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I clenched my hands in my lap, hardly hearing the words. My uncle worked for Abdullah because it was what his wife would have wanted. He dealt with the awful bureaucrats in Cairo, endured countless hours digging under a hot sun, and worked alongside his brother-in-law—all for the love of his departed wife.

I wish I’d never learned that information.

Because when I looked up, Tío Ricardo met my eyes and smiled at me, and I knew the truth.

No one at this table knew my uncle was a killer.

No one except, perhaps, Whit.

WHIT

The brothel was smoky and crowded. I lounged against the bar, and swirled the whiskey in my glass once, twice. Incense wafted in the air, clinging to my clothes. My informant told me Sterling’s agents would be here. They had a fondness for this particular establishment.

I put the glass down without drinking from it. I needed to be clearheaded for this.

Finally, two men parted the velvet curtain to the room’s entrance and I straightened, alert. They were exactly as described: pale-skinned and light-eyed, and English. Their shirts were starchy, their collars were pressed. And they were already inebriated.

Brilliant.

They marched right up to the bar, standing less than a foot away from me. One of them ordered drinks while the other glanced around in an assessing way. Looking for any signs of trouble. The bartender set to work, saying over his shoulder, “No Basil tonight?”

The shorter agent shook his head. “Stuck in Cairo on some nasty business.”

“Blanche will be disappointed,” the bartender said, his voice edged in sarcasm.

I glanced down into my glass. I recognized the name of the famous French dove. Auburn hair and brown eyes the color of whiskey, freckles on her shoulders, across her collarbone. I ought to have known Basil was her patron.

“Did you not like it?” the bartender asked in a gruff voice. He was new, a foreigner judging by his accent. German, I’d guess.

I shook my head absently, my attention already on the madame. She stood off to the side, surveying her kingdom with a dispassionate eye. Hersilk gown glinted in the pale candlelight, a softness that contrasted to the strong line of her spine.

If I had any chance of seeing Blanche, I’d need to win over the madame.

I pushed the drink across the bar, paid the bartender, and slowly made my way over to her. She spotted me the minute she sensed my intention, tracking my slow movement through the crowd. The madame smiled, sharp and with interest. She was baiting me, luring me closer.

But I wanted to be caught.

“Evening,” I said to her with a careless smile.

“I’ve seen you here before,” she murmured in a throaty voice.

“I need Blanche.”

Her dark brow furrowed. “You’ve had her before?”

“Is she available tonight?” I asked, my expression carefully neutral.

“She is not,” the madame said, her tone contrite. I didn’t believe it for one second. “But if you come back tomorrow, perhaps—”

“It has to be tonight,” I said, and pressed a wad of Egyptian piastres into her hand. “I’m willing to make it worth your while.”

The madame stared down at the money, visibly weighing her decision. With obvious reluctance, she handed it back to me. “I’m afraid it’s impossible.”

Her perfume curled around me in a tight fist. Deliberately, I pressed the money back into her palm, and then added more bills. “Half hour.”

The madame glanced around her, lingering on someone in the crowd. Tension gathered across my shoulders as I waited, my hand hovering close to the pocket in my jacket. I’d hand over every note I had to see Blanche. But then she nodded to herself and gestured toward the staircase. “Half hour,” she agreed. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”

“I can work fast when extremely motivated,” I said with a wink, already moving away, dizzy with triumph and thinking of Blanche. When I reached her door, I gave it a sharp rap and it swung open, revealing the slight woman known to bring men to the brothel in droves. Her nightgown slipped low on her shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles dusting her pale skin. For some unaccountable reason, another set of shouldersswam across my vision. Ones that were narrow and straightened in defiance.