“I was trying to save your life, and I was familiar with that weapon.”

“I’m very grateful for it. This is a bigger gun so the recoil will be harder. Hold with both hands and brace. Finger over the trigger when you’re ready to use it. If anyone you don’t recognize comes at you, fire first and ask questions later.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To find your shooter.”

He hated to leave her, but she would be hidden enough in the alleyway. Valentine had to make sure she’d be in no more danger. He eased from their cramped hiding spot, peeking past the wall to see that the streets were clear, though people were crouched behind walls and stalled omnibuses. When Valentine caught Rawley’s eye from where he stood on the other side of the storefront, the large man pointed to his eyes and then to a building a few yards down the boulevard.

It wasn’t coincidence that Rawley was there. He had been scouting ahead when the shot had been fired. Though his vigilance hadn’t stopped some cleverly hidden renegade from planning an attack. With some relief, Valentine noticed that both the Comtesse de Valois and the maid were safe. There had only been the one shot, but that didn’t meant the shooter wasn’t armed with more guns or didn’t have accomplices.

Pistol in hand, Valentine eased from his position and rose gingerly. The cream-colored limestone exploded to the right of his head when another shot ricocheted as he ducked for cover, body sprawling flat on the sharp rocks. The answering roar of Rawley’s gun discharged from across the boulevard, and then Valentine was on his feet and running toward where Rawley had indicated. On the roofline of the newly built apartments, five stories up, movement caught his eye, reflecting from a pane of glass that had been smashed on the steeply angled mansard roofline, presumably where the person had been firing from.

Valentine took off in pursuit, running along the front of the building and knowing the man might still be inside. He would try to escape from the back. Older Paris was a warren of side streets, but Valentine was not as familiar with these new arrondissements that had been annexed a handful of years earlier. Once the man was out, however, he could vanish quite easily. The rapid sounds of snapping shoes on cobblestones behind him made him slow and look over his shoulder. He expected to see Rawley, whom he could direct to cut the man off, and frowned when striped skirts filled his vision.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, panting and slowing. “Go back!”

“No.” Bronwyn’s eyes shone with fury as she kept up with him. “I’m not very well going to cower in a corner while you chase a man who was shooting at me!”

“You daft girl, it’s you he wants.”