Page 87 of Hawk & Sparrow

“There’s no doubt the Rousers are capable of it,” said Vesper. “They had the opportunity and means, but after talking to Miss Thally … it doesn’t really seem like there’s any motive there. He came to them, and if what she said is to be believed, they weren’t interested in his machine.”

“That’s a big if,” Maximilian pointed out. “Do you trust them?”

“No more or less than I trust anyone else we’ve spoken to,” said Vesper. “But there are too many holes there too. If they wanted to profit off his machine, keeping Francis alive would have made more sense. He was the one that understood its mechanics. At very least, they would have imprisoned him somewhere and brought him out when the machine needed repairs and maintenance.”

She steepled her fingers together. She remembered the newspaper clipping she’d been sent, the words that’d been scrawled below her name.

You’re next.

Someone who was still very much alive knew that she was trying to find out who killed Francis Gladwell, and they wanted her to stop. She hadn’t mentioned that death threat to anyone, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to, but new theories were forming. She thought back to the rogue horse at the polo match, then to the mishap at the Belvers’ aviary. In isolation, they had seemed like accidents, but now …

Tell Max, a voice in her head prompted. Tell Tom.

Vesper shook her head. Besides the fact that she had no way of proving any of these things were connected, she knew that if she told Tom, or Maximilian, they might want her to take precautions, or quit the investigation altogether. Her resolve hardened. No. She was too close to give up now.

The park they’d reached was small, more of a grassy courtyard situated in the midst of the city’s towering gray and brown buildings. Maximilian led them to an empty bench, and they sat. Vesper leaned forward, letting her chin rest in her palms.

“We’re still missing a lot of pieces,” she said, staring at a flower bed. “We know who Francis Gladwell really was and where he came from, but we still don’t know where he was getting his money.”

“It doesn’t seem like anyone does,” Maximilian agreed. “So now what?”

She sighed. “I think we have to go back to square one.”

Maximilian paused. “And do you think we can figure this out by the first?”

Vesper didn’t answer. The truth was, she didn’t know anymore. She only had ten days left, and only a pile of unanswered questions. If she couldn’t figure this out, she’d lose everything. There was no backup plan if she failed, and it was starting to look like that was exactly what was going to happen. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered against the morning chill. A single tear slid down her cheek.

“Vesper.”

She looked up. Maximilian was watching her, his expression intent. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

Vesper shook her head. “You’re a powerful man, Mr. Kite, but even you can’t promise that.”

A hint of amusement touched his face. “The best investigator in this entire city is on the case,” he said. “I have complete confidence.”

Vesper wished she could borrow even a fraction of that confidence. She stared into Maximilian’s eyes—brown today—and wished that she had ever known the kind of easy self-assurance that seemed natural to him. She watched as his expression changed, growing more intent. Something in those eyes shifted just slightly.

“Miss Evans,” he said in a lower voice. “I know what happened last night was … unexpected.”

Vesper’s cheeks suddenly grew hot again. She knew she should have been thinking about the investigation, but her mind kept replaying scenes from that moment in the den. She thought of the way Maximilian’s lips had felt, hot against her skin, the way she’d wanted more and more of them.

“Unexpected,” she said, “I think that’s the right word.”

“I wanted to apologize,” he said. “We’d both had a long day, we had drinks, and … I should have known better,” he said. “Please forgive me.”

Vesper felt a strange stab of emotion she couldn’t name. He regretted what they’d done. Of course he did. Her face suddenly felt hot. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed?

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she murmured. “As you said, we’d both had a long day.”

“Vesper. Please, look at me.”

It was the second time this morning that he’d said her given name instead of calling her Miss Evans. Slowly, she turned to face him again.

“What I wanted to say last night in the den,” he began. “What I was trying to say was…” He massaged the back of his neck, looking uneasy. “I … well, I…”

“Wait. Look.”

Two police officers were heading in their direction, and she recognized one of them as Stettner. A sense of unease filled her as the two men stopped before them, particularly when Chief Stettner didn’t even look at her.