The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

somewhere else to hide or try to send more men to put Daniel out of the way.

Daniel gave Ian a nod. Both men charged Jacobi at the same time. Jacobi saw them and got to his feet in alarm, scattering papers. Then he picked up a pistol that had been hidden under the papers, aimed it, and fired it at Daniel.

Daniel felt the bullet go into his chest. He ran two more steps, then his legs didn’t work, and he fell heavily to his knees. Ian was shouting, running at Jacobi, who shot again. Ian went down—hit or taking cover, Daniel couldn’t tell.

Daniel fell forward, onto his face, his cheek meeting the flagstone floor, and everything stopped. 

Chapter 31

Violet heard the gunshot and was out of the carriage before Simon could stop her.

Violet had refused all Simon’s pleas that she return to the hotel to wait for Daniel, because one thing Violet had learned about Jacobi was that he was a snake. Whatever Daniel thought Jacobi had planned, Jacobi would have put ten more contingencies into place. So she’d stayed, no matter how hard Simon had talked.

She’d been astonished to see three Mackenzie men and Bellamy arrive in another coach and go into the house, Mac pausing to flash her his big grin and tell her they’d come for the rescue. Simon had stopped Violet rushing in behind them, but when she heard the shot, she couldn’t remain inside the coach.

Violet landed hard on the ground in her soft slippers, catching up the small train of the elegant dress. Simon tried to herd her back into the carriage, but Violet would have none of it. She ran for the front door.

When the second shot came, her heart lurched. The sound had come from, of all places, below her. Violet realized she stood near stairs that led down to the scullery, and the shot had come from behind the small windows there.

“Simon, this way!” she called, even as she ran down the flight of dirty, coal-stained stairs to the bottom.

Simon hurried down and pushed past her, reaching the kitchen door first. He turned the handle, and the door opened readily, not locked or bolted. Simon was surprised to find it unlocked, but Violet wasn’t. Jacobi always left himself many easy exits from a building.

Violet ran through a squalid scullery into a kitchen, and stopped.

Daniel lay facedown on the flagstone floor, a pool of blood spreading from under him. Ian Mackenzie had a hand over his own arm, crimson under his fingers. Rage lit Ian’s eyes, but he turned from Jacobi when he saw Violet in the doorway.

“No!” Ian shouted at her. “Go!”

Violet couldn’t move. Daniel lay motionless, his head turned on the floor, bruises and blood nearly black on his paper-white face. He wasn’t breathing. A dark, damp mark spotted the back of his jacket, the sign of a bullet. Jacobi stood by the fireplace, his face starkly pale, a mixture of horror and triumph in his eyes. He held a pistol.

Everything froze in place. Ian had shoved himself between Daniel and Jacobi’s gun, and Simon was in front of Violet, protecting her.

Violet scarcely noticed. All she saw was Daniel on the floor, and nothing else in the world mattered.

Images poured through her head. Daniel sticking out his hand in greeting in the overcrowded dining room in London, smiling because he knew Violet was a fraud. Daniel had teased her from the beginning, pushing the planchette on the talking board so it spelled a rude word, finding the rigging that worked her effects, knocking out ghostly messages in Morse code—You are lovely, do you know, lass? He’d seen right through Violet, and he’d laughed at her.

She saw again Daniel daring her to take smoke from his cigarette, using the excuse to kiss her. Then Daniel standing in front of the stage in Marseille, laughing again, when she’d believed him dead. Indestructible.

He’d given Violet a taste of true freedom when he’d taken her up in the balloon, letting her leave the littleness of her day-to-day life behind. And he’d kissed her.

Slow goodness. Daniel had freed Violet from her prison little by little, teaching her to trust, showing her how to let go of pain and seek pleasure. And teaching her that letting go was not wrong.

Oh, and Violet. I love you too.

He’d said it offhandedly, but what Violet had seen in his eyes had been real. He’d meant it.

Violet had finally found a man who loved her for herself, for what she was. Something precious and incredibly rare, and Jacobi was taking it all away from her.

Violet had been alone before, but Daniel had changed everything. Before meeting him, she had been resigned to walk along her chosen road, alone, that road bleak and unending.

But now Violet knew differently. She’d tasted the magic.

Without Daniel, she would be rudderless. Empty. Alone in the dark.

She’d be the sixteen-year-old girl at the moment her innocence had shattered. From that instant, until she’d met Daniel, Violet had been existing. Walking, eating, sleeping, but not alive.

Daniel Mackenzie had smiled at her, and her world had changed. Violet had dragged in her first breath of life.

And now Jacobi had taken happiness and love away from her—again.

Violet heard the scream well in her throat, the desperate No! Then she was running forward, breaking away from Simon.

Jacobi’s pistol discharged again, and Violet felt a sharp pain in her thigh. But she couldn’t stop. She reached Jacobi and clawed at his face.

Jacobi lifted his arms to defend himself. Violet’s hand landed on the pistol. The steel was hot, the stench of gunpowder harsh. She closed her hand around the gun, black and heavy, and tried to rip it away from Jacobi.

Jacobi struggled with her for it. The barrel now pointed at Violet’s heart, which was already so shattered she’d never feel a bullet go into it.

Ian grabbed Jacobi, and Simon got his hands around Violet. The pistol turned, Violet still struggling to take it away from Jacobi.

When it went off again, the sound deafened her. Violet stumbled back from Jacobi in wild fear, but she now held the pistol.

Jacobi looked at Violet in vast confusion, blood bubbling on his lips. He said, “My flower . . .” Then life left his eyes, and he fell forward onto her, sliding down the front of Violet’s beautiful dress.

Violet dropped the pistol. Simon grabbed it from the floor, but Violet hardly noticed. She took staggering steps to Daniel’s lifeless body and fell to her knees beside him.

She gathered Daniel up and rocked him, his blood warm against her. No tears could pour from her eyes— they were dry and aching. Her entire body hurt, and nothing would ever be right again.

“Daniel, I love you,” she said. The words tumbled out, faster and faster. “Don’t leave me. Please, Daniel. You are my life. I love you. Don’t leave me.”

Daniel’s blood was all over her, mixing with her own from where she’d been shot and Jacobi’s on the silk bodice. Violet’s wound brought pain, but nothing like what burned through her heart.

She realized the rest of Daniel’s family had come down to the kitchen—Mac, Daniel’s father, Bellamy. Cameron dropped to the floor beside Violet, his eyes holding stark grief.

“Danny.” Cameron’s gravelly voice broke, the tears Violet wanted to cry wetting his face. He stroked Daniel’s hair. “My boy.”

Ian was there. He leaned past Cameron and tried to lift Daniel. Violet held Daniel fast, not wanting to break any contact with him.

Cameron snarled. “Ian, leave him.”

“Simon knows,” Ian said. With amazing strength, he took Daniel straight out of Violet’s arms, and laid his limp body on the floor.