TREVOR STRAIGHTENED UP, breathing heavily, and let Eric slide to the floor. His knee felt on fire where Eric had kicked him, and the stings from multiple defensive wounds on his arms annoyed him. He flexed his chest, trying to gauge how deep the slash was. Everything seemed to work fine. His gaze shot to Shelby, needing to make sure she was all right. His jaws snapped together and a growl started low in his throat when he saw Crawley cradling her body to his.
Max clapped his hands together lazily. “Well done,” he said mockingly. “Very impressive.”
“Let her go, Crawley,” he gritted out. A red haze clouded his sight, but Trevor didn’t try to stem the homicidal rage roaring through him.
Simon locked his gun sights on Crawley.
“Now we have a standoff,” Max said. “If either of you gallant saviors try anything heroic, Crawley will cut her up, a piece at a time. Now, none of us wants that.”
“I know I don’t want that,” Shelby said, sounding remarkably calm. “I am curious, though. Did you find what you were looking for in the grandmother clock?”
Max’s face boiled with rage. “None of your business.”
Shelby angled herself more fully toward him. “Kinda is, considering your psychopath here has a knife to my throat. You’re pissed, which means you didn’t find anything. Do any of your Bedlamites know what you’re really up to with these museum bombings? Or what you’re doing here tonight?”
Crawley stroked the thirteen-inch trench knife down to Shelby’s breastbone. “I could shove this into your heart right now.”
“You could do that. Or you can ask your boss what he plans to do with you once he finds the account number and password to the Swiss bank.”
Fay’s eyes narrowed. “What’s she talking about?”
“Nothing,” Max snapped.
“Oh, it’s something,” Shelby said, voice amused.
Trevor wanted to shout at her to stop talking. She was deliberately antagonizing Max. Didn’t she realize if she pushed him to far, he would let Crawley stab her, as he had Floyd?
“Twelve wealthy British families sent valuables to Switzerland during the latter stages of World War Two,” she said, “in the form of gold and works of art. Max’s grandfather organized the whole thing. Coordinated shipping the items out of England. Arranged for the cargo to be delivered at the other end.”
Who was she talking to? Fay? Because Max already knew all this. Trevor fought the urge to shut her up. Her training as a political officer, she’d told him, taught her to convince people of things. Right now, he needed to trust she knew what she was doing, even if he didn’t understand what she hoped to accomplish.
“I did some rough calculations, Max. If the families sent only a hundred thousand pounds each, that gold bullion is worth close to sixteen billion at today’s exchange rate. More than enough to put your company back in the black, and set you up for life.”
“What the fuck?” Fay said. “You said we’d bring down the corrupt government. That we could make our own decisions, free from laws that keep us prisoner. No more price fixing, no more greedy oil corporations and big pharma. Putting the power into the hands of the people, where it belongs. And now it turns out this is all about money? You lying sack of shit!”
Trevor almost felt sorry for her. Of all of the Bedlamites, she seemed to be the only one who truly believed their anarchist philosophy.
Max started walking toward the front door. “Unless one of you intends to shoot me in the back, I’m leaving. You can have this lot, though. They’re of no more use to me.”
“You fucking son of a bitch,” Fay spat. “No way you leave us to take the fall.”
Max shrugged and kept walking.
Crawley spun Shelby and punched her in the face. As she staggered, dazed, an unholy gleam lit his eyes. He slid his hand to the small of her back as he tucked his pelvis to hers. “Goody. Now we can have some fun.”
Trevor started toward him.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Crawley said, knifepoint at Shelby’s jugular. “One more step, and you can kissy-kissy her goodbye.”
Shelby gulped in some air, hands on his chest, trying to push him away.
“Squirming makes me happy.” He gave a high, giggly laugh.
She stilled. Trevor wasn’t sure she even breathed.
Sweat popped out of Trevor’s pores. Maybe he could rush the man before he . . . no. No way would he risk Shelby. But nor could he stand here and watch Crawly cut her. Simon maneuvered away from him to get a better angle. Crawley backed up, dragging Shelby with him, keeping both operators in sight.
Trevor glanced at Simon, who gave a single shake of the head. He didn’t have the shot.
“You don’t really want to hurt me,” Shelby said. “If you do, you’ll die. I’m not worth it. Just let me go.”
Trevor wasn’t the only one who heard the pleading in her voice. He gripped the karambit so tightly the bottom of the blade cut his palm. He barely noticed.
Crawley sneered down at her. “Women always beg. You’re weak. Only good for fucking.”
Fury tightened her body. She struck at his face, fingers hooked into claws as she tried to gouge out his eyes. Crawley yanked his head away. Blood began to leak from the deep furrows.
“You fucking cunt!” he howled. He grabbed her by the throat and began to squeeze. Shelby gripped his wrists, trying to pull his hands away, the whites of her eyes showing as air eluded her. Crawley’s eyes were bright. The man was getting off on this. He eased up the pressure, thumbs stroking along the pulse thundering in her neck.
“You’re deranged,” she whispered, clearly shaken.
Crawley bent his head and inhaled mightily just below Shelby’s ear. “I smell your fear. I want to taste it.”
Simon eased left, rifle trained on him.
“Drop it,” Crawley said.
“Let her go.” Trevor’s strong voice belied the terror coursing through him. He slid to the right, trying to keep Crawley’s eyes on him. As soon as Simon had a clear shot, he knew the other man would take it.
“Or I gut her like a trout.”
Primal rage swept through him. “You hurt a hair on her head, and I swear to God I’ll make you bleed.”
“I want to see her bleed.” Crawley pressed the point of the knife against her collarbone, slicing down to the swell of her breast. Blood welled up and coated her skin. Shelby cried out. He bent his head and licked the blood. “Mmm.”
“You sick son of a bitch!”
Shelby dropped her hand to her jacket pocket, fumbling and twisting to pull something free. “You got your taste of blood, Crawley. Fun’s over.”
She spat in his face. As he raised a hand to punch her, she depressed the button on the canister in her hand and flicked the spark wheel on the lighter. Flame shot from the canister straight into Crawley’s stomach.
He howled, backing away, slapping at the fire licking its way up his body as she mashed the button down with both hands. His hands blackened as his skin seared and his shirt ignited. Howls turned to shrieks when his hair caught fire and his scorched clothing started to melt onto his skin. The flames engulfed him as he tried to run. He made it only a few steps before he stumbled and thudded to his hands and knees. The screaming stopped. He toppled over and lay still.
Shelby scuttled back, pushing frantically with hands and feet to put distance between herself and Crawley. Trevor saw embers on her jacket and shirt start to ignite. She rolled onto her stomach. Trevor threw himself to the floor beside her and tore the jacket from her arms. Simon helped him turn her over. She flailed, gasping and sobbing, hands battling the air.
“Shel. Shelby, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Trevor pulled her roughly into his arms, muscles shaking. “It’s over.”
She made frantic noises, twisting away from him and bending over to vomit onto the floor. Head hanging, she stayed on her hands and knees as she spasmed and puked. Trevor held her hair and murmured nonsense, lungs constricted, so damned glad she was alive it physically hurt.
She sat back, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “We need to go outside.”
He made soothing motions with his hands. “Take your time.”
She tried to get up, but her limbs were shaking so badly Trevor had to help her. The blood from the knife wound stained her shirt. A pained noise burst from him.
“It’s fine,” Shelby murmured. “But I did good, right?”
“You did great,” he told her, heart in his throat. Examining the wound carefully, he was relieved to see the cut was long but shallow. She would need stitches, but she was in no danger. “Except for ignoring me and coming here. What on earth could you possibly have been thinking?”
“We need to go outside,” she repeated. “I need to know if it worked.”
On unsteady legs, she bent and picked up her jacket. A tiny black box fell to the floor. She scooped it up.
“If what worked?” Had she hit her head when she fell? “What’s that?”
“Come on.” Her sly smile flummoxed him.
Right now, she could ask him to swim to the bottom of the ocean and find her a unicorn, and he would do it. He wrapped an arm around her waist, both to support her and because he wasn’t prepared to let her get two feet from his side. Simon prodded Fay in the right direction with her own weapon. Shelby turned to him.
“Leave it here.”
Eyes curious, Simon flicked a look at Trevor, who shrugged. Whatever was happening, Shelby seemed to know what she was doing. Simon set the rifle against the wall, keeping Fay in front of him as the four of them walked through the vestibule and out the front door.