Page 6 of Bargaining with the Devil

A beefy arm hooked her, yanking her backwards, flush against a body reeking of acrid sweat and harsh tobacco.

She drew a sharp, shocked breath; no time to scream before the arm closed around her throat and she was hauled around.

A knife whipped in from her peripheral vision. She froze as the tip jabbed her left breast.

Pereira held a knife in his hand too, but when he saw where her assailant’s blade rested, he stepped backwards, his free hand extended palm up in a conciliatory gesture.

“Corbin!” The masculine voice rang out behind her, resonating across the square.

The knife tip jerked, a bright bite of pain, and the arm across her throat tightened. She was hauled around again, this time towards the source of the voice.

Beaumont.

He was on the square’s far edge. “That lamp on the next building over,” he called, bringing a rifle into position on his shoulder. “It’s thrice again as far from me as you are.” He fired.

Behind her, glass shattered.

Her vision was dimming; she was choking for want of air. She tried shoving at her attacker’s forearm without success.

“That was a warning shot,” Beaumont said coolly. “Let her go.” He braced the rifle on his hip, reloading.

The arm around her throat loosened just slightly, just enough that she got several lungfuls of air. “Non, I do not think I will,” Corbin replied.

“You should rethink that.” Beaumont didn’t drop his eyes from them as his hands worked. “Let the girl go. You have less than twenty seconds left to decide.”

“You are known to me, Beaumont, if that is even your name.” Corbin’s pitch went higher. “I was to tell you, if I saw you, that this is not a business of yours.”

Beaumont’s voice was flat. “I disagree.”

“You will force me to hurt her.” Corbin sounded flustered. “Do not take the littlest step closer, any of you.”

Any of you . . . Were there others here in the square? Besides the man from the theater?

“Let her go,” Beaumont repeated.

“This is not a business of yours,” Corbin said again. “The man who pays me, she is his concern.”

Across the square, Beaumont was ramming the cartridge down the barrel.

Her heart hammered in her ears. I’m going to die. If the knife tip piercing her dress didn’t do the job, the rifle would. There was no way Beaumont could hit Corbin but miss her.

I knew this would fail. She’d been foolish to expect anything else. At least Issy wasn’t here to witness it.

Beaumont had the rifle back on his shoulder.

The pressure across her throat tightened again. “What is your plan, Beaumont? To shoot me down on the boulevard like the dog that is rabid?”

Too little air. Black spots crept into her vision. She clawed at the arm across her throat with the little strength she had left.

“I do not think you can hit my person with your fancy English gun.” Corbin’s voice came as though from a great distance.

And then the arm at her throat slackened as something forcefully rocked Corbin off his balance.

She sucked in a shuddering breath and shoved free, stumbling to the side as Beaumont fired. One step away, then two, and her knees collapsed.

A grunt, followed by Corbin shrieking. The shrieks turned to moans, quickly muffled. A glance revealed Corbin face down on the pavement, a man with a knee on the small of his back.

Pereira helped her to her feet. She stumbled again, her legs threatening to give out. He got an arm around her waist, steadying her. “Are you able to walk to the fiacre?”