Chapters (44)
- Title Page
- One: Into the Storm
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Two: London Calling
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Three: The Malignant Seven
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Four: Squirrels and Cats
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Five: Revelation
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- About the Author
The coach was still not moving very fast, due to the horses plodding their way through what must’ve been five inches of snow. But Matthew realized that his time to act was fast running out. Still, if he was to make a move at all, he had to wait until the coach had gotten some distance away from Lash’s house and that guard at the gate.
He had decided he had only one option, in this wonderful plan of his formulated when he’d found the coal dust on the clothing of the dead constables.
He had to break back into the house.
But first … there was this beast of a bodyguard to take care of.
Matthew picked up the basket and opened it. Bogen watched him with his piggish eyes. Inside the basket were some slices of ham and sausages wrapped up in waxed paper, another packet of biscuits, a few slices of apples, and a wooden flask that Matthew presumed held water. “Biscuits?” he asked Bogen, offering him the packet.
Bogen took one and instantly pushed almost the whole thing into his mouth.
Matthew uncorked the flask and took a drink. Yes, it was water. He drank again. His pulse was pounding. The horses were moving steadily though not yet fast and there was no need for the whip. How far were they from the house? It was hard to tell, but—
“Water,” said Bogen, holding out his hand. The biscuit crumbs were still falling from his mouth.
Matthew gave him the flask.
It was now or never.
When Bogen put the flask to his lips and tilted his head slightly back, Matthew drew a deep breath. He grasped the edge of his seat for traction and swung both legs up to kick the flask squarely into the man’s teeth.
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
Maybe it was the toughness of the elephant-hide boots.
Maybe it was pure animal desperation. Or maybe just pure fear.
Whatever it was, the power of Matthew’s double kick to the flask as Bogen held it to his mouth broke the front man’s teeth out and down into his throat. Bogen’s head rocked back and cracked against the coach’s wall behind him. Matthew had an instant to think that surely the drivers had heard it … but then with a dazed blink of his eyes and a smear of blood at his mouth Bogen righted himself and reached for his pistol.
Matthew seized the gun hand before it got there and held on for dear life. Bogen was making a strangling noise but nothing else was coming out through the crimson foam at his lips.