Chapter 20
Bellamy banged against the door of the storage room. “In here!” he shouted. Beside him, Zaira banged on the door too. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since they’d heard voices in another part of the bank. It felt like an eternity but had likely only been five minutes.
He was fairly certain it was morning and that the first tellers or manager were starting a new day of work and had discovered something amiss in the main area of the bank.
“Help!” Zaira called.
He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the door. What had he been thinking to kiss her so passionately? The trouble was, he hadn’t been thinking. Now he’d just stirred up more emotion between them that hadn’t needed stirring.
She’d obviously experienced a connection to him the same way he had to her, and she hadn’t been bashful in bringing up her questions about what was next for them.
Whether or not they had more feelings for each other, they’d agreed upon a temporary relationship. That was all he was capable of giving her. Besides, she deserved better than to be strung along by a man like him who was cursed when it came to love.
He never should have agreed to her plan in the first place. Because he’d always been attracted to her and had just been in denial about it. He’d thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world from the moment he’d first set eyes on her years ago when he’d been twelve and she’d been only nine.
He’d only been in St. Louis for a week after moving from Ireland and had been at mass with Jenny and Gavin.
The Shanahan family had already been in the front pew.
He’d spotted her right away. With her pretty red curls, she’d been difficult to miss.
She’d shifted to watch him when he’d entered the pew with his family, and her beautiful green eyes had captivated him.
He’d been admiring her when she’d stuck her tongue out at him.
Of course, she’d followed with a big smile, one that had melted him.
Maybe his heart had always had that soft spot for her—not only her beauty but her sweetness and sassiness.
Aye, she was beautiful and talented and amazing in so many ways, and she would make some fine fellow really happy.
That fine fellow just wouldn’t be him.
But who? Who would be good enough for Zaira?
His mind raced with the faces of different men he knew and respected. But he threw out the prospect of each one, his gut hardening at the image of her with another man. Would she kiss someone else the way she had him? As if she wanted more of him and couldn’t get enough?
Scowling, he shook his head. He didn’t want to think about her kissing anyone. He could hardly stomach the idea of any fellow laying a finger upon her, much less holding her tight and ravishing her lips.
The truth was, he wanted to be the only man who ever touched her. If he couldn’t have her, he didn’t want anyone else to have her either. But the other truth was that someday he would likely be the one who had to find her a match, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it.
More loud voices shouted from somewhere in the building.
Were the bank workers coming down to the lower level to check on the vault?
He banged on the door again. “Hello! We’re trapped in the storage room! Can you let us out?”
Zaira pounded against the door too. “Help!”
Amidst their pounding came the distinct squeal of the interior door at the end of the hallway.
“Do you think the robbers got trapped?” someone asked from the other side of the doorway.
“Hello!” Zaira shouted. “We’re not the robbers. But we got trapped down here last night!”
“Someone is in one of the rooms,” another person called.
“I don’t know how.” The second man’s voice was vaguely familiar. “I made sure the doors were all locked last night.”
Bellamy stiffened. It was the voice of the bank worker, Mr. Wright, who’d been in the hallway yesterday with the keys, who’d locked them in the storage room unintentionally and then told the robbers where to hide.
Although Bellamy had seen Mr. Wright on occasion when he’d come to the bank, the middle-aged fellow with a balding head, long nose, and solemn expression had never struck him as particularly dangerous.
But if the man had been working with the robbers, then he was more menacing than anyone had suspected.
“I’ll go check if anyone is there,” Mr. Wright spoke again.
Beside him, Zaira knocked on the door. “We’re here—”
Bellamy cut her off, cupping his hand over her mouth and grabbing her arm to keep her from making any more noise.
If Mr. Wright suspected they’d been present when he’d been plotting with the robbers, there was no telling what he might try.
Maybe it was best if they didn’t let him find them and waited for someone else to come along.
Yet now that Mr. Wright had heard their voices, he probably wouldn’t stop searching until he located them and tried to decipher how much they’d overheard or witnessed regarding his role in the bank robbery.
The best thing to do was pretend they had no idea there had been a bank robbery. They could make up a story about how as a newly engaged couple, they’d wanted time alone, found the bank door open, and slipped inside but had been too enamored with each other to hear anything else.
Would Mr. Wright believe them?
Bellamy leaned into Zaira to whisper the plan but hesitated. With such a tale, the gossip would spread about him and Zaira again. Even without a lurid story, people would eventually find out he’d spent the night with Zaira in the bank storage room.
No one would ever believe the only thing they’d done was talk. Of course, they would be right because it wasn’t the only thing they’d done. They’d had the best kiss of all time. But most people would assume they’d shared more than kisses, especially because they were engaged.
The hallway door closed with a thud. Then footsteps tapped toward them. Only one set. Mr. Wright’s. That meant he would be alone and would be able to do whatever he wanted, make up whatever story he wanted, or eliminate them however he wanted.
Bellamy tensed. Maybe he should spring out as soon as the door opened and take the fellow by surprise. He could probably wrestle Mr. Wright to the ground, especially with as thin and wiry as he was.
On the other hand, Bellamy didn’t want to chance putting Zaira into any more danger than she already was. So until he could ascertain the level of peril, they needed to proceed with caution.
He leaned in toward her ear, could feel her lips and warm breath against the hand still covering her mouth. “We have to pretend we’re ignorant of hearing him with the robbers.”
“How?” she mumbled.
“Follow my lead.”
A key rattled in the lock. In the next instant, the door opened slowly, inch by inch.
Bellamy dropped his hand from Zaira’s mouth and instead wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her near. Then he brushed aside the loose hair from near her ear and bent in. “We have to act like lovers.”
“What?” she said louder than she should have. “No.”
“Aye. Trust me.” He pressed his lips to her bare neck, drawing a quick gasp from her.
The door opened even wider to reveal the dark hallway with only the faint light from the far window to illuminate anything.
Even though Bellamy kissed Zaira’s neck one more time farther up and closer to her jaw, he glimpsed Mr. Wright’s profile.
Was that a revolver he was holding and pointing at them? Mostly at Zaira?
Bellamy slid his hand to his waist and the knife underneath his coat. He pretended to be startled, jumping back and using the motion to unsheathe the weapon while still concealing it in the folds of his clothing. “No need to fear. ’Tis Bellamy McKenna the matchmaker and my betrothed.”
Mr. Wright swung the gun toward Bellamy.
Bellamy breathed in his relief. He would much rather have the fellow pointing it at him than at Zaira.
“What are you doing here?” Mr. Wright’s tone was laced with accusation.
“We got carried away last night.” Bellamy hated that he had to lie again but knew there was no other way at the moment. “And somehow we got locked in the room.”
“How did you get in there in the first place?” The bank teller kept his voice low, but the suspicion was all too clear.
“I came to make a deposit for the pub and noticed the back door open. We stepped inside to, well, to have a wee bit of privacy . . .” He tried to sound embarrassed. “And somehow we got locked in.”
Mr. Wright’s gun didn’t waver. “So you were here last evening?”
“We were busy,” Zaira chimed in as she laid her head against him and rubbed his arm.
“Ach, you can be putting away the gun.” Bellamy nodded toward the weapon. “We didn’t take anything, if that’s what you were thinking.”
Mr. Wright seemed to be considering whether to believe them.
“We got stuck,” Bellamy repeated, “and now we’d like to be on our way.”
Zaira wiggled slightly. “Aye, I’d like to use the privy as soon as possible.” She was playing along well, although she probably really did need to use the privy.
Mr. Wright narrowed his gaze upon them. “Our bank was broken into last night. What can you tell me about it?”
“Nothing—” Bellamy started.
“We did hear some noise,” she said at the same time.
Why did she admit that? Maybe their story would be more believable if they didn’t deny everything. After all, anyone trapped in the storage room would have at least heard some noise rather than none at all.
“Oh aye,” Bellamy quickly amended. “There was some hammering, but we weren’t paying heed to that.”
“So you know nothing about the bank robbery?” Mr. Wright persisted.
“Should we?” Bellamy wrapped his fingers more securely around the hilt of his knife.
“Of course we would like to find out who was behind the safecracking. So if you have information, we will pass it along to the police.”
“No.” Bellamy shook his head. “We didn’t see anyone, not until just now.”
Mr. Wright still didn’t budge.
Bellamy didn’t like the way the conversation was going. Something told him the fellow didn’t entirely believe their story.
“The two of you know more than you’re admitting.” Mr. Wright readjusted his grip on the gun. Although the darkness of the hallway shrouded him, it was clear he had no intention of letting them off easily.
“In fact, I think you were involved.”
Zaira huffed. “How could we be when we were locked up all night?”
Mr. Wright waved the gun back and forth. “You probably were finishing with the break-in when you heard people arriving.”
Bellamy tried to guide Zaira behind him, but she clung to his arm.
“You stashed the money,” Mr. Wright continued. “Then you hid in here hoping you would be able to sneak out later.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Zaira didn’t seem to be in the least afraid or disturbed that someone was holding them at gunpoint. “We can’t lock ourselves in.”
“The door wasn’t locked when I came down.” Mr. Wright’s voice dropped again. “And when I had to shoot, it was in self-defense because you were trying to escape, and I needed to stop you.”
“That still doesn’t make sense.” Zaira spoke as if she were having a conversation about the plot of her book, probably not comprehending the full danger they were in.
But in one quick second, Bellamy realized what Mr. Wright was doing. He didn’t want to chance that they’d overheard his instructions to the robbers last night, so he was brainstorming aloud the excuses he could give to everyone else for why he shot and killed them.
As Mr. Wright fixed the gun on Bellamy, another thought flashed through his mind. The man would eliminate him first so he wouldn’t be alive to interfere with Zaira’s murder. Except Bellamy couldn’t fathom letting Mr. Wright or anyone harm a single hair on Zaira’s head.
As the fellow straightened his arm and began to pull the trigger, Bellamy shoved Zaira behind him, using a force he didn’t realize he had. With his other hand, he lunged toward Mr. Wright with his knife.
The gunshot cracked the air with a deafening blast.
From behind him, Zaira screamed, but he knew she was only surprised and not hurt.
Pain radiated through Bellamy’s shoulder. He’d been hit by the bullet. But even with the burning, he lunged at Mr. Wright, plunging the blade into the man’s arm.
Zaira screamed, “Bellamy! Be careful!”
He wasn’t in a position to be careful, not when he had to keep Mr. Wright from taking another shot. He stabbed his knife again, this time aiming for Mr. Wright’s torso.
Bellamy had picked up tips on knife fighting at the pub, had listened to others talk about self-defense. So he wasn’t a novice. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to hurt Mr. Wright more than necessary. He certainly didn’t want to kill him. Yet if that’s what it took to keep Zaira safe, he’d do anything.
As his knife sliced into Mr. Wright’s chest, the man released a pained cry. His hand wavered, and he lowered his gun, staggering backward.
Even though Bellamy’s shoulder was throbbing and blood was running down his outstretched arm, he shoved Mr. Wright with enough force that the fellow tumbled against the opposite wall of the hallway.
Bellamy sprang after him, grabbed the arm holding the gun, then slammed the fellow’s hand hard against the cement wall while at the same time putting pressure on the chest wound.
Mr. Wright writhed and cried out again with agony, but he still clung to the gun.
Bellamy banged the man’s hand against the wall again, and this time the revolver fell from his grip to the floor with a clatter.
Before Bellamy could bend down and swipe it up, Zaira was beside him and kicked the gun down the hallway out of reach.
Mr. Wright no longer seemed to be paying attention to the gun and was holding his chest, the blood from the slash there seeping through his fingers.
Blood flowed onto Bellamy’s hand and dripped onto the floor. Was it his own blood or Mr. Wright’s?
“Don’t move, Mr. Wright!” Zaira called.
Bellamy wavered, a strange dizziness hitting him. He grabbed a fistful of Mr. Wright’s shirt, his knife still at the ready but the blood on his hand making his skin slick.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Zaira pick up the gun and aim it at Mr. Wright.
The door down the hallway opened, and voices called out in alarm—probably other people coming to discover what the commotion was about.
Pain again raced through Bellamy’s shoulder and this time down his arm. He clenched his jaw to force back a moan, and he tried to focus on his knife. He couldn’t let it fall and chance Mr. Wright grabbing it.
In fact, with Zaira holding the gun, maybe it was best if he moved away so if she needed to take a shot, he wouldn’t be in her way.
He released his grip of Mr. Wright, took one step, then had a strange sense he was floating. His knees hit the hard floor, the hallway disappeared, and he fell into oblivion.