“What’s going on?” Clyde asked.
Mercer’s shrewd eyes narrowed. He had quite the reputation for being a brilliant strategist. He put his hand to his belt.
“There’s no need to go for your weapon,” Spencer told him as he raised his own gun. “There isn’t time. I can assure you I’m a perfect marksman.”
“Our money,” Clyde said as realization struck him. “You can have our money.”
“I’m afraid money is not what I’m after.” Mercer pulled out his own pistol, but Spencer was faster. He fired a shot straight into the man’s heart. Then he shot the older man in the head.
Clyde’s expression froze into a look of permanent surprise, and Mercer clasped a hand to his chest, struggling to get off a single shot as his heart pumped the last of his blood from his body.
“And you make five.”
“Son of a bitch!” Max cursed loudly as he pulled off his shirt. He tossed it into the newly lit fire warming his bedchamber. The flames roared as they engulfed the linen. He stood in front of the mirror, looking at the gunshot wound just below his shoulder. The stitches were even and small; she’d done a good job, he’d give her that. The wound, though, was an angry red mark and hurt like the devil. He’d be fortunate if it didn’t leave one hell of a nasty scar.
But tonight had been futile.
Except for the kiss. She’d been surprisingly passionate. Yet full of pluck and fire. Precisely the sort of combination he found irresistible in women. He’d been tempted by their interlude at the gaming hell, but now he knew how Sabine Tobias felt in his arms. Under normal circumstances, he would pursue her, yet she seemed utterly unmoved by his charms. Of course, this wasn’t surprising given that he had broken into her home.
He had not gone there for a kiss, though, while it was a worthwhile diversion. And he certainly hadn’t gone there to offer protection to her or her aunts. Protecting people had never been his forte. Information was what he’d been after, and still he knew nothing about her connection to his map. She refused to admit knowing anything significant about it, but he knew she was lying. Most collectors preferred more legitimate ways to obtain items of their interest. Once or twice over the years, he’d been contacted by solicitors representing such individuals, but he’d never even considered selling the map.
Earlier that evening, his security guard had alerted him to the presence of a waiting carriage with four women inside. It had been hidden well, but with a clear view of his front door. They’d waited for a couple of hours, then had given up and left.
Her underhanded approach led him to only one conclusion. There was more to the charming Miss Tobias than met the eye. The late-night visitors to her shop only backed up that theory. Unfortunately for Miss Tobias, he was a man who enjoyed a challenge. And he fully intended to find out exactly what she was hiding.
Sabine wanted that map, and when she came to retrieve it, he’d be here waiting.
“Say it again. Slowly this time,” Cassandra said through gritted teeth.
“We didn’t find nothing,” Beaver said, scratching at his scruffy chin. His dirt-encrusted fingernails made Cassandra shudder. Filthy beast.
“Nothing,” Cassandra repeated. She strolled through her parlor, running her fingertips over the furniture as she passed. “Nothing.” She sized up the three men and offered them a smile that was more snarl than anything. “How is it that you found nothing?”
Johns stepped forward, holding his stocking cap against his abdomen. “Miss, we searched the entire residence.”
Five years her junior, Johns was a perfect male specimen, as if his muscular frame had been chiseled first in marble. And his face rivaled that of Adonis. His sheer size was normally enough to frighten anyone away from him, but Cassandra knew he was not quick to violence, and she could persuade him to do almost anything. He was her most trusted employee and, though it galled her, most frequent lover.
“We didn’t really know what we was looking for,” Johns continued.
“Anything that resembled the healing waters.” It was what she’d told them she was after, a simple lie for simple minds. No one could know about the fountain of youth. “Or notes or a recipe for their products.” She stepped around the parlor furniture to where the three men stood before the hearth. Eyeing them closely, she took her time to make them nervous. “Tell me, did you talk to any of the women, give them any indication what you were looking for?”
“No,” Beaver said, his head shaking back and forth in confirmation. “We ran when they started shooting at us. There was a man, too. Broke my nose.”
She steepled her red-painted nails beneath her chin. “A man lives with them?”
“I don’t think so,” Johns said. “I didn’t see him, but I think they was shooting at him, too.”
“Interesting,” she said. She stepped over to the third one, enjoying the fact that she stood a head taller than the scrawny man. “What about you, Platt? What do you have to say for yourself?”
The man simply stood there.
“You know, Miss, he don’t talk,” Beaver offered.
“So you keep telling me,” she said, never taking her eyes off Platt. “But it’s always been my experience that if you kick a dog hard enough, he’ll always yelp.” She winked at Johns before walking away.
Once she’d reached her gold brocade settee, she sank into the luxurious fabric. “Now then, gentlemen,” she said tightly. “What is it that you’re going to do to make this little foible up to me? You know how I loathe disappointment.”
The three men looked blankly at one another, presumably hoping that one of them would have a brilliant idea. Which, of course, she was not expecting. She decided how things were done around here, and they knew that, but that didn’t prevent her from taunting them.