Page 51 of Kidnapping of a Myth

Wendy stared at him, confused about how he heard her words when he’d been clear across the room, but Henry seized her waist and pulled her out onto the dancefloor before she could question it.

“You heard the man, Mrs. Night,” Henry said. “Let’s dance.”

“It’s still Darling,” Wendy giggled.

“I know, but I like the sound of it,” the groom said as they twirled through the crowd.

“What do you say, Detective?” Eamon dragged Bel against his chest. “May I have this dance?”

“You may, Mr. Stone, but I need the restroom first.”

“Good idea.” Eamon captured her hand and led her across the busy ballroom. He escorted her to the women’s room before leaving to find the men’s, and Bel was thankful her dress wasn’t restrictive. Some women looked as if they’d been stitched into their garments, but she exited the bathroom quickly, surprisingly beating Eamon. She decided to move to the end of the hall to wait, but she barely made it five feet before someone barreled into her, nearly knocking her off her stilettos.

“My apologies,” a silver fox of a man said, catching her before she fell to the carpet. “Please forgive my carelessness.”

“It’s fine,” Bel said. “No harm done.”

“Excellent. I’d hate if such a lovely creature was cross with me.” He flashed her a crocodile-wide smile, and Bel’s stomach dropped as she registered who still held her elbows in his grip. Dale Croke.

“No worries.” Bel returned the grin, hoping her casual demeanor would force him to release her arm, but his pearly white smile only widened, as if he was wondering the best way to devour her.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced,” he said. “I would’ve remembered someone as beautiful as you. I’m Dale Croke, and I do hope you are at this wedding absent a date. I would love to request this next dance.”

“Detective Isobel Emerson,” Bel said, watching him carefully to see if her name triggered a response, and to her satisfaction, his grip on her elbows loosened.

“Ah, Detective Emerson.” His crocodile smile turned plastic. “I had no idea a homicide detective could be this lovely. Surely, you’re in the wrong profession. Your beauty deserves to be displayed. Dance with me?” He extended his hand in an invitation. “On my arm, everyone will see you.”

Tick Tock.

Bel froze at the sound. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but now that his wrist hovered expectantly before her, it was all she heard.

Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

His gold-plated wristwatch was a gaudy affair, but it was the ticking that ignited her flight response. Wendy was wary of this man. Was his extravagant watch why The Tinker obsessively spoke in riddles? Had he sat across from Dale Croke, listening to the loud click of his timepiece, and internalized it as his own? Or was Bel so obsessed with finding Hook that she was seeing clues in all the wrong places?

“I’m here with someone.” She stepped backward to drive home her point.

“Surely he won’t mind me stealing you for one dance?” Dale said, and she ground her teeth at his arrogance.

“He would,” a deep menace sounded, and Bel almost groaned out loud in relief. Eamon’s chest hit her back a second later, and immense satisfaction rushed through her at how Dale’s perfect smile faltered at the sheer size of her date.

“She promised me this dance.” Eamon stepped out from behind her and gripped her hand, pulling her away from the flustered board member. “Have a good night.”

“Do you know who that is?” she asked once they were out of earshot.

“I do.”

“Did you hear his watch?”

“I did.”

“Was it just me, or did it sound exactly like Pann’s words?”

“Tick Tock,” Eamon said, and Bel threw a glance over her shoulder, but the man was gone. Wendy was worried that she’d welcomed the killer to her wedding with open arms. Were her suspicions right? Was that ticking wristwatch their missing puzzle piece?

“I see your brain working,” Eamon said as he pulled her onto the dance floor. “The FBI found nothing on Dale Croke.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s innocent. I bet if they looked into you, they would find very little.”

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