Kate stopped breathing. Had he just said—

“Murdered? What do you mean, Gordon?”

“I found Mr. Janson facedown in the stables. Under a pile of straw.”

“Good God, man, did you check to see if he was hurt?”

Nearly every eye turned to stare incredulously at Mr. Wicket after his rather odd statement. Gordon had a dazed expression, but even his brows knit as he gaped at the innkeeper. “His head was bashed in. Don’t think he’s going to need a doctor, Mr. Wicket.”

The shock on the innkeeper’s face might have been amusing in another situation. However, in this instance it was decidedly not. Shock seemed to be just one of many reactions around the room. Lake’s eyes were narrowed. Desmond looked furious. Tiegs appeared thoughtful. Olivia Trent blinked nervously. And Mary…Kate wasn’t sure what emotion was on her face…horror…or relief.

“Here now, Mr. Wicket, when are the coaches to arrive? The snow’s piled waist-high and I have to be somewhere on the morrow.”

Every eye turned to Freewater, who was impatiently tapping a foot.

“Mr. Freewater, a man was found dead. His murderer perhaps still in our midst, and you are concerned about where you have to be tomorrow?” Olivia Trent’s companion, Francine, asked.

“None of my concern.”

“Trying to get away from the scene of your crime, Freewater?” Mr. Crescent raised his chin above his somewhat old-fashioned but nevertheless well-tailored jacket, his similarly styled wife stalwartly nodding in agreement.

Donald Desmond’s dark eyes sparked as he stood. “Trying to get away with murdering my friend.”

“Now wait a moment—” Freewater blubbered.

Kate held out her hand to fend off further accusations. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes, just because the man is grossly inconsiderate does not make him a murderer. I know for certain that Mr. Freewater was in his room last night. I could hear him swearing and pacing.”

Desmond glared at her and took a step forward. “Maybe it was you then, boy.”

Christian pushed his cup across the table. The rattling china echoed in the room as the cup stopped at the edge. “Stop right there. I can vouch for Mr. Kaden’s whereabouts.”

“Maybe you were in on it together!” Desmond’s face purpled as he turned hateful eyes on Christian. His fists clenched. “You knocked me down with a lucky shot yesterday, care to try again?”

“Perhaps your accusations and outrage are an attempt to draw attention away from you,” Christian said in a rather lazy manner.

Everyone started to argue. Their voices grew angry and increasingly accusatory.

Kate watched the volley of finger pointing through dazed eyes. Christian nudged her with his foot under the table, an unreadable look on his face.

Mr. Crescent peered from one guest to another until his eyes finally rested on Lake. “Heard about the brawl last night,” he said above the din, the rest of the conversations coming to a sudden halt. “That was you and Janson, wasn’t it Lake?”

Lake nodded stiffly.

“That’s right! It was Lake who wanted to kill Janson,” someone shouted.

Lake stood defensively. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Whoa there, Lake. You keep your murdering paws away from the rest of us,” Crescent declared, tugging his wife behind him.

“When are the carriages arriving?” Freewater demanded, more impatiently this time.

“There he goes again, asking for a way out.”

“Don’t you think we should find the constable?”

Mr. Wicket seemed to recover from his shock. “Old Freddy is the parish constable this month. But last night he left town to visit family. He won’t be back for a week. And Julius’s parents are in London while their manor is being remodeled. Julius was staying here on and off while the construction took place. What will we tell the squire?”

“Why the devil won’t the constable be back? There—”

“Language, Freewater! How dare you swear in front of my wife!” Mr. Crescent shook his fist.

“How dare you interrupt me, sir. I won’t have it!”

Kate felt an oncoming megrim. Christian nudged her foot once more, and her attention snapped back to the quarrel.

“Choose another constable—”

“What we need is—”

“I won’t have it!”

“Murdered!”

“Do you think—”

“Julius is dead? Really dead?”

“Deserved it, lousy bastard.”

“You did this!”

“—he was really murdered?”

“Why the fuss?”

“QUIET!”

“—a Bow Street Runner.” Mrs. Crescent’s voice trailed off in the ensuing silence. Everyone stared at her. Her chin rose imperiously. “Well, it would help, wouldn’t it? Someone to take notes and search all the rooms and do whatever it is a Runner does?”

Kate saw Christian tense.

“And where are we going to find a Runner this far from London and in the middle of a snowstorm no less?” Francine scoffed.

“Right here.”

All eyes focused on Christian as he tipped his chair back against the wall. Kate blinked, but when she opened her eyes, she saw the same mocking grin and calculating air.

“You?” Freewater cocked a brow. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, Mr. Freewater. And under Section Two Hundred Seventy-one of the Runner’s Code, I think I’ll search your room first.” Christian smirked.

“Don’t you think you should take a look at the body first,” Kate whispered, in disbelief at the turn of events.

“Yes, of course,” Christian replied smoothly. “But I think the first room will be Freewater’s.” He crossed his arms. “If only for his gross insolence, disregard for the dead, and questioning of my authority.”

That seemed to shut up both Desmond and Crescent. Tiegs appeared amused, almost cheerful, if a man could look jovial under the circumstances.

There was no way Christian Black was a Runner. It was too fantastic, and besides, Kate had never expected Runners to be so, well, virile.

“How are we to believe you?” Freewater asked, his tone a bit more respectful, and Kate marveled at the authority that Christian suddenly seemed to wield.

“I’m here on another case. I had to stay at the inn incognito, as Mr. Wicket can attest. A veritable frenzy it was to stay yesterday. But necessary. Right, Mr. Wicket? Crazy happenings yesterday.”

Mr. Wicket nodded, but from the man’s befuddled expression, Kate had to wonder if the innkeeper even knew to what he was agreeing.

“Then what is your other case?” Freewater demanded suspiciously, although the innkeeper’s nod had dampened his distrustful gaze somewhat.

“Sensitive case. I’m not at liberty to divulge the particulars. Has to do with delicate matters.”

The men seemed to understand what he meant, and they nodded knowledgeably. Mrs. Crescent appeared confused. Kate took that to mean it had something to do with a male indiscretion.

Indiscretions seemed to be right in line with Christian’s character.

“Well then, Mr. Black. How do you intend to proceed? What would you have us do?”

Thirteen pairs of eyes shifted to Christian—ten guests, two bodyguards, a valet, a maid, and twelve employees from the inn.

“Everyone shall remain here in the inn while I take a look at the body with—Gordon, was it?”

Gordon nodded.

“And Mr. Kaden will take notes.”

Kate blinked at him.

“Come, Mr. Kaden. You offered to help with my other case, did you not?”

She gazed around to see the others peering at her and resisted the urge to shrink into the shadows. The unwanted attention was not helping her charade in the least.

She looked at Christian. His eyes were shuttered as he awaited her response. She could say that she hadn’t offered to help him—she hadn’t the slightest notion what he was talking about or why he was including her. He must know that she could destroy his ruse with a few words. Could even claim he was the murderer. Donald Desmond looked ready to string up anyone whose name was put forth.

And she could have her room back all to herself.

“Of course I’ll help, Mr. Black.” The voice seemed to come from far away and it took her a moment to realize it was hers.

The mischievous twinkle reappeared in Christian’s eye as he shook her hand to seal the deal. He rose and motioned Gordon toward the door. Kate hastily pushed back her chair and grabbed her workman’s cloak from a hook inside the entrance hall. Just as Gordon opened the outer door, a strong, cold gust of wind swirled inside.

Christian turned abruptly. “Everyone stays here until we return. No venturing outside or returning to your rooms. Meals can be served, but everyone needs to remain together here on the main floor, understood? Anyone leaving the inn will be arrested immediately. And don’t allow anyone else to enter. Turn away any villagers and don’t breathe a word of the murder, or I’ll prosecute you under Section Eleven, understood?”

A nod from Mr. Wicket seemed to satisfy Christian. Kate wondered where the indomitable Mrs. Wicket was, but then spied her leaning weakly against a back bench, Mary holding her up.

Christian’s cloak whipped around the corner of the door. She admired the dramatic exit, especially after his last statement. He didn’t have the presence of a down-and-out gambler, but a Runner?

Kate slipped through the door. She staggered as the cold swirling snow stung her cheeks. Overnight the world had transformed. A deep sea of white blanketed the ground.

The Dragon’s Tale sign creaked in the howling wind as Christian grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear, “Follow close behind me, Kate. Gordon and I will cut a path.”

Kate nodded, but was feeling disoriented. She didn’t know what had prompted Christian to say that she was helping. Perhaps it was the little devil that seemed to reside permanently inside, peeking through his vivid eyes and purring with his silk-smooth tongue. There was no arguing that Christian Black had her full attention whenever he was in the same room. She doubted the same was true in return. Christian was honey to bees. She was just a dandelion.

In any case, despite the dangerous attention working with him would bring to her, her curiosity was piqued. As if there weren’t enough things that were strange about Christian Black, he didn’t look or act like any Bow Street Runner she had ever imagined or read about.

They trudged slowly across the courtyard. The thirty or forty steps that they would normally have walked were doubled due to the difficulty of moving through the high drifts. Snow clung to the legs of her breeches. A narrow path had been somewhat cleared, but visibility was so poor that moving in a straight line was impossible.

Halfway there, Kate yelled over the blowing wind. “Were you the one to clear this path,

Gordon?”

Gordon turned and nodded yes.

“So there were no other tracks?”

He pulled his muffler down. “No, why do you ask?”

Her brother might be a thieving maggot, but he was a damn good hunter and a braggart to boot. He made sure everyone knew of his successes and how smart he was. She had picked up more than one tracking tip from his glorified stories.

“It would show that someone else had been here,” she yelled. “Perhaps dragging Janson’s body from the inn to the stables.”

Wait. She was going to look at a body. A dead body. She shivered, not entirely due to the cold.

She hadn’t thought through what she was agreeing to. She had always been fond of puzzles, and solving a mystery had sounded interesting. Solving the mystery that was Christian Black even more so. It just hadn’t connected in her brain that this puzzle involved murder.

Then again, maybe it was a freak accident. She was intimately familiar with those. And she could badly do with closure on something. She desperately wanted some level of peace.

She just wasn’t sure she deserved it.

They trudged on several more steps when Gordon stopped again and turned.

“Don’t know nothing about dragging bodies or the like. There were a few tracks out here though.”

“I thought you said there weren’t?”

“I said I made the path.”

Seemed like quibbling to her, and again there was that pause in Gordon’s answers. Or was it just a matter of him catching his breath in the cold?

Kate was breathless when they finally reached the stables. Gordon led them inside the middle door of the large brick and stucco building.

“What kind of tracks?” Christian asked.

“Funny tracks. Like someone had been…dragged. Yes, you may be right.”

Kate felt a queer sensation in her chest as they walked toward the body. The straw had been cleared away. Janson’s leg was bent at a weird angle, and so was his neck. The back of his head had been bashed in.

She looked away, nausea rising and the vision of her father’s body appearing before her.