madman would plan.”
“True,” Ian said. “And I suppose you engineered some kind of alibi, just in case suspicion fell on you?”
“Of course,” Gerard replied. “But it won’t. Everyone at Belford has expressed concern for your mental stability. Even she,” he waved the gun at Francesca. “Had her doubts.”
“There’s only one problem,” Ian said.
Gerard looked both amused and insulted. “There’s no problem,” Gerard assured.
“There is, unfortunately. His name is Edward Shallon. He’s the man I hired to tail your every move. He called me earlier when you flew into Paris, where he followed you.”
Gerard’s expression sagged. “You’re lying,” he said numbly.
“I’m not. Unfortunately, he lost you in traffic. I didn’t realize you knew about Aurore or Trevor Gaines, or I would have expected you here. As things were, I assumed you were in Paris on business.” He glanced at the computer at the foot of the bed. “Obviously, your surveillance equipment was in my room at Belford as well. You figured out my password on my computer. That’s how you got the information about Gaines. I had file upon file of information I’d compiled so far saved on it. And the video of Francesca, which you added to your surveillance tapes in order to convince her I was as sick as Gaines. Or you, as the truth would have it.”
Francesca glanced nervously at Ian when he said the last, hearing the cold fury in his tone.
“But Shallon definitely trailed you to Paris. He’ll be able to testify to that. Do you have an alibi in Paris?” Ian persisted. “It’s my understanding you left Clarisse in Stratham.”
“Clarisse?” Francesca mumbled, confused by the reference.
The color drained from Gerard’s face. He swallowed thickly, his expression nowhere near as confident as it’d been. Hope flickered through Francesca, but then his face darkened again with rage. She’d always thought him handsome, but he looked truly revolting in that moment. A wild thought struck her that his hatred for Ian had been brewing for a long, long time. How had he possibly disguised it so well?
“It doesn’t matter,” Gerard said. “I’ll figure something out. It’s too late to turn back now. I’d continue at this point, only for the pleasure of finally getting rid of you. Bloody nuisance.” He raised the gun. Francesca started at what she saw behind Gerard, but Ian tightened his hold on her shoulder, sending a desperate, silent command for silence. It felt like her own heart was going to choke her, it seemed to swell to take up her entire chest cavity.
“One other thing,” Ian said as Gerard took aim at Ian’s head, and Francesca’s lungs burned in gripping terror.
“What?” Gerard asked derisively, clearly done talking.
“You may have disabled Lucien, but I have more than one brother.”
Gerard’s vaguely puzzled glance turned to wide-eyed shock when Kam Reardon jerked his head back in a chokehold at the same moment that he wrenched the arm that held the gun, pointing it away from Ian and Francesca. Ian leapt from the bed so fast it was like he’d been ejected from a coiled spring. She followed him instinctively, unwilling to just sit there in bed, stunned. Ian rushed the struggling pair, but Gerard wasn’t defeated yet. He jabbed his elbow into Kam’s solar plexus hard and threw his head back viciously. The two men were close in height, Kam being a few inches taller. The back of Gerard’s head smashed into his face, jarring him. Kam grunted and stumbled back, dazed, losing his hold, crimson blood shooting from his nose. Ian plowed into Gerard, reaching for Gerard’s gun arm to restrain it. But Gerard had already been lifting it to an upward angle. They grunted as they vied for control.
The gun went off. Ian and Gerard stood as if frozen in some kind of bizarre dance. She stood there next to them, horrified. She gave a muffled scream when the gun fell from Gerard’s hand and he fell to his knees. Ian backed away slightly and she saw the small circle of blood on Gerard’s white shirt in the area of his abdomen. He wore a blank expression, his brown eyes wide. Ian ducked to retrieve the weapon, but Gerard was closer to it.
She saw it as if in slow motion. Fortified by years of hatred and a desire for revenge, Gerard must have had one last surge of adrenaline in him. Gerard whipped the gun away before Ian could grab it, grunting in pain. He jerked the weapon wildly in Ian’s direction, but he paused for what must have been the smallest fraction of a second. A malicious glint fired in Gerard’s face as he met Ian’s stare.
Gerard swung the gun in Francesca’s direction.
The sound of the gun going off seemed to rattle the entire room. She hit the floor so hard, her breath was knocked out of her. She didn’t know what had happened. She was lying on the floor, the gunshot still ringing in her ears. Her lungs wouldn’t expand. Her brain vibrated in shock. Was she shot? Was that why she felt so weighted down and unable to move?
She lifted her head, completely disoriented. Ian lay on top of her. She inhaled raggedly, her body starved for oxygen. He’d thrown himself in front of her. It’d been him that forced her down onto the floor. She was covered by his body. He lay facedown, his head next to hers, his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder.
“Ian?” she shouted. She ran her hands over him frantically. He lifted his head. She heard scuffling where Gerard had been and lifted her head as well, tensing in panic. She saw Kam leaning over Gerard’s motionless body. Relief swept through her.
“Ian? Are you okay?” she asked in a shaky voice.
He met her stare calmly, only his head moving, and nodded.
“Is he dead?” Ian asked Kam.
“No. Not yet anyway,” Kam added indifferently.
Kam stepped over Gerard. Using the bottom of his long coat, he flipped the lock on the gun and pried it out of Gerard’s loosening grip. Over Ian’s shoulder, she saw him set the weapon on the dresser, far from Gerard’s reach. She gasped for air, her lungs still having trouble expanding.
“Ian . . . I can’t breathe. Can you . . . can you . . .”
He rolled off her. With his weight off her, she inhaled with effort. Her relief and getting her lungs full of air lasted for as long as it took her to notice the blood on her right hand.
She sat up and stared in rising horror at Ian, who lay on his back, blinking as he stared up at the ceiling.
“He’s been shot,” Francesca said shrilly, scrambling up on her hands and knees and kneeling next to his body. “Call someone,” she said to Kam, pointing at Ian’s cell phone, which sat on a dresser not far from the gun. “Call emergency services.”
Kam lunged toward the dresser and snagged the phone. He walked over to her and handed her the phone. “You call. Dial 1-1-2,” he said roughly. He knelt on the other side of Ian. “I’m going to have to roll you on your side to have a look,” he said to Ian.
“Do you have a doctor’s license?” Ian asked sardonically, wincing slightly when Kam rolled him onto his left side. Francesca grimaced sympathetically as she dialed the phone.
“No,” Kam rasped. “But I graduated from medical school. Unfortunately for you, I never finished my residency.”
Ian gave a dry bark of laughter. Francesca had the strangest feeling Kam was serious, but she was too numb with shock to be surprised. Kam bent, examining the wound. The phone began ringing.
“What are you doing?” she asked anxiously when Kam stood and walked to the bathroom. He returned a second later with several folded towels. “Applying pressure to the wound.” He knelt again behind Ian, who was still conscious. Her eyes widened in panic when a woman answered the phone in French. She’d never mastered the language. Kam’s sharp gaze flickered to Francesca’s face. He grabbed the phone. He began to speak in rapid French, holding the towel tightly against Ian’s shoulder all the while.
A moment later, she jerked her gaze from Ian’s when Kam brushed her arm with a towel. She looked up. She realized he was off the phone.
“They’re coming,” Kam said. She glanced at the towel he was handing her in confusion, and for the first time in several moments realized she was nude. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment as she whipped the towel Kam offered around her, covering herself. She noticed Ian’s slightly raised brows and amused expression when she looked up again. Kam Reardon was clearly much, much more than the local wild man.
“Kam?” Ian muttered. “Maybe you should go and check on Lucien. He’s just down the hall, third door on the left.”
Kam nodded. He looked at Francesca. “You’ll have to apply the pressure,” he said, looking down at the towel
