Page 14 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
Inspector Herrin turned. “Bloody hell,” he uttered beneath his breath. He’d spied her viewing the unfolding chaos. He scowled. “For God’s sake, get the woman away from here. This is not a fit sight for a lady’s eyes.”
She looked past him. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Where was Mr. MacLain? He had accompanied her to the station house. Surely he had not been injured. Or worse.
Despite the detective’s order, she edged closer to the cell. A towering patrolman stepped in front of her, blocking the scene.
From behind, a firm hand closed over her upper arm. She startled at the unexpected touch.
“Come with me, lass.”
Mr. MacLain’s husky rasp sent relief coursing through her. She whipped around to face him. Lines of tension etched his mouth and brow.
“All hell has broken loose,” he said, settling a hand on her elbow. “This is no place for a lady.”
Escorting her back to the detective’s office, MacLain ushered her inside and closed the door. He led her to a chair, his tone grim. “The man who attacked you—did he have another weapon? Did he have a knife?”
“I don’t know.” She searched her mind. “I saw only the revolver.”
Rubbing the back of his neck as though it ached, he stared at the floor.
Apprehension surged through her. “Tell me... tell me what’s happened.”
“The bastard who attacked ye is dead.”
“Dead?” she replied, her words dulled by shock.
He walked to the window and looked out into the darkness. “Aye. And by his own hand.”
Chapter Five
Debating how muchto tell her of what he’d witnessed, Logan turned away from Amelia. For the span of several breaths, he stared into the night, focusing on the sliver of moon against the stark blackness of the sky. In his life, he had seen violence. He had seen death.
By hellfire, he’d never encountered a more vile sight than what he had seen in that holding cell. The bastard who’d come after Amelia Stewart had died a violent death. Brutal. Bloody. Vicious.
God almighty.
He had watched as a detective retrieved a folding knife lying on the floor, inches from the man’s right hand. How had her assailant smuggled a blade into the jail? Surely the guards had searched him. They would not have made such a careless error.
Had the cur actually taken his own life?
Or had he been silenced?
Turning back to her, Logan caught Amelia’s hands in his. Her rounded face had gone pale, her mouth thinned to a taut seam. Was that fear in her sapphire eyes?
Damn the jackals who’d set this scheme against her into motion. If anyone tried to hurt her, they would pay a steep price. He’d see to that.
He drew his thumb over the back of her hand. Her skin was soft, smooth as satin. So very different from his. At his touch, her fingers trembled against him. If she’d been taken aback by hisbold move, she did not show it. A current of awareness flowed between them.
Had she sensed the connection?
Her gaze softly questioning, the tension in her mouth eased. “You say he died by his own hand. Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t have the answer, lass. But I know this much: I’ll be damned if I am leaving ye to spend this night alone.”
Her eyes widened. With a slight lift of her chin, she slipped her hands from his grasp. “I have no need for a bodyguard. I am a librarian. Not a damsel in distress.”
“And I’m not blasted Prince Charming, out to slay some fairy tale monster. But as long as ye’re still in danger, I’ll take no chances with yer safety.”
Lacing her fingers as if to steady them, she pulled in a low breath. “The man who attacked me is lying dead in that cell.”
