“You keep it in that case on the desk?” He held the revolver with his right hand and turned just far enough to reach the case with his left. He tossed it onto the bed. “You,” he said to Willa. “Open it.”
Willa pressed a hand to her stomach to try to keep her nerves in check. This was it. He’d take everything they had. They couldn’t go on selling the elixir, not after this. Not that she wanted to. And she doubted Papa would want to either—not now, not after she’d discovered what he’d been bottling. What would they do with no money and no way to earn more?
“Now!” Mr. Johnson raised the revolver, and Willa moved to the end of the bed, dropping Papa’s hand. The money would be right on top. There would be no way to hide it from Mr. Johnson. Her fingers shaking, she lifted the lid on the case, which she hadn’t relatched earlier.
But there was nothing there. Only the documents she’d paged through earlier remained stacked in the case.
“Where is it?” Mr. Johnson raised the pistol and held it at Papa. “You can’t have spent all that. Is it in those wagons?”
“No, I . . .” Papa looked just as perplexed as Willa was. What had happened to the money? She’d opened the case, then lifted the documents . . .
Wait. She’d set the money aside, on the desk. She hadn’t put it back in the case. But surely Mr. Johnson would have seen it when he reached for the case. Or earlier, when he’d first noticed it sitting there. Where could it have gone?
“Get up. We’re going to the livery. Surely you got something in those wagons that’ll make up for this. If not, I’ll take one of them horses.” He gestured at Papa with the gun.
“No.” Willa stood. “I’ll go. He can’t leave the room; he’s too ill.”
Mr. Johnson looked at her, a slight smile on his face, but there was nothing warm about it. Willa shrunk back, wishing she could take back that offer. But she couldn’t let Papa go out.
“That sounds mighty fine to me.” His eyes traveled up and down her person, and Willa thought she herself might fall sick.
“Absolutely not. I’ll go.” Papa swung his legs from the bed.
“You stay where you are, old man. The lady’ll take me.” He handed her coat to her, a strange gesture of decency in an entirely indecent situation. “Let’s go. Willa, is it? I like that name. Rolls off the tongue real nice.”
Willa shuddered as she pulled her coat on. “It’s Miss Rousseau.”
“I think I like Willa better.” He grabbed hold of her arm as Papa lifted himself from the bed. “You stay put if you want to see her again.” He rested the revolver against her, and Willa pulled away. He jerked her back to him and led her to the door. “Open it,” he demanded.
Feeling as if she were walking to her own death, Willa grabbed hold of the handle and opened the door.
And there, on the other side, stood Nick.
Chapter Twenty-two
WITHOUT HESITATING, Nick lunged for Willa. The man holding her reacted a second too late, reaching for her when Nick had already pulled her to safety behind him in the hallway.
