Lace & Lead

“I’m guessing they still don’t know about the passage?”

“Nope,” chimed in Douglass, communications man, with a grin. “Good news for us.”

But he motioned Peirce off to the side and it wasn’t until Emmaline couldn’t see that his grin dropped. “I’ve been picking up some chatter, sir. The boys outside were sent by Gregson.”

“Aw, dammit.”

“They were mostly speaking Témocan. Talking shit about how it didn’t matter how expensive we were, we’d still die.”

He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more: Gregson’s assassination attempt or his using mercs who were probably former child-soldiers. “Nice move on his part. Kill us off before he finishes paying us.”

“He’s a pleasure to work with, right, sir?”

“Right,” Peirce deadpanned, “can’t you see how fucking ecstatic I am?”

He couldn’t avoid it forever. Emmaline was still standing there, watching him quietly. Hopefully she hadn’t overheard them. “Time to go, honey.”

She stiffened slightly. “I’m not your honey.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. We’re still going.”

“But what about the house?”

Peirce looked around. The place was dripping wealth, but he sure as hell wouldn’t want it to be his home. All he could see was blood money, a desperate attempt to create an illusion of grandeur. After the Republic was formed, warring countries united under a common flag to stop the bloodshed. Those with money earned from the wars’ gun-running, human trafficking and political sway had become the new aristocracy. Those without did the best they could—indentured servitude or enlisting with the Lawmen. Not that he was bitter. “You want to save any of it, you lug it yourself.”

Okay, maybe a little bitter.

She scowled at him and he was almost amused at the way her cute little nose wrinkled. Almost. But the burn in his shoulder was getting stronger and the sooner he got her out of here, the sooner he could take care of it.

“Move,” he ordered, motioning her to follow Kai.

“Gods, you’re such a jerk,” she muttered as she brushed past him.

He ignored her comment. It was his job to be a controlling asshole, especially if it meant he was able to keep her alive. He took up the rear position as they moved their way through the house. The servants’ tunnel waited for them beneath the floor of one of the many sitting rooms. Kai had already shifted the massive couch off the rug that covered the trapdoor.

Emmaline paused at the entrance and Peirce wondered if he’d actually seen a flicker of fear on her face before she took a deep breath and descended into the tunnel. He followed her, flipping the rug as best he could over the trapdoor before closing it behind them. A mine set by Kai would slow the progress of any merc who figured out where they’d gone, although Peirce hoped they’d be long gone before that happened.

They’d been moving for almost half an hour when Peirce felt the rumble behind them. The mine had gone off, which meant they’d have company very soon. “Shit,” he growled under his breath. “Douglass, how far are we from the river?”

The blue light of the holomap lit up the tunnel and disappeared moments later. “Less than three hundred metres,” Douglass said quietly back to him.

“Move,” Peirce said, making them pick up the pace.

He was surprised Emmaline was keeping up with them so well in the claustrophobic darkness where the only light came from the occasional checks of their holomaps. Her pretty clothes had to be getting in the way of her progress, yet she didn’t complain. Peirce snorted; just a matter of time until she really let him have it.

That was always the way it worked with the aristocracy. Frigging cry-babies.

Until then, all he was doing was appreciating the strawberry scent of her light brown hair and the warmth seeping through her thin jacket when he closed in on her, forcing her to move faster to avoid his proximity. After all, nothing would be happening between him and Her Primness.

Emmaline’s nerves were screaming at her, not because of the unexpected exercise or the threat of the pursuers behind them, but because Taggart was directly behind her. With the darkness of the tunnel, he kept running into her and it was getting old.

Every misstep let her feel the thick vest that covered his broad chest, his height and width enveloping her. He absolutely dwarfed her and it felt delicious. Each time he pressed against her, she found herself breathing in deeply, trying to capture that combination of dirt and sweat and sulphur and man.

This was crazy. There was no way she could be falling for a man like Peirce Taggart. As if he knew the thoughts running through her head, he bumped into her again. “Knock it off,” she snapped.

“So sorry, honey,” he said, although he didn’t move away from her.

“Get off,” she said again, stopping suddenly, hoping it would force him off her back.