Dark eyes narrowed, at first. Then, he closed his eyes and drew a breath through a sigh. Wordlessly, he drew a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it out to her.

Zechariah, it turned out, was an attentive listener. Carringtons, murder, that senseless case of a man Chris seemed to have both hated and burned for (Zechariah knew the feeling, but yechh! Chris’ tastes). Each tidbit he filed away, patting himself down for a second handkerchief as the tears rained on.

Her hand on his … Zechariah ran calculations. Undefined: a “few” months. He looked at her stomach again – still some time, he presumed. That, or ill-nourished.

The Diamond Pony was the biggest brothel in town. He had learned that belatedly. There was nothing illegal, per se, about a brothel … but nor was it something to brag about owning as a respectable man. So, too, were fallen women: did he bring her home and look like a man who fell for a girl who required regular transactions? Between he and Uriel, the whole damned country would think all it took was a pretty face.

This Sonia was also pregnant. Vulnerable. Vulnerable in more than one sense of the word.

“We have time to figure this out, Sonia.” He clasped her hand in his. “Where are you staying as of now?”