After several minutes, the path veered to the right, and he slowed when he saw a glow coming from an opening a few feet ahead. A cavern—possibly Tony’s hiding place.
“Let me do the talking,” Jack murmured. “I know the cove.”
She lifted her brows but didn’t argue.
For caution’s sake, he kept close to the wall, peering around the opening. The cavern was large, and someone was living there. An overturned crate was being used as a table, a sack and burning lamp upon it. Along the far wall was a blanket and… He heard Lottie’s swift inhalation as she, too, spotted the figure lying face-down upon it.
“Mr. Quinton?” Lottie’s voice held a thread of hope. “Your brother sent us…we’re here to help you…”
The fellow showed no signs of hearing her.
Crossing over, Jack went down on one knee and, with cool detachment, turned the body over. Tony Quinton’s sightless eyes stared back at him above the congealed slash on his throat.
“Poor sod’s gone.”
Obvious, but he had to say it.
“How long?” Lottie asked quietly.
He examined the body. Still warm and flaccid.
“Not long. Within the last two hours, I would guess.”
He performed a search of the dead man. He found nothing. Nothing that could be the “evidence” Tony had wanted to bring him. Nothing that could steer him to the First Flame, goddammit?—
Hearing a shuffle behind him, he shot to his feet, twisting in time to see moving shadows.
Lottie was faster. “Watch out!”
She flew into him, and they hit the ground with a thud. Jack rolled to his feet, yanking out his pistol. Two shadowy figures stood at the entrance to the cave, and he fired off a shot at the larger one. The man yelped in pain, and Jack readied to fire again, Lottie doing the same beside him. But the second assailant was faster than both of them, his gun already raised to fire.
Jack shoved Lottie behind him, but the attacker pointed his weapon upward. The blast echoed through the cavern, followed by what sounded like hooves thundering overhead. Jack swore, pushing Lottie to the ground, covering her body with his as the roof came crashing down.
Nineteen
When Sebastian’s lashes lifted, his dazed, dark eyes staring up at her, relief rushed through Charlie. His head was cradled in her lap, and she had been trying to rouse him.
He coughed. “What happened?”
“Part of the cavern’s roof collapsed. You got us out of harm’s way…mostly. You were hit by debris and have been unconscious for several minutes.”
She tried to sound nonchalant, but her fingers shook a little as she ran them over the gash near his temple, which overlapped with his existing scar. When she’d rolled him off her and seen the blood, she’d feared the worst. Luckily, the wound was superficial, and she’d managed to stanch the bleeding, though he would have a nasty bump.
“Does the injury hurt?” she asked.
“I’ve had worse.”
He sat up before she could stop him. He cupped her face, his thumb skimming her right cheekbone. She winced at the tenderness; she’d probably have a shiner in the morning.
“You’re hurt,” he whispered.
Remembering how he’d shielded her body with his own, from the assailant’s gun as well as the avalanche of rocks, she felt her throat cinch even as she shook her head.
“It’s just a bruise. You took the brunt of it.” She inhaled. “You shouldn’t have?—”
“You are my wife.” His gaze was fierce, as if daring her to deny it. “God knows I’ve given you reason to doubt me, but never doubt this: I would do anything to protect you. Anything.”
She…believed him.
