Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jane refused to move. Every instinct told her to run to her mother. To gather her into her arms and flee this nightmare. But she could not. Not yet.
Strachan still held the room. Even without raising his pistol, he controlled every breath they took. So Jane remained where she was, positioned between him and her mother’s unconscious body. A shield. A distraction.
Anything she could be.
Across the room, Zachary had lost all appearance of authority. The man who had once looked down upon everyone around him now stood trembling, his face pale and his hands shaking.
Jane almost did not recognize him. For years, she had seen him as a force she could not overcome. Now she saw the truth. He had always been a coward. A cruel man, perhaps. A selfish man. But a coward nonetheless.
Strachan seemed to notice his fear as well. “You are disappointing me, Lord Zachary.”
Her uncle swallowed. “I did what you asked.”
“Did you?”
“I brought her here.”
“You brought me an opportunity.” Strachan’s eyes shifted toward Jane. “But you never understood the consequences.”
Jane kept her expression carefully blank. “Is that what you do?”
Strachan looked at her. “What?”
“Use people who believe they are clever enough to bargain with you.”
A slow smile appeared. “Careful.”
“I have noticed something.”
“And what is that?”
“You do not actually trust anyone.”
For the first time, his expression changed. Only slightly. But Jane saw it. A flicker of irritation. “You speak as though you know me.”
“No.” She lifted her chin. “But I know men like you.”
His smile returned. “Do you?”
“Men who believe fear is the same as respect.”
The room went silent. Even Zachary seemed to stop breathing.
Strachan stepped closer. “You are remarkably brave.”
“No.” Jane’s heart hammered. “I’m frightened.” The honesty seemed to catch him off guard. “But I am not going to let you use that fear against me.”
For a moment, Strachan simply watched her. Then he smiled. “That is exactly why your husband is so attached to you.”
The words had barely left his mouth when a sound echoed through the townhouse. A door crashing open. Footsteps. Fast. Heavy.
Strachan turned sharply toward the noise. And Jane moved. She did not think. She reacted.
She lunged forward, grabbing his arm with both hands and throwing her entire weight against him. The pistol fired. The explosion shattered the room.
Jane screamed as the shot tore into the ceiling above them, showering plaster and dust across the floor.
Strachan cursed. His grip loosened. The weapon slipped from his hand. It hit the carpet. Jane shoved away from him just as Hector stormed into the room.
For one terrible second, his eyes found her. Then they found Strachan. Something in his expression changed. Rage.
He crossed the room in seconds. His fist connected with Strachan’s jaw with enough force to send the man stumbling backward. Strachan crashed against a table, sending papers and glass scattering. But he did not stay down.
He rose with a viciousness that surprised even Jane. He attacked immediately. The fight was brutal. Nothing like the controlled movements Hector had shown her during their lessons. This was survival.
Strachan fought like a man who had spent his entire life escaping consequences. But Hector was stronger. More disciplined. Every strike was deliberate. Every movement precise.
Jane saw the pistol lying only a few feet away.
She moved. Before either man could reach it, she kicked it across the room. The weapon slid beneath a table.
When she turned back, Hector had Strachan against the floor. The crime lord fought wildly, but Hector held him there, one arm locked around him.
“You should have stayed away from her.” Hector’s voice was terrifyingly calm.
Strachan laughed breathlessly. “Is that all you have?”
Hector’s expression hardened. “No.”
Then he struck. Once. Hard enough that Strachan went still. The room fell silent. Jane stood frozen.
Her mother was unconscious, Zachary was trembling, and Hector knelt over the man who had threatened everything they loved.
For the first time since entering that room, Jane believed they might actually survive. Jane could barely breathe. For several moments, she simply stood there, staring. The room looked nothing like it had before.
The elegant parlor had been destroyed. A chair lay overturned. Plaster dust covered the carpet beneath the hole in the ceiling. Papers were scattered everywhere, and the scent of gunpowder lingered heavily in the air.
But none of that mattered. Her mother. Jane dropped beside her immediately.
“Mother?” Her hands shook as she gently touched Lady Wynten’s shoulder. “Mother, please wake up.”
A soft groan answered her. Relief crashed through her so quickly that tears filled her eyes.
“Oh, thank goodness.”
Her mother stirred, blinking slowly. “Jane?”
“I’m here.” Jane cupped her face carefully. “I’m here.”
Behind her, she heard Hector moving. She looked back. He was still standing over Strachan, his chest rising and falling heavily. The anger had not fully left his expression, but the moment his eyes met hers, something changed.
Concern replaced fury. “Are you hurt?”
Jane shook her head. “No.” Then, after a pause, she added quietly, “I am all right.”
Hector searched her face as though he did not quite believe her. She wanted to tell him everything—that she had been terrified, that she had thought she might never see him again, that the moment he entered the room, the world had righted itself.
But before she could speak, a low sound came from the floor. Strachan. He was beginning to stir. Hector’s expression hardened again. He stepped forward.
“No more.” The words were quiet, but they carried a promise.
Jane reached for his arm before he could move. “Hector.”
He looked at her. Just that touch seemed to pull him back.
She shook her head slightly. “It’s over.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Hector covered her hand with his. And Jane knew that, despite everything, he had come. He had found her. He had saved her.
Again.