Night Storm (37 page)

Charlotte climbed two more stairs while she considered what Trig had witnessed earlier. He’d said Felix had been agitated upon entering the shop. Could their conversation with him earlier have revealed something vital to Felix? They had spent a great deal of time discussing his costume. If Felix said something to Piper about the costume discussion, the two of them together might have reasoned out enough to raise Felix’s ire.

“Red tie?” Vivian repeated. “What on Earth are you going on about?”

“So you didn’t plant Felix’s broken cloak tie next to Lady Winthrop’s body?” A mixture of suspicion and disappointment rimmed Piper’s words.

“No,” Vivian mused. “I wish I had, though. Such an ingenious plan. With Felix’s talent, he would have been lead before long. Removing the upstart from Mr. Riordan’s notice would have been the perfect solution to keeping Chris as lead for several more years.”

Seven more stairs, and Charlotte could draw in a deep, full breath again.

“Had you not plied your wiles on Riordan,” Christopher Gordon said, “he would not have taken a dislike to us, and my position would have been secure for a long while—without me having to send innocents to gaol.”

Silence flooded the area below. Charlotte found herself straining to hear Vivian’s reaction to her lover’s pronouncement. She didn’t have long to wait.

Vivian laughed, deep-throated and delighted. “Oh, my goodness, Chris. Did you really plant the evidence?”

“You left me no choice!”

“Well,” Vivian said, unaffected by his anger. “Your conscience will be clear again after tonight. There will be no innocents imprisoned at your hand. I’ll take care of everything, as I have always done since we were children.” She paused a moment. “Up you go, Pretty Piper.”

Panic propelled Charlotte up the final few stairs. She had to get to Felix and free him before Piper and Vivian reached him. Reaching the final stair, she closed her eyes and rolled onto her back, taking a second to regain control of her shaking limbs again.

She angled her head to the side and opened her eyes. In the far corner, she located Felix, frightened and chained to a large wooden beam running the vertical length of the wall behind him.

Eyes wide, Felix stared at something above her. Time slowed. Every muscle in her body went taut, waiting, bracing for impact.

Dimly, the sound of muffled pounding reached her. Her heart, she thought absently. It thundered so hard within the wall of her chest that she could hear its laboring echo inside her ears.

Turning her head toward the threat, she found Peter standing over her—with a large iron pipe in his hand.

Chapter Nineteen

A waterfall of icy dread washed over Adair when he noticed a familiar mop of shaggy brown hair dart across an opening on the opposite side of the macabre scene unfolding between them. Hours seemed to pass before Trig poked his head around the doorframe.

Anger fired through his veins at the whelp’s blatant disobedience. Now he had one more person he cared for to worry about.

When he saw Trig preparing to move closer to the two insane actors, Adair stepped out of his hidden location and into the dim light. Visible to all.

Trig spotted him instantly and made to wave a greeting—until he accurately read Adair’s murderous expression. Adair needed to get Trig away from Vivian and Christopher. Volatility vibrated around those two. He couldn’t protect Trig against such illogic and emotional chaos.

With a few hand gestures, Adair did his best to direct Trig to the wrought-iron staircase Charley had ascended minutes ago. Miracle of all miracles, his streetwise, pain-in-the-arse assistant understood and slipped away. Toward Charley.

Adair melted back into the shadows once again, relief replacing a good portion of his anger, though he saved enough to gnaw on the boy’s backside when next they met.

“Up, up,” Vivian coaxed Piper in annoyance. “I’ll be right behind you.”

The moment Piper and the witch actress started up the staircase, Adair emerged from behind the large prop formed in the shape of a tree. He silently placed each foot with precision.

With Charlotte, Trig, Piper, and Felix in danger, he would take no chances, give no mercy. It took every bit of his willpower not to shift his attention to Charley’s location. Having her this close to so much evil made his stomach cramp.

“Chris, pet,” Vivian said, glancing over her shoulder. “Are you coming—” Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of Adair.

Already in the process of reaching for Gordon, Adair jumped on the actor’s back, balanced his weight, and snapped the sick bastard’s neck. Gordon slumped to the floor, and Adair followed him down, landing on his feet. His boots had barely touched the ground before he bolted toward the staircase.

“Run, Piper!” he bellowed.

The actress seized the girl’s ankle, yanking her down hard. Piper jammed her heel into the woman’s chest, causing her to gasp for air and loosen her grip. It was enough to allow Piper to make her escape.

Adair reached the actress just as she regained her breath. The knife came out of nowhere, catching him beneath the jaw. The sting of metal searing across his flesh momentarily confused him. Warm blood poured down his neck, and Adair knew he had little time to finish this.

On a surge of raw power, he grabbed for the shrieking actress, and missed. The heel of her shoe connected with his injured shoulder, and his vision blurred. His body flushed cold, hot, cold. Adair shook his head to clear the pain away and scrambled after the murderess.

Only a few more stairs to go before she reached Charley, and Adair felt his body failing him. His feet and arms became sluggish and heavy. He couldn’t let Charley down, not after earning her faith again. Her love.

Like an erupting volcano, Adair burst forward, a war cry tore from his throat. His arms wrapped around the witch’s knees, and he jerked back hard, sending them both plummeting to the ground.

Chapter Twenty

Charlotte rested her forehead against Cam’s bare arm. Two nights and two days of watching over him, with only brief naps in between shifts, had taken its toll on her body. She hadn’t wanted to rest even then, but Jules, with the help of Mr. Buchanan, had strong-armed her into leaving Cam’s side.

The healer in Charlotte knew she was no use to him if her mind was foggy from lack of sleep. But the friend and lover in her couldn’t bear to leave him alone.

Charlotte replayed the events of the other night over and over in her mind. The sight of Cam sprawled unconscious on the wooden theater floor, blood covering his throat, was an image she would never forget. By some miracle, he had survived the fall that had cracked open Vivian’s skull and broken her back.

His survival came with a cost—three broken ribs, a fractured ulna, a laceration to the neck, and a brain contusion. The latter caused her the most concern, though Mr. Buchanan was confident the swelling on Cam’s brain would go down with time and rest.

Thank goodness for Mr. Buchanan’s reassuring presence. Without him, she would have second-guessed her every move, driven herself insane. When she had sent Trig to fetch him—a mere two hours after Trig had delivered her note about not being able to attend his dinner party—her mentor had come without question. He had seen to Felix’s and Piper’s minor injuries after assisting her with Cam.

Felix. When she had opened her eyes to find Peter standing over her, she had felt such a sense of betrayal and disbelief—and unadulterated fear. Not for herself, but for Felix. She had failed him, and from the sound of it, Cam would, too.

Then Peter had dropped the pipe and motioned toward Felix chained to a metal pipe. With no way to free his friend, Peter had stood guard until help came.

Piper had been so surprised to see Peter, recalling he had gone home to care for a sick family member. Shyly, Peter had explained how he had forgotten his gloves. When he had returned to fetch them, he’d decided to search the theater one more time for Felix. He had found his friend hidden behind an oilskin tarp, gagged and chained.

Thanks to Cam, they were all able to get out of the theater alive. Setting aside the memory of the awful confrontation with Vivian, Charlotte kissed Cam’s limp hand, wishing he would wake up and tell her everything would be all right. She needed his strength, his love, and his arms around her.

A large hand rested on the back of her neck, startling her upright.

“Sorry, lass.” Lachlan stepped back, holding out his hands. “I knocked several times, even called your name. Thought I’d better make sure you were still breathing.”

She pressed her palm to her chest. “It’s all right. I suspect I’ll be seeing threats where none exist for a long while.”

“How’s he doing?”

Lachlan had accompanied his uncle that first night, helping Jules and Vaughn with the aftermath of Vivian’s failed murder attempt. Not once had he or his uncle broached the subject of their Bond Street apothecary shop proposal. She appreciated their consideration, even though she suspected they were both champing at the bit to get started.

“Better than yesterday,” she said. “He’s not as restless, and his color is back to normal. I’ll feel much better once he opens his eyes.”

As she had so many times since they had placed his limp body on her bed two nights ago, she brushed the backs of her fingers over his jaw, careful not to brush against the white bandage covering the deep laceration made by Vivian’s blade.

He had lost so much blood. She’d had to stop the bleeding and stitch him up right there on the theater floor, using needle and thread from the wardrobe. That was about the time Mr. Riordan and Marian came storming onto the scene, far too late to be of any real use. However, Riordan was the one who had called the authorities and helped lift Cam into a cart for transport to her shop. She wondered how long it had taken the manager to realize the two additional deaths had damaged his precious theater’s reputation beyond repair, or memorialized it forever.

“The two of you have reconciled, then?” Lachlan asked.

She glanced up at her friend. “Yes. I never stopped loving him, though for a time I hated him, too.”

Lachlan nodded. “The heart knows what the heart knows. We can’t force it to love elsewhere—no matter how hard we try.”

Charlotte’s heart clenched at the painful longing in his voice. She rose and wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands barely touched at his back. “Thank you for taking care of me in Scotland. I value your friendship more than you’ll ever know.”

He hesitated a moment before returning her hug. She heard his hard swallow before he said, “I’m glad you’re happy again.”

“Not without your help.”

“For the Englishman,” he whispered.

Charlotte couldn’t think what to say, so she squeezed him tighter. Silence stretched.

“I did enjoy our chess games, lass.”

She closed her eyes at the teasing note in his voice. “You enjoyed trouncing me. Admit it.”

He chuckled. “That, too. Nothing better for a gentleman’s pride—except a woman’s well-satisfied cry.”

She drew back. “Lachlan!”

He laughed.

“Scot, you have exactly two seconds to release her, or you’ll be the one doing the crying.”

Charlotte stiffened, and Lachlan, the rogue, winked at her. Had he known Cam was rousing from sleep? Pulling away, she turned to see Cam sitting on the edge of her bed, his head hanging low, and his eyes squinting up at Lachlan.

“Cam,” she whispered, tears clogging her throat. “What are you doing up? Back down with you.”

“I’ll leave you to your work, lass.” Lachlan kissed her temple. “Just remember, if you get tired of this mulish Englishman, I’ll not be far away.”

“Lachlan,” Charlotte called.

Standing in the open doorway, he glanced back.

“When you see your uncle, please tell him I said yes.”

Lachlan’s smile lit the room. “With pleasure, lass.”

Once the door shut behind Lachlan, Cam eased back down on the bed. “What was that about?”

“Mr. Buchanan wants me to help him with a small business venture. I’ll explain when you’re feeling better.” Charlotte smiled. “It’s good to see your eyes open again.”

“I can see how much you’ve missed me,” he groused.

She tensed. “It’s not like that. I was merely thanking him—”

Bringing her hand up to his lips, he kissed her palm. “You have dark patches under your eyes. How long have I been out?”

The tension eased from her shoulders. She sat down on the side of the bed. “A few days. You took quite a tumble.”

He fell quiet. “I don’t recall what happened after I killed Gordon. The rest is—gone.”

“It’s not unusual to lose snatches of memory with a brain contusion, especially the time right before the injury.”

“What happened? You obviously survived. How is Piper? Did you find Felix?”

Careful not to do him more injury, Charlotte smoothed her hand over his hair. “The fall killed Vivian. We found Felix alive, chained to a post upstairs, but unharmed. Piper is fine.”

“Everyone is uninjured, then?”

“Yes, thanks to you.”

“I remember the fear.” His tortured, bloodshot eyes caught hers. “The fear that I had failed you.”

“You didn’t, my love. You saved us all.”

“Never again will I allow you to come so close to danger.”

She bent forward and kissed him, something she had done a dozen times in the last two days, only this time his lips were warm and welcoming. Easing away, she said, “Danger is with us and all around us. You can’t protect me from it all. It’s part of life.”

“I can damn sure try.”

Laughing, she said, “I love you, Cameron Adair. Ruthless bits and all.”

He snaked his good arm around her, pulling her down next to him. “And I you, Charley Fielding, Mrs. Charlotte Fielding, apothecary-surgeon, midwife, mentor—whoever you are, I love each and every one of you.”

“I’m so glad, Cam.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “Because I find myself anticipating our next harrowing adventure. Together.”

The End

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