew he’d go in first, scout the location, and I could move freely once he finished.

He nodded, put down the sword case he’d carried in, and did his thing.

I stood just inside, trying to admire the cozy little kitchen with white subway tiles and the small dining table and chairs tucked into a corner. To the left was a living room, clean and plain, with framed prints of lavender fields on the walls.

Somewhere in the house, doors opened and closed, lights turned on and off, and Arthur’s steady footsteps signaled his progression.

I gripped the strap of my messenger bag tight, my brain flashing back to the parking lot.

‘Stop or she’s dead,’ the man had said. The same man who’d brought me the sketch as though he had all the secrets to my mystery in his hands. He’d said he’d kill me.

Arthur had used the case as a weapon and as a shield. I’d checked the sword on the roadside. The knife had penetrated the outer shell of the case, but fortunately, it hadn’t reached the sword.

‘Stop or she’s dead.’

All I wanted was to wrap myself up in a warm blanket, go to sleep, and pretend none of this had happened. Maybe I’d even wake up in the morning and be back in my bed in New York. Maybe Sam hadn’t called me for this authentication job at all, and I’d never met Arthur Penn.

The man himself appeared at the kitchen entrance. “We’ll be safe here.”

Safe? I’d thought I was safe at the archive. I’d been sitting at a table surrounded by history, doing the work I’d trained for my whole adult life. And then a man’s arm had wrapped around my neck.

My lungs did something funny. Something way too fast. And my feet didn’t cooperate. Neither did my mouth. I stood there, trying to go back in time to when the worst thing I had to deal with was Bridget’s mean words.

“Gwen?” Arthur stepped closer, his head tilting.

I tried to tell him I was okay, but a weird noise burst out of me.

“Are you all right?”

“He said he was going to kill me.” My voice had climbed way too high, and I couldn’t pull it back down. “He put his arm around my throat, and he said⁠—”

“You fought him off. You did a great job.”