He knew, ultimately, it would do more harm than good, and draw more of her suspicion where none was needed.
And then there was that pull, that invisible cord that somehow bound them.
No, he was stuck with her. And she with him. To what end, he still wasn’t sure.
“I don’t believe you,” she finally said, her words quiet.
Daniel picked up his glass and sipped, buying a few moments of time. He eyed her over the rim of his glass.
She met his gaze head on. “Robin Hood has struck the Bradleys. And Elmira Bradley was murdered.”
Daniel held himself very still. Genevieve refused to release their eye contact, though he could hear her breath quickening.
“I need to know what you know,” she said softly. “People are dying.”
“I am being circumspect to prevent more from dying,” he said, matching her tone. That was all he could say for now. Anything further could endanger her, and him.
He heard the catch in her breath. The atmosphere in the room thickened with tension. He could see her calculating her options, trying to decide how much to push. He allowed the silence to stretch out.
“Is Robin Hood a killer?” she finally asked.
“What do you think?”
She tilted her head ever so slightly, still not breaking eye contact. “I think not.”
“Why?”
“His letters suggest no actual violence. They focus on greed, disingenuousness, hypocrisy. He brags that he gives the money from the stolen items to the impoverished. Robin Hood is about social embarrassment; nothing in the first three crimes suggests murder.”
“And this most recent letter?”
“I haven’t read it but have heard it follows the same pattern.”
“Couldn’t the thief escalate his crimes?”
Genevieve shook her head impatiently. The tension between them was shifting, morphing into something more collaborative and rhythmic.
“It just doesn’t feel right,” she said.
Daniel allowed a few moments to pass, digesting this. “No,” he finally agreed. “It doesn’t.”
He sat, picking up his glass again and taking a thoughtful sip, then wiping at the wet spot on the table with his hand. After a beat or two, Genevieve sat as well, waiting for him to continue. He turned the matter round and round in his head, and saw no other option.
It was time to come clean.
Partially clean, at least.
“At the Bradleys, you asked me how it’s all connected. The truth is, I don’t know that it is connected. I honestly don’t. I asked you to investigate the committee because it is related to my own work, and because I think it has potential to be more important than Robin Hood.” She opened her mouth to speak, but Daniel held up a hand. “Please, let me finish. I’ll admit I have suspicions about this committee. I believe it may be a sham. I am also willing to admit my suspicions might be a product of my own bias, as I’ve quietly been working on housing reform for years, on and off, and have seen how little interest the city’s government has in the matter. But now, with what you’ve told me about Reginald’s death … now I am thinking there might indeed be a connection to Robin Hood. But I don’t know what it is. This may all be a wild-goose chase, Genevieve.”
She leaned back in her chair and took another deep drink, looking as drained as he felt. Why was it that all of their interactions left him feeling as though he were swimming upstream, fighting the strong tides of the East River, as he’d done as a boy? He’d left those swims exhausted, wrung out, but also satisfied in some primal way. Wrangling with Genevieve Stewart had much the same effect on him.
Finally, she nodded again, slowly. “I understand. But I feel I have to do what I can to stop this. What can I do? What can we do?” She leaned forward, clasping her glass in both hands.
Again, that emphatic tug between them. It was undeniable, and strengthening.
He took a breath. “Did you look into the committee?”
“Yes.” She favored him with a cross expression. “There are countless connections between the various members. I didn’t find anything of significance.”
“No financial entanglements? Nothing?”
Genevieve blew out a frustrated breath and looked even crosser. “On the contrary, there are plenty. Too many. It’s like hunting for a needle in a haystack. Tell me what to look for.”
Daniel thought for a moment. “Any kind of financial connections that seem unnecessary, or unwieldy, or anything that looks … off. Have you tried the municipal archives?”
“No, but those are open to the public. You can look there yourself, if you like.” She leaned back again and took another drink.
“I’m not trying to shirk anything, Genevieve. It would be less suspicious if you went. Checking records is part of your job. If the need arises, I’ll pick up a different unpleasant task.”
She seemed inclined to argue for a moment, then nodded sulkily. “You’re right. But Daniel …”
He waited. “What is it?”
Genevieve shook her head, declining to say whatever had been on her mind. Daniel decided not to press.
She stood, smoothing the front of her deep-blue skirt. She held out her hand for him to shake. “So, partners?”
It was impossible not to take her hand, impossible not to feel that insistent pull. “Partners,” he agreed. “For now.”
Her mouth broadened into a smile. “Yes. For now.”
Daniel had his housekeeper fetch Genevieve’s jacket and gloves, and politely led her to the door.
“Daniel?” she asked, pulling on a yellow glove. She glanced around, seeming to want to make sure they were alone. “At what point do we go to the police?”
“We don’t,” he said, careful to keep his voice gentle. He ought to be frustrated with her naïvety, but he wasn’t. She was a
