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Hartley gasped for breath.

I strode forward. Hips swinging. Tits proud. “Don’t hurt him yet,” I said.

Yves held him for a second longer before he drove Hartley face down on the card table and wrenched both arms behind his back. He captured his wrists in one hand, and with the other, he tore the medallion from Hartley’s neck. The amulet hit the ground beside his overturned chair.

I walked around the table until Hartley could see me. His cheek was mashed against the wood. I bracketed his face with my hands and leaned down. “What’s wrong? Night not going as you planned? Where’s all your magickal friends now?”

Hartley strained his neck to look down my dress. “If you’re going to kill me, I would like to request that you get it over with now. Preferably by smothering me with those puppies.”

Yves slammed his head against the table.

Hartley groaned. “It was just a request, Your Grace.” He let out a choked sound. “Did you tell him about us? Is that what this is about?”

“There was no us,” I insisted. “You were a drunk with a disappointing dick and a connection that somehow managed to be even more disappointing. I left without a sale and with a target on my back.”

“Like I said, Red. If you’re gonna kill me, just get it over with.”

A humorless chuckle slipped from between my lips. “Oh, you aren’t going to get off that easy, friend,” I said, moving pieces of hair from his eyes so he could see just how little patience I had left. “Tell me why you were at Widow Martell’s that night.”

“Cheap liquor. Women. Music. Should I keep going, or is that good enough?”

I smashed my fist on the table. “Did someone tell you to look for me?”

Hartley tested Yves’s hold, but his wrists did not move. His gaze slid to the medallion lying beside the overturned chair.

Yves kicked it against the fireworks crate. “Answer her.”

“No one told me to do anything,” he insisted.

“He’s lying,” Yves said.

Hartley turned enough to look at Yves. “You don’t need to be angry at me for what happened that night. She was calling out your name, Your Grace. Tell him, Red.”

I pressed my lips together. Why were men such animals? “I asked if anyone told you to look for me at Widow Martell’s.”

Yves leaned harder on him. Finally, Hartley said, “I might’ve received a letter.”

A letter. I gritted my teeth. “From who? Lou?”

“No,” Hartley answered quickly.

Yves gave a slight nod. “Truth.”

“What did it say?” I demanded. When Hartley hesitated, I put the tip of my wand between his eyes. “Do not make me ask twice.”

“It described you,” he answered quickly. “Red hair. Black dress. White raven. Told me to buy you a drink. Gain your trust.”

Coldness spread beneath my skin. Whoever wrote the letter had known about Della. “Who sent it?”

“They never signed their name.”

I let out an annoyed breath. “Don’t play dumb. If you’re running jobs, then you know their name.”

“They send money and orders. I like to keep things simple.”

I tried to release some of the anger coiling inside my body by blowing out a breath. “So a woman didn’t tell you to follow me? A woman with red hair.” I swallowed hard. “Who also happens to be a ghost.”

Hartley pushed his brows together. “Ghost? There was no ghost.”