The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

"Where would she have been?"

"On a ship. En route to the Continent."

One of Cunnings's brows rose. "To Rouge?"

"Yes."

A low whistle. "That sounds like a damned good plan. How much were you getting paid?"

"It doesn't matter." George shoved aside his untouched tankard of ale, glaring at Cunnings. "What matters is, Anastasia's gone. I know she's still in England—although where, I haven't an inkling."

"And if she reappears—without your being able to grab her before she gets to Sheldrake, ship her off to Rouge—then your plan is a thing of the past. As, given your current financial situation, are you." Cunnings inclined his head. "Have you considered sending a substitute? Or is Rouge demanding only Anastasia?"

"What Rouge is demanding is a well-bred young woman who's chaste, beautiful, and highborn. And I've got five days to deliver her."

"Really." Cunnings stabbed out his cheroot. "Let me look over the bank's client list. Maybe we'll get lucky and find a lady we can send in Anastasia's place—someone who fits Rouge's specifications, and who won't be missed. How would that be? Would it be worth ten percent of whatever Rouge is paying you?"

"Fine. Fine." Whereas yesterday George would have jumped at that opportunity, today he was more preoccupied with finding Anastasia and eliminating her—permanently. "But first we deal with the problem of Anastasia. Which brings me to the other business we have to discuss tonight." He gripped the edge of the table, leaning forward to regard Cunnings intently. "That associate of yours—the one you mentioned last time—how good is he at tracking people down?"

Cunnings raised his chin, met George's stare head-on. "There's no one better."

"So he'll find her."

"No matter where she's hiding, yes. He'll find her."

"And then?"

"He'll kill her."

* * *

At the next table, Breanna bit off a cry. She grabbed her tankard of ale and pressed it to her lips, taking an enormous gulp to quell her shock.

Kill her? He was going to kill Stacie?

The bitter taste of ale burned its way to her stomach, but she scarcely noticed it.

Her horrified stare met Wells's.

"I've known him for quite some time," Cunnings was continuing. "And I'm well aware of his accomplishments. He's an expert tracker and an even better shot." A meaningful pause. "He's also expensive. Very expensive."

George waved away the warning. "That doesn't concern me."

"It should. You owe me almost a thousand pounds, plus that ten percent if I find you another girl for Rouge. You owe a fortune to your colleagues and your creditors. How the hell are you going to pay the kind of professional we're discussing? His fees are a lot higher than mine."

"You forget about Henry's inheritance." Triumph curved George's lips. "You yourself told me Anastasia only invested twenty-five thousand pounds of that money. That leaves over one hundred seventy-five thousand pounds for me. I can pay you double what I owe you, and I can pay your friend. I'll be a rich man, Cunnings. I'll also be sole owner of Colby and Sons. In fact, handle both these assignments successfully—ending Anastasia's life and securing another candidate for Rouge—and I'll give you the notoriety you've always craved. No more second place. You'll have a seat on my Board of Directors. Why, you'll be right up there with Sheldrake."

Cunnings tossed off the rest of his ale with a flourish. "I've served like a faithful dog at my rich master's feet all these years. And what has it gotten me? Nothing but an occasional pat on the head. I deserve better. And I'm going to get better. You've got yourself a deal, Medford. Give me a day. I'll dig through the bank's files and contact my associate. Your niece is as good as dead."

George's eyes gleamed. "When can I meet this gifted assassin?"

"You can't. He never meets with anyone—other than me." Cunnings shoved back his stool, aiming a pointed look at George. "Surely, given his line of work, you can understand his desire to stay anonymous."

"I suppose so." George nodded reluctantly. "How long will this take? It must happen quickly."

"If she's nearby, as you claim? A day. Two at the most. Relax. The next time you see Anastasia, it will be at her funeral."

* * *