Cameron tightened the reins in his hands. Leaning forward, he pushed the horse faster as he rode toward the Metropolitan Police station. Confusion beat in his head, throbbing with each pound of the horse's hooves on the ground. How would Miss Haywood have known about Mr. Bailey? There was no possible way, especially when only a handful of people knew about Bailey being kept behind bars. Those few who knew about it, wouldn't have said anything in front of the other officers.
That woman made him insane. One minute he was lost in her sparkling blue eyes, like diamonds dancing on clear water, and the next minute she was rattling nonsense that made him want to scream. Perhaps this woman wasn't in her right mind after all. Thankfully, he'd dismissed her from his house, away from Alice...and away from him!
He rode through the gates, and then slowed his horse. As he reached the front of the building, he brought the animal to a stop, jumped off, and threw the reins over the post. He rushed into the station, going in one direction only. A few of the other officers threw their glances his way, but he didn't stop to visit.
He took the back stairs, two at a time, leading below. The dungeon was what the officers called the small, dark cells where they held suspects for questioning. Cameron turned, and headed down a long, dimly-lit corridor. When he came to Mr. Bailey's cell, he stopped. Fumbling with the keys, he peered through the small window in the door, hoping he could detect some kind of movement inside. As each second passed without seeing anything, his heart hammered faster.
"Bailey?" he called loudly. "Answer me!"
Finally, he slid the key into the lock and turned. He yanked open the door and stepped inside. Immediately, the stench of blood—and death—filled his head. As his vision adjusted to the shadows, his attention jumped to the motionless body lying on the ground...with blood surrounding his head.
The scene before him was just as Miss Haywood had described, right down to the worn cot covered with a thread-bare blanket.
Bile rose to his throat, and he quickly stumbled out into the corridor. He took in deep breaths, trying to keep from retching. It wasn't the smell that turned his stomach. Instead, it was the fact that someone had killed the prisoner—someone who worked for Metropolitan Police, since the officers were the only ones who had access to the keys. Who could have wanted Mr. Bailey dead?
Would the man's murder make Cameron appear guilty?
Rosie would never forgive him. If he hadn't locked away the man she'd proclaimed to love, that man wouldn't be dead right now.
Worry mixed with confusion filled his head. Had Miss Haywood truly had this vision? Or, was it possible that she was connected with someone here at the police station?
The latter was easier to believe, but even that didn't make much sense to him.
Cameron moved up the corridor, regretting what he had to do next. Sadness and guilt weighed his legs as he struggled to climb the stairs. He must inform Captain Orwood of the murder. Cameron trusted the captain, although he knew his superior would reprimand him for not obeying protocol.
Thoughts swam through his clouded mind as he kept his gaze on the floor, heading toward the captain's office. How was he going to explain the prisoner to the captain? Cameron hadn't exactly followed the rules, which was why not everyone who worked here knew about Mr. Bailey.
He reached the captain's office and stopped. Taking a deep breath for strength, he mentally prepared himself for the task ahead. As he raised his hand to knock, voices from inside the room lifted in anger.
"What do you mean? Are you saying that Westland locked the man in a cell without following procedures?"
"Well, you see, Captain Orwood," the mousey voice squeaked, "Inspector Westland had just wanted to ask Mr. Bailey some questions, but the man was being difficult."
"Westland was being difficult?" the captain barked.
"Uh, no, sir. Mr. Bailey was. That's why Westland locked him in the cell. He figured Bailey would talk eventually, just to get out of that small torture chamber."
Cameron held his breath as his body froze. Oh, no! He'd lose his job now, he just knew it.
"And only a few men knew about this," Orwood asked.
"Yes. Westland wanted it kept a secret."
"Are you certain that Mr. Bailey is dead," the captain continued in a loud voice.
"Yes, sir. Just a few minutes ago I was downstairs and checked on him."
"Barton," the captain snapped, "you will find Inspector Westland and bring him to me posthaste. He's a prime suspect now."
"A...suspect, sir? Are you certain?"
"Indeed, I am. He'll need to be taken into custody. We'll see how he likes being trapped in the dungeon."
Panic grew quickly inside of Cameron. He couldn't possibly be a suspect! He really had no reason to want Bailey dead...well, except that Rosie had imagined herself in love with the older man and Cameron would not have it. He'd seen murders committed with far less motive. Grumbling under his breath, he bunched his hands into fists. Orwood's philosophy was that a man was guilty until proven innocent. That meant... Cameron gulped hard. The captain believed that Cameron had actually killed Mr. Bailey.
"Barton," Orwood grumbled, "I don't want anyone else knowing about this yet. Is that clear? You bring Westland directly to me."
"Uh, yes, sir."
Cameron must find the true killer.
Quickly, before either officer could exit the room, Cameron hurried away down the hall, making his way toward the back door of the building as fast as his long legs would take him. He didn't stop to see if any of the other officers noticed him. All he was concerned about was running and hiding until he could figure out his next move.
As he rushed out of the back door, he paused for a moment. His horse was around in front, but he didn't dare retrieve the animal now and chance being caught. Suddenly, from inside the building, men's voices rose in alarm. He couldn't hear exact words, but he was willing to bet they were after him.
Without thinking where he would go, he took off running. When he passed two more buildings, he noticed a shadowed clove in the back entryway. Before he could change his mind, he darted to the passageway and flattened his back against the wall. His chest heaved with heavy breaths while his lungs burned with exhaustion. Usually when he ran this fast, he was after a criminal. Now he was the criminal being hunted.
Groaning, he rubbed his throbbing forehead. How had he gotten into this mess, anyway? His first reaction was to blame his sister. If she hadn't have run away, none of this would be happening. Then again, it was his decision to keep Mr. Bailey's brief imprisonment a secret from the other officers.
What a fool he'd been.
He took a quick peek out of his hiding spot to look up the lane. So far, nobody followed him. Unfortunately, that didn't mean he was out of danger. He must keep running. He couldn't return home, but where would he go?
He desperately needed help.
Who out of all the men he worked with did he trust enough to help him out of this muddle? His close friends were Sebastian Holmes and Julian Stanford. And yet, if Cameron went to them, would they put their jobs in peril to help him?
"I thought that was you."
The man's voice started Cameron from out of his thoughts. He jumped and swung toward the person who'd somehow crept up on Cameron. When his vision finally adjusted and he recognized his cousin, Tristan, he sighed.
"You frightened the life right out of me." Cameron placed a hand against the wall and took in breaths of air, slow and deep.
"What in the devil are you doing out here?" Tristan glanced up and down the lane. "I saw you from inside the office building over there," he motioned his head to the building on the right, "and you appeared as though you were hiding."
Cameron chuckled uncomfortably and nodded. "I was, actually."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. "Tristan, I fear that involving you might make everything worse."
"Is this about Rosie's disappearance?" Tristan stepped closer. "Because after our talk last night, I was thinking that my brothers and I—"
"No, Tristan." Cameron met his cousin's stare. "I don't want you getting involved, especially if Rosie has indeed run off with a man. Your family shouldn't have to carry the weight of the burden that is for us alone to bear."
"But Cameron, my good man, we are all family. You know I have never treated you differently even though you are from a working class family and mine is nobility. My mother married above her class, but I don't think any less of you. The Worthingtons have always believed family is family no matter the situation—"
"Please, Tristan. I do understand what you are saying, but I don't wish to argue with you. Especially now." He glanced up the lane, hoping nobody was coming for him yet. "I have been suspected of murder, which of course I didn't do. I need to hide out until I can find evidence to prove my innocence." He grasped his cousin's hand tightly. "Please adhere to my wishes."
Tristan's face grew pale. "Murder?"
"Yes, but I didn't do it. You must believe me."
"I believe you. But have you forgotten that my older brother, Trevor, is a duke now. He knows people who can help."
"I thank you for suggesting, Trevor." Cameron sighed. "But for now, let me try to do this myself."
"Please keep in touch with me—either you or Alice. I'll be worried until I hear from you."
"I appreciate your kindness." Cameron tried to smile. "I promise to update you."
Tristan turned toward the office building and entered through the back door. Cameron's chest clenched with dread. He couldn't bring disgrace to his titled cousins, and getting them involved would do just that. Handling this alone was the only way. However, he still needed to find an ally. And fast. How could he search for his missing sister if he was also being chased?