What?-No!”

“Would you still have done it if you knew?”

“I don’t know-I guess-yes. We needed the money.”

“So, you’re not a baron?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“I was a ship’s captain.”

“Was? What happened?”

“Are you going to kill me any time soon? Why all the questions?”

“Each question you answer is another breath you take,” the voice from behind him spoke. It was the voice of death, emotionless, and empty. Hearing it made Wyatt’s stomach lurch as if he were looking over the edge of a high cliff. Not seeing his face, knowing that he held the blade that would kill him, made it feel like an execution. He thought of Allie, hoped she would be all right then realized-she would see him. The thought struck with surprising clarity. She would rush out after it was over and find him on the street. She would wade through his blood.

“What happened?” the executioner asked again, his voice instantly erasing all other thoughts.

“I sold my ship.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Gambling debts?”

“No.”

“Why then?”

“What difference does it make? You’re going to kill me anyway. Just do it!”

He had steadied himself. He was ready. He clenched his teeth, shut his eyes. Still, the killer delayed.

“It makes a difference,” the executioner whispered in his ear, “because Allie is not your daughter.”

The blade came away from Wyatt’s neck.

Slowly, hesitantly, Wyatt turned to face the man holding the dagger. He had never seen him before. He was smaller than his partner, dressed in a black cloak with a hood that shaded his features, revealing only hints of a face-the tip of a sharp nose, highlight of a cheek, end of a chin.

“How do you know that?”

“She saw us in the dark. She saw my knife at your throat as we stood deep in shadow across the length of twenty yards.”

Wyatt said nothing. He did not dare move or speak. He did not know what to think. Somehow, something had changed. The certainty of death rolled back a step, but its shadow lingered. He had no idea what was happening and was terrified of making a misstep.