Page 137 of When We Touch

Then gasped, choking, as he threw the rope over the lamppost, and used his weight and strength to jerk her up.

She fired . . . quickly, desperately, in the split seconds before she dropped the gun, drawing both hands instinctively to the stricture around her neck.

She heard a scream . . . police whistles again . . .

But they were fading. No matter how she tried to slip her fingers beneath the rope and stop it, it was strangling the life from her; she was dying . . .

“Maggie!” She heard a voice. His voice. Once again.

Maybe she would always hear it. Maybe there really was such a thing as true spiritualism. Maybe she would hear him, envision him, see and feel and need him, far beyond the grave....

“Maggie!” It was a shout again.

Then, she heard a shot crack through the night again. And she was no longer choking, but falling . . .

Hard upon the cobblestones below her.

There was no mist, no fog. Rockets seemed to explode before her eyes.

Then her shoulders were lifted, cradled gently into a lap. “Maggie, oh, my God, Maggie! I’m sorry, I had to shoot the rope . . . I couldn’t wait, you were kicking and strangling. Is anything broken . . . can you move?”

Jamie. Brows knit in a frown of desperate concern, cradling her on his lap, in his embrace. At first, she couldn’t talk. She moistened her lips, nodded. Croaked, “I’m . . . I’m all right.”

“Take her!” Jamie said. She was dimly aware of footsteps hurrying toward her. Someone else was there. Her brother. Justin was taking her. Mireau was there, too, at her side.

“I’ve got to go after him!” Jamie said. And then he was gone.

“I have her,” Justin said firmly, and she was lifted into her brother’s arms.

“Sorry, Lord Graham,” someone with a voice of authority said. “We’ve got to talk to her for a few moments.”

“I don’t think she can talk right now!” Justin said, outraged.

“We need her help,” the other man said quietly.

And so, she was taken first to a police station, and she tried hard, with Mireau’s help. Finally, what seemed like hours later, they were free to leave.

In the carriage, Justin supported her. And partway home he said to her, “I could actually strangle you myself! Maggie, what were you thinking? You need to be locked away in a tower somewhere. Of course, I am your brother. And I’ve let you play these dangerous games. Well, I didn’t exactly let you.” Then he quit trying to sound so stern. “Maggie, thank God, oh, thank God!” And he hugged her.

He was still so protective as they made their way into the house at Moorhaven. She was actually able to walk somewhat, with him supporting her, Mireau at her side.

They came into the grand salon. Mrs. Whitley, Dr. Mayer, and Cecilia came rushing forward.

“Arianna?” Maggie said, her voice still a bare scratchy whisper.

“She’ll be fine. She’ll come out of it soon enough,” Dr. Mayer said.

Maggie was stunned when her brother suddenly gasped. “That’s Arianna?”

The girl was lying on the settee by the hearth. Pale, stretched out, black hair streaming behind her, porcelain skin as white as the snow, she lay in a state of suspended beauty.

“Of course,” she murmured, frowning.

“Arianna!” her brother breathed.

And then, to Maggie’s chagrin, her brother almost dropped her flat. In fact, she would have fallen if Mireau had not been at her side.

“Delighted to see that you’ve fared well enough!” Cecilia said dryly.