“Which is certainly what we're dealing with here,” Breanna replied bitterly. “Whether it's Rouge or someone else, we're dealing with an animal, someone who buys women.”
At that moment, Damen strode down the stairs, his mouth drawn in a grim line. In his hand was a letter.
“Wells stayed upstairs,” he announced. “I want him guarding our bedroom door. Normally, Stacie would have beaten me down the stairs to take part in this conversation. But she's asleep—the first real rest she's gotten in days. She never heard Wells knock, and she didn't budge when I left the room. I've never seen her sleep so deeply. Frankly, I'm worried sick about her.”
“She's under a lot of strain, Damen,” Breanna said, trying to soothe him—and herself. “This pregnancy was difficult to begin with. And now, fearing for her babe, her strength is depleted. As soon as we stop this assass
in ... as soon as we...” Her voice quavered, and she broke off, averting her gaze.
“Breanna, I'm sorry,” Damen responded at once. “This has been hell for you. I didn't mean to be insensitive.”
“You weren't.” Swiftly, Breanna composed herself. “I'm as worried about Stacie as you are. But I truly believe Royce will catch this monster.”
“I intend to. Is that all the material you have on Rouge?” Royce interrupted, pointing to the letter Damen held.
“Yes.” Damen handed the correspondence to Royce. “It's an explanation from Dornier, the manager of my Paris branch. As you know, Rouge and Medford used the House of Lockewood—both the London and Paris branches—as hubs through which to send messages. Cunnings was their intermediary. When I attempted to cheek out Rouge, I contacted Dormer for my initial answers. That's his reply you're holding. Go ahead and read it.”
He waited while Royce complied.
“According to Dornier, Rouge himself never made an appearance at the bank,” Royce muttered as he skimmed the letter. “Everything was forwarded to an address in Paris... 4 Rue La Fayette. Rouge was never seen by anyone—not even the messenger, who was instructed to slide the letters under the door and leave.”
“Exactly. That's as far as my investigation got. I advised Dornier to hire someone to follow the messenger the next time he arrived for Rouge's mail. But next time never occurred. Medford was caught, and Rouge simply dropped out of sight.”
“Seemingly”
Damen's brows drew together “Seemingly? Does that mean you suspect he's still involved in all this?”
“Someone is.” Swiftly, Royce recounted his latest suspicions to Damen, explaining what he'd pieced together about the assassin and his overseas dealings.
“But we have no idea if the person receiving these women is Rouge,” Damen noted when he'd finished “Or even if he's receiving them in France.”
“No, we don't.” Royce rubbed his chin thoughtfully, altering the subject slightly. “Let's talk about the night Cunnings was killed. Do you recall what Bow Street found on his desk when they discovered his body?”
“Of course. Stacks of files detailing our bank's clients—including their personal histories. That came as no surprise. He was looking for a substitute to send Rouge in place of my wife.”
“Now let's talk about what Bow Street didn't find. Isn't it likely that Cunnings was making notes on what he read in those files? That he was jotting down enough pertinent details to allow him to make the proper selection?”
Damen exhaled sharply. “You think the assassin took those notes when he killed him?”
“If Cunnings had boasted about how difficult his challenge was, how certain he was that he could master it by finding the ideal candidate for Rouge? Absolutely.”
“Let's assume you're right. In that case, the assassin either has a different buyer or he and Rouge are contacting each other directly. Because John Cunnings is dead, and no one else in my bank is a criminal.”
“I agree.” Royce turned to Hibbert. “Get the right men out there to dig up what we need. I want details on anyone even remotely suspected of buying or selling women.”
Hibbert nodded. “Should they focus primarily on England and France?”
“My instincts say yes. In any case, no farther than the Continent. The assassin would want immediate results. His nature wouldn't permit him to wait months while his cargo sailed to the Far East or to India. But give me until morning. Once I visit the docks, I'll know exactly where we should focus our efforts. Someone's going to tell me what ships sailed and where they went these past two days. Then, I'm going to pore over those manifests. And with any luck, I'll find something that will help narrow down our search.”
* * *
Royce left at daybreak.
Breanna heard him go, and she wanted more than anything to rush into the hall and see him off. But Wells was at his post outside her door, and he wouldn't think too kindly of a public display. Especially since he didn't even know of her wedding plans.
So she settled for listening to Royce's deep baritone, quietly conferring with Wells, thanking him for watching over Breanna and assuring him he'd return as soon as he could.
The morning hours were intolerable.