Stockwell toyed with the knife in his hands, his manner indifferent as the stocky man lumbered to the door. “I am offering you a chance to gain wealth beyond anything you’ve ever dreamed. You’ll be a rich man.”
Again, Nelson shook his head. “I’ve no taste for killing. This is not what I agreed to.”
“I can’t convince you to honor our bargain?” Stockwell kept his attention on his henchman.
Seizing the distraction, Alex reached up with one hand and brushed her fingertips over her hair. Fishing a carved hair pin loose, she curled her fingers over it and slipped her arm behind her, maintaining the illusion she was bound.
“Sod off,” Nelson growled. His boots treading heavily against the hard-packed dirt floor, he marched to the exit.
“Very well,” Stockwell said. “You’re making a mistake.”
“I want no part of mur—”
With a smooth, practiced movement, Stockwell slipped a revolver from a shoulder holster beneath his jacket.
He fired.
Alex heard a scream. Could that be her voice echoing against the walls?
Nelson did not cry out as the bullet plowed into his back. He gasped, and a low sound of agony escaped him. Pulling in great gulps of air, he sank to his knees.
“You bastard,” he murmured.
Blood pooled over his coat. His head slumped. Lifeless, he pitched forward, his bowler hat tumbling to the floor.
Benedict stared at the dead man, unable to conceal his shock.
“What a shame—Mr. Nelson has outlived his usefulness.” Stockwell’s tone was stunningly matter-of-fact. “Now, we seem to be at a bit of a stalemate. I see only one solution.”
Stockwell’s knife clattered to the floor. Quick as a viper, he caught Alex by the throat. His fingers dug into her flesh, a brutal vise on her jaw and throat.
“Surrender your weapon or I will kill her. I’ll put a bullet right between these pretty brown eyes.”
Terror became a palpable thing. She tasted it on her tongue. It welled in her throat. In her chest. In her belly. But she held in the primal sound. She would not give in to the fear.
She shrunk away from him, but he clamped down tighter. A vein pulsed beneath his thumb. Instinct urged her to fight, to claw at his hands and free herself, to plunge the sharp pin into his flesh, but she knew better. Any abrupt movement would startle the jackal. He would pull the trigger, and she would die. She had to find a way to stay calm. She’d have to wait for the right moment. She could see the strain on Benedict’s face and the tiny beads of perspiration over his brow.
“Move away from her.” A plea he did not try to hide infused Benedict’s words. “There’s no need to hurt her. Let her go. Then, we will negotiate.”
“I am out of patience. Throw down your weapon.Then, we will negotiate.” Stockwell used Benedict’s words against him.
“No, Benedict!” she cried out. “Don’t do it.”
The thud of boots pounded the length of the corridors between the main entry and the room where Stillwell had imprisoned her. Her captor tensed. He’d heard the sounds. He knew what was happening.
Colton’s men had arrived. Soon, they’d charge through the door.
Stockwell had nothing left to lose.
His fingernails dug into her skin. Pain radiated through her flesh. Biting her lip to stop herself from crying out, she maneuvered the hairpin between her fingertips. Beneath the veil of her lashes, she saw Benedict raise his weapon. His finger rested against the trigger. If Stockwell released her, Benedict would have a clear shot.
“I should have known Colton would not comply with my instructions,” Stockwell said. He leveled his weapon at Benedict. “Very well, then. They’ve forced my hand.”
There was no more time. She had to act.
With a quick, desperate jerk of her arm, Alex slashed forward, driving the two-pronged pin into her captor. The sharpened ivory plunged into Stockwell’s forearm.
His cry of misery echoed through the room. Light shimmied over the gun in his hand.
