The bobby’s eyes widened with shock, lips parting as though he might protest. But no words came.
He crumpled.
Daisy’s breath left her in a shudder.
Alastair stood in the doorway, pistol in hand, his gaze cold and unyielding.
“Step away from her or you’re next.” His attention was just over her shoulder, and the words were calm. Deadly.
But Daisy recognized the tension in his shoulders, the fire in his eyes.
He had come for her. He had come for them.
But it wasn’t over.
Daisy was grabbed again, from behind—the injured man’s arms like iron bars.
The boiling water hadn’t been hot enough. She had hoped it would subdue this villain but instead, she’d only enraged him.
She struggled, but he was too strong. With a swift motion, he snatched the bread knife from the counter and pressed it hard against her abdomen.
She should have been terrified as the murderer began dragging her toward the rear exit.
But Alastair was here. And he had to know the truth.
“Gilbert truly is my brother.” The words flew from her lips, unbidden, urgent. If these were her last moments, she wouldn’t leave this question unanswered.
Truth mattered. It meant everything.
Alastair’s eyes flicked from Giles to her, his gaze warming for just an instant.
“I know.” His voice was steady, certain. “You would have told me if he wasn’t.”
Daisy resisted the tugging. “I would have.”
Alastair trusted her. Without hesitation, without question.
“Not that I wouldn’t be proud to have you for a son, Gil,” Alastair said. “Especially one who reads as much as you do. It’s easy to overlook the value of a good philosopher.” All his attention was on the man behind Daisy, even though he was speaking to Gilbert.
Gilbert, who had silently moved closer to the stove and carried something behind his back.
The Treatises of Governmentby John Locke.
God bless this boy.
Gilbert swung the book with all his might, slamming the heavy volume into the side of Giles’s head.
A grunt. A curse. A stumble.
Daisy twisted free, just as Alastair launched himself across the room.
A flash of steel. A struggle for the knife.
Alastair wrenched it from Giles’s grasp and twisted his arms around the man’s throat, locking him in a vise-like grip.
“I’ve got him.” His voice was deadly calm, his knuckles white. “Are either of you hurt?”
His gaze swept between Daisy and Gilbert, sharp and searching.
