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H azel followed the southbound road out of London, her course set for Worthing, from which she’d scour the western coastline. The early hours of dawn stained the sky with blotches of pink and purple as she rode. Hands gripping the reins, thighs pressing against the horse’s flanks, she raced toward an unknown destination.

But at least she’d be able to say she’d attempted to locate Samantha. Even though her friend could be out of the country by now. Too much time had already passed. Two full days, during which they’d tried to determine in which direction she and her husband might be headed.

Wasted hours.

With mounting pressure from the home office and no concrete trace, Harlowe had finally ordered her, Tara, and Holly to head out in different directions. It was a gamble, hoping they’d find Samantha like that when she knew how to cover her tracks.

But maybe, considering she wasn’t travelling alone, luck would strike, and she’d make a mistake.

Hazel’s cloak whipped out behind her, pushing cold air beneath it. She gritted her teeth, leaned into the saddle, and urged her mount into a faster gallop.

The countryside blew past in a blur, villages vanishing just as quickly as they had appeared. When her horse began showing hints of fatigue, she gentled the pace and steered him toward a coaching inn where she swung from the saddle and tossed the reins to a groom.

He stared at her, lips parting with the kind of surprise she was used to receiving whenever she stepped out in men’s clothes.

“I need a new mount,” she informed him, already unbuckling the saddle bag she’d brought with her. It contained a few measly supplies: a change of clothes, a minced meat pie wrapped in cloth, and a canteen full of water. “Have it ready within five minutes.”

The young man blinked. When he failed to act as quickly as she expected, she snapped her fingers in front of his face. He jerked and promptly leapt into action. Hazel left him to it, strode for the door leading into the tavern, and entered the establishment.

Ignoring the silence that swept through the taproom when those present saw her, she withdrew a miniature from her pocket, and approached a man who carried himself as though he were in charge.

“Are you the innkeeper?”

“Aye…” Enough hesitance to suggest he wasn’t sure what to expect from her.

She showed him the miniature. “I’m trying to track down this woman. Any chance she stopped by here in the last couple of days?”

A quick shake of the head informed her he’d not seen Samantha. “I’d have told the authorities if I had. Considering the warrant issued for her arrest.” He nodded toward a spot beyond Hazel’s left shoulder. “The local magistrate had that posted last week.”

Hazel turned and was met by a sheet of paper pinned to the wall beside the door she’d just entered through. It carried Samantha’s likeness and name, promising to reward anyone who captured her with the lucrative sum of one hundred pounds.

Harlowe had mentioned Bow Street issuing the bounties, but Hazel doubted he realized just how efficient they’d been. She certainly hadn’t. But it dawned on her now that Samantha could not have entered any establishment on the main road, for if she had, she’d have been apprehended. Which meant she’d either stayed away from businesses or that somebody else had dealt with the grooms and innkeepers while she remained in that coach she’d stolen.

“What about a tall man with dark-brown hair?”

The innkeeper rocked back on his heels, then swept his arms wide as though inviting her to look around. “Are you joking?”

“He’s upper class, thirty years old, and was last seen wearing a midnight-blue jacket and fawn-colored breeches.”

“Can’t say a man of his description rings a bell. Not in recent days at least.”

Hazel nodded, accepted that there was no information for her to find here, and left. With no trail to follow, she’d try stopping by houses instead of taverns. Sooner or later, she’d surely find someone who’d either seen Samantha, or who’d heard about someone who had.

It was just a matter of time, and with no other way to spend it than hunt, Hazel kicked her new mount into a gallop.

* * *

Peter Kendrick made sure to be on time when he went to meet Jackson at the coaching inn. The young Runner, who’d gained a promotion when Peter was let go, arrived exactly on schedule, his expression relaxing as soon as he spotted his former commanding officer.

“I’m so relieved you’re here,” Jackson said as the pair went to purchase their tickets. “It will make this journey less daunting.”

“A bit of advice?” Peter offered.

Jackson glanced at him. “Please.”

“Stop doubting yourself. The chief magistrate wouldn’t have put you in charge of finding the Crofts unless he believed you’ve the skill to meet with success.”

Jackson frowned. “I made some discreet inquiries about Molly Atkins. It seems her case has been abandoned since your departure. No one else has been tasked with following up on the leads you provided.”

“I feared as much,” Peter said, his hate for Sir Nigel increasing. “As you pointed out, however, we can search for her too.”

A heavy sigh conveyed the weight Jackson felt upon his shoulders. He gave a quick nod and stepped toward the ticket counter.

Twenty minutes later, Peter found himself sharing a bench in a well-sprung traveling coach with Jackson and one other man. Two women and a child sat opposite them while four additional people had been guided onto the roof.

A shout of warning from the driver informed everyone they were ready to leave, the jolt that followed reminding Peter of just how lucky he was to have been provided a spot inside the cabin.

As expected, getting out of the City took time. Despite the early hour, laborers, newspaper boys, and vendors were all starting their day at this time. Carts got in the way. Cows being led to market slowed them down at one juncture.

Jackson drummed his fingers impatiently on his thigh and Peter suppressed a grin. He knew what it felt like to be in his shoes, like a hound on a leash, itching to be released.

And then they were suddenly through, the wheels turning faster as the horses picked up speed. The carriage bounced and Peter wondered about the people who clung to the roof rails. They’d be lucky to reach their destination.

“We’ll disembark and hire individual horses as soon as we reach Guildford,” Jackson told Peter, his voice low. “That will also allow us to move about more freely and to stop wherever we wish. I’ll be able to follow Sir Nigel’s orders by inquiring after the Crofts while we work our way toward Pagham. Once there, we’ll turn our attention toward Molly Atkins.”

“Do you plan to go door to door?”

“I…” That element of doubt could once again be discerned in Jackson’s voice. When Peter shifted enough to study his face, the younger man’s gaze was directed toward the floor. Deep furrows marred his brow.

“Just so you know, I’m not questioning your decision,” Peter said. “I merely like to know where I stand and what to expect. That’s all.”

“Do you think there’s a better way?” Jackson shifted his gaze until it met Peter’s. “I’m not too proud to take whatever advice you have to offer.”

Peter appreciated his willingness to learn and his acknowledgement of Peter’s experience. Finding a needle in a haystack, however, had little to do with that sort of thing and a hell of a lot more to do with methodical determination.

“I personally saw to it that a bounty was placed on Mrs. Croft’s head the day after I locked up her husband,” Peter said. “If she’s as clever as I believe her to be, she’ll know that by now, which means she’ll likely steer clear of popular coaching inns and other busy locations.”

“She’d still need a change of horses, regardless of whether or not she and her husband ditched the carriage. Same goes for Croft’s men. The guards and coachmen they overpowered said there were three. That’s a group of five people who won’t need just horses but also food, water, and a place to stop for the night.”

“Considering the charges against Croft and the punishment he faces if apprehended once more, I’d expect him to try and get out of the country. It’s what I would do if I were in his shoes.”

“In which case we’ll need to search the shore. But where the hell do we even begin?” Doubt crept into Jackson’s eyes once more.

Peter understood him. The coastline was vast with miles of empty beaches stretching between each town. Roads often crept inland. Especially where rocky outcroppings prevented continuous travel. Smugglers knew this landscape in and out. They used it in their favor, to hide their illegal activities.

If Mr. Croft was familiar with such men, as Peter had always suspected him of being, he and his wife might already be disembarking in France.

Lips pressed together, Peter told Jackson, “We start at one end and work our way forward while praying for luck to be on our side.”

* * *

It was past noon by the time Hazel found a spot where a small group of people had spent the night. Whether it was Samantha and her travel companions had yet to be determined, but it was the only possible lead she’d encountered thus far. She’d followed two other traces of hooves and carriage wheels leading off the main road. This was the first time they hadn’t led to someone’s home, but rather to what appeared to be the remains of a campsite.

She dismounted beside the ashes left from a fire, then dropped to a crouch and scanned the ground. Deep grooves a short distance away showed where the carriage had been parked. Hoof imprints gave evidence of four horses. Not enough for everyone in the group.

A closer examination of the marks convinced her that the travelers must have split up. Trampled vegetation suggested at least one horse had travelled toward the coastline.

However, there was something else of note…

A fifth set of hoof prints, separate from the rest, leading east through the brush.

Hazel scrubbed the back of her neck, her gaze scanning the clearing until she found a disturbance of leaves and moss. It looked like the ground had caught someone’s heel and been kicked away in frustration.

She stepped forward for a closer look but paused when she felt an uncomfortable jab beneath the sole of her boot. It felt like a stone, but when she lifted her foot, she saw it was perfectly round. A small gray ball that made her breath catch in her lungs.

Lead shot.

Retrieving it, she rolled it between her fingers, her senses on higher alert than before as she checked her surroundings once more, searching for blood. Finding none, she exhaled slowly and pocketed her finding while wondering what the hell had transpired here.

An altercation of some sort, that was clear. But with whom?

Deciding not to stay and find out, she mounted her horse and followed the tangy scent that clung to the air. Toward the coast, and the freedom she reckoned Samantha would try to find there.

It didn’t take long before trees and bushes vanished, giving way to a wide-open space where dunes bowed before her. Solid ground turned soft and sandy, hampering her horse’s movements, his hooves sinking into the shifting ground.

Hazel pulled him to a halt as soon as they broke past the dunes. She swept the shoreline with her gaze and quickly spotted the sunken marks skirting the edge of the dunes.

The continuous pattern leading west could only be evidence of one thing. Footprints. One set belonged to a four-legged animal. Like a horse. The others, she observed as she drew her horse closer, were made by people, one pair significantly larger than the other. And since they started in this spot, it made sense for them to be made by someone who’d camped in the clearing.

Perhaps Samantha and Croft?

A significant find that might help her track them. Provided she was correct.

She scanned the water and noted three ships. One was bigger than the others, though it was possible it only seemed that way on account of it being closer to land. Not sailing away but drawing nearer.

The same could not be said of the other two vessels.

Hazel gave her head a quick shake and dismissed the ships for the time being. Instead, she turned her mount toward the direction in which the footprints were headed and wondered if Samantha had managed to put together a plan. If so, men could have been waiting for her and Croft with a boat. In which case, they might already be in France.

But if they weren’t…

There appeared to be a village far off in the distance. A reasonable place for two people to purchase passage, she supposed. Her fingers tightened on the reins, causing her mount to side-step and whinny. She brought him under control with the firm press of her thigh, and urged him into a canter, her gaze fixed on her destination.

The village became more discernible as she rode. She could make out some of the houses now, but it was still several miles away by her estimation. A thought occurred to her of the long walk Samantha and Croft had undertaken, if the trail she followed was indeed made by them. They’d had a horse, yet neither one had chosen to ride it, according to the consistent footprints imbedded in the sand. Had they shared the beast, they would have made faster headway, but they’d chosen not to. Which must mean the horse had been used as a pack animal instead of a means of transportation.

Why, she couldn’t quite figure out. What could possibly be so important for them to take with them, they’d sacrifice valuable time in order to do so? It couldn’t just be supplies, could it?

She was so caught up in her thoughts, so focused on where she was heading, she failed to realize when the footprints no longer appeared. Pulling her horse to a halt, she glanced back in the direction from which she’d come and groaned. There was a chance she’d wasted valuable time riding too far. She’d have to retrace her path. Figure out if Samantha and Croft had boarded a boat or moved inland.

Setting her jaw, she turned her mount around. Made sure he kept a slow pace, plodding back the way she’d come while keeping her gaze on the sand. She cursed beneath her breath, low but harsh. Allowing herself to lose the trail so stupidly was unforgivable.

Her only consolation was that nobody else was there to bear witness.

The tedious pace made her impatient. Lying in wait or sifting through information in search of one clue wasn’t her forte. But she forced herself to keep her gaze on the ground, to remain on task, even as she was tempted to kick her horse into a trot.

She reckoned it took more than half a mile before the prints appeared once more. No longer leading in one direction but with one pair stepping over the other, stirring up sand as they turned inland.

Hazel swept her gaze along the edge of grassy dunes, only to find herself staring at the bow of a rowboat. It was right there, free for the taking. So if the footprints did belong to Samantha and Croft – if they’d happened upon this rowboat as well – why leave it?

She knew the answer as soon as the question entered her head.

They weren’t thieves, so they’d probably try to compensate the owner somehow. Which had to mean that they remained here. Everything indicated as much. The footprints in the sand. The fact that they stopped at this spot. The rowboat’s presence.

Looking up, Hazel spotted the top of a house. The building was set back from the shore with the tree line behind it sheltering it from the elements.

Hoping this was where she would find Samantha and her husband, Hazel nudged her horse forward, only to pull on the reins once more. Because the truth was, she’d no idea what to say or do once they met.

Harlowe wanted Samantha brought back to Clearview House so he could mete out the punishment he believed she deserved. But Hazel’s recent conversation with Melody gave Hazel pause.

She’d known Samantha since early childhood. Not once in all those years had Samantha let her down. She was one of the most dependable people Hazel knew. Until last week, she’d have trusted her with her life. No questions asked.

But now…

Truth was, Hazel wasn’t sure what to think. Harlowe was like a father to her. Every instinct in her bones demanded she follow his orders. But to go against Samantha felt equally wrong. Yet they were at odds, standing on opposing sides, and Hazel had to pick one.

Unhappy with the situation she faced, the guilt that would likely follow no matter how she decided to act, Hazel urged her horse to take the sandy path that led to the house. The property was not well maintained. In fact, the rowboat looked better.

Moving at a casual gait, she took careful note of her surroundings as she rode toward the front of the house. She arrived at the exact moment the door was flung open.

A lanky man with slicked back hair stepped forward, his gaze fixed squarely on Hazel. The smile he gave her lacked warmth, but the interest that burned in his eyes made her skin crawl as he casually told her, “You look a bit lost.”

“I’m actually looking for someone.” Angled away from him to conceal her right side, she placed one hand on her hip. Took comfort in feeling the loaded pistols she kept in her double holster.

He raised his chin. “Oh?”

“A woman and a man. Travelling together.” She provided a quick description and watched recognition wash over his face before he was able to hide the response.

“And if I’m able to help you find them?”

“I’ll—”

“What in blazes is happening here?” another, larger man asked as he came to join the lankier fellow. It didn’t escape Hazel’s notice that he was armed with a rifle.

She slid her fingers over the pistol she kept on her right and slowly withdrew it from its holster while keeping her movements subtle. Not once did her attention waver from the two men as they spoke, the lankier one explaining the situation to his friend.

“Go back inside,” said the larger of the pair. A hard stare and the lanky fellow obeyed, sending Hazel one final look before he left. No sooner was he gone than the larger man said, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s dangerous for a woman to travel alone?”

“I can take care of myself.” She kept a level gaze on him and added, “It’s important I find the Crofts.”

“Funny, since I’m under the impression they don’t wish to be found by anyone.”

“There’s a bounty on both their heads. Two hundred pounds in total. I’m happy to split it with you if you help me.” Anything to gain his compliance, if only so she would have the chance to speak with Samantha.

The man snorted. “Ordinarily, I’d be more than happy to make such a deal. But in this particular instance, I’m thinking you’re not worth the trouble.”

He raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger, exactly at the same time as Hazel managed to pull her flintlock pistol free from its holster and shoot him. He dropped where he stood, crashing against the side of the house while Hazel slid from her horse with a grunt.

Despite the tension warning her what might transpire, he’d still managed to shoot her. Squarely in the thigh. While she wasn’t yet dead, she might soon be. Out in the open, unable to run for cover, she started clawing her way toward a parked carriage.

A shout informed her that she was unlikely to make it. The lanky man had returned at the sound of the shots. Other voices followed – men’s voices – along with loud thuds.

Dear God, she was doomed.

Yet she kept on moving, her belly scraping the ground while flames licked at her thigh, burning through it so fiercely her eyes watered. Footsteps landed behind her and something in the finality of what was surely to come somehow calmed her.

As ridiculous as it was for her life to end in this way, considering all her skill, she would fight until she drew her last breath. So she pushed up onto her forearm and made a grab for her second pistol, prepared to finish the bastard who’d chosen to make her his prey, and turned.