Page 101 of While You Were Spying

Without warning, the plank above her head toppled, sending one of the barrels it rested on rolling. Ethan reached down, his hand groping blindly, and, without thinking, Francesca thrust her body away from her attacker and the gun he held. A second later, the pistol went off. The bright flash of the gunpowder lit the room like fireworks at Vauxhall. In that second, Francesca saw Ethan lunge for her attacker. She dove for the door and Selbourne.

Then everything was madness. She was screaming, one of the men was shouting, and somewhere a dog barked.

“What the hell—” Selbourne’s arms wound around her and pulled her from the floor. He heaved her through the door of the tack room and away from the sounds of the mêlée erupting inside.

“He has a pistol,” she warned Selbourne unnecessarily.

His hands were still on her shoulders, and he stared down at her, then glanced at the tack house.

She made the decision for him. “I’m fine. Go!”

Selbourne paused for the briefest of moments, eyes flying over her as if to verify her claim, then he released her without a word and ran back. As he passed through the door, he drew his own pistol.

She stared after him, fighting to free her wrists from their bindings. She felt a surge of victory as they loosened, but then jumped at the sound of a crash and the noise of something breaking. Rising above the cacophony, she heard a high-pitched puppy yelp.

Lino!

“No!” she cried, too late. The puppy’s white coat was a blur as he flew up the stairs and into the tack room.

“Lino!” she screamed. The skin of her wrists burned, but she yanked the coarse rope free. “No! Come here, Lino!”

The puppy didn’t obey her, and soon she didn’t hear him barking. She didn’t hear anything.

Terror driving her, she raced back into the tack room then, startled, halted in the doorway. It was dark and empty. Her eyes scanned the room, and she saw that the back door had been thrown open and was hanging half off its hinges.

She rushed through it and into the yard just as Ethan and Selbourne stepped from the wood line behind the building.

“What happened?” She ran forward, ran to Ethan.

He caught her as she threw herself into his arms.

“Are you hurt?” she mumbled against his shoulder. He was warm. His body solid, familiar. She pressed her nose into his coat, smelling leather and sandalwood.

Ethan didn’t answer her, but he pulled her closer, the movement clumsy. She looked up as she realized he was holding her awkwardly and with only one arm.

She leapt back, inspecting him. “What’s wrong?” Her breath snagged and caught when she saw the ball of white fuzz in his other arm.

“Lino!” Her knees went weak, and Ethan had to support her for a moment. “Oh, my God! What happened?”

She snatched the puppy from Ethan’s arms, careful not to jolt his little body. Her hands moved as if independent of her will, feeling for injuries, checking for wetness, blood. Near his head, her fingers stilled on something warm and sticky.

Oh, dear Lord. Her legs began to collapse. Then the puppy whimpered, and that was all she needed.

Cradling Lino in her arms, she staggered toward her hospital. Lino was alive, injured but alive. She had to save him. If she could just save him, everything would be right again.

“Francesca!” She heard Ethan’s voice calling her but didn’t stop. Lino was all that mattered. She had to save him. Reaching the hospital, she held the dog tightly against her and pushed the door open.

The building was cold and dark. She hadn’t been there for a day or so, and though she knew Alfred or Nat had come to tend the bunny, the room seemed musty and abandoned. Setting the puppy down on her examining table, she felt for

the lamp she kept on the shelf with all her supplies. Her fingers brushed over it, and, hand shaking, she lit it after the third try. Its faint light set the room aglow.

“Francesca.”

She spun and saw Ethan in the doorway.

“I need this fire lit and material for extra bandages.” The words spilled out of her in a flood.

Selbourne appeared behind him.

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