Chapter 19
Blake had slowly been gaining more strength as Brandon helped him toward the house.
They barely made it through the side entrance when Brandon settled him in a chair, pressed a glass of brandy into his hand, and then excused himself to call the police, reiterating that Blake needed to rest until the good butler returned.
Surely Brandon knew better.
As soon as the older man left the room, Blake slid out the other exit, dodging any curious gazes and making a direct line for the west wing.
He took the stairs three at a time, ignoring his body’s inconvenient but rather loud protests.
His wounded side ached with each step. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. His legs wanted to collapse.
He didn’t care.
He had to reach Evie.
After all, he’d survived the Lusitania, hadn’t he? Survived being shot by the woman he loved, survived hypothermia and blood loss and five months of thinking she was dead. Not to mention a rather impressive battle with two operatives.
He dipped his head in mental appreciation as the scene flashed back to mind. Weber bound and unconscious, Smith dead from his own partner’s bullet.
Yes, he could survive this too.
He had to.
The muffled staccato of gunfire increased his pace toward the wing.
Sharp sounds of combat grew louder as he reached the corridor that led to the gallery. Furniture crashing. Grunts of effort. Then—silence.
Breath squeezed from his lungs.
He pushed open the door, gun raised.
And his body froze.
In the middle of the gallery, Evie stood bleeding with Rivers behind her, holding a knife to her throat. Both poised as if they’d been waiting for him.
The rate of his pulse tripled in his ears, but he refused to give anything away. He assessed Evie with a sweep of his gaze. Bloody shoulder. Swollen eye and cheek. Leaning to the left. Wounded hip? Knee?
Rivers’ attention dropped to the satchel at Blake’s side, and her smile disappeared, slowly realizing her connections—Smith and Weber—had been compromised.
Her intel … intercepted.
Her mission?
Failed.
The uncertainty flickered for only a second, and then her eyes narrowed, and with almost devilish arrogance, her lips unfurled into a slow sneer.
“I see you are more than what you appear to be, Mr. Blake.” Her voice remained pleasant, conversational, but her grip tightened on Evie to such an extent that the faintest hint of red slid across Evie’s neck.
“But how lovely of you to join us. And you even brought a gift. I’ve always thought you were an impeccable gentleman. ”
He took a slow step forward, biding time to take full inventory of Rivers’ position, assess options. “I do wish to return the compliment, but I’m afraid you are not behaving much like a lady.” He tsked. “Scarring such a lovely neck really is a horrible way to use a knife.”
“Well, if you wish to keep up appearances, I could bring the knife up through her back directly into her heart.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Would that be your preference? There are several other options, if you’d like to make a request.”
Few villains he’d met unnerved him.
But she did. Her calm. Her eerie control.
Perhaps it truly was arrogance. A sort of misplaced confidence.
Or perhaps it was pure evil.
“If you’re open to requests, I think it would be rather decent of you to just give up altogether and call it a day.” Another step. “It only took a little persuasion for your comrades to acquiesce.”
Her gaze lit, signaling the slightest enjoyment of their repartee. Arrogance, indeed.
“Not without that little gift of yours.” Rivers’ smile transformed into a snarl. “Hand over the satchel, and I’ll let Miss Montgomery live. Simple exchange. Very ladylike of me, after the nasty beating she dealt out and all.”
“Don’t.” Evie’s voice was fierce. “Blake, don’t you dare—”
“Evie—” His palm came up to still her words.
“Shoot her.” Evie’s eyes locked with his, willing him to understand. “The intelligence is more important. Hundreds of lives—”
“Oh, this is delicious.” Rivers’ grin returned.
“Evan just happened to mention how your partner, Miss Montgomery, was half in love with you. Though I didn’t realize you and Falcon were the same until now.
” She licked her lips as if the information held a pleasant taste.
“How convenient.” She pressed the blade harder against Evie’s throat, releasing a fresh trickle of blood down her neck.
“How much is your sweetheart worth to you, Mr. Blake?”
His brain calculated the possibilities. Rivers stood at just such an angle and height, with Evie’s bent position, that if he shot true enough, the bullet could clear through Evie’s shoulder into Rivers’ chest.
But there was a one in a thousand—possibly ten thousand—chance of succeeding.
And the jolt could have Rivers slicing Evie’s neck even then.
“Tell you what, Mr. Blake.” Rivers brightened. “I’ll give you ten seconds.” Her gaze darkened on his. “Or I’ll open her throat and we’ll both lose something precious to us. Nine … eight …”
Blake’s hand tightened on the satchel.
“Blake, no—”
“Seven … six … five …”
Blake took a step forward.
And then—
Light exploded across Rivers’ face from somewhere to the left.
Blinding, brilliant, caught square in her eyes.
Rivers flinched instinctively, her free hand flying to shield her vision.
It was only a fleeting moment, but it was enough.
The distraction loosened Rivers’ grip on Evie, who drove her elbow up into Rivers’ chest, sending the woman backward … and opening her up for Blake to fire.
The shot cracked through the small room, and Rivers spun backward, clutching her side. Her knife clattered to the floor.
As Blake rushed forward, he looked to his left.
Absolutely composed, holding a silver serving platter angled to catch the moonlight from the window, Brandon stood silently, his expression unruffled, except for the look of pure disapproval he shot Blake.
Clearly, Brandon was not impressed with Blake’s failure to obey the butler’s clear instructions to rest.
A burst of laughter escaped Blake. “Brandon, you magnificent—”
“No!” Evie’s cry interrupted him.
Rivers was moving.
Even wounded, even bleeding from Blake’s shot, she was fast. Her hand went to her collar, fingers scrabbling at something hidden there.
Evie lunged forward, but too late. The spy pulled something small from beneath her uniform—a capsule, barely visible in the lamplight—and brought it to her mouth.
Evie grabbed for it. Blake ran to her side.
Rivers’ lips curved into a smile as she bit down.
The capsule broke. Cyanide, from the bitter almond scent that immediately filled the space.
Rivers’ body convulsed once, twice. Then she crumpled to the floor.
Evie scrambled forward, dropping to her knees beside the body, fingers searching for a pulse she knew she wouldn’t find. “No, no, no—”
“Evie.” Blake was there, his hand on her shoulder, pulling her back.
“We needed her alive!” Evie’s voice cracked. “The intelligence she had—the networks, the contacts—”
“Evie.” He reached her, turning her to face him, then patted the satchel. “This is the intel Smith took to his contact. It’s what she was willing to trade for your life.”
Evie’s gaze dropped to the satchel as if it took extra time for the words to be comprehended. “You stopped them?”
“You doubt me?” He frowned in mock offense. “I wouldn’t have ruined another good shirt otherwise.”
Her lips barely quirked.
“And I imagine we’ll find the kill list, the codes, and her latest intelligence in her own bag,” he continued, gesturing toward the satchel Rivers had dropped. “It may not be everything, but it’s enough.”
Her gaze trailed over his face, his bloodstained shirt, her frustration bending to a sweeter expression. Tenderness. “You were going to give her the satchel.”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Because he didn’t know what the answer was.
Would he have given up the information to save her life? Could she have even respected him if he had?
He sighed, closing his eyes. Thank God he didn’t have to find out—for his own heart or hers. Thank God for Brandon shining light onto that dark moment at just the right time.
“You’re an idiot,” she whispered, drawing close enough to place a palm to his chest. Perhaps that would be her endearment for him. It suited more than not, he supposed.
“Frequently.” He grinned. “But I hope I’m your idiot, flower.”
“No.” Evie shook her head with the faintest smile. “Not that one either.”
A sound from the doorway made them both turn.
Brandon still stood there, serving platter in hand, looking at Rivers’ body with an expression of mild distaste—whether from the idea of her betrayal or of cleaning up the mess she’d left behind, Blake wasn’t certain.
Then his attention moved to the two of them. “Now I shall alert the authorities.”
A soundless laugh shook through Blake’s chest, inciting a twinge of pain, but he shrugged it off. “Thank you, Brandon. You were the hero of the moment yet again.”
Brandon held Blake’s gaze, a gentle look sweeping over his features. It bathed Blake in the warmest light, and he had the oddest sense of what Brandon may have been like as a father. Or grandfather.
An excellent one, for certain.
Without another word, the butler dipped his head and exited the room.
Evie stared at the closed door and turned wide eyes to Blake. “The people in this house are not normal.”
Blake chuckled. Which was probably the reason he’d always liked this one more than his own. “But those are the best sorts, you know.” He reached for her with his good arm, drawing her close, surveying her injuries again. “And they’re always collecting new members.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile she unleashed upon him confirmed his idea that she had a soft spot for the abnormal, at least in Havensbrooke’s sense of the word. The cut on her neck and the dark stain of red at her shoulder sent Blake into motion.