Fitzgerald's steel-grey eyes remained fixed on the screen for several long seconds, reading the draft that had nearly altered the course of everything. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his lips curved upward.
"It wasn't sent," he said at last, locking the screen before slipping the phone back into his pocket. "Rejoice, Miss Preston. Your game is still afoot."
Only then did Catherine realize how tightly she had been gripping the pistol. Relief flooded through her body so abruptly that her fingers loosened around the handle. The barrel lowered by several inches, though she did not holster it.
Even Fitzgerald was surprised. She had escaped disaster by nothing more than chance. One accidental tap, one second's difference, and Dorian Blackwood would already know Maximilian was alive.
Catherine's relief lasted only a heartbeat before another problem took its place.
Fitzgerald Rathbourne.
