Page 95 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
A shiver washed over Amelia despite the heat of the fire. “Do as I say. Or I will destroy the sketch.”
An ugly smile pulled his mouth taut. “Perhaps I should thank you. It occurs to me that if you destroy that little drawing, you will eliminate the evidence which ties me to several crimes.”
“You’re bluffing.” Amelia met his cold-eyed smirk. “It is worth a fortune.”
“In any venture, one must be prepared to make sacrifices.” Mansfield raised the gun and leveled it at Amelia. “I have no intention of going to prison. Or worse.”
Fear and shock crashed over her. Her desperate gambit had not succeeded.
And now, the women would join her in paying the horrible price.
A sudden sound—a violent splintering of wood—tore Amelia from her terror. My God, what was happening?
The door crashed open.
Mansfield whipped around. He leveled his weapon at the man who’d charged through the door.
At Logan.
“No!” Amelia screamed.
Desperation surged through her. No time to think. No time to reason. Driven by instinctive fury, she grabbed her gun. Took aim. Pulled the trigger.
Too late.As she shuddered against the gun’s recoil, Mansfield’s shot roared against her ears.
Logan jerked against the violent impact. He staggered back. A look of shock filled his eyes. Amelia heard herself cry out. It felt as though she were a witness to her own terror.
The pain of Mansfield’s fingers digging into her arm shattered her horrified daze. “You little witch.” Gritting out the words between his teeth, he shoved her to the floor.
She landed hard on the wood planks. Shockwaves rippled through her body, even as her gaze darted to Logan, desperate to reassure herself that he’d survived.
Mansfield stood over her, a crimson stain spreading over his upper chest. He stared down at her, his actions deliberate. Cruel. His finger rested on the trigger of the gun aimed at her heart.
Her pulse pounding wildly, she searched for Logan. He was on his feet.Still alive. Thank heaven!Mansfield’s shot had not taken him down. If she was going to die, she would take comfort in this final image of him.
But now, she had hope.
His hand closed around the revolver holstered at his hip. Cold fury flashed in his gaze.
He drew. With a sure aim, he fired.
Mansfield’s body shuddered violently. His gaze shot to Logan. Fixed on the gun he held in a steady grip.
Struggling to stand, Mansfield took a step back. Then another. He stared wild-eyed at Logan. The man he’d thought he had killed was still very much alive. And still very dangerous.
“Bloody hell.” The cur’s voice was like a low growl.
“Throw down your weapon.” Logan’s command was softly spoken but clad in iron.
His features contorted in pain, Mansfield dropped his gaze to the crimson stain seeping onto his coat. He lifted his pistol in quivering hands. “You will not win, MacLain.”
“Put down the gun,” Logan commanded. “You don’t have to die. Not this way.”
Mansfield slowly shook his head. He leveled his weapon at Logan. “I will destroy—”
Logan fired.
His aim was true.
