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She easily burst through it.

Voices rose behind her as she darted outside, her footsteps knocking hollowly against the boards of the elevated walkway.

Ellie didn’t think much of her chances of outrunning Jacobs. Back in Canonbury, her intimate knowledge of the terrain had given her an advantage. Here, it would all come down to speed—and Jacobs wasn’t running with his hands tied.

What she needed to do was disappear.

Thinking quickly, she hurried to the railing of the veranda. Grasping it with her bound hands, she swung an awkward leg over the side. Her skirts hampered the movement. Ellie tugged against them, biting out a curse through the gag.

The fabric loosened, and she nearly toppled. Catching herself, she shifted her grip from the banister to the rails.

Ellie crouched down as low as she could against the outside of the railing, then let her legs drop.

Her shoulders jolted with the impact, an ache shooting through her arms. Her boots dangled over darkness, her feet swinging as she searched for purchase. As her eyes continued to adjust to the deeper gloom, she glanced down to see the railing for the ground floor veranda just a few inches below the soles of her boots.

Footsteps pounded out onto the boards above her.

Ellie let go.

She landed neatly on the railing… and promptly toppled forward. Ellie had a brief moment to ready herself for a crash to the floor—which would undoubtedly reveal her position to Jacobs.

Instead, she slammed into something warm, solid, and decidedly un-floor-like.

An iron arm circled her waist. Her breath left her in a whoosh as her diaphragm hit a rock-hard shoulder. Ellie slid down the front of an intimidatingly large body until her feet met the ground once more.

She looked up into the shocked, twilight-shadowed face of Adam Bates.

“What in the actual black hell—” he began.

Ellie shoved her hands against his mouth and shook her head frantically.

Bates carefully grasped her bound wrists and pulled them back for a better look. His gaze went dark, and his eyes flashed up to the gag that still bound her mouth.

Above them, the footsteps stilled—then started up again with a quick, intentional pace.

Jacobs was heading for the stairs.

With a grim set to his mouth, Bates tossed the remains of a stubby cigar into a tin can by the chair in which he had been sitting. He plucked up a half-empty glass of some brown spirit in one hand, and with the other, he hauled Ellie unceremoniously through the French doors to the room that lay beyond.

He shoved her into the corner.

“Stay,” he ordered. His voice was a dangerous murmur, and his blue eyes sparked with threat.

Without so much as a brush of sound, he plucked a chair from the nearby table, whirled it about, and planted it by the opening to the veranda. He slid into it with his drink in his hand.

Ellie stayed where he had put her, pressed back against the wall. The position left her invisible to anyone who happened to pass the French doors, but she would be instantly exposed if someone actually stepped inside the room.

She tried once more to wrench loose the bindings on her hands, but they refused to give.

Even, relentless footsteps approached, stopping as they reached the threshold of the room. Jacobs’ voice carried to her from a mere three feet away.

“Good evening,” he said. “I was wondering if you had seen anyone come by just now.”

There was nothing untoward in his tone. He sounded as though he really were merely out for an evening stroll and not hunting for the woman he intended to murder.

Ellie waited, her heart pounding—and recalled the moment of tension when she had stood outside another door and listened to her supervisor eagerly sell her out.

Was Adam Bates about to do the same thing?