Emily kicked as hard as she could with one newly freed leg at Shaw’s Achilles tendon—hoping the woman’s personal shielding wouldn’t completely blunt the impact—and leapt to her feet as Shaw stumbled into Crawford, both wizards temporarily unbalanced.
She hadn’t quite crested the fence when Kincaid materialized in front of her, but she didn’t feel so much as a flicker of alarm. He was powerless against her. She was doing it, really doing it, fending off three yes-actually-evil wizards all by herself.Three.
Then he lifted a hand toward her and she noticed what was in it.
“This is a completely non-magical weapon,” he said, aiming the handgun at her chest. “Put your feet back on the ground, if you please. Otherwise I’ll shoot you, and I’d rather not.”
So much for her extremely brief feeling of having the upper hand.
“Dr. Daggett.” Kincaid cocked the gun.“Now.”
Shaking with frustration and useless adrenaline, she did as he said. Kincaid shimmered out and reappeared on the lawn, close enough to be assured of hitting her.
Shaw stalked over and kicked her shin. “That’s just forstarters.”
“See, there was no point talking to her, sir,” Crawford complained to Kincaid. “We don’t have time—”
“It would have made things considerably easier,” he murmured. “Assistance freely given is often more ... complete.”
Emily scowled at them all. “You won’t getanyassistance from me. You’re even worse than Hartgrave saidyou were—youmurderedone of your own wizards to set me against him!”
“Don’t be daft,” Crawford snapped. “It was an illusion.”
Not dead. Oh, thankGod. Hartgrave wasn’t a killer, and she didn’t have a death on her conscience.
Kincaid fired the gun into the ground six feet from where she stood. She jumped and screamed, surprise exceeding anxiety, but not by much.
“This weapon isnotan illusion,” he said. “It’s vital you tell us where Alexander is, and I refuse to be put off any longer.”
She shook her head, trying not to think of the next bullet going through her body.
“Dr. Daggett—”
“You’re going to kill me whether I help or not,” she said, chin up, heart racing. “So ... I choose ‘not.’”
He huffed out an aggravated breath, a less than gratifying response to her courage. “I’d love to have a long discussion with you about the importance of our work and the great danger posed by the man you’re foolishly protecting—”
“The great danger posed byHartgrave?”she spluttered.
“—but I didn’t have the time to begin with, and now we’re up against it,” he continued, not deterred. “I point this out only under duress: There are worse fates than a quick death. Do keep that in mind.”
Oh,nowhe reverted to type. A burst of resentment overpowered more rational reactions to such a casuallyfrightening statement—she would have much preferred he save her the anguish and get right to it from the start.
“You’d never torture it out of me,” she declared.
He took a step closer, near enough to intimidate but not to reach. “Only someone who has never been tortured would say that.”
She shrank back, to her deep embarrassment.
“But that won’t be necessary,” Kincaid said. “You will cooperate. Otherwise, I’ll send these two talented assassins to pay a call on John and Helen Daggett of Number 152 Walnut Street, Kniffen, Iowa.”
The world spun. She fell to her knees, dizzy and nauseated.
Kincaid said nothing for a moment, no doubt wanting to let this turn of events sink in, and it did. Oh, it did. On a cold winter’s day, her father would almost certainly be tinkering in the barn. Her mother would be snapping photographs of frost. Easy targets.
“You have three seconds to make up your—”
She didn’t let Kincaid finish that thought, let alone start counting. “I’ll cooperate! I’ll cooperate!”
