She lurched to the window while he did the same. “I’ve got two riders on this side.”
“There’s one more over here.” Adrian dropped to a crouch on the floor and flipped back the seat on the opposite bench to reveal a large compartment used for storage. He retrieved a wooden box containing a pistolwhile Samantha grabbed the smaller one she carried in her reticule.
A distinct thud struck the roof of the cabin. Samantha glanced up, head tilting as softer sounds followed. “One of them is commandeering the carriage. Doesn’t bode well for Phelps.”
“I fear the shot we heard may have killed him.” The ice in Adrian’s voice could freeze the pits of hell.
Sharing his anger, Samantha gave her attention back to the window and saw the remaining rider on her side falling slightly behind. Deciding to use this to her advantage, she unlocked the door and swung it open. One hand grabbed the handle as hard as she could as she leaned out through the opening and took careful aim.
A deep breath to steady herself, followed by a slow exhalation. She squeezed the trigger. A blast sounded and the rider fell from his horse. She hauled herself back inside, the door slamming shut as the carriage rounded a corner too sharply. The force knocked her backward, jarring her spine while another shot spliced the air.
Adrian muttered a curse. “I missed thanks to this reckless driving.”
“I’m sure that’s the intention.”
A throaty growl was all the acknowledgement she received before he told her, “I’m going to try and overpower our new driver. Cover me, will you?”
No time to argue or try to concoct a plan. Not when they were being taken to God knew where with everychance of facing the same fate as Phelps. They had to act now, and fast.
So Samantha gave a quick nod and unsheathed the daggers strapped to her thighs. Adrian arched a brow to which she responded with a wicked smile before pushing past him and glancing out his side of the carriage.
The remaining rider was pulling up alongside them, one hand gripping the reins while he used the other to aim his pistol. For once, the hectic driving was proving useful. Whenever the carriage swerved, it distracted the rider, whose attention was forced toward his own safety.
Samantha slid one dagger into the palm of her hand. “Open the door on my command.” She felt Adrian’s body shifting behind her as she knelt on the floor, her left hand bracing her body for balance while she prepared to strike her mark with a swift flick of the wrist. “Now.”
The door swung open. Samantha’s fingers released the weapon she carried and sent it flying. It struck the rider’s shoulder with the force of an arrow, disappearing into the folds of his jacket.
He lost his grip on the reins and howled in pain, nearly dropping his pistol too. Adrian moved, climbing out behind Samantha and making his way to the front of the carriage.
The rider, still in pursuit and now closing the distance, raised his hand and prepared to fire. Samantha threw the next dagger before he could takeproper aim. His shot went wide, but her weapon found its mark, embedding itself in his leg and causing his body to pull to the side. He fell behind, the ugly insult he shouted at her barely reaching her ears as the carriage raced on without him.
It took considerable strength for Adrian to haul himself onto the carriage’s roof, a task that was hampered by his evening attire. Breeches and boots would have been much better suited. Already, his foot had slipped more than once, nearly throwing him into the street.
Clasping the metal rail designed to hold luggage in place, he made his way forward, pausing every now and again when the vehicle made a sharp movement. It was slow going, but he finally reached the driver’s bench and saw he’d been right. Phelps was gone, having most likely fallen from the moving carriage when he’d been shot.
Jaw tight with rage, Adrian settled onto his stomach, legs spread wide for purchase, and wrapped his hands around his new coachman’s throat. The man jerked in response, pulling the reins in a violent motion that caused the horses to skid as they veered to the left, but not enough to make them stop.
Adrian pressed his thumbs deep and savored the choking sound that followed. Served the scoundrel right for hurting Phelps and for placing Samantha in danger.
The driver released the reins. His fingers caught hold of Adrian’s hands, attempted to pull them away while his body twisted and turned on the padded leather bench. Adrian reminded himself that it might be prudent to let the man live if he wanted to question him later.
He released some pressure, a mistake that allowed the culprit enough movement to lean slightly forward. The next thing Adrian knew, a piercing pain shredded the back of his shoulder as something was plunged deep inside him. A dagger, perhaps retrieved from inside the driver’s right boot.
Hot agony loosened Adrian’s hold on the bastard, allowing him to snatch up the reins and whip the horses into a faster pace. Adrian’s fingers clawed at the carriage roof, desperately seeking something they could latch onto, his body sliding from side to side as the carriage clattered across cobbled stones.
Samantha shouted to him, but her words were pulled out of earshot by the rattling of wheels and pounding of hooves. His heart beat with violent determination, encouraging him to grit his teeth and find the purchase he needed.
It was vital he get past the anguish.
So he took a deep breath, fought to find an inner calm, and reached out his hand, stretching toward the luggage railing while his toes sought a foothold. His fingers brushed something. He stretched farther, past the pain shooting through him with each move he made.
The tips of his fingers wrapped around solid metal and it was enough. He sucked more air into his lungs and dug as deep as he could in order to gather the strength he required to latch on properly. A sudden veer to the left nearly undid his efforts, but he managed to hold on tightly with both hands and wait for the carriage to find a more even pace.
It took a moment, but it finally happened. Adrian shifted his weight, his left hand gripping the rail with all his might. Heart pounding and lungs heaving, he reached his right arm behind him and found the dagger’s handle. He hissed a breath and clamped his teeth tightly together when the thing shifted inside him.
It had to come out though. There was nothing else for it. So he squeezed his eyes shut and pulled. A groan forced its way up his throat more than once since it took a couple of tries, but he finally met with success, panting slightly with sheer relief.
When he opened his eyes, he was met by a hasty glance from the driver. A sneer of displeasure curled the man’s lips. Good. There was nothing better than knowing one’s attacker felt no remorse. It made everything so much simpler.
