Her hands barely made purchase on the next rooftop, but they held, thank God. They held! The bottom half of her swung like a crazed pendulum as she worked her way up to her forearms then her elbows, and with a loud guttural grunt, she finally heaved herself up onto the next roof.
Charles swiped sweat off his brow. Never again. He’dnevergo solo with this wildcat if he had anything to say about it. Jackson could mind his own insane wife.
Boots pounded the roof at his back. The sooner he and Kit were on solid ground, the better. Rearing back, he lifted a prayer then shot off like a sixty-four pounder from a Mark II canon.
Unlike Kit, he overshot. His legs collapsed and he skidded to a stop chin first on a layer of bird droppings and gravel from a nearby crumbling chimney. He barely made it to his feet when Kit snatched a broken brick and clambered up the back side of that chimney.
“What are you doing?” he growled. “Those men will catch up to us.”
“Divide and conquer, Mr. Baggett.” She hefted one leg over the smokestack’s edge. “Lead them on a merry chase, and when they speed by here, I’ll pop out and clobber the fellow in the rear with this brick.” She waved the weapon in the air.
“Are you mad? I’m not leaving you!”
“It’s a brilliant idea.” She cocked her head, dark hair flying in the breeze. “Have you a better one?”
“I said I’ll not leave you, woman.” The words, his tone, both harsh, but wholly called for. Jackson would have his head if he left Kit defenseless. Then again, she wasn’t completely vulnerable. She did have a brick. And a knife. Not to mention her dangerous wits and reckless courage.
“You also said you have one shot, Mr. Baggett. Use it to your advantage. There are only two of them. We can do this.” With a final defiant arch to her brow, she flung her other leg over and disappeared into the chimney.
“Kit!” Mule-headed, irritating woman. Why had he ever sung her praises to Jackson and encouraged him to wed such a rebellious skirt?
He spun towards the roof’s edge. Just as he’d predicted, the scrappers were already belly-crawling over the wall. Nothing for it, then.
Trotting backwards as fast as he dared, he held a straight line—hopefully—while flailing his arms. “Fancy a fight, do you, fellows? Over here, you worthless tubs of guts.”
The lead man lowered his head and charged like a bull. The other sped ahead as well but wasn’t nearly as fast as the first. There’d be no time to see if Kit’s aim met its mark, not if he hoped to somehow get the drop on the man-sized freight train barreling his way.
He pivoted and whizzed ahead, tired, winded, desperate. He would run out of roof in about forty more paces, and the next building looked too far of a distance to gain with a wild leap. Everything inside screamed for him to stop and shoot, but if Kit had managed to whack the other fellow on the head and was already climbing out of that chimney, a poorly aimed shot could hit her. There was nothing else to do but pray.
Spare Kit’s life, Lord…and mine.
Then plunge.
He flew over the edge, this one with a gutter, and grabbed so tightly to it that the metal cut into his flesh. He’d never been so glad in all his life to spy a drainpipe two meters to his left. Arms shaking, he scrambled hand over hand as fast as he could without losing hold, then wrapped his leg around the pipe and slid. Another button flew off his waistcoat as it snagged against a metal cuff securing the rainspout to the building. The next cuff ripped his coat.
This time when he landed, he’d be ready for that rain barrel and use it to his advantage instead of his detriment.
His feet hit gravel. His knees buckled, and he flung out a hand to stay upright. Thunder and turf! Where was a barrel when he needed it? No choice, then.
He pulled out his gun and cocked the hammer, aiming for the man’s legs as the thug skimmed down the drain. Fingering the trigger, he steadied his arm, gauged the distance, and—
A brick careened out of nowhere, cracking into the skull of the brigand. Charles barely stepped aside before the body whumped at his feet. He blinked at the unconscious man. What the devil?
He jerked his head up to see the brilliant grin of a pixie in a blue dress peering over the roof. “Handcuff that one, Mr. Baggett, then climb back up here and slap another pair of darbies on the other fellow I took down.”
Charles shook his head. The woman was completely unstoppable. “I hate to disappoint you, Mrs. Forge, but there is a slight problem with that plan.”
She shoved back the hair hanging in her face. “Come on, sir. Surely you can find no fault with my idea this time.”
“Ahh, but I can.” Though he really shouldn’t, he grinned back at her, satisfaction at thwarting her followed hard by the current problem at hand. “I used my handcuffs on the blackguard I lugged in last night.”
Which begged the question…How exactly was he to haul in these two?
Kit rubbed the tender spot on her aching hip as she aimlessly ran a finger along the edge of Jackson’s desk—what could be seen of it, anyway. So many papers cluttered the top that not much wood showed through. What a mess.
Then again, she and Charles had made quite a mess of their own. Not only had the brigand she’d left on the roof gotten away, the one they’d dragged in had hardly been coherent after her thwack with the brick…not to mention the struggle that’d ensued when Charles had tried to hog-tie him with his braces. Thank heavens for Mr. Baggett’s quick fists. She glanced at the wall clock, then narrowed her eyes. That’d been a good two hours ago, though. Surely the man ought to have come ’round enough by now to have spilled a morsel or two of information.
Behind her the door opened. Kit whirled. In strode a haggard-looking Jackson—and no wonder. Bella had squawked on and off all night the previous evening, working on teeth, so he’d not gotten much sleep. Then there was the guillotine of paperwork threatening to cut off his head…or more like a superintendent who would if he didn’t get it finished in time. Her chest squeezed that she’d added to his weariness by the impromptu interrogation he’d been foisted into when she and Charles had brought in their man.
