Page 92 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
“Sadly—for ye, that is—ye’re mistaken.” Mrs. Johnstone said calmly, even as her gaze darted from Mr. Smith and Mansfield, who was at that moment still rummaging through the unfortunate landlord’s inside pockets. “If ye stay quite still, perhaps I won’t have to pull this trigger again.”
Smith took another step toward her, then another. “I’ll make you pay—”
Another shot roared in Amelia’s ears. She felt herself gasp as Smith clutched his chest. The knife he’d brandished in his now-limp hand clattered to the floor.
Knees buckling, he collapsed. Staring at the ceiling, he murmured what sounded like a plea for help. And then, he went silent, his shark-like eyes still open, yet now without sight. Without life.
“That was rather unwise,” Mansfield said as he rose to his full height. Lightly tapping his walking stick against his palm, he regarded Mrs. Johnstone with an icy gaze. “Using both of your bullets on my associate... I do appreciate that you did not save one for me.”
“Amelia, leave now,” Mrs. Johnstone said, her voice steady with courage.
Mansfield shrugged. “She has no place to go. No place where I won’t find her.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.The rhythm of the walking stick against the wood punctuated his every step. “I must say, I’m rather impressed with you,” he said, coming closer to Mrs. Johnstonewith each movement. “I’d wager that if you had another weapon, you would have retrieved it by now.”
“Run, Amelia,” Mrs. Johnstone said, low and steady. “Leave!”
“Your concern for your friend is admirable.” Mansfield regarded Mrs. Johnstone with an icy contempt that contradicted his words. “But sadly misplaced.”
Quick as a snake, he whipped around, cane in hand. The stick crashed into Mrs. Johnstone’s head with a sickening thud. A heartbeat later, her eyes went wide, dazed with pain.
The gun tumbled to the floor.
Dear God! No!
“Amelia,” Mrs. Johnstone murmured. Her lids fluttered, not quite shut, while her knees buckled.
As she sank to the floor, Mansfield wiped a red streak from the walking stick.
Mrs. Johnstone’s blood.
Terrible understanding pulsed through Amelia. She felt Mansfield’s piercing stare cut through her as she darted to Mrs. Johnstone’s side. Seeing the rise and fall of the woman’s chest, relief coursed through her. Mrs. Johnstone still had breath. She was still alive.
“That was a very foolish thing to do.” Icy rage simmered in Mansfield’s gaze. He pulled Mrs. Langford to him, holding her in an iron grip, a pistol pressed to her jaw. “I would suggest you do not anger me. You will not like the result.”
“Run. Now, Amelia.” Mrs. Langford’s words were a mere whisper. “Please.”
“Don’t hurt her,” she pleaded.
“Do as I say, and no more blood will need to be shed.” Mansfield’s cruel eyes contradicted his words.
“Don’t listen... to the bastard,” Mrs. Langford choked out, even as he dug the barrel into the tender flesh beneath her chin. “Run!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Logan huddled arounda table in the tavern office with Murray, mapping out strategies to protect Amelia from further threats. The assailant who’d come after him with a knife was behind bars, but he’d refused to cooperate with the investigators. The bastard made no secret that he would take whatever fate awaited him at a judge’s hands over the retribution Hawk would mete out if he talked. At this point, the only thing Logan could be sure of was that the man had not acted on his own. Someone had sent the oaf on his foul task, someone who wanted to see Logan dead and Amelia at their mercy.
“Ye’ve been making yer way around town,” he said as Finn joined them. “Have ye turned up anything on the bastard who calls himself Hawk?”
“He might as well be a phantom.” Finn shoved a hand through his hair. “No one will speak of him. But I did hear something ye’re not going to like.”
“And what might that be?”
“There’s talk of a smug bloke looking to buy the building where Amelia has her library.”
“So I’ve heard,” Logan said. “An art dealer named Mansfield.”
Finn rocked back in his chair and stretched out his legs. “That’s not all he deals in.”
