“He’ll… kill me.”
Did he mean Bolkonsky or Quentin?
“You were to deliver May to Bolkonsky, weren’t you?” she asked. “Where were you to meet him?”
“Let me.”
She looked up to find Harper behind her, his ordinarily mild eyes glittering with a dangerous light. He crouched over the man, long fingers working.
“You answer the lady now, or I’ll go get my friend the wolf and let him play with you,” Harper said in a cold, flat voice. “Where were you taking the girl?”
The kidnapper’s eyes went wide as saucers. “The… the old Miller ruin by Ritchey Creek.” He snatched at Johanna’s hands. “Please, don’t let the demon get me!” He fell to whimpering gibberish about wolf-devils and repenting his sins. “If I tell you who really killed Ketchum, can I be saved?”
“Tell us,” Johanna demanded.
“It was on Bolkonsky’s orders. I didn’t do it, I swear! I only lured him where…” He gulped. “We was supposed to tell everyone that your man killed him. I’ll testify that it wasn’t him, I swear I will!”
Johanna pried his fingers from her wrists and gave silent thanks. Whatever Fenris might have done in the past, he hadn’t taken the mine owner’s life.
She drew Harper aside. “Everything is all right back at the house?”
“As right as it can be. Mrs. Daugherty is staying with the others.”
“Did you see Irene?”
“She was crying, over by the orchard.”
Had she begun to realize that Bolkonsky would not be coming? “She has been meeting Bolkonsky without my knowledge. Since I opposed returning May to her father, Bolkonsky planned this clandestine abduction. Irene brought May out of the house while we were occupied with the mob, so that this man could take her. He didn’t succeed, but May is still missing.”
Harper met her gaze with perfect comprehension. “Quentin was here. You think he took her?”
“I don’t know.” She clasped her hands over her roiling stomach. “It is a possibility.”
“He would have taken her to protect her from this Bolkonsky.”
Quentin would have. But Quentin would also contact Johanna to let her know that May was safe. How long would it take Bolkonsky or May’s father to seek the help of the law?
Brush crackled and twigs snapped. May’s would-be kidnapper had stumbled to his feet and was making a clumsy attempt at escape. Harper started toward him, but Johanna held him back.
“Let him go. He’s too frightened to be a further threat, and we haven’t time to deal with him now.”
Harper frowned after the man until he was out of sight, then glanced at the ground at Johanna’s feet. “Is that May’s book?”
She bent to pick up the book she’d set down when she examined the footprints. The pages were creased and soiled. “She must have taken it with her when Irene lured her outside.”
“May I have it?”
She handed it to Harper. He stroked the dirt-stained cover with reverent fingers, and she remembered his claims of reading men’s pasts and futures in everyday objects.
If he thought that he could use some inborn magical power to help her locate May, she was not prepared to discourage him. Desperate circumstances called for desperate measures. And until this very morning, she had not believed in the existence of genuine lycanthropes.
Nor had she believed that she could falter in all her fine aspirations, all her high standards, all her confidence in logic and reason and her own well-trained abilities.
But she had.
“I must talk to Mrs. Daugherty,” she said, trying to fill the terrifying void in her heart with words and plans. “She can go into town and listen for news. I’ll ride to the place where Bolkonsky was to collect May. There is a chance he is still waiting. I may learn something of value.”
“You shouldn’t go alone.” Harper shortened his stride to match hers as they walked briskly back toward the house. Irene had disappeared from the orchard.
“There is no time for argument,” Johanna said. “It is much to ask, but if you can take care of my father and Oscar I will be deeply obliged to you. I will show you what my father requires. Lewis should be no trouble. As for Irene—”