William.
More gunshots rang out. The ship shook as barges bumped it on all sides. Through the haze of gunfire, Alaric saw the guards jumping aboard, his brother leading the charge. A familiar lanky figure leapt onto the ship.
“Kent,” Alaric shouted. “Over here.”
The investigator ran over. “Emma?”
“I’m fine,” she assured her brother.
“Take care of her,” Alaric told the other man. “I’ve got to help Will.”
“Be careful, darling,” Emma called after him.
He entered the fray, which had turned into a vicious free-for-all. He spotted Will by the mast, wrestling with two burly brutes. The one behind Will had him by the throat; the one in front reached down and pulled a knife from his boot.
Alaric took aim and fired.
The blade-wielding villain jolted and collapsed to the ground. In the seconds that it took Alaric to run over, Will had already freed himself of the remaining ruffian. He sent his foe into oblivion with a powerful hook to the jaw. Alaric didn’t have time to compliment his brother’s technique for another pair of brutes advanced upon them, circling, blades flashing.
The brothers stood back to back.
“I’ll take the bigger one,” Will said.
“Like hell you will,” Alaric said.
The larger bastard made the decision for them, charging Alaric, who feinted left at the last moment, plowing his fist into his attacker’s belly. The brute bowled over, and Alaric wrenched the other’s arm, forcing the villain to drop the knife. He hauled his foe up and finished the job with a facer that sent the other sprawling.
A minute later, Will dispatched the other cutthroat.
Meeting his brother’s gaze, Alaric cocked an eyebrow. “What took you so long?”
“Always have to be the best, don’t you?” Will grumbled.
Alaric scanned the deck, counted the enemy subdued by his team. His nape went cold.
“Where the devil is Mercer?” he said.
“Bluidy weasel,” Will said. “We’ll search the ship. He can’t have gone far.”
They rounded up the free guards and split the search through the vessel. Accompanied by Cooper, Alaric went to the lowest deck. His shoulders brushed the walls of the narrow corridor, his muscles bunching at each creak and rattle of the aged ship. He and the guard searched each cabin along the way—no sign of Mercer.
Mid-ship, he heard a scuffling from below. He gestured to the trapdoor in front of them.
“He’s down in the hold,” Alaric mouthed to the guard.
Cooper nodded. Crouching, he yanked the door open by its iron ring.
The shot punched the guard against the wall. Blood spurted from his upper arm. With a curse, Alaric dragged Cooper out of harm’s way and ascertained the damage. Luckily, it appeared to be a flesh wound; he bound it quickly with his cravat.
“This’ll hold until the others get here,” he said.
“You should wait for them, your grace—”
Ignoring the guard, Alaric approached the trapdoor again. He stopped at a safe distance and unhooked his watch fob. Taking aim, he tossed it through the open hole, heard it skitter down the steps—
Another shot blasted from the hold.
The next second, Alaric launched himself through the trapdoor, landing in musty darkness. His gaze swung left and right, caught the limned outlines of crates, barrels, sacks—Mercer.
