Chapter Nineteen #2
Three of the men were already down, in an unconscious heap. Jackson had the fourth man around the neck, his arm flexing.
Anna’s heart froze at the expression on Jackson’s face: Blank.
That can’t be Jackson. But it was his eyes, his jaw. His lies.
One of the bottles slipped from her grip.
Crash.
The glass shattered at her feet.
Jackson’s head snapped up. His gaze fixed on her.
A muscle worked in his cheek, but he didn’t release the fourth man, who was now flailing and turning a frightening shade of purple.
Cold liquor soaked into the soles of her boots.
She didn’t look away.
She’d known he’d held something of himself back.
This was Jackson Cole. The real one. Without mask or artifice. Cold. Skilled. Capable of disarming four men singlehandedly.
Anna stepped closer, something like anger propelling her forward—
Movement out of the corner of her eye.
Everything went slow as one of the men from the floor found his feet.
A knife was in his hand.
Anna raised the unbroken bottle in her hand—was she walking or running?—and slammed the bottle down over the man’s head.
Glass and liquor sprayed, filling the air with the eye-tearing aroma of good whiskey and making the clothesline strung overhead with what looked like bank notes sway haphazardly.
The man slumped to the floor like a marionette who’d had his strings slashed.
Tension was rife in the air as everything went quiet, the man in Jackson’s hold having lost consciousness with the rest of the men. Then . . .
Heaving breathing. Anna’s.
The shuffle of feet. Roberts as he came around the corner.
Anna stared down at the criminals, not sure what she’d expected.
A rough round of fisticuffs? Home Agent Roberts announcing his authority and everyone coming quietly?
But no. Her gaze went around the room. More than one blade was visible.
And—she swallowed hard. There was a dueling pistol sticking out from under the nearby shelf as if it had been kicked out of reach during the scuffle.
Jackson had warned her these men were dangerous.
The counterfeiting ring wasn’t a bunch of criminals wielding that which was mightier than the sword who occasionally partook in carriage sabotage.
There were footfalls in the direction of the storage room door.
All three of them turned as a fifth man came around the shelves and stopped.
There was a nearly comical pause as the man glanced at each of them. Then his gaze went to the four men on the floor. There was an instant change in the man’s face, a hardening that had fingers of fear trailing up Anna’s back.
The man reached inside his jacket, pulled out two matching pistols, and raised his arms.
A body barreled into her the same time the guns went off.
Twin bangs that left her ears ringing.
The bitter smell of smoke and gunpowder filled her nose.
Jackson’s arms were around her, his face above her. His eyes were wild. His mouth was moving.
“What?” she said, but her question was muffled.
He made a sign with his hand: Are you all right?
“Yes,” she shouted. Whispered?
They both glanced back at the gun-wielding man . . . to see he was reloading with some kind of weird funnel.
Sound came crashing back as Anna clawed at Jackson’s front. “Jack, he’s—”
“I know.” Jackson’s gaze traveled between them, the man, and back.
Even Anna knew the distance was too large for him to disarm the man before he finished reloading.
They both looked over at Roberts at the same time.
He’d rolled out of the way, right into the path of the gun under the shelf.
“The shelf!” she yelled.
Roberts glanced down, saw the gun.
The other man finished reloading.
“Roberts!” Jackson’s shout was harsh, commanding.
An unmistakable order.
Roberts stood, pistol in hand. He aimed and fired the same time the other man did.
Bang!
The other man dropped to the ground, the two pistols in his hand crashing to the floor, now harmless.
No one moved.
Anna couldn’t if she tried. Her heart was racing too fast. Her head was spinning. The skin over her bones felt too tight, too sensitive.
Jackson pulled her tight to his chest and was whispering words of comfort to her. “It’s over. He’s down. You’re safe.”
You’re safe with me.
He’d said something similar that day at the creek.
Even through the dizzying sensations thrumming through her, it was clear Jackson didn’t seem the least surprised.
Anna’s brain came awake. Now that the danger was over, a thought forced its way through with sick remembrance; Jackson had been the one giving orders. Not Roberts.
Jackson knew how to infiltrate an enemy hideout. Knew how to dodge bullets. Was this the first time someone had targeted him? Would men keep coming to stop his involvement?.
Her thoughts whirled in a dangerous storm.
How often? For how long? Then—
He hadn’t told her. Had no intention of telling her.
Helplessness and frustration twisted her stomach.
“Anna.” Jackson’s arms surrounded her, holding her to his chest.
The steady thump, thump, thump of his racing heart was a taunt. Another lie.
The next time he left, it may not be six years before she saw him again.
Next time, he could die.
And if it were up to him, she’d never have known the truth.
She pushed out of his arms, betrayal a lump in her throat.
His gaze was distraught, as if a near bullet wound had rattled him.
Another lie.
She swallowed down another mouthful of bitter betrayal. “I no longer wish for your assistance finding my brother.” If he’d been looking at all. Or was that another lie?
He reached out to her. “Anna—”
“There’s nothing more between us.” She stepped back.
“You agreed to start over, that we would be partners. But it’s clear I never truly knew the man I made that promise with.
Duke, gentleman, childhood friend . . . I don’t know who the Duke of Grandfellow is nowadays, but I do know one thing.
” She shook her head. The words tore through her, but she held herself straight, when the rest of her was crumbling from the inside. “You’re a fraud.”