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“Not that way. We’ll be seen. Is there another way back to the store? A way out of sight?”
“Yes, it’s some walk, but we can cut through a few side streets.”
Devere veered right, heading away from the main street, and as we began to walk from the club, the chill wrapped around me once more, determined to bite. We’d left our coats inside. I’d ask after them later, once we were safely away from Russo.
“Were you meeting someone?” I asked, careful to keep my voice neutral.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
He looked at me askance. “You’re distressed. What happened in there?”
How was I supposed to tell him he was being accused of both murders, and worse, there was nothing I could do to save him? This was my fault. All of it. “I should not have brought you here.”
“Probably not.”
Was that a smile? No, I must have been imagining it. “I’m sorry, Devere, for everything. Gods, what I did back then, it was foul, and I’ve never forgiven myself.”
His lips definitely found a smile, soft and precious, and as rare as a snowflake in the sun. “I know.”
“There they are!” a shout rang out behind us.
Russo and Grant, among others, poured into the street, spooking the horses and their carriages.
“Run!” I barked at Devere, turning to face the group hurtling toward us. “I’ll delay them. Get out of here.”
Shock turned Devere’s face white. “What do they want?”
“You.”Why wasn’t he running? I grabbed him by his perfect waistcoat and shoved him back, almost knocking him over. “Go!”
His eyes widened, and he knew, in that moment, this was no game. If they caught him, he’d hang from the gallows in the town square, where he’d found his father.
Devere turned on his heel and bolted.
I faced the mob, spread my stance, and lifted my chin. “Stop. This is unjust, and you know it, Russo. Where is your law-abiding duty?”
They slowed and circled me, all swagger and simmering masculine posturing, so full of their own importance, so sure they were right.
“Why are you helping him?” one of the men asked, a new face I didn’t recognize.
“Because this is wrong.”
“Looks like you’re protecting him,” Grant accused, and swung his fist. The right hook struck my jaw, seemingly from nowhere. A second blow landed in my gut, and I dropped onto my hands and knees, coughing.
“Go! Find Devere!” Russo yelled.
I grabbed the leg nearest me, yanking the man back, but his heel struck my cheek and sent me sprawling. Cold, grating snow scuffed my face. I spluttered. I couldn’t go down. If I went down, they’d resume chasing Devere. I blinked and saw it was already too late. The group ran down the street, following Devere’s tracks in the snow. I’d given him a head start. There was no police to call—Russo was the police. Nobody would help.
Blood swirled in my mouth. I spat and gingerly climbed to my feet. The group was gone, vanished toward the graveyard after Devere, their haunting shouts sailing on the wind. I stumbled into a loping run, but the burn in my chest slowed me down, and the shouts echoed farther and farther away, until the only sound was the swirling wind and my pounding heart.
I would never catch up with them. Perhaps I could cut them off?
Devere would flee to his shop, his sanctuary.
I hobbled down the sidewalk, then hailed a passing open-top carriage.
“The toy store,” I told the driver.
