I raced out the door, chanting her name.
Inez. Inez. Inez.
CAPÍTULO VEINTITRÉS
Carriages rumbled up and down the street, and donkeys laden with their burdens crowded the lane, while vendors selling juice and spices and bread called out their prices. The bustling noise surrounded me, and the urge to yell for help overwhelmed me.
“We wait here,” the man said.
I licked my dry lips. “What does Mr. Sterling want?”
“Quiet,” he said, removing his hand from around my shoulders. The gun stayed where it was, half-hidden. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the same card Mr. Sterling had given me and traced the lettering printed on the surface with his thumb. “He won’t be long now.”
He was older, and his manner was grim and jaded. Everything about him was dour: his clothing, the turned-down corners of his mouth, the vacant emptiness in his watery blue eyes.
I glanced around nervously, my hackles rising. Despite the morning sunlight, a chill skipped down my spine. A sleek brougham painted black approached. One could trust Mr. Sterling to choose the most formidable transportation available. The driver pulled to a stop in front of us, and through the window, I caught sight of the person I least wanted to see in all the world.
The door opened, and Mr. Sterling leaned forward, tipping his hat to me in mock salute. “Hello, Miss Olivera,” he said in his nasally voice. “Won’t you come in?”
I eyed him warily, conscious of the gun pressed into my side. Would he truly have his associate shoot me in the middle of the street?
“I really would,” Mr. Sterling said, as if I’d asked the question out loud. “I’ve reached a point of no return, I fear. Now, I’ll ask you one more time. Won’t you come in?”
“No, thank you; I’d rather stay where I am,” I said. “You’re here for a reason, I’m sure. Why don’t we have our discussion right now?”
“Mr. Graves, if you would?”
The man took a hold of my arm while jabbing me again with his pistol. “In you go, Inez.”
“No,” I said, squirming. Mr. Sterling was here for a reason—and he was bluffing. He had to be. He wouldn’t shoot me before he got what he wanted. And clearly there was something I had that he needed. I wouldn’t go easy.
I opened my mouth, inhaling, a scream gathering deep in my chest.
“Remember your husband,” Mr. Graves said. “If you don’t cooperate, he dies.”
My voice abandoned me, and my terror returned. Mr. Graves pointed to the open carriage with his chin, and I took a wobbly step forward, and then another.
I hesitated. Whit would not want me to go anywhere with Mr. Sterling of all people, not for his sake. I heard Whit’s roaring protest in my mind. I blinked when I heard that distinct shout again.
Actually, thatwasWhit roaring.
I half turned in the direction of the hotel to find him racing toward me, shouting my name. Mr. Graves let out a sharp curse. The stab of the gun at my side decreased in pressure. Mr. Graves shifted on his feet, turning.
No, no, no.
Instinctively, I spun around and climbed inside the carriage, dropping onto the bench opposite Mr. Sterling. Whit abruptly stopped in his tracks, sand spurting. His jaw dropped, and anguish stole over his face. My heart shattered. I knew what this would look like to him. Mr. Graves came in after me, the pistol in his hand aimed at Whit.
“I’ll cooperate,” I said. “Please, shut the door. Please.”
Mr. Sterling nodded, and Mr. Graves did as he was ordered. Mr. Sterling struck the roof of the carriage twice and the driver clicked his teeth. Welurched forward, gaining speed. I looked out the window, catching sight of Whit as we rolled past him.
“Inez,” he yelled, frantically trying to get to me. He skirted around the hotel guests gazing at the scene in unabashed astonishment. “Don’t—”
“Lo siento,” I said. “Go back! Please!”
This, apparently, wasn’t a sufficient enough apology, because Whit ran after us, cursing at Mr. Sterling with every step.
“He’s a determined young man,” Mr. Sterling commented. “Your brute.”
