Page 109 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

Then she pasted on her duchess smile and resumed her duchess posture, handing them each a small package. “These appear to be for you.” She started for the door, but lingered at the threshold, fingers on the busted frame as she gave a backward glance. “You’re going to find her, aren’t you?”

“You know your aunt better than we do.” Ethan sounded resigned. “If she doesn’t want to be found...”

But Victoria studied them carefully. Shrewdly. She looked like Eleanor when she grinned. “You’re going to find her.” It wasn’t a question.

And then she walked away.

Maggie heard footsteps retreating down the long empty hall and then the rip of paper. Ethan was already prying open his present, that little boy look on his hot guy face again. “What do you think it is? Cash? Diamonds? Maybe...”

But Ethan’s voice trailed off as he looked into the box—at the words staring back at him in black and white:Off-Duty Secret Service Agent in Critical Condition Following Christmas Eve Collapse.

Maggie had no idea how Eleanor had managed to get a physical copy of a Colorado newspaper in rural England, but that wasn’t the important thing in that moment.

“Ethan?”

“She knew.” He huffed out a startled breath. “My name wasn’t in the papers. My dad and the Service...” He shook his head like he was trying to keep himself on track. “They don’t publish the names of Secret Service agents because... She knew.” That time he was smiling.

When he pulled the second piece of paper from the box, Maggie recognized Eleanor’s handwriting as soon as she saw it.

“Here.” He handed it toher.

“It’s yours.”

“Read it for me.”

Maggie knew what he was doing—what it meant. There was a not-insignificant chance that those were the last words she’d ever read that were written by Eleanor Ashley, and for a second, she just held the paper in her hands, almost afraid—not of what they might say but of what they might mean.

“It’s okay.” His lips brushed her forehead, and she knew the truth then: this wasn’t the epilogue of Eleanor’s story. It was the prologue of Ethan and Maggie’s. So she looked down at the paper and read—

“Dear Ethan. I have long been a fan of both your talent and your courage, though I must admit I was rather banking on the latter. I knew she’d be in danger. And I knew you’d keep her safe. Somehow, I felt certain you would not mind.”

“She got that right,” Ethan whispered.

“Take care of our girl.” Maggie’s voice broke. “Eleanor.” Her eyes were hot and liquid as she realized that even if Eleanor’s last written words weren’t to her—they wereforher. And that was somehow so much better.

“I’m not getting that letter back, am I?”

“No.”

“You’re going to frame it, aren’t you?”

Maggie choked out a yes, and she felt Ethan wrap her in his arms.

“You know, this may be premature crying.” He pointed her toward the second package. But unlike his, Maggie’s name wasn’t on it. The label just saidTothe victor. He nudged it in her direction. “Your turn.”

It was just an ordinary present wrapped with ordinary paper and an ordinary ribbon, but it felt, to Maggie, like quicksand. A Venus flytrap. An elaborate snare made out of fishing line and rusty springs. It felt like a trap. Because Maggie had wanted it so badly that it had to be a bad idea.

“Maggie? It’s from Eleanor. She wants you to have it.”

But Maggie wasn’t ready for it. And she wasn’t sure she ever would be.

“Hey.” He tilted her chin up, forced her tomeet his eyes. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but you didn’t win because you did what Eleanor would have done. You won because—”

“I had you,” she said.

“No.” He didn’t tease or grin or smile. He was the most serious man in the world when he told her, “You won because you did something Eleanorcouldn’tdo.” Then he pulled back and held up the present, shaking it slightly. “Don’t you want to peek? I want to peek.”

“I want to find her.”