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O llie realized his footfalls were the only ones echoing. And he didn’t know how long Evelyn had been missing.

They had been running through the halls of the Bethnal Green Museum looking for the blasted thief, and Ollie had insisted on being in front of her to keep her safe.

It had been foolish to not keep her in his view.

Now she was gone, and he didn’t know where she had disappeared, or how, or when. Had they simply lost each other? Or had something more sinister happened?

Ollie braced his palms against his knees to catch his breath and keep his mind from becoming too erratic.

“Evelyn?” Ollie called out between labored breaths. But all he could see was doorway after doorway disappearing into an inky-black horizon.

Most likely, she had become distracted by something and run off without remembering it would be prudent to tell him. It wouldn’t be the first time she had done that.

But they had also heard the Signature Swindler only moments ago.

Ollie thought the man was nothing more than a clown. But maybe he was dangerous.

Panic mounting, he hurriedly retraced his steps, checking every room he’d passed.

They had been on their way to find whatever room from which the Fragonard had disappeared.

But what in the blazes was a Fragonard? Was it Renaissance?

Pre-Raphaelite? Romanticism? These were all terms he recalled Evelyn using before, but in his panic, he couldn’t remember what they meant.

“Evelyn!” Ollie cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted as loudly as he could, ghosts or not, as he was sure he was going to wake the dead with the racket he’d made.

He continued down the hall, turning a corner. Then he peeked into a room, but like the ancient Egypt room, this room had no paintings in it, just displays. It was not a room that would help him.

Door after door, Ollie flung them all open. In rooms with paintings, he looked for gaps on the walls. Others, he passed by quickly.

Where was Evelyn? He called out to her again, his voice pitched with worry.

She should have responded by now if she had wandered off. But why wasn’t there any noise from her at all? She could have called back, even stomped her feet or kicked something to give him a clue to her location in this blasted building.

But she didn’t make any noise. Which meant she was incapacitated.

He checked another room, finding yet another filled with paintings. He almost backed out when his eye caught something. A large, out-of-place blank spot on the wall.

Ollie hurried over to the blank spot. Was this one of the rooms from which the thief had stolen? It seemed like a painting should have been hanging here. But the thief’s signature should have been in its place.

Remembering they had cleaned off the signature on Evelyn’s desk, Ollie leaned in close and narrowed his eyes with concentration, hoping to pick up any faint ink that hadn’t been completely cleared away.

His heart skipped upon spotting a small, very faint s .

This must be the room , he thought as he walked a quick circle around the perimeter, looking for any further clues. At first, he didn’t find anything.

But as he returned to the door, something on the floor beside a center display case caught his eye.

It was small and pink.

He crouched down to pick it up, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger. It was one of the pink, silk flowers from Evelyn’s hat.

Full-blown panic took over. Ollie shoved the flower into a pocket as his mind began to jumble thoughts together. Fear, questions, anger, curse words. He rubbed the heels of his hands over his temples, as if this could separate the jumbled thoughts into perceivable order.

What should he do? He could go to the police. This seemed like something to bring the experts in for.

And then he’d have to admit to breaking into the Bethnal Green Museum.

And after that, he would also have to admit to breaking into the National Gallery because of course the police would ask how they’d crossed paths with the Signature Swindler in the first place.

He could tell them about the note the thief had sent them and claim they’d met him outside the National Gallery only, but on second thought, that would make the police even more suspicious.

The thief had evaded everyone so far, so why would he contact Ollie directly?

It was still a question to which he had no answer, but he knew the police would raise their eyebrows at that.

Regardless, all of it would lead to admitting Dantes’s painting had been stolen out from under Ollie’s care.

His family would never respect him again after that.

And that didn’t even take into account that the police would surely give Evelyn to the earl the moment they found her.

Ollie didn’t want that. Selfishly, he liked having her around.

Liked that he was the one watching out for her, taking care of her, when she had no one else to whom to turn.

Granted, trouble seemed to find them at every turn now that she was around, but, as he’d told her earlier, he didn’t really mind it much.

And that was the truth. Maybe she attracted trouble, but she sure made life interesting.

But now he couldn’t find her. His heart felt empty with her missing, as if someone had taken part of him.

Once again, someone he cared about was utterly let down by him. Worse, this time, she was in mortal danger. Was she hurt? Was the thief hurting her right now while Ollie scratched his head like an idiot?

Determined, Ollie rushed back out into the hallway labyrinth. He looked right, then left. Which way should he go? His breathing became hard and labored as visions of her being tortured by a masked thief pummeled his mind.

Stop . A little voice of reason pushed its way through the jumble in his head. Take a few breaths and calm yourself until you can think straight. You can’t help anyone until you do that.

Ollie responded quietly back to his own mind, But what if something happens?

Then you will fix it.

I’m terrified he’s hurting her.

I know you are.

She needs to be back with me. And I’m never letting her out of my sight again. I’m keeping her wrapped up safe.

I don’t think she would enjoy that much, but all right.

After tonight, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep idiots from hurting her. I don’t care who it is. I’ll take out the thief if I have to. And I’ll tell the bloody earl off myself, too.

Sounds grand.

How could I forgive myself if anyone hurt her?

You wouldn’t. But what happens after she leaves? You can’t keep her forever.

Ollie thought about this. But what if I could?

You’re starting to figure it out.

Figure out what?

But the voice didn’t respond. Ollie was now even more confused, especially by the strange feeling in his heart. It was like an invisible hand were squeezing it. He placed his hand over his sternum. But the sensation quickly melted. Maybe it was a museum ghost toying with him.

That was a frightening thought.

“All right.” Ollie was now talking to himself out loud. “If I were the blasted Signature Swindler, where would I take a pretty redhead?” He listened to the air, hoping someone would whisper the answer.

Of course, no one did. He had to figure this out himself. There was no Victor or Dantes to fall back on, no Vivian to look to for supportive words.

He already knew he was going to bungle this. But the stakes here were far higher than art or work. A woman’s life was in his hands. A woman he… Ollie stopped that thought to refocus on current matters.

There was only one clue: the flower. The Signature Swindler had definitely taken Evelyn, evidenced by the flower torn from her hat. He knew her well enough to know she’d probably put up a fight, though the thief had also been able silence her.

One thing didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t the thief had a nice chat with them as planned? Why had he taken Evelyn and run off with her instead?

Maybe it was the reward for Evelyn. But that wasn’t a new development, either. Something had made him change his mind between the time he’d written the note and the moment he’d taken her.

But on the other hand, the man was a thief. Honesty wasn’t a part of him, and it was possible he’d written that note specifically to find an opportune moment to grab her, likely knowing she would not answer a note asking for her only.

And he obviously wanted money—he was a thief, after all. Perhaps he had realized it was an easy enough fortune for him to nab.

Frustrated and scared, Ollie shouted out a loud, very rude curse word.

She was long gone now. Halfway to the earl’s. He would never see her again.

But that would mean she was unhurt, at least.

Being gone, though? The thought was more distressing that he would have expected.

Ollie didn’t know which way was which. Where was the exit? The front? The back? Where in the blazes did the earl even live? Maybe he could sneak into the house and pull Evelyn out.

As he turned the corner to find an exit and sprint the six miles to Mayfair, something metallic caught Ollie’s eye. He doubled back.

There was a brass plaque on the wall. Embossed arrows pointed in different directions, but the one that held his attention pointed to his left and read:

Conservation Center

Ollie didn’t even think. He ran. Somehow, he found himself at double doors with a large sign above indicating he’d found exactly what he’d been looking for.

Hesitating, he pressed his ear to the doors and thought he heard murmuring voices, but he couldn’t tell for sure. Nor could he tell if they were male or female.

With a gentle twist, he turned the brass doorknob and grit his teeth with anticipation of something creaking.

He was able to open the door half an inch. An inch. Half a foot, without any noise.

Finally, he was able to look in.