TUESDAY MORNING CAME faster than Christopher would have liked. He’d successfully moved his family to safety, had trusted men stationed at the farm, and now Hannah and Gwen were settled at Clayton’s with Walter on high alert.
Christopher settled Hannah in the parlor with a book and waited for Andrew and Gwen to finish their argument in the dining room. It had been going on for almost an hour, and Hannah had insisted on giving them privacy, despite his protests.
“Are you going to tell me what the plan is?”
“No.” Christopher sat across from her in one of the high-backed chairs. “But I imagine it’ll all be over by the end of the day.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow. “You’re confident then?”
“I am.” He smiled. “I work with a great group of men.”
She sipped her tea. “I just want you to be careful.”
Leaning forward, he laid his hands on her lap. “I’m always careful, sweetheart. No need to worry.”
“I’m not the worrying kind.” She set the cup aside and kissed his cheek. “But I’d like you to leave me a gun when you go after the bad guys.”
He smiled and handed her one he’d already loaded for her. “I planned ahead.”
Hannah grinned and took the pistol. “Thank you.”
“It pulls a bit to the left, so keep that in mind.” Christopher showed her how to cock it. “Also, keep it away from your face, the powder could burn you.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “I know how to handle a gun, love.” She sighed at his frown. “Knight, I’m not even going to need it. But if I do, I shoot to kill.” She giggled. “Does that make you feel better?”
Christopher dragged his hands down his face. “Not in the least.”
“Chris?”
He glanced up to see Andrew standing in the doorway. “Ready?”
Andrew nodded. “Yes.”
Gwen glared as she brushed past Andrew and flopped down on the sofa. She stared out the window, avoiding eye contact with any of them.
Christopher turned back to Hannah. “Stay here and keep the house locked.” He leaned down and kissed her quickly.
Hannah chuckled. “We’re fine, Knight. Go.”
He reluctantly left her and followed Andrew out to their horses.
* * *
Hannah heard the bolt slide home on the front door, followed by Gwen’s sigh that echoed thought the parlor. “Gwen?”
“Hm?”
Hannah shifted in her seat to face her. “What’s going on with you and Andrew?”
Gwen shrugged. “Nothing that bears repeating.”
“What has you so upset, Gwen? You and Andrew both seem to be acting out of character at the moment... I’ve never heard either of you raise your voices before, and certainly not at each other.”
Gwen fiddled with a ribbon on her day dress. “He’s so vexing, and I don’t know the why of it.”
“He cares about you.”
Gwen shook her head and stared out the window again. Hannah couldn’t get her to open up any further, so she focused on her book and left Gwen with her thoughts.
Hours went by without any sign from the men, and as the shadows of the afternoon played with the light in the parlor, Hannah couldn’t stop the worry from settling over her. Gwen had been quiet company most of the day, but now she paced the floor of the parlor, mumbling under her breath.
“Gwen?” Hannah closed her book and rose to her feet. “I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some?”
Gwen paused briefly and then shook her head.
“Okay. I’ll be back soon.” Hannah stepped out of the parlor, but just as she turned to make her way back to the kitchen, she heard a key in the lock, and the bolt on the front door slid open. Andrew walked through the door and quickly closed it behind him.
“Where’s Chris?”
Andrew removed his hat. “He’s dealing with the coroner and Sam.”
Hannah gasped. “Coroner? What happened?”
Andrew shook his head. “A minor skirmish, nothing that needs details.”
“Minor enough that it requires a coroner, however, hm?” When he didn’t elaborate, she huffed. “Fine.” Hannah crossed her arms. “Is everyone okay?”
Andrew nodded. “Yes.”
“When will Christopher be home?”
“Late.”
Hannah couldn’t stop the frustrated growl that resonated in her chest. “You better start talking, Andrew, or I’m going to hit something, and you’re in my line of fire.”
Andrew sighed. “I can’t tell you anything at the moment. It’s all being investigated, and I’m sworn to secrecy. I’m here to take you back to the townhouse to gather a few things.”
Gwen stepped out of the parlor. “Gather a few things? Why?”
“You’ll both be staying here for a week.”
Hannah stomped her foot. “Why will we be staying here for a week, Andrew?”
“Your home needs to be cleaned up.”
Hannah punched Andrew in the arm, eliciting a hiss of surprise from him. “What was that for?”
Hannah crossed her arms again. “Why does my home need to be cleaned up?”
“All I can say is that the skirmish traveled into your home.” Andrew’s eyes tipped to the ceiling and he rubbed his bicep. “Just gather your things and I’ll take you home.” He focused back on Gwen. “You too, please.”
Hannah knew she’d get nothing further from him. She also admitted to herself that the punch had been a low blow, but she still felt better. She’d apologize later.
Without further comment, Hannah gathered her outerwear and followed Gwen and Andrew out to the buggy. Arriving back at the Butlers’ townhouse, Andrew assisted Hannah and Gwen from the carriage and then led them up the front porch.
Men bustled in and out of the house, and Hannah couldn’t stop the groan when she saw the state of the foyer. Glass and dirt from the potted plant in the corner were strewn across the marble tile, and footprints covered the floor.
As she stepped inside, she was almost bowled over by three men carrying a body out on a stretcher. She peeked inside the parlor and wrinkled her nose. The blood stains on the floor and walls would take a while to clean. “What happened?”
“Don’t try and clean that up sweetheart. We’ll have some men come in and take care of it,” Christopher said from behind her.
Hannah went eagerly into his embrace. “I take it this is why we’re staying at Emma’s?”
“Yes.” He kissed her temple.
“Chris?”
Hannah glanced up to see Sam walk into the foyer. Christopher set Hannah aside but kept an arm around her as he stretched out his hand to the man. “Sam. Thank you for coming.”
Sam shook his hand and removed his hat. “I’ve got the two you shackled down at the prison. I just need a little more information.”
Christopher frowned. “Can it wait?”
Sam glanced at Hannah. “No, but it won’t take long.”
Hannah smiled and laid a hand on Christopher’s arm. “Christopher, you should go.”
He shook his head. “The front door isn’t fixed yet.”
“Knight.” She rolled her eyes. “I think we can take care of ourselves while you check in.”
“I don’t know.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow. “What could happen? You’ve taken care of the threat; you’ll be back in less than an hour. It’ll take us that long to pack up our stuff anyway.”
Christopher lifted her hand to his lips and then turned his attention to Sam. “You’ll keep a man on guard?”
Sam nodded. “Yes. It won’t take long.”
Pushing Christopher toward the door, she patted his back. “Go. We’ll be fine. Gwen’s probably already packing.”
He turned and kissed her quickly. “I won’t be long.”
Hannah grinned. “Good. We’ll be waiting.” She watched him jog down the front steps and waved when he looked back at her. “I love you,” she called and was rewarded with a wink.
She took a detour to the kitchen to ask for some tea and then came back through the foyer. She was met by a young man standing in her doorway.
“Ma’am?”
“May I help you?”
He held up a hammer. “I’m here to fix your door.”
“Oh, right. Go ahead. Thank you.” Something about him made her uncomfortable and she felt for the gun in her skirt pocket. He seemed nervous and wasn’t paying much attention to her door. Instead, he kept looking left and right as though he was expecting someone. If Gwen wasn’t upstairs, she’d have slunk quietly out the back door and gone for help, but she needed to be smart.
She slowly made her way upstairs and into Gwen’s room. Gwen was folding one of her gowns into a bag. “Did Chris leave?”
Hannah nodded. “Yes, but something’s going on. We need to figure out a way out of here, quickly and quietly.”
“Yes, all right.” Gwen closed the bag and grinned. “The front door works nicely.”
Hannah sighed. “Another place, another time, I’d laugh, Gwen, but we need a way out from up here. The front and servants’ stairs are blocked.”
“Oh. There’s a modified trellis off the second floor, but I don’t know how sturdy it is,” she whispered. “Do we really need to be so dramatic?”
“We’ll need to try. I have a feeling more men will be arriving shortly.” Just as she predicted, she heard loud voices downstairs and then feet ascending the stairs. “Let’s go,” Hannah whispered and slid the window up.
While Gwen climbed over the sill, Hannah removed her skirt, revealing the jeans she’d worn underneath. She slid the gun into the waistband of her pants and followed Gwen, quietly closing the window behind her. They made it to what looked like a makeshift ladder, and Hannah had a serious case of déjà vu. “You go first, Gwen.”
“Why me?”
“Because I’m the one with a gun and can shoot anyone who comes at me.”
Gwen’s eyes widened in fright, but she didn’t argue as she sat down and rolled onto her stomach. She scooted her body feet first over the side of the roof and started her way down.
“Halt!”
Hannah, startled by the angry voice, lost her hold, and her foot slipped out from under her. She attempted to grab at anything that might hold her. Gwen screamed when Hannah nearly rolled off the edge, but Hannah somehow stopped her body from going all the way over. She caught one of the shingles and pulled herself up so that she could get herself situated safely. She peered over the side and whispered, “Gwen, get help. Go through the neighbor’s gate and run.”
“What about you?”
“If you don’t get out of here, we’ll both be caught.”
Gwen nodded and took off. Hannah shook. As terrified as she was of heights, she knew she had to get to the ground or she’d be a sitting duck. She slid her legs over the edge and tried to shimmy down further, looking for a place to set her foot. She was too slow.
“Where do you think you’re going?” an angry voice said as rough hands yanked her up by her hair.
Hannah screamed in pain as the man dragged her up and back across the roof. In his haste to haul her up the ladder, her face slammed into the side of the house. She checked her jaw as he shoved her through the now open window and into the guest room. It hurt and she could taste blood from a split lip, but she was confident nothing was broken.
The man was of average height and stocky. His dark hair and skin reminded her of Jack Black. A cape, mask, and wrestler name, and he’d be ready for the Luche Librē.
She still had the gun in her waistband, hidden underneath her long blouse. She needed to determine who else was in the house. She only had one shot and had to make it count.
She slowly walked through the room and down the stairs, his gun at her back the entire time. She was frustrated she’d slipped the gun into the back of her jeans; the front would have been so much more convenient. She slid her hands over her back to make sure her blouse still covered the gun.
“Don’t move,” he accused, pushing the gun deeper into her back.
Satisfied he couldn’t see the gun, she clasped her hands in front of her. Entering the parlor, she kept her head bowed but used her peripheral vision to count how many people were around her. She saw two other men and a woman... not just any woman... Delilah.
The other men wore masks, so she tried to study other identifying markers. Luckily, one of them was close enough to her that she could get a handle on a few details. He was a few inches under six feet, he held a gun down at his side, and his forefinger caressed it as though it were a small animal. She noticed a glimmer on his finger and saw a ring teetering just above his knuckle. The ring was silver, with what looked half of a watch face. She didn’t get a chance to glean more, as the man holding the gun on her pushed her further into the room.
A further sweep didn’t bring into view the one who’d come to fix the door, but she wasn’t naïve enough to assume he wasn’t lurking somewhere. The room, still bloody from whatever had happened earlier, made her nausea rush to the surface. She swallowed and tried to ignore her stomach.
“Turn around,” the luchador ordered.
Hannah turned slowly and waited for him to lower his weapon in order to bind her. As soon as he’d slipped his gun into his waistband, she attacked. Slamming the base of her palm in an upward motion brought the sound of his nose breaking, and her knee in his groin left him more than momentarily incapacitated. He dropped to the floor, groaning in agony, and she reached behind her, drew her gun, and pointed it at the other two men before they could get over their shock. “Drop your weapons,” she warned.
The man with the ring ran out the door and Hannah was forced to focus on the other one. “Bugger!”
* * *
Christopher stood watching the house, trying to rein in his emotions. Gwen had caught him as he and Sam came back from the offices and rushed to explain what had happened. They could only assume that Hannah was inside the house, but no one knew how many were with her. He couldn’t barrel in there, or they might kill her outright. He had to calm himself and think logically, which was difficult with his beloved in danger. Andrew and Walter caught up with him as they cased the house.
“What do we know?” Walter asked.
Christopher dragged shaking hands down his face. “We know Hannah’s inside.”
“What’s the plan?” Walter whispered.
“I’m going to let myself in through the kitchen—”
The sound of a gunshot cut off any rational thinking, and Christopher rushed the house. Slamming the front door open, he barreled into the foyer.
“You shot me!” a voice yelled from the parlor.
“I told you to lower your weapon, mate. I was pretty clear on that fact,” Hannah snapped.
Christopher poked his head around the corner and scowled. Hannah stood over one man groaning on the floor, while pointing the gun Christopher gave her earlier on a man holding a bloodied wrist against his chest. Delilah whimpered in the corner, a handkerchief in her hand.
“Hannah?”
“Hi, honey.” Hannah glanced over at him. “Nice of you to join me. One of the men escaped. He was wearing a hood, but I’m sure he’s disposed of it. Look for a dark suit and brown riding boots. And then, would you please take out the trash?”
“Someone find him,” Christopher yelled and then secured the man Hannah was standing over.
Walter rushed to the bleeding man. He pulled the man’s mask off and scowled. “Thomas Burkett. Why am I not surprised?”
Thomas sneered.
Christopher turned to Hannah. His heart raced. “Sweetheart, what happened to your face?”
“Nothing... it’s a scratch.” Hannah sighed as he lifted the groaning man from the floor. “We can talk about it later. Just get these people out of my house.”
Walter gathered the injured men and secured them in the foyer to await the authorities.
Christopher took the gun from Hannah and slipped it into his waistband. “Are you all right?”
Hannah nodded. Christopher made his way to Delilah.
“Christopher, I’m certain we can work something out.” Delilah stepped back, hands raised. “It’s all been a terrible misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure it was, Delilah,” Christopher droned as he tied Delilah’s hands behind her and guided her toward the door.
Andrew rushed into the room. “No sign of him, Chris. He’s gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s gone? He can’t have just disappeared.”
“Well, he did.”
“Expand the search,” Christopher ordered.
Andrew nodded and left them again.
“Those men forced me to come with them.” Delilah yanked at her restraints. “They threatened my parents.”
Christopher rolled his eyes and dragged her out to the foyer, handing her off to Walter. Sam had returned and Christopher did his best not to break his arm as he dragged him into his office. “I asked you to keep a man on the house.”
* * *
Hannah sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace, exhausted, nauseous, and dealing with a throbbing head. She would have liked to intervene on Sam’s behalf, but she was too tired to protest. She groaned when an entirely different argument escalated in volume as the front door opened and closed with unnecessary force.
“Let me go!” Gwen bellowed.
“Gwendolyn, please listen to me. I don’t know if it’s safe.”
“Andrew Ambrose Simmonds, release me immediately,” Gwen snapped.
Hannah gripped her head and was wishing them away when she heard Christopher’s voice draw closer. “The house is safe, Andrew. You can release my sister.”
Sharp pain shot through her temples as she took deep breaths in an effort to control her nausea.
“Hannah?”
Hannah grimaced as she opened her eyes. “Hm?”
Christopher knelt in front of her and swept her hair away from her forehead. “Let’s get you to Clayton’s. I’m taking you to Harrisburg in the morning.”
Hannah frowned. “I won’t go without you.”
He smiled. “You won’t have to.”
Dizziness seized her and she stumbled as she stood.
Christopher wrapped his arm firmly around her waist and held her close. “Take deep breaths.”
Hannah buried her face in his chest and nodded. “My head hurts... and my face.”
Christopher scooped her into his arms and started for the stairs. “Let’s get you upstairs and back into decent clothes.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her upstairs without protest. Setting her down gently on their bed, he lit the lamps and pulled a day dress from the armoire. Hannah slid out of her boots and jeans and padded to the pitcher and bowl on the bureau. She squeezed her eyes shut when she heard Christopher curse.
“What happened?”
Hannah glanced down at her thigh and sighed. “I slipped on the roof, I guess.”
“You slipped on the roof?” he snapped. “What the hell were you doing on the roof?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m not going there.”
He closed the distance between them. “Tell me, Hannah.”
“Only if you’ll promise you won’t freak out.”
He frowned. “I won’t freak out.”
She relayed the escape attempt, including the slip from the roof.
He laid his hand on her abdomen. “Did you land on your stomach?”
“No, I shifted...” she pointed to her side and grinned, “... hence the bruise down my thigh.”
Christopher lifted her chin and narrowed his eyes. “Do not make light of this.”
“Sorry.” She smiled. “Ow. I forgot about my lip.”
He poured water into the bowl and grabbed a washcloth. As he gently dabbed at her lip, Hannah tried to smile again. “Knight, I’m fine. The baby’s fine. I just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I should have stayed.”
“I told you to go.” Hannah took the washcloth from his hand. “We both thought it was over.”
“I still should have stayed.”
“Knight, you need to stop.” She laid her palm on his chest. “Kiwis are made of tougher stuff.”
“Kiwis?”
“Native bird of New Zealand and what we’re called as a nation. A nickname, if you will. Anyway, we don’t run when faced with adversity. These little bruises are nothing, and I kicked his ass.” She cupped his cheek. “I’ll heal.”
“Sweetheart...”
She faltered. “... but I’ll heal faster if I sit down.”
Guilt written in the tightness of his expression, Christopher helped her to the bed. “What can I do?”
“You can stop looking so guilty.” Hannah took a few deep breaths and took his hand. “And maybe get me a couple of the pills from my bag.”
He located her bag and looked inside, finding all sorts of strange things in it. “What am I looking for?”
“A plastic bottle with the word ‘Tylenol’ written in red. Yes, that’s the one. And there’s another bottle in there.” She nodded when he held it up. “Yes. I need two of the white pills and one of the yellow.”
Once she took the pills and changed into what Christopher deemed appropriate, she finished packing and followed him down the stairs.