Excerpt of A Rogue at Stonecliffe by Candace Camp

Sloane pinned the man to the wall with an arm braced across his chest, and whipped out a slender sharp knife from his boot. He pressed the point against the man’s throat. “Where is she, Parker?”

“Who?” Parker’s voice was gruff, but fear showed in the whites of his eyes. “Where’s who?”

“I don’t have time to waste. Tell me where Annabeth is or you’re a dead man.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you familiar with a stiletto, Parker?” Sloane’s voice was almost conversational, but cold enough to freeze one’s blood. “It’s a nice little blade I picked up in New Orleans from an Italian. Italian assassins prefer it, I understand.”

“I don’t know!” Parker’s brow was wet with sweat. “I swear to God. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know where she is! I don’t know who she is!”

“I’m losing patience with you.” Sloane’s nerves were roiling his stomach, a cold fear looming at the back of his mind.

“I don’t know!” The last remaining shreds of Parker’s composure were visibly breaking down. “I don’t know who you’re talking about!”

“Sloane…” Nathan said in a low voice. Sloane looked over at Nathan and saw his own doubts reflected in the other man’s eyes. “I believe him.”

Sloane turned back to Parker. “You better be telling me the truth. If I learn you had anything to do with taking her, I’ll find you. No matter what you do or where you go, I’ll find you. And you’re a dead man.”

Sloane brought his fist and the hilt of the knife down hard on Parker’s head, and the man went limp, sliding to the floor. Sloane swung around and charged out of the room.

He’d been chasing the wrong villain. He’d accomplished nothing. Even in his fury, he had believed Parker wouldn’t kill Annabeth or harm her; she was his bargaining tool. There was no assurance like that now. It could be anyone; he had no idea who or where she might be or how to find her. Visions of Annabeth hurt and scared filled his mind.

Despair coursed through him, driving out the anger and nerves that had fueled him. He slumped against the wall, cursing.Sloane had never felt so helpless. He’d been trapped before; he’d been caught; he’d been tossed in jail. But he had always been confident that he would find a way out of it. He would fight; he’d bluff; he’d find a way to slip through the cracks. But now…he had nothing.

No. That wasn’t true. He had himself. He had his men and plenty of money. He had this fool beside him, for whatever that was worth—Nathan had held up better than Sloane had expected, little as he liked to admit it. There was always Lady Lockwood, who was never a force to be taken lightly. Sloane had friends in the government—or, at least, former colleagues—men who knew things, and he would have no hesitation in calling in those chips.

He levered away from the wall, willing out the terror of losing Annabeth that had gripped him. He couldn’t acknowledge it; he refused to accept the possibility of a world without her. He started toward the hackneys, his steps growing ever faster until he was in a trot, then running.

Sloane and Nathan reached the waiting carriage and threw themselves inside. After a long moment, Nathan asked, “Would you really have killed him back there?”

“No,” Sloane said. “You can’t get information from a dead man.”

“So you’re not abstaining from murder because of any moral qualms then,” Nathan said drily.

“Didn’t you know I’m the bad seed? The twisted branch of the Rutherford family tree?”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Nathan told him. “I always knew you weren’t good enough. Certainly not for Annabeth.”

Sloane let out a soft grunt of amusement. Gazing out the window, he said, “You’ll soon learn I have no moral qualms when Annabeth’s safety is at stake. If Parker had killed her, he would be dead now, you can be assured of that.” He turned to look at Nathan. “Wouldn’t you kill him for Annabeth?”

Nathan frowned. “Yes, if it would save her. But… I hope I wouldn’t be so cold-blooded about it. So heartless.”

“Why, Nathan, I thought you knew,” Sloane said flippantly. “I have no heart.”

Nathan made an irritated noise. “You joke about it, of course. But I’ve known you since I could walk. You were always angry, always irritating and rude—”

“Careful, you’ll turn my head,” Sloane interjected.

Nathan ignored him. “But you weren’t like this. The Sloane I knew wasn’t cold and hardened like you. He wasn’t someone who would spy for the enemy or lead a gang of ruffians.”

Sloane lifted one shoulder negligently. “Yes, well, that Sloane died long ago.”