Percy could only imagine her state. How the hired man pointing a weapon at her, promising death, would raise all sorts of dark memories of her childhood abduction to the surface. Memories of a past Ridley would know about working closely with the House of Lords. Torture within torture.
Percy’s hands trembled at his sides, his rage tempered by growing hopelessness. The heartless bastard would kill Danny in front of him, all because he couldn’t accept his mortality.
That washisplan, anyway.
A plan Percy would see bleeding out at his feet, along with the man who’d dared threaten his wife.
Percy took his faithful knife from his coat, the familiar weight and knowledge its mate was close grounding him. Tightening his grip, the blade thrummed in his hand as if it knew too.
He’d trust in Danny to keep her head. She hadn’t wavered in the alley with the Greens, and she wouldn’t now, no matter how many guns were pointed at her. Though that didn’t stop him from sending up a silent prayer to the Woman Upstairs. Something eloquent and pious:
Keep Danny from harm. Give the maggot holding her hostage a bout of cramping or diarrhea or sudden bleeding from the eyes and rectum so she may escape.
...and if your magnanimousness has time, make the two-faced, mangle faced rat hoarder facing me drop dead.
Ah . . . ahem.
Percy waited a second, two. When Ridley didn’t clutch his chest and turn into a lifeless bag of flesh, Percy shrugged. That was what he got for never attending church.
Ridley chuckled at Percy’s defense and lifted his gun. “A bullet is still faster than a knife, Percy, my boy. Certainly, I taught you that?”
“You taught me many things, old man, except how to survive.” Percy enjoyed how Ridley stiffened. The man may have twenty years more experience and a lifetime of insanity over him, but Percy hadher. The gap between them could swallow oceans.
“If the French couldn’t kill me with an army, you can’t possibly believe you’ll have better luck?” he said.
“You did always exceed expectations,” Ridley acknowledged. “But you’ve never bested me, not once.”
Percy flipped the knife, catching the tip between his thumb and pointer. “Guess it’s time to change that.”
He’d see this done. He had a promise to keep and a wife waiting.
That was all the motivation he needed to charge.
Getting on with age or his disease taking its toll, Ridley didn’t pull the trigger fast enough. Pushing the muzzle down, the gun fell from his grip without going off.
They lunged at the same time to recover the weapon, but Percy rolled at the exact right moment, lifting the gun and standing in one fluid motion.
Catching Ridley on his knees, Percy trained the gun in the center of the man’s forehead and tasted his first sip of victory. “It’s over, Ridley. You’re done.”
But Ridley had one last hand to play. “We both are.”
Too late, Percy pulled the trigger. But Ridley had already given his man the signal.
A second gunshot rent the air.
Percy whirled, heart shattering. “DANNY!”
She crumpled to the grass on her stomach, her arms flung out as if to break her fall.
Percy ceased existing. For a suspended moment, there was nothing but silence and blue against a bed of green.
The ringing in his ears cut off and the sound of the breeze through the trees was deafeningly loud.
He glanced around to find his bearings. The details of the night’s mission were coming back piece by piece.
Ridley’s man had already reached the treeline, fleeing after witnessing his benefactor shot between the eyes.
Percy didn’t give chase, didn’t signal the Merrys to throw the net. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He may have returned to the world around him physically, but his mind remained far, far away.
