The red-coated thief whirled toward the sound. “What’s that?”

Voices carried on the wind, a commingling of feminine tones.

“Bloody ’ell!” The red-coated thief scrambled to collect his loot, but the larger thief grabbed the man by his shoulder and shoved him down below the line of the bushes.

“Hold quiet now,” he whispered hoarsely. “They can’t see our horses from the road. Mayhap they’ll pass on by and we’ll—”

Grrrrrrrr.

An animal’s deep-throated growl sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet glen. Chase took a deep breath, squinting through the brush.

The huge thief turned slowly toward the sound. There, standing behind the thieves, crouched a huge dog. Reddish brown with a thick ruff of hair about its blocklike head, its teeth glistened malevolently in the uncertain light.

“Don’t move!” the large man said in a strained whisper.

Chase said a silent word of thanks to whatever higher power happened to be looking down on him right then. God knew that he didn’t deserve divine intervention. Not anymore.

A voice called from the road. “Max! Max! Where is that blasted dog?”

The large thief’s gaze remained locked on the dog. “Davy, we have to make a run fer it.”

The dog took another step forward. A deep growl rumbled in the animal’s throat, a froth of white dripping from its jaw.

“Ye mangy mongrel,” the large man hissed as he stood. “On the count of three, we head fer the horses. One. Two. Th—” The man wheeled, crashing through the brush as he tore through the forest.

His partner gave a startled gasp, realizing he’d been left behind. For a startled instant, he and the dog locked gazes.

To Chase’s fuzzy mind, it appeared as if the dog’s grin widened even as he leapt, huge jaws open wide enough to close over the man’s entire head.

With a horrible shriek, Davy took off, legs flailing wildly as he plunged headlong through the brush. The dog followed, teeth snapping furiously.

Chase wanted to watch. To see if the dog got the man, for he sincerely hoped so. But his head ached, and a thick fog was covering his mind. His eyes seemed determined to close on their own though he was curiously awake, his ears locked on every sound.

He was aware of approaching footsteps, of a surprised cry, then a soft feminine voice that issued orders in amazingly calm, stern tones.

If an angel administered heaven, ordering the clouds and sun hither and yon, she would have this same voice, Chase decided. A hint of honey dripped over cool, calm steel. He savored the silken tones, let them wash over him as he struggled to stay awake…to stay alive.

The fates, though, were cruel and capricious. A horrible thick silence dropped over him like a shroud, the delectable voice fading away as his senses released their tenuous hold on consciousness. Still fighting for his last breath, Chase St. John slid into an inky blackness from which there seemed to be no escape.