“I will do this for you, son, like I did everything else for you. I’ll do it for my grandchild. The old earl ain’t the only one with bloodlines to carry on. We’re worth just as much as them.”
“You vowed that you were out,” Amelia said to Connor, quietly. “The other night, when you moved the body. You said, ‘If you ever again ask me to do something like this, I won’t. I’ll go to the police.’ You said, ‘This is not who I am.’”
Tom frowned. That was the argument she’d heard? She’d remembered?
Connor threw up his hands. “I can’t do this,” he said, walking towards the door. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Tom struggled to his feet. “Connor, no,” he said, stepping towards him, pain shooting up his leg. “There is no turning your back on this, even if you walk away. This will haunt you. Worse than Eddie’s injury did.”
“Stop right there, Tom!” Duncan raised the rifle at Tom’s head and cocked it, a terrifying intent in his narrowed eyes. Tom had been deerstalking enough with Duncan to know that look. He was about to fire.
Out of options, Tom charged at Duncan, vaguely aware of Connor doing the same, yelling. This time, Duncan was out of tackling distance. No way would the old man miss.
As Tom lunged, something flew out of nowhere and cracked Duncan in his temple, knocking him backwards. A series of shots exploded. Duncan’s head struck a baluster, and he slumped to the floor, just as Tom reached him. The glass paperweight thunked onto the tiles and skidded away. Amelia dashed out to pick it up.
Duncan was out cold, the rifle clutched in his hands. Still breathing. Tom stumbled to a halt and stood speechless for a few seconds before his training took over. He disarmed Duncan, awkwardly, with his hands still tied.
“Youthrew that?” he said to Amelia.Thatwas why she’d dug into his pocket. That was why she shuffled away—to get a clearer shot. Legend.
“I didn’t want to let them win, Tom, not again.”
Tom knew the “them” she was referring to wasn’t Duncan and Connor.
“Tom,” she warned darkly, looking past him.
He spun. Connor was sprawled across the floor, blood seeping onto the tiles beside his shoulder. He stared at Tom, breathing hard. “I wasn’t gonna let him do it, Tom, honest. I didn’t think he’d…”
“Quick, Amelia, can you cut me free?” Tom nodded towards Duncan’s hunting knife, which had ended up on the floor.
Amelia deftly sawed through the cord, and they rushed to Connor. She whipped off her coat, balled it up and held it against his shoulder. Immediately, crimson liquid spread across the fabric. She looked at Tom, her forehead creased. “We’re gonna need an ambulance.”
Both doors flew open. The Pritchard brothers stormed in and flanked Tom and Amelia, rifles leveled.
“Tom?” Griffin said in warning. “Drop the weapon.”
Chapter 25
Amelia
Tom stood slowly, looking from brother to brother, while they looked around the room in bafflement.
“Damn,” the brother nearest Amelia said, nodding at Connor. “Is he shot?” He looked at Tom. “Did you shoot him?”
“No, I didn’t shoot him,” Tom said. “Duncan did.”
“Duncan shot his own son? And who shot Duncan?”
“Nobody did. He got…” Tom glanced at Amelia. “Knocked out.”
“The hell is going on here?” said the other brother, the taller one, in the gray overcoat. What did Tom say his name was—Rhys? And the other one—the balding one in the blue puffer—was Griffin.
“I could ask you two the same question,” Tom said. He’d lowered the rifle, but he wasn’t putting it down.
The brothers shared a guilty glance.
“Could you all put your damn weapons down,” Amelia said, her hands damp and sticky with Connor’s blood, “and get this poor guy a blanket? He’s shivering.”
No one moved.
