The Silver Coin Read Free Page A

unnoticed.
    She unfolded it, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue as she steeled herself.
    The words leapt out at her, and she read them twice, icy fear slashing through her in ruthless talons. “Oh my God.” She dropped the note, all the color draining from her face as she backed away.
    “Miss Breanna?” Wells was visibly alarmed. “What is it?” He picked up the card. Adjusting his spectacles, he read aloud, “Did you think I’d forget you? Never. It’s retribution time. I’m back to even the score. One bullet. That’s all I need. One for each of you. First your cousin, then you. Soon. So tremble, Lady Breanna. Tremble and wait.’”

3
    ” Tell me the entire story again. As calmly as possible.”
    Cecil Marks leaned against the desk, tugging at his scarlet waistcoat and trying to ignore the din taking place behind him as a group of thieves were dragged into the Bow Street office, struggling and swearing. He’d been a Bow Street runner for three years now, and he still preferred combing the streets for criminals to actually bringing them in and having to contend with the chaos. But given the recent murders that had occurred here in London and the investigation that had ensued—well, he had no choice but to stick close to the home office.
    He glanced down at his writing tablet, then back at the white-faced young woman who stood before him, wringing her hands as her elderly butter tried to comfort her. This was the last thing he needed after the kind of day he’d had. He’d questioned a half-dozen suspects, pored over pages of facts—and he wasn’t in any mood to soothe the fears of an overwrought woman.
    Then again, Lady Breanna Colby wasn’t just any woman.
    A lady in the true sense of the word, she was. Marks remembered that from last time. And a real beauty, to boot. Hair like burnished copper and eyes like chips of jade. Delicate and, at the same time, almost regal. Marks recalled the way she’d watched him lead her father away, her head held high, her eyes bright with tears she refused to shed, grief and shame she refused to display. It was rare to meet a woman who possessed that much restraint, much less one who was emotionally strong as well as beautiful.
    Yes, she was a survivor, all right. Except that right now Lady Breanna looked ready to come apart at the seams.
    Marks could well understand why. Hell, he’d be unnerved, too, if he was in her place. The problem was, he had no time or resources to devote to her situation. Not when the whole matter boiled down to a mere threat.
    “My lady,” he replied, after listening to her second recounting of the story. “I know you’re upset. But unless someone’s actually tried to hurt you, my hands are tied. Unless, of course, there’s something you haven’t mentioned? Something more substantial this man’s done? If so, tell me and I’ll get right on it.”
    Breanna drew an unsteady breath. “That’s just it. He hasn’t actuallydoneanything—yet. But it’s clear he intends to.”
    “You say he sent you this package.” Marks jerked his thumb toward his desk, where the opened box lay. “Those two dolls and a note.”
    “Not just two dolls,” Breanna corrected. “Two disfigured dolls. And it’s not just a note, sir. It’s a threat. Surely you can see that.”
    Marks twisted around, examined each doll for the third time, then scanned the note. “I admit, whoever sent this is warped, even unbalanced. But as for proof that he’s going to kill you—”
    “Mr. Marks, please don’t patronize me. You of all people remember what happened the night my father was arrested—or rather,after he was arrested.”
    Marks cleared his throat. “You’re talking about that shooter.”
    “He wasn’t just an arbitrary shooter. He was paid to kill Anastasia, hired by my father—through his informant—to do so. When I shot him in the hand before he could shoot Stacie, he bolted. Obviously, he realized he might be exposed, so he killed Mr.