Wick stood over Palmer; the brute was sputtering, his hands clutching the gushing wound in his chest. Even as Wick knelt to see what could be done, Palmer’s hands slid lifelessly to his sides.
Gunfire exploded above them.
“Get away from me, you bastard!” Lisette’s screech came from overhead.
Wick raced for the steps. They took him to the uppermost floor: this third story was fully exposed to the night, the yard below dizzily distant through the drifting fog. Moonlight glinted off the tracks spanning the opening where the coal would be dropped. Spotting a figure doubled over on the platform next to the tracks, Wick ran over, pistol drawn.
It was Kent.
“Are you hurt?” Wick crouched.
“Not…permanently,” the other gritted out. “She kicked me.”
Comprehending where Lisette’s kick had landed, Wick winced in sympathy.
“Hadleigh went after her,” Kent said between pants. “They’re up ahead.”
At that instant, the ground rumbled.
“Christ, the train,” Wick bit out. “Stay here. I’ll get them.”
He straightened, squinting in the darkness. He saw them twenty yards ahead: two figures struggling dangerously close to the edge of the opening to the floor below. Locked in their struggle, they seemed oblivious to the locomotive heading toward them, the widening disk of its headlamp as it crossed the viaduct, barreling toward the warehouse. The ground vibrating beneath his feet, Wick was sprinting over, shouting out a warning, when he saw Lisette stumble backward, her feet slipping on the edge. She lost her balance, falling through the hole—but Hadleigh lunged forward, somehow grabbing her by the hand.
Lisette hung, suspended by that perilous connection.
The duke was trying to pull her up, calling to her, ignoring the blasting horn of the oncoming train. As Wick reached them, Lisette turned her head and looked at him. Her lips curved in a triumphant smile…and she let go.
“No.” Hadleigh’s shout could be heard above the roar of the train.
Wick dragged the duke to the safety of the platform. An instant later, the train whipped by. The pounding thumps of coal filling the warehouse echoed through the night.
40
SeeingWick emerge along with the others, Bea pushed through the ring of guards and ran to him. Wick caught her, crushing her against him, surrounding her with his reassuring strength.
“I was so worried,” she said, her voice hitching. “What happened in there?”
“Lisette and Palmer are both dead. I shot Palmer.”
At his statement, she tilted her head back to look at him. His expression was stark, but she saw no conflict on his handsome face. He’d done what had to be done, and he accepted it.
“And…Lisette?” she asked.
Wick drew her close, murmuring in her ear, “She fell to her death. Hadleigh tried to save her—risked his own life to do so.”
Bea’s eyes widened at the news. She pulled away, her gaze searching for her brother. He hung away from the group, his shoulders hunched, his eyes fixed on some distant point. Drawing a breath, she went over to him.
“Hadleigh?”
Although she spoke softly, he flinched, as if he hadn’t noticed her approach.
“Beatrice.” His voice was gruff. “You are well?”
It was absurd, exchanging niceties at a time like this. Equally absurd was the fact that he was her brother, her only surviving kin, and they’d not spoken for years. The chasm caused by pain, betrayal, and pride had once seemed impassable. It was still vast, and she didn’t know if they could ever heal that breach…but she took the first step.
“I’m fine. And you?”
Surprise flickered in his eyes. “I’m fine as well. Thank you…for asking.”
