Page 137 of The Bachelor Spy
And the jolt could have Rivers slicing Evie’s neck even then.
“Tell you what, Mr. Blake.” Rivers brightened. “I’ll give you ten seconds.” Her gaze darkened on his. “Or I’ll open her throat and we’ll both lose something precious to us. Nine … eight …”
Blake’s hand tightened on the satchel.
“Blake, no—”
“Seven … six … five …”
Blake took a step forward.
And then—
Light exploded across Rivers’ face from somewhere to the left.
Blinding, brilliant, caught square in her eyes.
Rivers flinched instinctively, her free hand flying to shield her vision.
It was only a fleeting moment, but it was enough.
The distraction loosened Rivers’ grip on Evie, who drove her elbow up into Rivers’ chest, sending the woman backward … and opening her up for Blake to fire.
The shot cracked through the small room, and Rivers spun backward, clutching her side. Her knife clattered to the floor.
As Blake rushed forward, he looked to his left.
Absolutely composed, holding a silver serving platter angled to catch the moonlight from the window, Brandon stood silently, his expression unruffled, except for the look of pure disapproval he shot Blake.
Clearly, Brandon was not impressed with Blake’s failure to obey the butler’s clear instructions to rest.
A burst of laughter escaped Blake. “Brandon, you magnificent—”
“No!” Evie’s cry interrupted him.
Rivers was moving.
Even wounded, even bleeding from Blake’s shot, she was fast. Her hand went to her collar, fingers scrabbling at something hidden there.
Evie lunged forward, but too late. The spy pulled something small from beneath her uniform—a capsule, barely visible in the lamplight—and brought it to her mouth.
Evie grabbed for it. Blake ran to her side.
Rivers’ lips curved into a smile as she bit down.
The capsule broke. Cyanide, from the bitter almond scent that immediately filled the space.
Rivers’ body convulsed once, twice. Then she crumpled to the floor.
Evie scrambled forward, dropping to her knees beside the body, fingers searching for a pulse she knew she wouldn’t find. “No, no, no—”
“Evie.” Blake was there, his hand on her shoulder, pulling her back.
“We needed her alive!” Evie’s voice cracked. “The intelligence she had—the networks, the contacts—”
“Evie.” He reached her, turning her to face him, then patted the satchel. “This is the intel Smith took to his contact. It’s what she was willing to trade for your life.”
Evie’s gaze dropped to the satchel as if it took extra time for the words to be comprehended. “You stopped them?”
