deep.
Why hadn’t she quit when she was ahead?
The gunshot had been scary enough. She’d known once she got to safety between the chimneys that it was time to get out of there.
So why had she assumed the threat had vanished?
The image of her hand closing over the velvet bag holding the bracelet popped into her mind like a lure, but for the first time in four years the thought of possessing something not hers fell flat.
Her captor—partner in crime?—pushed her behind the heavy curtains decorated with large, rather unattractive cabbage roses that hung along the wall of Lady Warrington’s bedroom. Rowan felt the dusty air swirl around her as the man fluffed the thick floor-to-ceiling pleats into place.
“Shhh, Peach.”
“Why—”
The question was cut off by his hand as he covered her mouth and she caught the vague image of him shaking his head in the darkened space.
And then there were no words—not even breath—as the thick, old door to the bedroom slammed open, knocking against the wall.
“She in there?”
“No one’s in here.” A Cockney accent reached her ears, although it was muffled slightly through the curtain, and Rowan prayed the voice belonged to a man too dumb to do a thorough search of the room.
The voice that belonged to the man who hunted her pressed on. “This was her destination.”
“Place looks untouched, guv.”
Rowan could only thank the heavy rug that covered the floor didn’t show footprints the same way plush carpet would have, and her esteem for Lady Warrington’s decorating skills rose a notch.
“Did you search it?”
“Look. She’s not here, I tell ya. Let’s look at the safe.” The muffled sound of footsteps crossing the room, then the nearly soundless swing of the closet doors broke the silence. “Look. Safe hasn’t even been touched.”
“Maybe she cracked it.”
“Little bit of fluff like her?”
“Don’t underestimate her. Size has little to do with skill.”
A low grumble echoed from the closet and Rowan had to strain to hear the response. “She was on the roof not ten minutes ago. How’d she get in here, crack the safe and get away?”
The idea that the gunshot had happened less than ten minutes ago surprised Rowan. If she’d been asked, she’d have surely said she and the man in black had been in the closet for at least twenty minutes, yet it had been merely a quarter of that.
“What if she’s still prowling the outside? Or got away’s more like it.” The assurance dripped from the second man’s voice and Rowan could only offer thanks he was so eager to assume she’d fled the scene.
“Check the room. I’m going to work on the safe.”
The moment of good fortune—the one that had bloomed so briefly—shriveled and died as heavy footsteps thudded in the direction of her hiding place.
* * *
Finn Gallagher reached for the small, slender hand next to his and willed her to understand his intentions. The urge to flee straight-out was strong, but he knew there was the slightest chance the idiot on the other side of the room wouldn’t discover them.
Slim, but a chance.
Besides, he’d gamble on stunning the grunt with the element of surprise, leaving him to only have to deal with the one in the closet. And if there was a third, as he’d originally calculated?
Finn mentally shook his head. Deal with it if it comes, boyo.
Wasn’t that what his old man had always said?
While not quite comforting in his current predicament, the old man had always been a wise bugger. He’d do best to take the advice and sit still, maintaining an even breath and a steady focus.
He squeezed the girl’s—could she really be more than sixteen or seventeen?—hand once, then dropped it to brace for discovery.
And had to wait the length of time it took the moron taking orders to cross the room and poke the curtain.
“Run!” Finn hollered the order as he threw a punch about where he estimated a head should be. The heavy grunt from the other side let him know he’d come relatively close as the girl streaked away from their hiding place.
Finn used the brief moment of confusion to reach down and throw the curtain over his opponent’s head, pushing forward at the same time as if in a rugby scrum. He caught the slender black form run across the room from the corner of his eye, satisfied she’d at least cleared the immediate threat.
Although her movement had turned his attention for barely a second, it had given his assailant enough time to struggle to a standing position. Finn saw the hard glint in the seasoned professional’s eye and opted for an old trick he’d learned on the playground.
He kicked first, telegraphing the motion with his eyes, and used the man’s off-kilter frame as he dodged the foot to slam another punch into his face. The heavy thud of bone on bone rang up his arm but Finn ignored it as he took off after the girl.
“Teddy! She’s headed your way. Get her!” The shout rang out from the closet as the first thug clamored out. Finn knew “Teddy” must be the third thief. A renewed sense of urgency gripped him to make sure the girl was all right, even as the thought he didn’t know her—and really shouldn’t be investing this much time in protecting her—flashed through his mind.
Then an image of her wide blue eyes, strangely guileless for the fact she had just been removing a piece of jewelry worth well over a million pounds, intruded on his waffling thoughts.
Could she really be that innocent?
Of course, if she was the age he’d assessed, the answer was quite possibly a yes. He’d only been in the game a few years himself, but he’d lost his own innocence a hell of a long time ago.
Which made it that much more puzzling she’d be so immediately appealing.
Finn kept moving, the heavy bracelet he’d shoved in his fake pocket—inside an interior pouch he kept wrapped around his leg—took a bit of getting used to as he straggled his way across the room. The cuff of the bracelet was awkward against his flesh and he fought to adjust the wrap around his thigh.
As he hit the back servants’ stairwell, Finn knew the few moments of hesitation to adjust the bracelet were going to cost him. A thick hand reached out and snagged his shirt, the tug enough to slow him down. Finn stopped hard and pushed toward the hallway wall, knocking the man off-balance. It was only when he felt the hard edge of a gun that Finn knew he was in real trouble.
The thick, heavy beats of his heart kept his focus sharp and he turned hard on his captor, using his body for momentum. He grabbed the weapon with one hand while executing a swift uppercut with the
