“Myrtle, will you, please?” Val whispered against her temple, and miracle of miracles, this time she complied. “I need you to listen, and I need to say this quickly. I want you to keep the panel between them and yourself at all times, but I want you to let them in—only when I raise my hand, giving the signal. Can you do that?”

Her enormous, saucer-size eyes met his, radiating such trust, more trust than he was deserving of. She nodded.

“Do not worry about Horace,” he said for her ears alone, needing her to know that she mattered even more than his dog, and that he’d not sacrifice her for the animal.

“How can I not?” she entreated.

“Because he will be fine if you listen to me.” It was a lie. It was a lie he gave freely, because he knew if he weren’t to do so, her attention would be on the dog rather than the charge he’d tasked her with. “Here.” He pressed one pistol into her hand, even as he reached for the other. “You pull the hammer—”

“I know how to shoot, Val,” she said with a roll of her eyes, her tone as offended as if he’d questioned her ladylike skills on embroidering, and for the first time since they’d shared cake together that night, he smiled.

And then leaning down, he kissed her hard on the mouth. Because if there was even a remote chance he might die this night in the impending exchange, he wanted to know the feel of her lips once more.

“Open the damned door this instant.” That low growl from one of those thieves broke them apart.

“Now, go,” he whispered.

Her lashes fluttered, and with a dreamy little smile, she flitted over to the doorway, positioning herself precisely as he’d directed.

Refocusing all his energy and attention on the upcoming meeting, Val carefully picked his way across the flooring, joining her on the other side of the doorway, positioning himself several paces back.

Myrtle stared intently at Val with so much trust it slicked his palms with fear. Another woman had once looked at him with that expression. A woman he’d failed. As such, he wasn’t deserving of her faith, and for an instant, his confidence flagged.

“Val?” she mouthed, and he forced the distracting voices in his head to the far-flung corners where he’d face them some time that was not now.

Drawing his pistol up and extending it, he raised a hand.

Without hesitation, Myrtle unlocked the door and drew it open.

One of the men immediately charged inside, slamming the panel hard, knocking it into Myrtle and pulling a gasp from her.

She lost both her footing and her hold on the pistol; coming down hard, the weapon discharged noisily in the room, a stray bullet hit the ceiling, and an explosion of plaster rained down.