Giancarlo nodded. “Inspector Conley traced her last whereabouts to the O’Shea hunting lodge. Quite a police presence there now, given the hunting scandal and abductions. Mr. O’Shea is being held in a jail cell while the investigation continues.”
Oliver frowned and rubbed his temple. “I’m afraid I am unaware of the particulars. My brother took me shortly before Miss Lysette O’Shea absconded with Emmeline. Or so he claimed. I awoke less than an hour ago in a field outside town.”
Carlo walked behind his desk to a small dry sink where he dampened a clean cloth and handed it to Oliver. Oliver gratefully held it to his face and wiped it from hairline to neck, relishing in the simple pleasure of a cool cloth against his skin. Carlo picked up a telephone on his desk and rang out, requesting something in rapid Italian, though Oliver caught Conley’s name in the mix.
“I’ve sent word to your chief inspector.” Carlo sat in a chair next to Oliver and leaned forward, his dark-brown eyes full of worry. “Where would this Lysette take our girl?” A muscle moved in his lean jaw, signaling his distress.
Oliver felt his eyes burn. He was exhausted, in pain, bruised from his brother’s lethal attack, and so afraid for Emme he was sick with it. “I wish I knew,” he said, clearing his throat and shoving his emotions into submission. He straightened in the chair, feeling stronger as the medicine continued to work its magic. “I fear time is of the essence, however. Lysette is unhinged, and her hatred of Emmeline is severe.”
Carlo nodded. “Especially as Emmeline foiled the hunting plans.”
Oliver was frustrated with how little he knew of what had happened after Lawrence took him from the hotel. “What did she do, exactly?”
Carlo smiled grimly. “The O’Sheas had abducted several local predatory shifters and held them captive, intending to hunt them once they had changed after midnight.”
Oliver’s mouth dropped open in spite of himself. He stared at the Italian, who slowly nodded.
“According to Mr. Gustavsen, the other O’Shea sister alerted Emmeline to the problem, and Emmeline sent Gustavsen to find you while she went with the sister to free the captives.”
Oliver’s heart thumped. Of course she would do that, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d foolishly walked into his brother’s trap, even as she’d warned against it, and because of it, he’d not been there to help. “My fault,” he mumbled, trying not to lose himself in self-pity. “Had I stayed with her—”
Carlo held up a hand. “No time for recrimination. These villains are devious and would have achieved their plans one way or another. Now, why do you believe Emmeline is somewhere in the city?”
“A comment my brother made. He said Lysette would see that Emmeline arrived here before the meetings conclude. He was speaking in veiled layers, of course, and I’m certain Lysette isn’t planning for Emme to arrive in time to safely speak to the assembly.”
Giancarlo sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers against the armrest. “Someone like Lysette would want Emmeline to suffer greatly. Stash her somewhere close enough to realize the festivities are commencing without her.” He muttered a string of Italian words under his breath.
Oliver nodded his agreement, not needing to speak Italian to understand the sentiment. Voices sounded from the outer office, and then Conley appeared in the doorway, followed by three detectives from the Yard and two local constables. Oliver rose halfway from his chair and gasped when Conley grabbed him around the middle and clapped his back in a firm embrace.
“What the devil happened to you?” Conley pulled back, grasping his shoulders and looking him up and down. “You look like you’ve been attacked by a mob.”
“Later. But if you aren’t already, we need to be on the lookout for my brother. Looks like me, only younger and significantly more handsome. Until he bares his teeth.” Oliver sank back into the chair and quickly relayed the basic information he had for Conley.
Conley gave instructions to the other men and connected his scriber to relay the information to others out investigating.
Oliver turned to Giancarlo. “You mentioned Mr. Gustavsen. Do you know where he is now?”
Giancarlo nodded. “He is out ‘sniffing the air’ for our girl.” The Italian shrugged. “The little man seemed most concerned and insisted he must do something. He feels horribly responsible. Said he would attempt to track her and the wretched sister and would alert us if he found anything.”
Oliver’s eyes burned, and he felt oddly sentimental toward the man who had so earnestly sought to protect both Emme and him. He couldn’t be angry. Further commotion sounded in the outer office, and a desperate female cry sounded through the closed door.
Conley looked up from his discussions with his men. “Mrs. O’Shea,” he said grimly.
Oliver stood and opened the door, and Emme’s mother barreled into him. He steadied her and waited for the shock of his bruised appearance to recede from her stunned face. He quietly closed the door and ushered her into the chair he’d vacated. He knelt next to it and took her hand.
“What are you doing?” she asked, and her eyes filmed. “Do not dare tell me she’s gone.”
“No, no,” he said. “We will find her. I will not rest until we do.”
“What happened to you?” Her voice had dropped in volume, but the pitch remained high, as if the slightest nudge would send her into mania.
“I was accosted. Have you been apprised of the happenings at the lodge? Do you know where the twins are—where Lysette might go here in town?” He glanced up at Conley. He hadn’t even asked about Madeline’s welfare, and nobody had mentioned her.
Mrs. O’Shea sniffed, and then the tears escaped. “My . . . my husband and Lysette have been accused of some awful things, and they”—she glanced at Conley—“tell me Lysette has taken Emmeline. Why would she do that? Why would they do such awful things?”
Giancarlo offered Mrs. O’Shea a snow-white
