A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

His smile held the right degree of male camaraderie to appeal to a youth like Dillon. "I'd like to hear your observations direct. Let's start with your meeting with this character who asked you to carry a message."

"What do you want to know?"

"The how, the when, the where. The words."

"Well, the when was nearly three weeks ago, just before the first race of the year."

"Just before?"

Dillon nodded. "Two days before."

"Two days?" Demon raised his brows. "That seems awfully short notice to arrange a fix, don't you think? The general consensus is that these syndicates lay their plans well in advance. It's something of an imperative, given the number of bookmakers and other supporting characters necessarily involved."

Dillon's eyes blanked. "Oh?" Then his smile flashed. "Actually, the man did say they'd had another messenger-Ickley-he used to work at your stables-lined up to do the job, but he'd changed his mind. So they needed someone else."

"And so they came to you. Why?"

The single word startled Dillon, then he shrugged. "I don't know-I suppose they were looking for someone who knew their way about. Knew the jockeys, and the places to go to rub the right shoulders."

Flick settled onto a stool. She was frowning more definitely, but her frown was now aimed at Dillon.

"Why did you imagine this man didn't just ask you to point out the particular jockey and speak to him himself?"

Dillon's brows drew down sharply; after a moment, he shook his head. "I don't follow."

"Surely you wondered why it was necessary for this man to have a messenger at all?" Demon trapped Dillon's gaze. "If the messages were innocent, why did the man need to hire you-or anyone-to deliver them?"

Dillon's trademark smile flashed. "Ah, but the messages weren't innocent, you see."

"Oh, I do see," Demon assured him. "But you didn't know that before they hired you, did you?"

"Well…no."

"So why didn't you simply tell this man where he could find the jockey? Why be his go-between?"

"Well, because… I suppose I thought he might not want to be seen… well, no."

Demon recaptured Dillon's gaze. "No, indeed. How much did they pay you?"

Every drop of blood drained from Dillon's face; his eyes grew darker, wilder. "I-don't know what you mean."

Demon held his gaze unblinkingly. "This would not, I suggest, be a good time to lie. How much did they pay you?"

Dillon flushed.

Flick sprang to her feet. "You took money?" Behind her, the stool clattered on the flags. "You took money to carry a message to fix a race?"

The accusation in her tone would have made the Devil flinch; Dillon did not. "It was only two ponies-just for the one message. I wasn't going to do it any more. That's why they got Ickley."

"Any more?" Flick stared at him. "What do you mean 'any more'?"

Dillon's expression turned mulish; Flick leaned both hands on the table and looked him in the eye. "Dillon-how long? How long have you been taking money to carry messages for these men?"

He tried to keep silent, tried to withstand the demand in her tone, the scorn in her eyes."Since last summer."

"Last summer?" Flick straightened, shoving the table in h

er agitation. "Good God! Why?" She stared at Dillon. "What on earth possessed you?"