And on the threshold, there he stood. Leo. Her husband. The man she loved.
Only this man was different. He was cold. Aloof. Pistol in hand, the barrel pointing at John. He did not even spare Bridget a glance.
Dear God.
Leo had followed her here. He had known.
Of course he had.
He had not been looking after other matters this afternoon. He had been waiting for her to leave. Spying upon her. Watching her.
“Carlisle. Good of you to arrive,” John spat, and it was in that precise moment Bridget realized he too had a pistol in hand. His pistol, however, was trained upon Bridget.
Her heart thudded.
“You would train your weapon upon a defenseless woman, rather than the man you seek to murder?” Leo asked John, his tone biting. Colder than she had ever heard it.
“Is she precious to you?” John asked, the barrel of his pistol never wavering from Bridget’s head.
“She means nothing to me.” Again, Leo did not even look in her direction. His dark gaze was fixed upon John instead.
His words may well have been an act. Bridget could not tell. But they stung just the same.
“Perhaps I will kill her while you watch,” John suggested.
Her gaze flew back to the man she had once counted a friend. The barrel of his pistol remained pointed at her. “John.”
“Shut up,” he barked at her before turning his attention back to Leo. “What shall it be, Carlisle? Do you want me to put a bullet in her pretty head, or are you going to lower your weapon?”
“John, please,” she intervened, terrified. Terrified for Leo. Not even for herself. She did not believe John would shoot her, but if he did, well…she had been wounded before. ButLeo. If something happened to Leo,because of her, she would not be able to carry on. “This is madness. Lower your weapon.”
“Here is your chance, Bridget,” John surprised her by saying. “You can kill him now.”
Bile churned, working its way up her throat, threatening to choke her. “Yes,” she agreed, determined to agree with him regardless of what he said. He was a madman. All she wanted was Leo safe from harm. “I will do anything you ask, John. Only give me a weapon, and I will do it.”
She swallowed again, arm outstretched. John reached inside his coat and extracted a second weapon, all while keeping the first upon her. Her fingers grasped the pistol. He relinquished it.
“I will give you to the count of five to pull the trigger, Bridget. If you don’t do it, I will shoot you instead,” John told her, colder than Wenham Lake ice.
“John,” she objected.
“Leave the lady out of this,” Leo protested simultaneously. “This is between the two of us, as men.”
“No.” John shook his head, eyes flitting wildly between Bridget and Leo, jaw rigid, clenched with determination. “Until the count of five, Bridget. One. Two.”
Bridget knew what she had to do. She had fired guns before. She would wait until five and make her move.
“Three. Four. Five.”
Bridget pointed the pistol at John and pulled the trigger.
It clicked.
Nothing happened.
Her heart dropped.
John sneered at her. “I knew I couldn’t trust you, you stupid whore. Spreading your legs for the enemy and then—”
