In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) by Michelle Beattie Page A

been above using the maid to get what he needed.
    And so, as sure as he could be that Jacob had given him every detail, Aidan stepped back into the dining room, ensuring the door remained open as Roche preferred it and doused the lights. When Roche unlocked the door and stepped into the house, he’d see what he normally did, a lone lamp flickering on the table next to the banister and in the parlor, another winking from its perch over the hearth. Normal would end there.
    Time ticked by, heartbeat by heartbeat, accompanied by Sarah’s pounding on the cellar door behind the kitchen. By the time Roche heard her, it would be too late for the ingrate.
    Aidan ran his tongue over his dry lips. He hadn’t bothered with his quiver but he had two pistols, three dirks, his hands, and his determination. His men, too, were heavily armed. They wouldn’t fail this night.
    There, the ping on the window he’d been waiting for. Aidan crouched down, it meant Roche and his men were approaching. He envisioned it in his head, the men strolling down the beach, forming a protective circle around Roche in case an enemy had discovered his home. Then the whistle, as was the signal. If the signal was returned, and Chunk would ensure Jacob returned it, then Roche would deem it safe. If the whistle wasn’t answered, Roche would know his home had been breached.
    In his mind, he heard Jacob’s whistle, saw Chunk fold into the shadows, his pistol on Jacob. He heard the rattling of keys, the squeak of the gate as it opened. Aidan slid his pistol from his sash, pulled the hammer back. It locked into place moments before the keys jingled in the front door. Not imagined, this time, but real. Aidan slid forward on the balls of his feet. He pressed against the wall, to the right of the dining room entryway.
    Before the front door clicked shut Aidan’s men flooded silently through the one in the kitchen. He stood, then, muscles poised, raised his arm and gestured toward the foyer. Then, tightening his hold on his pistol, Aidan moved.
    He fired, leapt, and tumbled to the ground. He grabbed his second pistol. Seven men? Maybe eight? He rolled to his feet, crouched, fired a second shot as gunfire exploded within the parlor. Staying low, Aidan tossed his spent pistol, reached into his boot for his dirk.
    “Cap’n!”
    Aidan spun, kicked out, and knocked the pistol from his adversary’s hand. The shot went wide, thudded into the wall at his back. He plunged his knife into the man’s thigh before he could attack again. Ignoring his piercing scream, Aidan yanked the dirk free, pressed his back to the wall and prepared to attack.
    The only men left standing were his own.
    A cursory look confirmed at least three dead with another four moaning and bleeding on the floor.
    Roche was not among them.
    Aidan clamped his hand around the knife. “He’s not here.”
    Mouth set, he stalked across the foyer, toed the man who gripped his wounded thigh with bloodied hands. “Where’s Santiago?”
    Roche’s man looked up at Aidan with immoral eyes, sneered, and spat at Aidan’s feet.
    Aidan knelt, pressed his blade against the man’s neck. The stench of the man’s sweat was nigh unbearable.
    “Have you ever seen a man without a tongue try to spit? I have. It’s both ugly and impossible.” He dragged the blade across the man’s throat, over his jaw to the corner of his mouth.
    “I’ll ask you again. Where is Santiago?”
    The pirate smiled, showcasing a mouth of greenish-black teeth that smelled as repugnant as the rest of him.
    “I think he needs some help remembering, Cap’n.”
    Aidan looked over his shoulder. “Indeed, Chunk.”
    Aidan moved aside as Chunk stomped closer.
    “Cap’n wants to know where Roche is.”
    “Pity for the captain,” he answered keeping a wary eye on Chunk.
    “More a pity for you, I’d wager.” Before the pirate had a chance to respond, Chunk lifted his tree-trunk of a leg and let his oversized foot drop onto the man’s