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Kendrick frowned. "Perhaps you'll earn your bread in a different manner from now on, old man. Now,
where were you to meet our illustrious Master McShane?"
"At the inn. The first room on the left at the top of the stairs. He said he'd be waitin' for me."
"Let's not keep him waiting any longer than necessary, shall we? Royce, where is Genevieve?"
"I'm right here," she said, coming across the room.
"Bind Royce's arm, would you? We'll carry him down to hospital and then take care of Master
McShane."
Kendrick kept his eyes on his prisoner as he listened to Royce mutter and curse under his breath.
Genevieve wasn't making a sound. Then he felt himself pushed aside, and Royce's fist connected with the
false father's face. Kendrick contemplated telling his captain to stop, then discarded the idea. He would
have been doing the same thing if he hadn't just found himself with an armful of wife.
"I can't believe this," she whispered hoarsely. "Bryan McShane? What could he possibly want with me?"
"We'll know soon enough, love," Kendrick said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Bryan
McShane was a dead man. He was likely behind all of Genevieve's frights and he would most certainly
pay for his sport.
"Royce, he's senseless," Kendrick said, reaching out to grab hold of his captain's arm. "Leave him be.
With any luck, we'll see the Inspector on our way into the village and he can relieve us of this burden."
Royce netted the man over his shoulder and carried him down the steps.
"Don't bleed on my car," Kendrick warned as Royce climbed into the back seat with the senseless priest.
"Kendrick, your concern is touching."
Kendrick flashed him a smile in the rearview mirror. Royce winked in return and Kendrick knew his
friend would survive. Now he had to concentrate his energies on finding Bryan McShane and keeping
him alive long enough to put him through hell.
The thought was singularly appealing.
Chapter Thirty-one
« ^ »
Bryan pulled his hat lower over his eyes and slumped down in his seat. Taking the train had been a flash
of inspiration. Taking it to Scotland instead of down to London had been nothing short of brilliant. First to
Edinburgh, then on an airplane to America. The thought of living in the States terrified him those pesky
Americans with their uncivilized ways but he would bear it. At least he would be alive to bear it. A
lucky thing he had recently placed all his money in a Swiss bank account. Having to go back to dig in his
mattress would have been unfortunate indeed.
The clackety-clack of the train should have soothed him, but instead it startled him continuously. His feet
would have sounded like that while they banged against the wall as he hung a foot off the ground with
Maledica's fingers around his throat. He pulled at the collar of his shirt uncomfortably. God help him.
He exited the train several hours later on shaky legs. The thought of taking a bus to the airport didn't
appeal. What he wanted to do was take a cab and collapse in the back of it. He stumbled to the curb
and opened the door. Good: it was empty. He wasn't so far gone that he'd lost his caution.
"The airport," he said, falling back against the seat. "And step on it."
The far door opened and he shook his head, his eyes still closed. "I don't want to share."
"Where you're going, little mouse, there's only one to a box." Bryan opened his mouth to scream.
Maledica stifled the scream with his hand.
"A deserted alley will do nicely," Maledica said to the cabby, tossing him a handful of hundred-pound
notes. "Discretion is the key. If you'll wait, I'll pay you to drive me to the airport. Or has my servant
already done that? How convenient."
Bryan closed his eyes, knowing it was too late to pray, too late to do anything but enjoy his last few
moments on earth and grieve a bit for the lion who had never truly come out in him. Perhaps he'd have a
chance beyond the Pearly Gates, as he was sure he'd be entering them shortly.
A pity, really. Among other things, he certainly would have liked to see Maledica pitted against Lord
Seakirk, especially now that he'd seen the ghost climb out of the car back at the village and realized that
de Piaget was no longer merely a spirit.
The car stopped in darkness.
Bryan sighed as he felt his fear rush through him like a roar.
And then he felt hands go around his throat.
And he knew no more.
Chapter Thirty-two
« ^ »
Genevieve looked up as Kendrick came from Royce's hospital room. He was smiling faintly and she
relaxed.
"He's all right?"
"Aye. 'Twas but a paltry wound. I survived much worse and made not nearly the noise as I was being
stitched up. My captain is a woman."
"I heard that," a voice called from within the room.
Kendrick smiled as he pulled Genevieve to her feet. "He fears I will shame him before that little wench
down yonder, see her? My marriage has truly affected him, for he told me he's fallen in love and will wed
her before spring."
"It's the Florence Nightingale syndrome," Genevieve smiled. "Happens to a lot of patients."
"Indeed?" Kendrick stretched, then made a face of pain. "My muscles seem to be a bit sore from the
afternoon's exertion. I don't suppose you would care to be nursemaid to me tonight, would you?"
"Depends on what you'll give me for doing it."
Kendrick only smiled as they continued on down the corridor, but Genevieve didn't mistake it for
anything but a promise. She put her arm around his waist and hugged him as they left the building. How
close she had come to losing him without even being aware of it. The last thing she had expected from the
"priest" was to see him pull a knife out of his pocket.
She closed her eyes and let the purr of the motor soothe her as Kendrick drove them home. He was
tense. She could feel that without touching him. She supposed he had his reasons, as did she. Knowing
that Bryan McShane wanted her was unnerving to say the least, especially since he was nowhere to be
found. She hoped he had decided his plan wasn't worth pursuing and had left the country.
She opened her eyes as the car crossed over the drawbridge, then sat up and peered out the window.
She could have sworn she saw shapes in the darkness.
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