Page 169 of The Highlander's Holiday Wife

The door, of course, was locked. Logan rattled the knob, and then ordered them to stand back. He unleashed a mighty kick at the lock with his boot heel and the door flew open.

He moved into a long, narrow corridor, his weapon at the ready. “I can’t see a thing, it’s so bloody dark.”

Right behind him, Braden pointed. “At the end of the hall. There’s light coming from under that door.”

“Kade, hang back here for a moment,” Logan said. “Make sure no one gets out.”

“Got it,” Kade replied.

Logan stalked down the hall, Braden and Samantha close behind. Just as they reached the door, it opened and a man stumbled out. He took one look at them, then let out a shriek and retreated.

“Don’t . . . don’t kill me,” he begged in a quavering voice.

From his garb, he was obviously the butler.

“I’m Dr. Kendrick, and we’re not killing anyone,” Braden said.

“Maybe,” Samantha muttered.

“Where’s Haxton?” Logan barked.

The butler cringed against the doorframe. “In here, in the study. Some . . . someone tried to kill him.”

Braden shoved past him.

A scene of carnage met his eyes. Haxton was slumped in an armchair, moaning as he clutched his shoulder. Blood stained his dressing gown and the white shirt underneath. A pistol was on the floor, right in front of him.

Several feet away, in front of the fireplace, lay a man on his back. Where his eye had been there was a hole, and blood and brain matter were spattered on the fireplace surround.

Samantha stalked over and nudged the inert body.

“He’s definitely dead,” Braden said.

“Clearly.” She began rifling through the man’s pockets.

“Your lassie has a strong stomach.” Logan nodded at the butler, quivering in the doorway. “Unlike that fellow.”

“Put him in a chair and stick his head between his knees,” Braden said as he went to Haxton.

When he pulled the banker gently upright, the banker moaned and opened his eyes.

“Kendrick, what are you doing here?” he asked in a faint voice.

“Saving your life, apparently.” He pushed aside the dressing gown to examine the wound.

Samantha came over to join them.

Braden glanced at her. “Find anything?”

She shook her head. “Haxton, where is my sister?”

The banker let out a yelp as Braden carefully pulled the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt from the wound. While the bleeding was slowing, the man had blanched as white as old bones.

Haxton blearily focused on Samantha. “Felicity? How should I know where she is?”

She crowded over Braden’s shoulder. “If you don’t tell me where she is, Iwillkill you.”

“Love, you need to let me work,” Braden said. “He won’t be able to tell us anything if he faints from blood loss.”

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