Wen Spencer - A Brothers price

Cira nodded as if this was a fair assessment. “Truthfully, I don’t think I could either. We’ll have to get up to the pilothouse and take control of the ship there. I wish I knew how many women Kij left on board.”

“Why do you think Kij got off?”

“I’m afraid to guess, honey.” Cira patted his hand absently.

Waved ashore by the Queens Justice late the morning after she left Mayfair, Ren heard her first news of Jerin. A whore matching Jerin’s description and a scarred woman had been taken from the docks at gunpoint earlier that day. Investigating gunshots, the Queens Justice had found the kidnappers freshly murdered. There were signs at the murder site that a paddle wheel had tied off there, and the Destiny had been one of four ships spotted that morning. Seven women dead, river trash, used and disposed of.

Raven asked questions of her own, but Ren stood numb, barely hearing the replies. She knew everything that mattered. Jerin wasn’t one of the dead, the Porters had recaptured him, and the Destiny had several hours’ lead on them.

“She was riding high and fast, full steam,” the region captain of the Queens Justice shouted as the Red Dog made to cast off. “You can burst your boiler and still not catch her.”

“This just gets worse and worse,” Raven growled beside her. “I pray to the gods that Kij does not murder Halley out of hand.”

Ren swung around to face Raven. “What? When did Halley enter into this?”

Raven lifted an eyebrow. “Jerin was with a scarred woman.” Raven ran a finger down her face.

“Pearl-handled six-guns, riding a big roan.”

Ren gasped. “Halley! How in the gods did she free Jerin?”

Raven lifted her shoulders. “If she’s been tracking your sisters’ killers, then she might have infiltrated part of Kij’s networks. She wasn’t one of the dead. Kij must have both of them.”

Ren cursed quietly. Marines packed the gunboat, allowing her no room to vent anger or fear. “The Destiny is the safest place for Kij to commit this treason. It’s a floating island, easy to defend. I doubt she’ll be taking them off until they reach Avonar. We’re hours behind them, but they’ll have to stop for the locks.”

“Kij most likely has things set so the Destiny won’t have to wait for the queue.”

“Even Kij has to wait for the locks to fill with water. It takes several hours to work through the locks.

On horseback, we could reach the end of the locks before the Destiny steams out.”

“Your Highness.” Raven used her title like a whip. “Kij knows that’s when she’s most vulnerable and where you’re most likely to catch up with her. She’ll have the trap there.”

“She has Halley and Jerin!”

“If you get yourself killed, Your Highness, no one will be able to rescue them. You’ve got the gunboat.

Put it to best use!”

Ren let out her breath in a long sigh. “You’re right. You’re always right. We’ll keep to the gunboat.”

Halley! Jerin! Sweets gods above, protect them!

The pilothouse sat on the topmost deck of the Destiny, a shack perched at the center of the vast flat space. A lone Porter sister stood at the wheel, gazing out over the bow of the ship as Jerin and Cira crept from the stern. As planned, Jerin crouched outside, hidden behind the half wall. Cira drew her pistol, quietly worked the door latch, and then stepped inside.

Instantly things went wrong. There were multiple startled cries, a crash and splintering of wood, and a gun went off, the bullet whining into the night. Jerin risked a glance over the wall.

There had been a second, unseen Porter in the room, apparently lying on the back bench. She had rushed Cira, knocking the pistol from her hand. The two now grappled in the tiny room, smashing back and forth. The pilot gripped a hand to her arm, blood seeping between her fingers.

As Cira and the other crashed through the door, the pilot lifted a flap on a wall-mounted tube. “Koura!

Mitzy! Get up here! We’ve got trouble!”

From the tube, a tiny startled voice queried urgently. The engine crew shoveling coal had been alerted!

The pilot awkwardly drew her pistol and hurried out after Cira and her sister.

“Cira, watch out!” Jerin shouted, standing up.

The pilot turned, bringing up the pistol, then recognized him and froze. Cira twisted suddenly, the Porter sister’s pistol in hand, and fired. In the gathering dark, the muzzle flare bloomed bright again and again.

The report echoed, bank to bank, repeating up the river hollow.

He and Cira faced each other, gun smoke swept off by the stiff wind. A moment of silence passed between them, and then Jerin said, “The engine crew is coming.”

“Everyone on the ship is coming.” Cira snapped into motion. Holstering the pistol, she muscled the younger Porter sister up and over the railing edge. There was a distant splash. “We have to steer the ship to shore.”

But the wheel was broken, smashed in the fight. Cira swore. The great paddle wheel was slowing down, the untended engines were dying, and the thud of heavy boots thundered up the many flights of stairs toward them.

“We’re going to have to swim anyhow.” Cira caught his hand and they headed for the stairs, hoping to beat the oncoming crowd. Two coal-blackened women appeared at the top of the stairs. Cira wheeled in front of them, racing back toward the pilothouse, cursing softly.

Like black wolves the women came, splitting up to run them down. One snatched up Jerin, lifting him from the ground, while the second tackled Cira to the floor. Jerin struggled in his capturer’s grasp, reaching over his head to try to gouge out her eyes. She jerked her head back from his questing fingers, and shifted him into a choke hold. As grayness rushed in. he heard a splash, and then Cira was there, pistol in hand.

If the woman had thought, she could have kept him as a shield. She threw him. instead, at Cira. Cira caught him with her left arm, firing as soon as she was sure he was clear of the gun. His ears rang from the retort, and he clung to Cira, trembling. Cira panted, nose running with blood. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, clearing the blood, wincing at the pain.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Jerin nodded.

“I’m out of bullets with this gun.” Cira tossed the pistol aside. “Let’s get Meza’s pistol-I dropped it in the pilothouse^-and get out of here.”

Jerin nodded.

Cira led him back to the small structure and hunted through the wreckage to find the pistol. Jerin saw a flicker of shadows and called out a warning too late. Alissa Porter struck Cira with a short pole. Cira fell, unmoving.

“You!” She pointed at Jerin with the pole. “You, I’ll deal with later.” She switched the pole to her left hand, freeing her right hand to pull a long knife. “Right now I have a serious mistake on Kij’s part to correct.”

“No!” Jerin scrambled to the pistol on the floor. His hand closed on the gun and he started to bring it up when Alissa backhanded him with the pole. The pistol went clattering across the floor.

“I will kill you if you don’t stay put!” Alissa shouted, bringing up the knife in warning.

“Leave her alone!”

“Stay out of this!” She moved toward Cira, eyes on him.

Jerin remembered then the derringer in his hidden pocket. He scrambled backward, out of her striking range, clawing for the tiny gun. “Leave her alone!” he shouted again, pulling it out and aiming at Alissa.

Alissa’s eyes went wide at the sight of the pistol. “How the hell-put it down!”

“Get away from her!”

“Put it down!”

“Get away from her!”

Alissa made a sudden motion, one he recognized as the start of throwing her knife, and he pulled the trigger. In the small enclosed space, the tiny gun sounded like a cannon. Blood sprayed the glass behind her. She looked at him, surprised, made a slight mewling sound, then collapsed.