Lace & Lead (novella) (14 page)

“I’ll distract them,” he told her, “and you run for the garage.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Emma, I can get you the time you need!”

She grasped his hand, knowing he could feel her touch through his gloves. “You’re not dying for me.”

He gritted his teeth and scowled at her. “I don’t intend to die,” he said, deliberately emphasising each word. “But there’s no way I can do my fucking job if you’re in danger. Understand?”

“How do I know you aren’t going to rush them once I’m safe in the garage?”

He growled something under his breath, but she didn’t back down. She didn’t care if the men came down from the house to find them both still arguing behind the wall. He needed to be safe.

“If I rush them, I’ll die. And as I already stated, that’s not part of the plan.”

“What is the plan, Peirce?”

“For the love of the gods, woman, get to the garage!”

“What’s your plan?”

He huffed angrily, ripped his welder’s goggles from their belt loop and curled her fingers around them. “These go to our son. I want at least one. And maybe a daughter so I can shoot her boyfriend when he screws up. Okay? Now do you understand my plan?”

If he weren’t trying to shock the shit out of her and get her to obey one goddamn order before some dumbass merc shot her in her beautiful and stubborn little head, he might have appreciated the radiant expression that crossed her face.

In the middle of a fire fight.

While they were trying to escape with their lives from a psychotic killer who was currently burning down her ancestral home.

Great fucking way to propose, Taggart, you asswipe.

He clasped a hand around the back of her head and kissed her as deeply as he could. “As soon as this is done, we’re getting hitched. And I’m not inviting your father.”

“You’ve got two minutes to get to the garage or I’m coming back,” she whispered. And taking a deep breath, she darted down the hill.

He was already popping up from his position, moving back up the hill toward the house, firing his gun at the sentries. They behaved exactly as they should, diving for cover, focusing solely on him.

The stone wall shivered from the impact of bullets as he ducked behind it. His cuff lit up and he could barely make out Douglass’s voice through all the noise.

“Some signal fire, sir.”

He fired blindly over the wall, satisfied to hear grunts of pain as his bullets hit their marks and reloaded, hollering back, “Nice of you to join me!”

“One minute out, boss!” Kai was yelling.

One minute was enough.
I can hold them.

He emptied the new clip over his shoulder and began reloading. Shards of stone glanced off the wall. He hit his stomach, realising the guys from inside the house were finally making it out into the garden. They had the perfect angle on him.

He grunted as a stray bullet glanced off his upper arm and he rolled toward the last segment of the wall before the hill down to the garage. Hopefully Emma had found something that would start.

Breathing out half a prayer, he took off down the hill.

They hadn’t seen her. Emmaline still couldn’t believe it. She had barely managed to close the door behind her. She was so torn to see Peirce firing up the hill, silhouetted against the burning house. He’d make it to her. He had plans.

Plans that involved kids.
Marriage.

She didn’t know the garage well since her father had never let her in it, but in the half dark, she saw the hulking shapes of old farm equipment, the vehicles the servants must have used on the outlying land during the harvest season. Judging by the lack of dust on their hoods, she gathered Peirce had only worked on two during his last stay at the estate: an ancient Brumby that looked like it had seen better days and some kind of truck that was in equally poor condition.

The truck looked sturdier, but the Brumby would probably be faster. The gunfire was getting closer. No time to deliberate.

She had the Brumby started and was strapping into the passenger seat, holding her pistol at the doors in shaking hands, when they opened and a familiar form ran inside.

“Good choice, honey,” he complimented once he was inside. She’d never been so glad to see that arrogant face.

“Are they—?”

“Oh, they’re coming.”

He kept the rifle between the seats, threw the vehicle into gear without bothering to buckle in and tore out of the garage. Emmaline braced herself against the dash and door. She saw a flash on the road up to the house—a Stallion with mounted gun laying down cover fire.

“’Bout damn time,” Peirce grumbled, keeping the Brumby from sliding out as they hit the main road.

“Douglass and Kai?”

“In the flesh.”

“I don’t understand why my father would do this—”

“He didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Peirce was opening his mouth to answer when his eyes went wide and he jerked the wheel hard to the side.

As they spun, she could see it—

The flash.

The smoke trail.

And she couldn’t even get enough air to scream when Peirce slammed into her, halfway out of his seat as the Brumby spun them away. As the RPG slammed into the back panel.

A horrific rending of metal and shattering of glass. The world flipping on itself. Glass pelting her, that heavy weight clinging to her, her head slamming against the seat, against something hard—

And comforting blackness.

Damn, his head hurt. And his shoulder. And back. And ribs. And arms. Hell, if he was going to acknowledge it, every part of him hurt.

He coughed, chest feeling strangely light, and managed to crack open his eyes. The daylight outside was blinding. He knew from the stabbing in his skull that he had a bitch of a concussion to deal with at some point. Too many explosions too close together.

“Em?” he groaned, shifting, still trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with his chest.

The shattered glass beneath him bit into his skin, pushing him toward wakefulness.

It was coming back. The RPG, his attempt to shield her.

His armour. Most of his armour had been torn apart while he’d been tossed like a rag doll. But that was unimportant now.
Assess the situation
. He needed another peek outside, even if it hurt.

Body surging with panicked adrenaline, he craned his head to look around. The Brumby was history. He’d been lucky there was enough time to spin it so the RPG hit the rear panels; all that was left of the back end was shorn metal. They were upside down, with him pressed against the crumpled roof, his rifle nowhere in sight.

But Emma was still there. Thank the gods she’d strapped in. Her body was suspended in the seatbelt and, even though she was upside down, Peirce couldn’t see any major injuries. As he watched, her eyelids fluttered and slowly opened.

“Peirce?” she murmured, dazed.

“We’ve got to go, babe,” he said as he tried to right himself.

Odd, his body wasn’t listening like it was supposed to.

Emma tugged at her seatbelt’s latch. A line appeared between her eyebrows and he saw her push at it harder. She looked at him, eyes rimmed white with fear. “It won’t open.”

What is that sound?
Footsteps approaching.

Are Kai and Douglass already down here? How long have I been out?

And then, filtering in from the background, the continued report of gunfire. He glanced down at his wrist. The cuff was destroyed.

If it isn’t my men...

The pain shouldn’t be winning out. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. That wasn’t the plan.

“Peirce! They’re coming! Please, help!”

She was fighting now, jerking against the restraints.

He had a knife somewhere.
Come on, Taggart, cut her loose. Get her out
.

The steps were just outside, near his head.

Her door panel ripped open and two men leaned down, taking in the scene.

“No,” Peirce moaned, desperately trying to convince his muscles to work.
Why can’t I move?

One pulled a knife, cut her free and dragged her from the Brumby.

“Emmaline!”

He crawled toward the door, but he could hear the metal screeching behind him. Someone grabbed his feet, dragged him out onto the road. There wasn’t enough time—

Chapter 11

Emmaline fought her captors as they dragged her away from the Brumby. She could hear Peirce inside, yelling her name, his voice breaking. Two men were working on opening his door; she didn’t know why.

There, on the road in front of her, standing so coolly in his pressed suit, hat perched at a rakish angle, cane dangling from his hand with practiced ennui, was Richard Stone.

“You?” Emmaline gasped.

“You expected your father?” Stone snorted and raised a delicate eyebrow at her. “Really, Miss Gregson, after the incident in Plymouth, I’d assumed you had more sense than that.”

“Plymouth? I don’t understand...”

Stone looked away from her, attention focused to her left. The other men had gotten Peirce free from the wreckage and were dragging him toward Stone. Peirce was shaking his head and she saw from the flex of his shoulders that the crash had taken more out of him than it had her.

The top half of his armour was mostly gone, splintered off with entire chunks of plate missing...that’s what she’d hit her head on.
Him
. He’d thrown himself over her. Her eyes welled up and she swallowed quickly to try to hide her reaction.

Fortunately, Stone wasn’t watching her. He was too focused on Peirce.

“Mr. Taggart? My men have shared your fearsome reputation with me. It’s unfortunate we have to meet under these circumstances.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re all broken up about it, asshole,” Peirce taunted.

At least his mouth was still working
.

Stone motioned with a single finger and one of the goons holding Peirce slammed a knee up into his ribs. Peirce groaned, but didn’t stop. “Can’t say I’m surprised to see you here.”

“And I thought your retreat said otherwise,” Stone responded in a bored tone. “But then, even if the delightful Miss Gregson doesn’t understand the reason for my visit, you’re far too shrewd to have missed that connection.”

“True,” Peirce quipped. “Must hurt to know you could only hire—”

He squinted up at the men holding him up and grinned, his teeth tinged from the blood streaming down his face from a cut on his forehead. “Well, shit. What is this, the fifth string? That you, Lennox?”

One of the men spat on him and Peirce chuckled.

“I thought I recognised you, you son of a bitch.” Now he looked at Stone, eyes going cold. “Like I said, couldn’t afford the big guns?”

Emmaline could see the muscle spasming in Stone’s jaw; his teeth were clenched so tightly.

“That mine snafu must have really set you back.”

Peirce was looking at her, holding her gaze, even as what he said next sunk in.

“It’s not like you have much time left, what with French pox, right? And to lose your only heir because he wasn’t able to keep it in his pants, even during a cave-in? Tough break—”

“Make him quiet,” Stone ordered and the men dropped Peirce, immediately kicking and punching at every exposed part of his body.