Anne Perry - Midnight at Marble Arch

Narraway seized his moment. He snatched up a letter opener from the desk and charged at Quixwood. He did not go for the man’s gun arm, or for his heart, or even his throat.

Quixwood hurled Vespasia from him and raised the gun, but he was too slow. The letter opener pierced him through the eye, into his brain, and he buckled and collapsed to the floor, Narraway falling on top of him, still holding the letter opener. The gun roared uselessly, the bullet crashing into the ceiling, passing an inch to the side of Narraway’s head.

Vespasia climbed to her knees and stared at Narraway. Her face was ashen, her hair half-undone. Her eyes were wide with terror and her whole body shuddered.

“Victor, you idiot!” she said, sobbing to get her breath. “You could have been killed!”

Narraway sat up very slowly, leaving the letter opener where it was, embedded in Quixwood’s head. He swiveled around and looked at the tears on Vespasia’s face.

“It was worth it,” he said with a slow, beautiful smile. “Are you all right, my dear?”

Pitt rose to his feet, too full of exquisite relief even to look for words. He watched Vespasia move over to Narraway and very gently put her arms around him.

“I am very well indeed,” she told him.