That son of a bitch.
I shift in the shadows, hand tight around my Colt. Blood jumps hot. I slip from the stairwell, keeping low as he fumbles with his keys. Alice trails after him. The sway of her ass in that satin should be punishable by law.
By the time the vault swings open and they’re inside, I’m at their backs.
“Evenin’, folks,” I bark, cocking my pistol in the air.
The clerk jolts pale, mouth open. Alice gasps, clutching her robe shut like a scandalized maiden. “Mercy! Please don’t shoot!”
“Do as I say and nobody gets hurt,” I rasp. I flick my attention to her robe before adding, “Though that chamber-wear’s indecent as sin, lady. You ought to show some modesty.”
Her kerchief trembles at her cheek, eyes wide for the clerk’s sake, but I catch the twitch at the corner of her mouth.
The vault’s lined wall to wall, drawers and steel strongboxes stacked high, shelves loaded with ledgers and pouches. Jackpot.
The man looks back at me, lips quivering, waiting on orders. I point my barrel at him, finger teasing the trigger.
“Open ’em. Start at the top.”
His hands shake so bad the keys near spill. He gets one turned, drawer screeching wide, bundles of notes fat and green staring back.
I retrieve a canvas sack from my coat and toss it at his feet. “Empty it in the sack.”
He hesitates, jaw working like he might argue.
I press the pistol to his head. “If you’re thinkin’ on takin’ a stand, don’t,” I growl. “Ain’t no glory dyin’ over another man’s money. Now move.”
That seems to motivate him. He shovels fast, bills scattering across the floor, and I ease off some, lest the fool piss himself. Alice presses her kerchief to her cheek. “Please don’t hurt him.”
I cut her a look. “Suppose you hope to give this clerk a thrill dressed like that in your night-clothes.”
He flushes red, near drops the lantern, scrambling for the next drawer. Velvet pouches heavy with coin, gilt-edged stock papers—all of it goes rattling into the sack.
“Hurry up, stupid,” I snap. “If you’re dilly-dallyin’ till the law gets here, ain’t nobody comin’ and you ain’t gonna be alive to greet ’em if they were.”
He speeds up, drawers banging, shelves stripping bare one by one. The sack swells fat, clinking with gold, rustling with paper, near to bursting.
I jerk my chin. “Down. On your belly.”
He crouches to the floor, hands trembling.
Alice moves to follow.
“Not you,” I say, grabbing her by the arm and raising her up. “I may be a mean son-of-a-bitch, but I’m a gentleman. Now get the hell out of here, go on upstairs, and for God’s sake, put some damn clothes on. And don’t go looking for the law unless you want your little friend here to get a bullet between the eyes. We understand each other?”
Her brows lift. For half a heartbeat, I catch the ghost of a smile before she masks it with a tremble. “Yes, monsieur.”
But she lingers, turns back. “Please, monsieur, the Kingdom of Mizarra is at war. If my presence here this evening makes the news, surely the enemy will find me.”
The man nods quick, pale as a sheet. “No, Madame. I won’t say anything. You were never here. I swear it.”
“Thank you,” she says, then sweeps out, robe swishing like sin.
I tie the clerk fast, wrists behind him, gag tight between his teeth.
Sack slung heavy over my shoulder, I follow Alice’s path back into the dark.
I haul the sack up the stairs, near dragging with the weight of it. By the time I reach her floor, my shirt sticks damp at the back. Alice’s door cracks open just as I round the corner in the hall outside. She’s already there in her gilded suite, cheeks flushed, robe tied closed.
