Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(107)

“You have Portia to protect. It makes a difference. I’ve got no one now. And I have more sins in my past than you think.” Sax turned abruptly. “The note said to go down the steps to the boat launch. To be there at two a.m. My plan is to be early, hide and wait.”

Sin flicked his wet hair out of his eyes. “What if the killer is already there, waiting for you?”

“In a raging storm? My wager is that the killer is overconfident by now. Gloating with success.”

“Portia thinks the cook is the killer.”

“How could she be? She was at the bottom of the cliff.”

“Portia believes the cook killed Barker, put her body in the cook’s drab gray dress, and pushed her off the cliff, so we would assume the cook was dead. Mrs. Kent used the same ruse I did.”

“Your Portia is a smart woman. Sin, you were a bleeding idiot to let her get away ten years ago.”

“I know. This is my chance to make amends. For ten wasted years.”

“Make amends?” Sax asked.

But Sin didn’t answer. He looked back toward the house. Cold rain pelted his face. He could make out a few lights in the windows through the gray wall of rain. Did he keep going and follow Sax to protect him? Or return to Portia?

If he didn’t this might be the last time he was going to see a friend he’d had since boyhood.

And Portia would be safe with the door locked.

Blast, Sax had vanished into the dark again.

Running in pursuit, Sin made his way to the steps that led to the boat dock. Rain made them slick and deadly. Below, waves smashed into the rocks, as if trying to devour human flesh.

He slowed his pace, moving with stealth. The moonless, rain-soaked night made him almost invisible. If he left space behind Sax, maybe he wouldn’t be spotted by the killer. He couldn’t hear his friend’s steps on the stone ahead of him, but in the pounding rain, he likely wouldn’t even hear Sax even if his friend was playing bagpipes.

There was something ahead . . . something white, that was visible even in the pitch-dark.

Sin reached it just as Sax picked it up. Sin pulled out matches and lit one, shielding it from the rain with his hand. The flame flickered, the feeble light revealed flat, rain-slicked stone. They had reached the flat landing at the water’s edge.

“A lace-trimmed handkerchief,” Sax shouted over the rain, unfolding it.

Words were written inside it. Fooled you, it said.

“What the hell—?” Sax growled.

The flame burnt Sin’s fingers and he threw the match away.

Sax was walking around the flat area cut into the rock. “There’s no one here.”

Sin tensed, expecting a shot through his heart. A knife in his back. They were targets now, even in the dark.

But seconds went by—punctuated by his breathing and the thoughts whipping through his brain. Nothing happened.

“If Kent is trying to kill us,” he muttered, “couldn’t she damn well get on with it?”

He heard Sax let out a soft sigh. It had been long enough that his friend was starting to relax. High-strung tension couldn’t last forever.

“Do you think she’s going to show?” Sax said.

“I don’t know.” Was she lulling them into a sense of ease? Or was she just not damn well here?

What had been the point of the note to Sax? To get Sax out here—but why? By sneaking out, Sax had passed his room. He hadn’t been sleeping most nights, too keyed up, too on edge. He’d heard Sax leave the house and followed.

The result was that he and Sax were out of the house. Two strong men were away from the house and Portia was alone in their bedroom—

“Damn it,” he shouted. “Portia!”

Blind panic hit him. Sent him running up the stone steps. The intended victim could be anyone—or maybe the plan had been to get Sax out alone and his presence had foiled that plan. Anyway, Portia would not unlock her door. She would be safe—

But he felt dread like he’d never felt before. Not even on the most hellish moments of his life. When his parents were dead . . . when he faced his brother over pistols . . .

He tore into the house and raced up the stairs. He banged on his bedroom door. “Portia, open up.”

No sound of footsteps. Not the call of her voice. Nothing.

He pounded harder. Tried to turn the knob again, even though he knew it was locked. He rattled the door. Slammed his shoulder against it. “Portia! Portia!”

If she was in there, she was unable to answer. The crystal-clear thought sent a bolt of crippling fear through his body.

Sax was on his heels, reaching him as Sin ran hard at the door, driving his shoulder into it. The door arched, pulling against both hinges and lock. He heard cracking, but it didn’t give.