Page 85 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“What did you tell him?” Cedric asked.

“That if he didn’t come outside immediately, his daughter’s throat would be slit and her body left bleeding in the street in front of the inn.”

“Effective,” he replied as the front door creaked open.

“Gwendolyn!” the man yelled.

Before he could speak again, Cedric and Mr. Miller flanked him and rammed their pistols into his sides.

“Silence! Or we’ll shoot you right here.” Cedric glanced back at the inn to ensure no one had followed the man, then he held out his hand. “The cost of your daughter’s life, please.”

Lifting his arm, the man placed a sack of coins into Cedric’s outstretched hand.

“Walk,” Cedric said.

Wordlessly, the man complied, shuffling his feet on the cobblestone street as they headed toward the tavern. When they reached the building, Cedric stopped the man, and indicated that Mr. Miller was to retrieve the man’s daughter.

When the brunette appeared at the door, she squealed and flung herself at the man, tears streaming down her face. He caught her, hugging her as he crushed her to his torso.

Raising his pistol, Cedric pulled back the hammer, the click causing both father and daughter to glance at him with twin expressions of terror.

“We paid you!” the man sputtered, shoving his daughter behind him in an attempt to shield her.

“Leave town right now. Don’t return to the inn. Don’t speak with anyone. If you break my rules, we’ll kill you and take your daughter for our personal amusement, do you understand?”

The man nodded, his head shaking so violently, it almost popped off his shoulders. When Cedric lowered his arm, the man tightened his grip on his daughter, and they ran, heading toward the outskirts of the harbor town.

“That was easy.” Mr. Miller watched them vanish into the night.

“The first one was easy,” Cedric replied. “It’s going to get more complicated with each hostage.”

“Who’s next?”

Cedric peeked into the tavern, his gaze inspecting the remaining three hostages. He pointed at the oldest of the three, a tiny woman with salt and pepper hair pinned into a messy updo.

“She’s either a wife or a mother. Let’s see who came to collect her.”

They trudged back to the inn, relieved no one seemed to have noticed the disappearance of the first man.

“On the side,” Cedric murmured, indicating an older gentleman folded into an armchair near the fireplace, who kept checking the time on his pocket watch. “She must be his wife.”

Slipping into the inn again, Mr. Miller, with his inconspicuous manner slunk through the main room, and knelt beside the armchair, whispering to the old man. When the man nodded, Mr. Miller stood, and again, snuck out of the tavern.

“You aren’t the thief, are you?” Cedric asked when Mr. Miller appeared beside him.

“No,” he snorted. “But your compliment is appreciated.”

They looked over at the main door as it opened. The old man stepped gingerly into the street.

“Hello?” he called out, his feeble voice wavering.

“Good evening.” Cedric wrapped an arm through the man’s. “Before we escort you to your wife, please provide the payment for her release.”

“I hope you’re proud of your actions,” the man said, setting a small sack in Cedric’s hand.

“Extremely,” Cedric replied and gestured with his pistol. “Walk.”

He gave the old man and his wife the same dire threat as the brunette and her father before sending them off. The third exchange went off without a hitch as well, and Cedric, like Mr. Miller, was beginning to feel this might be the easiest hostage trade they’d ever experienced.