Chapter Four
A peculiar calm fell over Amelia as she retrieved the intruder’s gun from the spot where it had fallen from his grip. The weapon felt heavy, strangely so. If Logan MacLain had not arrived when he did, everything would have turned out quite differently. The brute who now lay unconscious on the floor might have used the weapon to kill Heathy. A sickening wave of fear washed over her. God only knew what the cruel heathen would have done after that. Likely, he’d have turned the gun on her. She may have died without even knowing why the intruder had come after her.
Pulling in long, steadying breaths, she shored up her courage as best she could. Despite the rapid cadence of her breathing, her hands remained steady as she held the revolver. Rather a miracle, that.
She studied MacLain beneath the veil of her lashes. He’d charged in, ready to play her champion. And in the very nick of time.
She should be grateful. After all, he had likely saved her life.
Pity his well-timed arrival was rather too convenient.
Seeming to sense her apprehension, Heathy stayed by her side. The dog’s attention fixed on her defender with an unwavering stare.
MacLain cast the pup a narrow-eyed glance. “Bloody protective little beast, isn’t he?”
“Heathy doesn’t know if you are a hero or a villain. Truth be told, neither do I.”
“Ye’ll figure it out soon enough.” He went to the window and calmly removed the braided tiebacks from the curtains. “Ye know this man?”
“I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
Turning from the window, MacLain crouched down to secure the attacker’s arms behind his back. He fastened the makeshift bindings with swift, efficient movements. “Not a callus on his hands. He’s not a common ruffian. But ye already knew that, didn’t ye?”
“I had worked that part out.”
“I’ve seen this man lingering about the pub, deep in his cups. Goes by Jack.” MacLain glanced up, meeting her eyes. “So tell me, lass. Why in hell did he come after ye?”
“I don’t know.” The words seemed not quite truth, not quite a lie. But she couldn’t tell MacLain what the intruder had demanded of her. The very notion of a precious gem concealed somewhere within her library was madness. Even so, she couldn’t chance putting ideas in anyone’s head about hidden treasure.
He looped a curtain tie around the intruder’s legs. “Ye think I’m fool enough to believe that, do ye?”
“Perhaps it’s you who could shed some light on the man’s motives,” she countered. “After all, you confess to at least a passing acquaintance.”
MacLain shrugged. “Most nights, he speaks only a few words, and those are to the barkeep. He keeps whisky flowing down his gullet.”
“Yet tonight, you knew to follow him here.”
“Now that’s where ye’re wrong.” A dark expression fell over his features. “I didn’t know the bastard was here until I heard ye scream.”
“Just in time for you to charge to the rescue.”
“But not to a hero’s welcome, I see.”
“I do appreciate your help.” She weighed her next words carefully. “Provided, of course, this was not a planned performance.”
“Performance?” He fastened the binding into a stout knot around the intruder’s ankles. “What in Hades are ye trying to say?”
She pointed to the door. “I cannot help but wonder how you gained entry. As you can see, the bolt is still in place.”
“Aye, that it is.”
“Yet you did not break it down.”
“Only a fool would go to such trouble.” Rising to his full height, he threw her attacker a look of contempt. “I gained entry the same way he did—through the alley.”
“A door that was also secured,” she countered.
“The puny lock on that rotted hunk of wood was no match for his pry bar.” MacLain eyed the weapon in her hand. “Now, I’ll ask ye to set that gun down before ye blow off one of my toes.”
“I would not waste a perfectly good bullet on your toe. I am quite a good shot.”
“Are ye now?”
“My aim is true to twenty paces.”
“Good to know.” The corners of his full mouth lifted, the merest hint of a smile. “Between yer dog eyeing my leg like a tasty bone and that gun ye’re gripping for dear life, I’m starting to take issue with the welcome I’ve received. I am not used to playing the noble knight. Matter of fact, I’m of a mind that I’d have been better off if I had stayed at the pub and poured myself another draught of whisky.”
“Until now, I had no need of a knight, noble or otherwise.” Squaring her shoulders, she met his arrogant gaze. “Odd that the situation arose only after I’d laid eyes on you.”
“If ye do not trust me, see for yerself,” MacLain said as the trussed-up man on the floor began to stir. “Look at the back door. Then you can summon the authorities. Unless you’d prefer to keep this bloke here on your rug. In the morning, the ladies who frequent this place could step over him.”
“Very well. Please, lead the way.” She turned to whistle softly to her dog. “Come along, Heathy. I might be in need of your services.”
She followed MacLain past the rows of shelves to a dimly lit hallway. She lit a gas lamp on the wall.
“Ye see how the latch is dangling off the frame?” he said as they approached the door that opened to the alley. “He forced the lock.”
Amelia spotted a small iron rod stowed nearby, not quite out of sight. “He left his pry bar here, on this shelf.” She sighed. “But when could he have done this? Surely someone in the library would’ve noticed.”
“From the looks of it, he knew what he was doing. He’d be quick.”
Had the chatter of her patrons’ conversation and the ordinary sounds of the crowded, shop-lined street obscured the noise? “You may be right.”
“The coward put some thought into this. He knew when to show himself.” Mr. MacLain leaned closer, studying her in the hazy light. His eyes narrowed. “He left a mark on ye—on yer cheek.”
“I am not injured. Not truly.”
“He hurt ye.” MacLain’s jaw set in a hardened line. “I should have killed him.”
A look of pure protectiveness flashed over his features. Suddenly, the weapon in her hand felt heavy. Unneeded.
“I had a fright. Nothing more serious than that.”
Boldly, he brushed the pad of his thumb against the curve of her face, his touch infinitely more gentle than the intruder’s rough hold. “He’ll pay for what he did to ye. I will see to that.”
“The authorities will see justice done,” she said, asserting a confidence she didn’t entirely feel.
Lamplight danced over the chiseled planes of his face, highlighting the dark growth of new beard shadowing his cheeks. Slowly, he shook his head. “I would not count on that.”
“Nothing about this makes sense.” She took a step back, then another, putting a bit of much-needed distance between her and this man who was still in truth a stranger to her. “From the moment you first spoke to me, the world feels as if it’s somehow shifted.”
“I sense it, too.” His eyes seemed to drink her in. “Yer brother knew this day would come. That’s why he sent for me. Now, I need yer trust.”
*
Seated on an intensely uncomfortable spindle chair in the spartan office of a weary-eyed police detective, Amelia glanced at the clock. She allowed herself a small sigh. In the hours that had passed since Mr. MacLain had subdued the violent intruder, she had explained what transpired in the library that evening to a series of constables. Now, after arriving at the station in a hansom cab Logan MacLain had summoned, she watched as a detective scribbled a few words of her statement onto paper.
Looking up, Inspector Herrin brushed a few strands of salt-and-pepper hair off his brow. “You believe the man in custody intended to rob you?”
“I’d say so. His actions and threats certainly showed as much.”
The detective tapped the nib of his fountain pen against the pad. “The establishment is a free lending library. Do you keep substantial sums on hand?”
She shook her head. “I do not require payment for the use of the collection, but many of my patrons offer a small donation from time to time. Those funds are promptly deposited into the proper account.”
“So, you have books. But little money. Is anything of value stored in the place?” The questions in his eyes spoke louder than his words.
“Nothing I’d think would have much worth to a thief. There is one thing you should know.” She swallowed against a nervous lump in her throat. “The man insisted I had something he wanted. A jewel, of all things.”
Inspector Herrin’s attention lit on the garnet pin at her collar. “He attempted to steal your brooch?”
“I don’t believe so.” She touched a fingertip to the elegant piece that had once belonged to her grandmother. “He made no attempt to take it. He was after a far more valuable gem... a diamond.”
The creases in the detective’s forehead deepened. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “You are quite sure his intent was not... an assault on your person?”
She rubbed her temples with her fingers, as if the gentle touch might soothe the dull throbs in her head. “I cannot be sure of his intentions. But I know what he said. He demanded that I tell him where a diamond had been hidden, a jewel I most certainly do not possess.”
Inspector Herrin looked down at his notes. “At this point, he has refused to answer any questions. Not so much as his name. Mrs. Stewart, do you have any idea—”
From the corridor beyond the detective’s office, a man’s horrified shouts penetrated the closed door. “Good God!”
Heavy footsteps and epithets followed. Inspector Herrin leapt to his feet. “Mrs. Stewart—stay here.”
Rushing from the room, he slammed the door shut behind him.
Her pulse raced.
What was happening?
Had her attacker escaped?
Amelia ran to the door and cracked it open. Cautiously stepping into the corridor, she spotted uniformed patrolmen crowded around an open cell.
Inspector Herrin barked an order. “I need a physician! Now!” He looked pale. Drawn. Was that blood on his hands?
An older man, more world-weary in his expression, trailed the detective out of the cell. “It’s too late for that.”
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.”