in a controlled, steady voice, but inside her stomach was in knots.
“The sheriff’s office is only blocks away. If you shoot, you won’t make it out of the bank alive.” He did not turn around nor raise his hands from the desk in surrender.
His refusal to give in to her command only made her devil beg to be appeased. This man and his family had taken everything there was to take from her. She needed to stare him down. Needed him to watch her take something from him, whether he knew her identity or not.
“Turn around, Mr. Davenport.”
That got him.
He jerked around to look at her, steely blue eyes riveted to her face. Too bad he couldn’t see her smile behind the scarf. He wasn’t the type to startle very often and the look he gave her was worth the slim chance of recognition.
Well, almost. Amidst the surprised gasps from some of the bank patrons—it wasn’t every day a member of the Davenport banking family came to a backwater town like Lindon—she heard Elle’s groan of dismay. There would be hell to pay from that quarter later. But Charity knew he wouldn’t recognize her with the scarf covering half her face and her hat pulled low over her forehead. She wondered if he’d even recognize her without the disguise. Did men like Brent Davenport ever remember girls like her after they were done with them?
“You’ve caught me unprepared. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
Oh, but he had. Their first meeting had been five years ago in Boston when she had been a naive and insipid seventeen-year-old. It had happened at a dinner party she and her father had hosted at their town home. Brent had arrived with his uncle, the head of Davenport Capital, and spent the evening evading the adoring glances of one besotted idiot. Namely, her.
Over the next several months he had toyed with her affections. Nothing too serious—a dance when they happened to attend the same party, a smile from across the room, a casual conversation, and once an out-of-season tulip, her favorite, sent to her during intermission when they had attended the same play. The usher who had brought it to her had responded to her questioning gaze by pointing to the box opposite theirs and Brent had been there watching her. She had felt his gaze on her for the rest of the evening and to this day could barely recall Iolanthe.
That had been the night everything changed. Their flirtation quickly escalated from casual to something far more dangerous. Until he’d disappeared. The anger the memory evoked was enough to make her smile anew at the sight of her gun mere inches from his face.
“I didn’t think your kind made it this far west of Boston.”
He looked at her then so intensely she was certain he saw right through the disguise and knew exactly who she was. “What would you know about my kind?” There was that smirk she remembered all too well.
“Get up!”
Charity knew it was wrong to let him see that he’d gotten to her, but it didn’t matter now. She had just had a moment of epiphany—she’d figured out how to get her fortune back and it wasn’t through robbing banks. To hell if he recognized her. Ransom would accomplish the task quicker and exact a bit of well-earned revenge in the process.
When he didn’t move, she pulled back the hammer in warning. It prompted him to slowly get to his feet just as Dew came out of the vault with the loaded saddlebags.
“Everyone in the vault,” Charity ordered. “Everyone but Mr. Davenport here.”
There was surprisingly little resistance from the customers as they quickly filed into the vault. Elle and Dew had them locked up in under a minute.
“Where is your horse?” Charity asked him when they were finished.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“It’s out the back way,” Elle offered, having been posted out back for the past two hours. “The gray.”
“You won’t shoot me and get out of here alive.”
“No, probably not, but I don’t really want to shoot
“The sheriff’s office is only blocks away. If you shoot, you won’t make it out of the bank alive.” He did not turn around nor raise his hands from the desk in surrender.
His refusal to give in to her command only made her devil beg to be appeased. This man and his family had taken everything there was to take from her. She needed to stare him down. Needed him to watch her take something from him, whether he knew her identity or not.
“Turn around, Mr. Davenport.”
That got him.
He jerked around to look at her, steely blue eyes riveted to her face. Too bad he couldn’t see her smile behind the scarf. He wasn’t the type to startle very often and the look he gave her was worth the slim chance of recognition.
Well, almost. Amidst the surprised gasps from some of the bank patrons—it wasn’t every day a member of the Davenport banking family came to a backwater town like Lindon—she heard Elle’s groan of dismay. There would be hell to pay from that quarter later. But Charity knew he wouldn’t recognize her with the scarf covering half her face and her hat pulled low over her forehead. She wondered if he’d even recognize her without the disguise. Did men like Brent Davenport ever remember girls like her after they were done with them?
“You’ve caught me unprepared. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
Oh, but he had. Their first meeting had been five years ago in Boston when she had been a naive and insipid seventeen-year-old. It had happened at a dinner party she and her father had hosted at their town home. Brent had arrived with his uncle, the head of Davenport Capital, and spent the evening evading the adoring glances of one besotted idiot. Namely, her.
Over the next several months he had toyed with her affections. Nothing too serious—a dance when they happened to attend the same party, a smile from across the room, a casual conversation, and once an out-of-season tulip, her favorite, sent to her during intermission when they had attended the same play. The usher who had brought it to her had responded to her questioning gaze by pointing to the box opposite theirs and Brent had been there watching her. She had felt his gaze on her for the rest of the evening and to this day could barely recall Iolanthe.
That had been the night everything changed. Their flirtation quickly escalated from casual to something far more dangerous. Until he’d disappeared. The anger the memory evoked was enough to make her smile anew at the sight of her gun mere inches from his face.
“I didn’t think your kind made it this far west of Boston.”
He looked at her then so intensely she was certain he saw right through the disguise and knew exactly who she was. “What would you know about my kind?” There was that smirk she remembered all too well.
“Get up!”
Charity knew it was wrong to let him see that he’d gotten to her, but it didn’t matter now. She had just had a moment of epiphany—she’d figured out how to get her fortune back and it wasn’t through robbing banks. To hell if he recognized her. Ransom would accomplish the task quicker and exact a bit of well-earned revenge in the process.
When he didn’t move, she pulled back the hammer in warning. It prompted him to slowly get to his feet just as Dew came out of the vault with the loaded saddlebags.
“Everyone in the vault,” Charity ordered. “Everyone but Mr. Davenport here.”
There was surprisingly little resistance from the customers as they quickly filed into the vault. Elle and Dew had them locked up in under a minute.
“Where is your horse?” Charity asked him when they were finished.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“It’s out the back way,” Elle offered, having been posted out back for the past two hours. “The gray.”
“You won’t shoot me and get out of here alive.”
“No, probably not, but I don’t really want to shoot
Similar Books
