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Colette bit her lip and narrowed her eyes, studying Grace carefully. “Maybe. Judging from your height and your voice…” She shrugged.

Grace picked up a tall, scarlet wig from the side table and lifted it in her hand. “That is why I am wearing this and disguising my speech.”

“He still knows the real you. He knows Grace, and he knows where you live.”

“And he knows nothing beyond that. He doesn’t even know that Grace owns the brothel. For all he knows, I am your friend trying to help you. Madame Tricheuse is the only one taking the risk, and she can disappear as easily as she appeared.”

“Unless he kills you,” Colette said with a shudder. “Or leads you to a dangerous path where you will be killed.”

“I’ve survived worse situations than this.” Grace turned back toward the mirror and settled the wig over her inky-black hair, which was collected in a bun. “And I’ve outwitted more cunning men than the thief-taker.”

“And he’s arrested more cunning women than you, I wager. The man is notorious!”

Grace smoothed the bright red locks of her wig and turned toward her friend with a smile. “So am I.” She patted Colette on the shoulder as she passed her on the way out the door. “Do not wait for my return.”

“Fie!” Colette snorted. Grace knew that Colette would not cease worrying until she returned home.

Grace reached the brothel just in time. She circled the building a couple of times to make certain there was no trap.

Two constables stood on each corner of the building, just like they had for the past three weeks. Nothing new there. The thief-taker stood by the main entrance, checking his pocket watch every couple of minutes.

Grace patted her side to make certain her dagger was still strapped to her waist before finally approaching the man.

The swish of her skirts must have alerted him to her presence, for he turned sharply before she had a chance to announce herself.

“It’s about time,” he muttered gruffly.

“A pleasure to see you too, Monsieur,” she murmured barely above a whisper.

His gaze briefly fell to her lips, then his frown returned, and he tipped his head toward the brothel.

“Shall we?”

Grace gave a little smile. “Absolutely.”

She pushed her cloak open, revealing her simple, dark-blue gown and a silver chatelaine attached to her waist. His gaze scanned the items hanging from it, studying them with unreserved curiosity.

Most of the items were quite innocent—a stack of keys that opened the doors to the brothel, her house, and a couple of safes. Then there was a letter opener that doubled as a weapon, a quill, an old medallion, and a… special ring. Her latest design.

Grace pursed her lips, wondering if he could decipher the intended purpose of the ring as she pulled out an ornate key and swiftly opened the door to the brothel.

Glancing over her shoulder, she ensured they were not being watched and ushered him inside. She secured the door behind them, leaving them for a full moment in complete darkness.

She felt, more than saw, Gunning reaching for his weapon. He was afraid of an ambush, she realized. Which meant he trusted her just as much as she trusted him.

“Do not fret, Monsieur Gunning,” Grace said softly. “I keep my word.”

He mumbled something under his breath while Grace stepped toward the carved-out opening in the wall and lit the three candles of the candelabra.

She picked up the candelabra and turned toward the thief-taker. “What would you like to see?”

He looked around the simple, bare room until his gaze settled on the door leading to the rest of the brothel. “I need to see all the ways someone can get into and out of the room that the dead man was found in, with and without being seen. And then I need a list of people who know each path.”

Easy. “There are only two paths into the room,” she said. “The one you used to enter the last time we met and—”

“The one you used to escape,” he finished for her.

“Oui.” She smiled widely, coquettishly, employing all her charm.