Page 77 of One Last Stand

He nodded, but he had no real answer as he dragged her away from the flames, into the street.

Behind them, in the distance, sirens wailed.

He stared at her house, the one she’d gutted and remodeled and called home. She turned and put her head into his chest.

He put his arms around her, holding her tight, standing in the street as a fire engine roared up. “It’ll be okay, Tillie. It’ll be okay.”

CHAPTER8

Perfect. Shep had rescued London right into a royal prison cell. Or rather,ahem, adungeon.

Nice. They sat in a small concrete room in the bowels of the palace, a gate across the rough opening, an electric light illuminating the corridor. Next to him, London shivered in her wet clothing. He wanted to put his arm around her but could only lean against her, shoulder to shoulder, his hands secured behind him.

“So, I guess I didn’t think this all the way through to the end. Sorry. When I saw the door in the rock?—”

“Stop, Shep. There was a shooter behind us. Don’t worry, Prince Luka will sort this out.” She glanced at him, her face half obscured by the shadows. Dirt streaked her face, her hair sodden under her wool hat, but she could still make his heart stop in his chest, sweep the breath from him.I hope that answers your question.

Maybe he’d been talking to himself, because hehadbeen the one harboring questions. And maybe now wasn’t the time to think about a future, the life he’d hoped for them. Because the more he ventured into London’s world, the less he saw of the woman he’d known for the last year and the more . . . well, the more she became a mystery.

Maybe her father had been right—Shep might be in love with the version of London he’d created.

He’d known she was a woman of action, of purpose, known she was into something, well, questionable, given her presence at the meet in Zermatt. So,hello,someonehad been in denial.

But yes. He was still on mission, and her father’s words back in the study yesterday reverberated through him.“Keep her alive. Bring her home.”

Alive in the king’s prison was at least better than dead in the rain on a mountain.

Except, “You don’t think they’ll draw and quarter us, do you?”

She laughed, looked at him. “It’ll probably be the boiling oil.”

“Nice. That’s a great mental picture.”

“Don’t worry, Prince Luka is a friend.”

He didn’t like that mental picture either.

Footsteps, the shudder of metal against stone, and then a guard appeared. Spoke in Italian.

She looked at Shep and translated. “Prince Luka will see us.”

“Hopefully not to chop off our heads.”

“Just our ears.”

“I think we should stop this game.”

London smiled as the guard opened the door. She addressed him in Italian. He shook his head, took her by the arm, and helped her up.

“What was that?”

“I asked for the cuffs to come off.”

Shep followed them out of the cell and down the hall. “Not for a second do I think you can’t get out of these zip ties.”

“Never hurts to try manners first.”

Interesting.

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