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daunting task, but Sally did not know that.
    At Mr. Lloyd loudly clearing his throat, Whitney quickly refocused and gestured to the chair. “Please, have a seat.” She needed to find out what duplicitous plan Sally had come up with now, put a screeching stop to it and send Mr. Lloyd on his way. “I’m afraid I’m confused as to why you’re here.”
    Mr. Lloyd settled onto the dark leather chair, then glanced at her. “For your services, of course. I had nowhere to turn to, for fear of the
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finding out, and then several days ago I ran into Her Grace, and I knew I could trust her. I wish I’d thought of her sooner. She was always a dear friend to my Lillian.”
    “Was?” Whitney repeated, not liking the use of the past tense, as if Lillian was no longer around. Her skin prickled with the sensation that something was terribly wrong. Lil was the only person who knew about the threats against Drake, and Lil was the only person Whitney had kept a secret correspondence with, other than the money that had arrived every now and then from Sally. Whitney owed Lil a great deal, and for more than just the link she provided to a past that was forever lost.
    “She’s disappeared, near a week ago now.” Mr. Lloyd’s deep voice wobbled with the admission.
    “Oh, my God,” Whitney cried out, before she could stop her reaction. She raised her fist to her mouth and coughed furiously to draw attention away from her blurted response, but Mr. Lloyd didn’t appear to notice her blunder. His troubled gaze looked through her, not at her.
    “Her Grace told me you were the best investigator in all of England.”
    Sweat dampened Whitney’s palms and back. She knew what he was about to ask by the searching expression in his eyes and the high note of desperation in his voice. Wildly, she glanced around the room for an escape, but there was simply no escaping her love for her oldest and dearest friend. I can’t take this case. I can’t. How can I not? It was hard to hold in her groan.
    “I’m desperate to find my daughter,” the man said brokenly.
    Whitney dropped into the seat opposite Mr. Lloyd, her head pounding with worry for what she was about to do. Involving herself with this case was dangerous and foolish. She would very likely have to go back to York, the very place she’d given her word never to return to. What if she crossed paths with Drake? Her heart fluttered in a strange, hopeful fear. She’d be disguised. Desperate people and their desperate needs . She could not turn away from helping find her best friend. “Do you have any clues?”
    Mr. Lloyd reached into his pocket and produced a small cream-colored card. “Just this.”
    Reaching out, she took the calling card and glanced at the words as she ran her fingers slowly over the small black lettering. The Sainted Order . Sweat trickled down her back. The name seemed somehow familiar.
    “Where did you get this?” She looked up, startled to realize just how aged Mr. Lloyd appeared. Last time she’d seen him, he was the robust picture of health. Now, bluish circles smudged the skin beneath his eyes, his hair appeared more gray than black, and lines of worry ran across his forehead in perfect parallels.
    He shook himself as if discarding a bad memory. “I found it in Lillian’s escritoire.”
    Whitney’s heart beat furiously against her ribs. “Perhaps it’s not hers or has nothing to do with her disappearance.”
    A long sigh came from Lillian’s father. “Turn it over,” he said simply.
    She flipped the card, her heart sinking. Lil’s flowery handwriting flowed across the back of the card.
Midnight, August 24, Lord Cadogan/Saint Lucifer
. It was just like Lillian to need to make herself a note of an appointment she had made. Lil would forget her birthday if not for her loved ones reminding her.
    Whitney swallowed hard, her tightening throat not wanting to work. “Is this date of significance?”
    “It’s the last day I saw her.”
    Whitney flinched