Page 90 of Their Master

Etienne’s blood curdling shriek told Smith she’d got remarkably lucky with her shot.

“You fucking bitch!” he sobbed, rolling around on the floor, clutching his foot. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

Moira ignored him and pointed the gun at theComte, who’d begun to creep toward her.

He stopped and flung up his hands.

“I want the truth.”

“I’ve already told you the truth,” Blois snapped.

She gestured to Smith. “Lift up his chair.”

Blois crossed his arms. “I willnot.”

“I’ve already shot my brother. No doubt it will be easier to shoot a man I am not even allowed to callfather. Now, lift the chair.”

Smith laughed and then winced at the pain in his head and chest.

Scowling, Blois lifted the chair and let it fall with a bone-jarring thump.

Moira stared at Smith. “You knew my real name. You knew who I was all along.”

“Notallalong.”

“Why didn’t you say something to me? Why didn’t you stop all this from happening?”

“Because he is an evil, sadistic bastard who likes to toy with his victims.” Blois spat.

Moira looked at Smith. “Is that true?”

“It is partly true.”

She gave a half-amused, half-disbelieving snort. “Which part?”

“I am no bastard,” Smith said, staring at one of the two men still alive who knew exactly who he was. He turned back to Moira—a far more attractive view. “But I confess to occasionally being evil, sadistic, and toying with my victims. Of which theComtemost certainly is one.”

“But you didn’t kill his son?”

“I am not a child killer. Or a child rapist.” He turned to Blois. “Unlike some.”

“What does that mean?” she asked her father.

“I have no idea,” theComteshot back.

Smith heard the lie in his voice and could see that Moira had, too.

She swallowed, as if making some decision, and wrenched her gaze back to Smith. “What about my sister?” Moira asked, her voice higher than normal. “Or is that a lie, too—that you killed her?”

“That is a lie, too.” Smith turned to Etienne, who was leaning against the wall wrapping his necktie around his bleeding foot. “Go and open the door.”

“Go to the devil! I don’t take orders from you!”

Moira looked from Smith to her brother. “Open it, Etienne, or I’ll give you a matching pair.” She pointed the gun in the direction of his uninjured foot.

“Honorine—”

“Now.”

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