A Scot in the Dark

Chapter 13

ABSENCE MAKES THE SCOT GROW FONDER

He was the most maddening man in Christendom.

One moment, he was making love to her, the next he was recommending she draw attention to her best features to attract another man, and the third, he was doing all he could to drive that man—who seemed to be a perfectly decent, rather excellent catch, it should be added—away.

Did he want her married? Or not?

And what of what she wanted?

She lifted her gaze to the throngs of people on the footpath, her eyes meeting those of Lord Stanhope, a half-dozen yards away. Empirically, he was perfect. He was titled and charming, handsome and mannered and—even better—seemed to enjoy her company.

He would make her a sound husband.

If only she could muster enthusiasm at the idea.

She might have been able to, Lily was certain, if not for the horrid Duke of Warnick making it so very impossible to think of any other man but him. Not that she was thinking very flattering thoughts of him at this point. She was thinking deeply unflattering thoughts, as a matter of fact.

As though to prove it to herself, she began to tick said thoughts off in her head.

First, he was far too large. Modern men had no reason to be the size of prehistoric hunters.

Second, from what she could tell, he did not own even a single pair of trousers that fit him. What kind of a man didn’t own trousers?

Third, he seemed only able to socialize with dogs. Lovely dogs, she acknowledged, but dogs nonetheless. She had yet to hear him have a sustained conversation with a human that did not end in anger or bloodshed.

Except with her.

With her, they sometimes ended in glorious carriage rides filled with remarkable pleasure.

She shook her head, stepping over the bounds of the green and into the Row. Unflattering thoughts only.

Fourth—

“Oy!” The call came loud and somewhat panicked from somewhere to her right, and Lily turned to look, only to see a furious chestnut bearing down on her. She froze, suddenly, horribly unable to move. She closed her eyes, expecting to be fully trampled.

And then it was upon her, knocking her backward, sending the breath from her lungs, cursing in furious Gaelic among a chorus of feminine screams and masculine shouts and several excited barks.

No. Wait.

She wasn’t being trampled.

And the horse wasn’t cursing in Gaelic.

She opened her eyes to find him leaning over her, his gaze searching her face as she struggled for breath.

“Lillian,” he said, and she heard the relief in his tone. “Breathe.”

She tried. Failed. Shook her head.

“Lillian.”

She couldn’t breathe.

“Lillian.” He sat her up.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.

“LILY.” She looked to him, met his firm brown gaze, inches from her. “You will breathe. We’ve knocked the air from your lungs.” He ran his hands down her arms and back up as she opened her mouth to pull in air. Failed. “Stay calm.” His warm hands came to her face. Cradled it like crystal. His thumbs stroked her cheeks. “Listen to me.” She nodded. “Now. Breathe.”

Air came like he’d willed it.

She gulped it in in deep gasps, and he nodded, guiding her through it. “Good, lass. Again.” Tears came, unbidden, on a wave of relief. He pulled her tight against him, and she clung to the lapels of his coat as he spoke. “Again. Breathe, mo chridhe.”

For long moments, it seemed as though it was just the two of them, sitting in the dirt of Rotten Row, the entirety of London disappeared. She clutched him, breathing him in in great gasps, the scent of crisp linen and tobacco flower bringing strength and calm. And then London returned with a cacophony of noise. Lily looked up to find a wall of people staring down at them, watching as she regained her breath. The sea of prying eyes had her blushing her embarrassment and releasing Alec’s coat. “I am—” She took another breath. “I am—” She did not know what one said in such a situation as this. So, she settled upon, “Hello.”

No one moved.

No one, that was, but Lord Stanhope, who stepped through the crowd and came to her side. “Miss Hargrove! Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Only my pride.”

He smiled and picked a leaf from her hair before reaching down to lift her soiled bonnet from the ground. “Nonsense. It could have been anyone. That horse was quite out of control.”

“Lily!” She looked toward the cry to find several women at the front protesting as Sesily, Seline, and Seleste Talbot pushed through the crowd. “My goodness, Lily!” Without hesitating, the three collapsed in pools of silk to protect her on all sides. “You could have died!”

Sesily was nothing if not dramatic.

“I did not die, thankfully,” Lily said. “I was very fortunate that the duke appeared in the nick of time.” She turned to meet Alec’s gaze, secretly wanting to reassure herself of his presence.

Except he wasn’t there.

She looked up and down the Row, searching for his familiar red plaid. His comforting height. His strong hands and firm Scots jaw.

He was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the only evidence that he’d ever been there to begin with was Angus and Hardy, sitting sentry just behind her, as though they had been left there by their master.

Left, along with her.

I have better things to do than follow you.

Her chest constricted at the memory, and she struggled to catch her breath again.

“He’s gone,” she said, softly.

“He rushed off like a bat from hell,” Sesily said, and a titter came from the crowd. She turned to face them. “Oh, please. We are not even able to speak the word hell? It’s a location, is it not? I’m allowed to say Hyde Park or Knightsbridge or . . .”

“Cockington,” Seline interjected, sending a ripple of affronted gasps over the assembly.

Lily coughed to cover her laugh.

Lord Stanhope crouched to help her to stand, and when he spoke, she heard the amusement in his tone. “Well. That will disperse the crowd more quickly than anything else.”

She smiled. “Is there even such a place?”

His lips twitched. “It’s in Devonshire.”

“Well, then,” she said matter-of-factly, “she has a point.”

“It seems that having the Talbot sisters in one’s corner is quite helpful in redirecting attention.”

“You’d best remember that, Lord Stanhope,” Sesily said, “as you would not like us if we were not in your corner.”

“Bubble bubble, boil and trouble,” Seleste said.

Lily and Stanhope looked to each other.

“It’s double double, toil and trouble,” Seline corrected.

“It is?” She turned to Lily.

Lily nodded.

Seleste looked to Stanhope. “Well, that doesn’t make sense. It’s a cauldron, isn’t it? With witches?”

Stanhope nodded. “It is.”

“Shouldn’t it bubble?”

“It bubbles in the next line,” Lily offered.

Seline rolled her eyes. “This isn’t really relevant.”

“I’m just asking,” Seleste said.

Stanhope’s eyes filled with laughter. “Either way, my lady, I wouldn’t dream of crossing you.”

“There, then. Goal achieved.”

Lily laughed, the sound quickly becoming a cough.

“For heaven’s sake, Seleste. Lily nearly died,” Sesily said. “Stop making her laugh.”

Stanhope offered her an arm. “My carriage is not far, Miss Hargrove. I’ll happily escort you home.” He looked to the other women. “Perhaps the ladies will join us?”

The trio did not hesitate to agree.

“Excellent,” he said, turning back to Lily. “Allow me to see you settled on the green, and I shall fetch it.”

Lily let him escort her away from the dirt path, Hardy and Angus following silently, watching her carefully, seeming to sense her myriad feelings about the afternoon. Once she reached the grass, she stroked the dogs’ wide, handsome heads and spoke, raising her voice for the benefit of all assembled. “My lord, I am feeling better by the moment—”

At least, the parts of her that were not wondering where Alec went were feeling better by the moment.

She had trouble believing that he’d left her alone. Yes, it had happened after they’d argued and agreed—for the best, was it not?—that they were better off separated than together when it came to her possible courtship.

But she’d nearly been run down. She could have been seriously hurt.

He’d been there to save her.

And then he’d left her alone. With Stanhope. Who hadn’t left. Stanhope had stayed, as a decent man should. And so Lily would, as well.

She pointed to a rise in the green nearby, where a large tree stump beckoned. “Perhaps we might sit for a bit.” She turned to look at her companions. “And talk?”

In moments, she was seated on the stump, the warm May sun beating down upon her as her companions encircled her, as though protecting her. Hardy came forward and set his head in her lap, and Angus arranged himself at her feet.

Realizing the strangeness of the situation, Lily felt more than a little guilty about forcing the earl to join them, and offered him a release. “My lord, you really have been more than kind. But I am loath to prey upon that kindness. I’m certain my friends will be willing to see me home.”

He smiled down at her. “Nonsense. This is certainly the most exciting day I’ve had in months, and might well continue to be. You have no idea how deadly dull parliamentary sessions can be.”

“Wait,” Seleste said.

“Are you—” Seline added.

“Courting?” Sesily finished the thought.

Lily blushed, as Stanhope smiled. “As a matter of fact, Miss Hargrove and I met not an hour ago. We were just taking a turn up the Row.”

“Oh!” the sisters said in unison, before sharing a look that indicated their collective understanding that a walk in the park was a precursor to something much more important.

“Well, we wouldn’t like to interrupt,” Seleste said.

Her sisters were already moving. “No!” Seline said. “That sounds very important.”

It was amazing how the presence of these three was somehow able to make one feel both exceedingly pleased and harrowingly embarrassed.

And then Sesily spoke, her blue gaze on Lily, seeming to see far more than Lily would like. “What was Warnick doing here, then?”

Being a hero.

Lily ignored the thought. “He thought he would play the chaperone.”

“He’s done a terrible job of that,” Seline blurted. “He left you in a ditch!”

He’d left her.

“It wasn’t a ditch, precisely,” the earl pointed out, his serious gaze on Lily.

“It might as well have been,” she said.

“No matter,” Sesily said. “We shall play the chaperone.”

Oh, dear. “That’s very kind, but—”

“It’s an excellent idea, don’t you think?”

She looked to Stanhope, who appeared to be taking the entire event in stride, but it occurred to Lily that if she had been asked to imagine a more disastrous first meeting with an eligible lord, she would be unable to do so.

The only way it would be more of a disaster was if she were interested in marrying him. Which she wasn’t. Not that he wasn’t a fine man. In every way. Indeed, he made her feel perfectly pleasant.

Shouldn’t pleasantness be the goal? Shouldn’t a marriage be based on kindness and good humor, and if one’s husband was handsome, all the better, no? Except it seemed that one should find one’s husband’s handsomeness tempting. Desirable. One should have trouble ignoring his square jaw and unruly hair and his fine knees.

Not knees, specifically.

Knees, for example.

She didn’t care about any particular pair of knees.

Particularly not about the pair that had just left her to the aristocratic wolves on Rotten Row. Alone.

Solitude was not unfamiliar to Lily, however. And she was more comfortable with it than most. Comfortable enough to speak the truth in a situation that had no need to be drawn out longer than necessary. One hand stroking Hardy’s ears, she returned her attention to the earl, and decided to speak what they both no doubt felt. “My lord, you needn’t pretend this was a successful afternoon. I appreciate your gentlemanliness, but I do not wish to keep you when I am certain you have an infinite number of other activities that might better entertain.”

The entire group grew silent in the wake of her honesty, until Lord Stanhope nodded and said, “You think we are not suited.”

“I think you require a woman far less troublesome than me.”

He smiled. “I think troublesome might be precisely what I require.”

She shook her head. “Not my kind of troublesome.”

He watched her for a long moment and said, “I don’t think you’re as troublesome as you think.”

She laughed, humorlessly. “On the contrary, my lord. I am exactly as troublesome as I think.”

The words were freeing, somehow, perhaps because the painting would be revealed soon enough—the scandalous truth would ruin her eventually. There was something powerful and relieving about taking ownership of it. If she was to be revealed, why not speak of it? It was her truth, was it not? Hers to share.

She looked into his handsome face and clarified. “The painting.”

Her companions went still as stone, and the only sound that followed her confession was the low din of chatter from the Row, two dozen yards away. It occurred to her that the silence might be worse than the whispers. Silence was so lonely.

She did not wish to be lonely any longer. Tears threatened, and she forced herself to take deep breaths, refusing to allow them access.

She would not cry.

Not ever in front of people. No one would ever see how much she ached with loneliness. With fear of it.

Just as she was about to stand, the earl crouched, making a show of petting Angus, but Lily had the sudden impression that he had assumed the position to be able to look directly into her eyes. “It’s none of their business, you know. Society’s.”

She laughed at the words, so honest and so thoroughly irrelevant. “I don’t think Society would agree with you, my lord. Indeed, I think they would say it’s very much their business. Very much yours as well, considering this afternoon.”

One side of his mouth rose in a small, knowing smile. “I am nearly forty years old, Miss Hargrove, and I am on the hunt for a wife with a fortune. I know about mistakes.”

She believed him, but still. “It’s easier for you to live with yours, Lord Stanhope.” She gently emphasized his title to prove her point.

He tilted his head. “Perhaps for Society. But I must look at myself in the mirror just as you do.”

She watched him for a long moment, then said, “You should not court me, my lord.”

One of the Talbot sisters gasped her surprise as Stanhope raised a brow. “And if I wish to?”

Lily shook her head. “London practically brims with pristine, good-natured heiresses. You’re too kind to settle for such an utter scandal.”

He waited a long moment and said, “Too kind? Or too English?”

“I told you!” Sesily blurted out, turning to her sisters with a triumphant smile before looking to the earl. “You saw it, too!”

Lord Stanhope stood, offering Sesily a wide smile. “One would have to be blind not to see it.”

A thread of unease coursed through her, her hand stilling mid-stroke on Hardy’s large, grey head as she looked from one to the other. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“And did you see the look on his face when he saved her?” Seleste interjected with a sigh. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone so obviously out of his mind with emotion.”

Seline smirked. “I was so distracted by it that I entirely forgot to see what he was wearing beneath his skirts.”

Sesily pointed to her sister. “Oh, bollocks. I did, as well.” Lord Stanhope coughed. “Apologies, my lord. But, curiosity and all that.”

Stanhope’s brows rose. “Naturally.”

Lily was stuck on the tale of Alec’s concern. Her brow furrowed. “What nonsense. He left me. With you lot.” She paused. “No offense.”

“None taken,” the quartet said in unison.

Breathe, mo chridhe. She didn’t understand the words, but she’d heard the concern in them, even the promise in them. That he was with her. That he would take care of her. That she was not alone.

And then he’d left her.

“Not that I care he left me,” Lily said, feeling as though she needed to underscore the point.

“Of course not,” Stanhope said, and she had the distinct impression that, though he’d said the gentlemanly thing, he did not believe her.

Sesily was decidedly less gentlemanly, instead cutting Lily a disbelieving look. “Please. When Warnick disappeared, you looked as crestfallen as a babe without her sweets.”

Lily stood at that, irrationally irritated. “Nonsense,” she repeated again. “He doesn’t give a whit about me. He only wants me married so he can return to his life in Scotland. He doesn’t even care to whom.” She turned to the earl. “No offense, my lord.”

Stanhope smirked. “None taken.”

Lily nodded. “I only agreed to the ruddy plan because of the ruddy painting. It’s going to be revealed, and my ruin will be final, and Alec won’t give me the funds to leave because he’s convinced I must be married. That I wish to be married.”

“Do you?” Sesily asked. “Wish to be married?”

Yes. But to another.

“No. Not like this.” She looked to the earl. “Again, no offense, my lord.”

Stanhope grinned, seeming to be enjoying himself immensely. “Again, none taken.”

The afternoon had apparently unlocked Lily, and she could not stop speaking her thoughts aloud. “The point is, I don’t wish to saddle some nice man with a betrothal that will end in disgrace, or to . . .” She paused. “Or to . . .”

She stopped, mind whirling.

“Or to?” Sesily prodded.

The solution crystallized.

She looked to Sesily, then to Stanhope. “I must go.”

That evening, Lily did not attend supper at Dog House.

Alec arrived on time and took his place at the head of the table, waiting for minutes that stretched into half an hour. As the time passed, he prepared himself for the confrontation that was sure to come—the explanation of his deserting her in the center of Hyde Park in the wake of her peril, all of London looking on. Of what he’d been thinking.

The truth was, he’d been thinking of nothing but chasing down the imbecile who’d entered Hyde Park on a horse he could not control. The moment Alec had made certain that Lily was alive, breathing, and would be well, he’d headed for the nearest horse, pulled some pompous aristocrat down, and, with barely a word, headed off in the direction of the runaway steed, leaving the baron he’d upended sputtering in anger.

It hadn’t made him feel any better about the situation, which had sent his heart straight to his throat as he’d watched the horse bear down upon her, running at full tilt, desperate to get to her and terrified that he might not reach her in time. And then he’d had her in his arms and it hadn’t mattered where they were or who was watching; all he’d cared was that she was safe.

He’d loathed the panic in her eyes when she’d struggled to regain her breath, he’d wanted to chase it away, and then do serious damage to the man who’d been responsible for it.

He’d caught up with the rider—a young man barely out of school who was as frightened as he was unskilled, even before Alec arrived to frighten him more. When he’d returned to find Lily, she’d been gone, returned home by the ladies Talbot, he’d been told when he burst through the front door of the Dog House. Returned, along with both hounds.

Angus had been there to meet him, but Hardy, the four-legged traitor, had obviously cloistered himself with Lily.

Alec had assumed he’d be reunited with his missing housemates at the evening meal, but as thirty minutes had turned into forty-five and then a full hour, he’d realized that, once again, Lillian Hargrove had left him alone for a meal.

If he wished to speak to her, he was going to have to go looking for her.

Also, to retrieve his errant hound.

Exiting the dining room, Angus on his heels, he nearly ran down the aging, curious housekeeper.

“Your Grace!” she announced, as though she hadn’t been loitering in the hallway beyond, no doubt wondering what he was doing, alone, in the dining room.

He had no patience for pleasantries. “Where is she?”

Mrs. Thrushwill’s eyes went wide. “Your Grace?”

He looked to the ceiling and begged for patience. “Miss Hargrove. Where is she?”

“She asked for a tray earlier this evening. I think she is ill.”

Was she hurt?

It was possible that she’d been hurt more than he thought. She might have cracked a rib. Or struck her head when he’d pulled her to the ground. He took a large step toward the housekeeper, until he was close enough to tower over her. “Did she call for a doctor?”

The housekeeper shook her head. “No, my lord.”

Shit.

He was already on the way to her. “Call a damn doctor.”

He headed to the upper floor that housed the bedchambers, immediately bypassing the larger rooms for the smaller ones, reserved for guest use. He opened several doors before Hardy came from around a corner and stopped short with a little bark.

Alec looked to the dog. “Where is she?”

As if he understood, Hardy turned tail and disappeared around the corner once more. When Alec followed, he found the dog standing at attention, face to a mahogany door, tail wagging and sighing little, urgent cries.

“Good boy.” Alec pet him absently. “I’ll deal with you later. We’re going to discuss your shifting loyalty.”

But first, he set his hand to the door handle and turned.

Inside, the room was pitch black.

“Lily?” he said, moving quickly toward the bed, heart pounding. It was early and she was already dead asleep—perhaps she was hurt.

Or worse.

He said her name again in the darkness, concern flooding him. “Lily.”

No answer. No movement from the bed.

He fumbled for a flint on the table and felt to reach the candlestick there, dropping the little box from his hand as the flame burst into being, and turning to the bed.

Lily wasn’t there.

Neither were the bedsheets.

That was when he noticed the open window, and the string of sheets running over the sill and across the floor to the leg of the oak bed.

She had escaped.

Absconded in the night.

If, of course, she’d made it the three stories without killing herself in the process. He rushed to the window and leaned out into the dark garden beyond, looking down to the ground with no small amount of terror that he’d find her broken body below.

All he found was a dangling rope of bedclothes, swaying in the wind.

Cursing, he surveyed the rest of the grounds, hoping to find that she was practicing some kind of military maneuver instead of actually escaping Dog House in the dead of night to go God knew where with God knew whom.

The thought gave him pause.

Had she enjoyed Stanhope’s company so much that she’d decided to leave?

Was it possible they were eloping?

It was preposterous, of course. Alec wanted her married. He wouldn’t withhold his consent. But still, he couldn’t stop himself from conjuring the image of the largely nefarious things she and the perfect aristocrat might do once absconded into the night.

If Stanhope kissed her, Alec would remove teeth.

And that’s when he saw her.

The back of her, barely there in the darkness, scaling the garden wall as though she’d been stone climbing for all her life.

In men’s clothing.

“Where is she going?” he said aloud to the dark and still and dogs.

None of the trio answered, not even when Alec tested the strength of her handmade rope and, without hesitation, followed her into the night.

He was down the surprisingly well-constructed rope, across the garden, and over the wall in three minutes—quickly enough for him to see her, hair tucked up into a men’s cap and breeches revealing far more than they should, duck into a nearby alley.

He nearly got her.

But as he came out on the far end of the pathway, it was to find the door to a hack a dozen yards away closing with a perfunctory click. He’d missed her by seconds.

Turning, he hailed a hack of his own, climbing up onto the block with the driver instead of into the carriage behind.

“Oy! Don’ care who y’are, sir. Ya ride in the carriage.”

Alec ignored the words. “Follow that hack.”

The driver was not green, thankfully, and he snapped the reins without hesitation, even as he said, “Followin’ costs ya double.”

“I’ll pay you triple. But don’t you dare lose them.”

He would not lose her. He would keep her safe if it killed him.

The driver continued with renewed vigor, trailing Lily’s hack as they wove through Mayfair, south and east, the streets becoming narrower and grittier.

Where in hell was she headed?

Stanhope held a venerable title, with an ancient row house in Mayfair. He was also a gentleman. There was no way he would have summoned Lily in this direction on her own.

Perhaps she wasn’t on her own.

Perhaps he was inside the carriage with her, doing God knew what.

Alec knew, as well. Knew the feel of her. The taste of her. Remembered every moment he’d spent with her in his own carriage two nights before.

If Stanhope was doing anything like that, he’d murder him.

He growled aloud at the thought, knowing he had no right to think it.

This carriage was far too slow. “Give me the reins.”

The driver shot him a look. “No, sir.”

“I’ll pay you five times what you’re asking.”

“I’m not lettin’ you drive, mi’lord.”

“Fifty pounds.” The reins went slack. The horses slowed. Madness threatened. “I’ll give you fifty pounds if you let me drive.”

It was enough to buy another gig. A nicer one than this hack.

“Who are we followin’?” The coachman asked in shock.

Alec took the reins and with a mighty, “Hyah!” they were off, the horses seeming to understand that they were driven by a man with power, skill, and a desperate desire.

They careened through the streets, wheels rattling on the cobblestones, cool wind on Alec’s face, easing the frustration that had lurked—grown—since he arrived in London days earlier. He wanted a race. He wanted his curricle and matched horses and the wild roads of Scotland in the dead of night, terrifying and freeing and his alone.

Instead, he had the tight turns of London, chasing after a woman he wanted more than anything to keep safe.

He loathed London.

“Who are we followin’?” The coachman shouted above the clatter of wheels, clutching the driving box in panic.

Alec flicked the reins again. “No one important.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” the man asked with a laugh, “but fifty quid ain’t no one important.”

Alec ignored the words. Of course she was important.

She was slowly becoming everything.

The coach crossed into Soho, storefronts suddenly ablaze with lights, prostitutes and their clients spilling onto the streets, pubs and gaming hells tempting passersby.

“Where the hell is she going?” he said as he tempered the horses, his frustration threatening once more.

“Looks like Covent Garden, if I ’ad to say, sir.”

And, like that, he knew what she was doing.

It wasn’t Stanhope she was going after. It was Hawkins.

Derek made me feel loved.

The memory of her story, of the way the pompous ass had manipulated her with his pretty promises, sent a thread of rage through him. The rage was followed by fear, which came with a second, possibly worse memory. A memory of Hawkins offering to take her to mistress. Of Alec leaning over the pompous git in the dimly lit back room at Eversley House, looking over his shoulder at a wide-eyed Lily and asking her if she wanted him.

No.

She’d said the word, but Alec hadn’t believed her. He’d heard the doubt in it. The uncertainty. He’d asked her to say it again.

Pushed her to do it.

She had, but perhaps she hadn’t meant it. Perhaps she did want him. Why else would she be here at—

“They’ve stopped, m’lord.”

He pulled up on the reins, gaze focusing on the carriage several dozen yards ahead in front of a nondescript row house tucked behind Bow Street. The door to the hack opened and Lily descended in her ridiculous outfit—trousers and shirt that billowed around her, clearly lifted from a wardrobe belonging to a much larger man—hat pulled low over her eyes, hair tucked up beneath.

She tossed a coin up to the driver and the hack moved, heading quickly out of sight in search of a new fare. She hadn’t asked him to wait. Which meant she was planning for a long stay.

Did she not think she would be missed at home?

Home.

The word unsettled him. It wasn’t as though the damn Dog House was his home. It certainly didn’t feel anything like his home in Scotland. And somehow, he wanted Lily to feel it was home. He wanted her to feel safe there. To believe that there was something good there for her.

Something a damn sight better than whatever was inside the building she was skulking around.

He passed the driver an exorbitant amount of coin. “The rest when I return. Wait for me.”

The driver did not hesitate, leaning back on the block and tipping the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Alec was in the shadows within seconds, moving toward her as she paused outside the door and extracted something from her pocket. A key? She had a key to this place, quiet and dark and close enough to the Hawkins Theater for Alec to be certain of what was inside. Of who was inside.

She slipped through the door, letting it swing shut behind her. The lock clicked as he drew close, and he cursed in the darkness.

He was going to have to break in.