field.
“Look here, Fraser—” O’Roarke broke off as his gaze fell on Mélanie. “Mrs. Fraser.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I didn’t realize.”
“Where’s Carevalo?” Charles said.
“I was hoping you could tell me.” O’Roarke tightened the belt on his dressing gown. “He hammered on my door at an ungodly hour this morning to say he was leaving and I was to deliver a letter to you if you called. Very cloak-and-dagger. Typical Carevalo.”
Charles’s gaze had already fallen on the letter, leaning against a black basalt candlestick on the mantel. He crossed to the fireplace, snatched up the letter, and broke the seal. Mélanie was beside him.
It was a single page, written in English in a flowing black hand.
My dear Fraser,
Congratulations. How long did it take you to work it out, I wonder? But that’s neither here nor there, as you British say. You know now of course. I have the boy. I want the ring. You have until this Saturday evening. When you are ready to hand over the ring, place an advertisement in the Morning Chronicle . I will respond with instructions. If you value your son’s life half as much as I think you do, you won’t fail me.
Carevalo
P.S.
Don’t make the mistake of thinking I don’t mean what I say. I’m not the man you knew in Lisbon. I can play the cheerful boon companion when it serves my purpose. But believe me, antagonist is a role to which I am much better suited.
Charles opened his fist, dropped the letter, crossed to the table, and grabbed O’Roarke by the shoulders. “Where is he?”
O’Roarke stared at him. “Don’t be an idiot, Fraser. I told you—”
“Goddamnit, O’Roarke.” Charles pushed him up against the wall. The plate-glass windows rattled in their frames. “Where’s Carevalo?”
The early-morning light flickered over the finely molded bones of O’Roarke’s face. “What’s Carevalo done?” he said.
“He’s taken Colin.” Mélanie spoke from across the room. “He wants us to give him the Carevalo Ring.”
“Oh, Christ.” O’Roarke closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh, sweet Jesus. The damned fool.”
Charles tightened his grip. “I need answers. I’ll beat them out of you if I have to.”
“That would be a lamentable waste of time for us both, Fraser. I don’t have answers to give you, however many of my bones you manage to break.” O’Roarke drew a breath. “For God’s sake, Charles. You’ve known me all your life. Do you really think I’d be party to abducting a child?”
“If you thought it was the only way to further your cause.” Charles stared hard into O’Roarke’s eyes. The man was more than capable of lying. Charles had seen him do so with great agility. But he realized, too, that Carevalo would know the lengths to which he would go to get information. So unless Carevalo was more fool than Charles thought, he’d make sure O’Roarke didn’t have any information to give. O’Roarke was most likely telling the truth.
Charles released O’Roarke and took a step back. “Tell us what you know.”
“I arrived in London last night and came straight to the hotel.” O’Roarke’s voice had the rifle-shot crispness Charles remembered from moments of crisis in the Peninsula. “I expected to meet with Carevalo this morning. Instead he woke me sometime after four and said he’d been called away on private business. He wouldn’t say what business or where he was going.”
“Did you ask?”
“Of course.” O’Roarke took a quick turn round the room. “I had no particular desire to twiddle my thumbs waiting for him. He refused to tell me anything else. Had I been a little more awake I might have pressed him further, but I doubt I’d have been successful. He gave me the letter and said you’d probably call for it sometime today.” O’Roarke whirled round and faced Charles across the breakfast table. “I had no idea how important the letter was. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry—” Mélanie said.
“Where