The Gadget: The Rondon Chronicles Book One V. Timlin (mobi reader .txt) 📖

Her eyes hit upon a small hole and a dark area on his chest. Yes, he was indeed beyond their help. She shuddered and followed Nat, grabbing her scabbard on her way.

Anouk’s neck started to itch. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a figure standing behind the flames. Anouk’s heart stopped. Although smoke and heat distorted his shape, she recognised him—Stalo. A smile spread on his face and he lifted his arm… the barrel of his revolver glinted in the flames.

Someone grabbed Anouk from behind and pulled her sideways just as a bullet hit the floor where she had been only a moment ago. Nat kept pulling Anouk towards the back door and fired towards the flames.

The smoke forced Anouk to close her eyes briefly, when she opened them again, Stalo was gone. A hope fluttered in her chest. Had Nat killed him?

“Out now!” Nat shouted.

Anouk scrambled onto her feet and darted after him.

He had pushed the back door open. Fresh air hit Anouk’s face like the sweetest scent she had ever encountered. She sucked in the clean air and ran out into the cool night. Vari and Fitzwil waited a short distance away, their guns at the ready, and a dead man at their feet.

“Stalo,” Nat snarled. “He’s here.”

Anouk was devastated. Nat hadn’t killed him after all.

Nat started towards the alley around the warehouse but Fitzwil grabbed him by his arm. “We have to get out of here. The fire brigade will be here soon. That fire will be seen miles from here, and the night guard has most likely called them by now.”

Anouk looked back. The fire had spread to the whole building. Thick dark smoke rose skyward and flames licked the roof, throwing sparks in all directions. The blaze was in danger of spreading to neighbouring warehouses.

“Besides, Stalo has long gone by now,” Fitzwil added when Nat tried to pull his arm free.

“Let me go.” Anger twisted Nat’s beaten face. He squeezed the revolver so much that his knuckles were white.

Fitzwil’s knuckles were just as white as he kept Nat from escaping. “Son, don’t be stupid.”

Anouk groped hard for the words to ease the situation when father and son measured each other, neither of them looking like they would back off.

A bell clanged in the distance.

“There’s the fire brigade,” Vari called over the roaring of the flames. “Nat, you better do as you’re told. Let’s go or else we’ll be arrested for arson and eight murders.”

Anouk’s mind hiccupped. Eight murders? But…

As they ran away from the docks, shouts and the bells of several fire trucks carried over the silent night while the flames continued to leap skyward, colouring the horizon in an orange glow.

Their caravan waited, hidden behind the walls of an abandoned asylum’s cemetery two miles away. According to Vari it was haunted and no one dared camp there. Although Anouk didn’t believe in ghosts, the place was creepy enough with overgrown vegetation and crooked grey headstones. She was more than relieved when Fitzwil urged the mare, and the caravan jerked into motion, heading towards the gate.

Vari and Nat went inside the caravan, but Anouk stayed with Fitzwil on the driver’s bench. She stared with horror at the inferno when they drove along the road past the port.

“Go inside,” Fitzwil said to her. “There’s nothing you can do.”

Anouk tore her eyes off the glow. “Is there any danger it will spread to the city?”

“No,” Fitzwil replied with a dry tone. “This isn’t the first fire in the harbour.”

“Vari said something about eight murders.” Anouk’s voice broke on the last word.

Fitzwil glanced at Anouk, his emerald eyes filled with empathy. “That’s how enforcers would see it. It was self-defence. Three more men attacked us while you were with Nat. Now, go inside.”

Deflated, she staggered into the caravan. She knew the rescue operation wouldn’t be bloodless. It pained her, though—an unnecessary loss of lives. But it was as Fitzwil had said, the men would have killed them. For Stalo. And he had been there to see it done. Nat was right, Stalo would never rest until they were dead.

Nat sat in a chair, Vari was fussing around him. He lifted his gaze when Anouk closed the door.

“Thank you,” he said and grimaced while Vari was tending to his cuts and bruises.

“You’re welcome.” Anouk sighed and took a chair. She looked at his bruised face and upper torso. “They beat you quite badly.”

Nat gave a wry smile. “They decided to have some fun.”

“Luckily they didn’t break any of your bones while having their fun,” Vari huffed.

Nat snorted.

Vari opened a jar and smeared a whitish balm on the cuts. The aromatic odour of lavender and geranium spread into the room.

Nat winced and groaned. “Not that hideous poison.”

“Don’t be such a cry baby. That ‘hideous poison’ as you put it helps the wounds heal and prevents inflammations.”

Nat rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure about that.”

Vari kept rubbing the balm, maybe adding some force to it since Nat yelped, “Steady!”

Anouk hid her smile. Vari and Nat’s banter distracted her from her gloomy thoughts, as did Nat’s shirtless upper body. Her gaze wandered over his muscles, dark curly hair on his chest accentuated the contours of his abs. The body hair thinned and extended all the way to his naval, vanishing under the waist of his trousers. Similar dark hair covered the forearms resting in his lap. His arms and shoulders told their story of his strength. Anouk’s eyes moved up and met Nat’s—he was looking straight at her, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

She blushed and shot a glance at Vari who was securing the band over Nat’s chest. Thank goodness. Anouk dropped her gaze to the carpet, a burning sensation of embarrassment intensifying in her face and neck. She wanted to bang her head on the table. She was a twit. She was going back to London, so it was better to stop mooning.

“Right. I’m done. I’ll get you a clean shirt and you can get dressed.”

Anouk shifted