When We Touch by Heather Graham Page B

mad?” Maggie demanded.
    She saw that though the woman might be partially insane, she was serious. She had a small dagger in her right hand, and she was preparing to use it.
    Self-preservation and instinct certainly saved her life at that moment. Without thought, she swung the candlestick, catching Jane on the right temple. The woman slumped to the floor with a whimpering exhalation.
    â€œOh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear!” the Duchess was chanting.
    And suddenly, they heard the deafening sound of a bullet thundering into a wall.
    The room went still.
    â€œNow, the noise will stop!” Alexander roared.
    He smiled. Where he’d kept the pistol he held, Maggie didn’t know. That it was solid and real was certainly a fact.
    The Irishman had the giant Oscar down on the table, but the man was groaning. Jane remained on the floor. But Alexander appeared to have the power.
    â€œYou intend to kill us all, don’t you, Alexander?” the Irishman said. “What else can you do? If one of us leaves this room, you’re ruined.”
    â€œAlas, I am so sorry. But perhaps one of you will come back in truth to haunt me!” He took aim with the pistol. “You first, Irishman. Though it should be the bitch in black. She just had to reach out!”
    He started to swing the gun toward Maggie. She gasped with amazement, the shock of the situation setting in.
    Knives, and guns. They were more than shysters.
    They were prepared to be murderers.
    And she was going to die. She’d been warned, and she had underestimated the danger she might face.
    She stared at Alexander, too stunned to do anything but wait to die, her thoughts racing. Why hadn’t she left some clue, some warning, so that the police might be there already, in case this occurred? Why was she so determined on her own way that she never let Justin know what she was doing, that she had kept the truth from Charles?
    Now . . . she would pay for her determination and pride!
    But the Irishman shouted, and suddenly, Alexander was falling back. The gun exploded, but the shot went wild. The Irishman had hefted up the giant Oscar and gone hurtling into Alexander.
    For a moment, the room was still.
    Then, the Duchess started screaming again.
    But Oscar, Jane, and Alexander were down. Completely down. The Irishman was rising from the tangle of Oscar and Alexander.
    Maggie grabbed Mireau’s hand. “We’ve got to get out!” she whispered. “The police might well have heard this kind of commotion.”
    â€œThe Duchess is louder than a siren!” Mireau agreed.
    She tugged him toward the door. They burst into the hall and ran for the stairs that led to the second floor.
    A bullet rang out. Another man, clean shaven like Alexander and Oscar, was coming up the stairs—firing at them.
    Maggie stood dead still, amazed once again.
    Frozen.
    Staring straight ahead, once again seeing her life fly before her eyes.
    Another shot exploded. Maggie screamed.
    The bald man in front of her fell to the floor.
    She spun around. The Irishman was at the top of the stairs, behind her and Mireau, a smoking gun in his hand. “This way!” he told them, as they heard the police whistles. “This way, quickly!”
    She rushed back up the stairs, dragging Mireau in her wake.
    â€œBack stairs!” the Irishman said.
    She realized only then that he had lost his accent, and yet, it didn’t seem to register in her mind that it meant . . . something. Between them all, they had managed to draw the police.
    And now, it was really time to disappear.
    â€œCome on! Now!”
    They ran. As they flew down the back steps, they heard the thunder of boots from the front. They followed the bearded Richard Riley down the back stairs, bursting out into a fetid alley. A single black horse was tethered there.
    â€œLet’s go!” Riley commanded.
    â€œThree of us on one horse? We won’t get far!” Maggie said.
    â€œGet