“This is a Colt Army revolver, a single-action sidearm, capable of firing six shots, mostly used during the civil war that just ended,” he said, pointing to the first which he had given her on the Boulevard Haussmann. He pointed to the second. “That’s a Whitney revolver. It’s a solid frame with a similar percussion lock. For both, the hammer has to be cocked for each firing. But once each bullet and the paper cylinder with the black powder charge is loaded in the chamber, seated with the lever and the percussion cap set, it’s ready to go. These are likely the weapons Powell and his men will have.”

Blue eyes widened as she lifted the first gun. “It’s heavy.”

Valentine nodded. Bronwyn ran a thumb over the walnut grip before carefully placing it back down. Valentine didn’t want to think about what it would mean if any of the men on their heels were armed, but Bronwyn was right. Knowing what to do in a situation with an armed enemy was half the battle. When she was finished examining both, he placed the pistols back in the case and into his saddlebags. She frowned at him with a raised brow.

“I wanted you to be familiar with them,” he explained and bent to retrieve a broken stick from the ground. “We’ll use this piece of wood instead. What’s the first thing you do with an assailant who is armed?” he asked.

“Run away.”

“If you can safely, yes,” he said. “Run, hide, fight is a good rule of thumb. Always stay calm and control your emotions. If you can give them what they want, then do so. Under no circumstances go anywhere with them because the opportunity for escape will lessen.”

“Run, hide, fight,” she repeated softly.

“This is only a worst-case scenario, if they catch you unaware. Chances are Powell and his men won’t want to shoot you because they want something from you and they want to scare you. That’s an advantage, a slim one, but one you can use. The first goal is to get out of the line of fire and the second is to disarm them if you can.” He lifted the stick and handed it to her. “Here, take this.”

“Why?” she asked. “Shouldn’t I be disarming you?”

“It’s better if I show you first,” he said and took a step toward her. “May I touch you to demonstrate?” He glanced down at her. Was she holding her breath? Faint spots of red bloomed over her cheekbones when he settled his palms over her shoulders and maneuvered her body into the position he wanted. The touch was innocent, but his own body acted like it wasn’t.