Page 30 of Of Gold and Shadows (Time’s Lost Treasures #1)

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Ami’s heart hammered inside her chest, a captive fighting to be free. Just like her. She arched away from Mr. Fletcher’s defiling touch. If she could make it out of the office, she’d have a much better chance at negotiating with the criminals in the warehouse than the traitor in this room.

But that was a pretty big if.

There was nothing for it, then.

She jerked backward, drove her knee upward, and connected sharply with his groin.

Pain grunted out of him—strained, guttural—his mouth contorting into a big O.

Breaking free, Ami dove for the slate on the chair. Mr. Fletcher roared behind her. Her fingers closed around the slate’s cool surface, her grip desperate but her determination rock-solid.

She swung with all her might.

The slate cracked into Mr. Fletcher’s jaw, just below his ear. His head snapped to the side, his eyes wide with shock. Almost in slow motion, his legs buckled. A macabre sight. One that would surely haunt her in nightmares to come.

He collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud.

Sickened by her own violence, she leapt over his fallen body.

And bolted into bedlam.

Curses fouled the air. Men ran everywhere. Crates tipped. One brute rammed against her shoulder as he sped past. She stumbled to a halt, mind barely grasping the cause of the mayhem. There weren’t just drab-coated workmen here anymore. Bluecoats wielding clubs scurried about as well, rounding up those within reach. Could it be? Could help truly be here?

Once again she clutched the slate to her chest, this time filled with hope instead of despair. Peace poured over her like an anointing oil. God had seen fit to rescue her despite her failures and shortcomings. Despite her striving and reaching and trying to be an Egyptologist and a shadow broker saving relics of earth and dust.

Thank You, God. Oh, thank You for saving me—in more ways than one.

She took a step toward the large receiving doors ahead of her.

And was instantly yanked backward.

Hard metal poked against the side of her belly. Hot breath huffed against the back of her neck. The arm wrapped around her neck was an iron band.

“I walk free, ye cuffin’ coves, or this woman bleeds out here and now!” Mr. Flick’s gravelly voice rumbled at her back.

The three policemen nearest her exchanged glances. One nodded.

And they all retreated.

No! This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when she should be walking out that open door!

A sinking ship full of rats scurrying for safety couldn’t writhe more than the thugs pouring out of Wormwell’s warehouse. When the police wagon had first passed Edmund, he’d been worried the bluecoats would hold him at bay while they rounded up Wormwell and his men. A vain concern, that. The moment the lawmen were spotted, shabby-coated ruffians fled from every possible exit, fully occupying the attention of the officers. Every curse, each panicked bootstep reverberated through the night air. The frenzied lawlessness mocked the very concept of law and order.

Which was perfect. The frantic scuttle unwittingly shielded him from the gaze of the law. Not that the bark of a policeman would have stopped him anyway. Edmund stormed through the open front door, shouldering past two thugs as if they were nothing but gnats. They were too intent on bolting out of there. In this half of the building, darkness reigned. Large rows of shelving blocked most of the light from the far end of the warehouse. He ran pell-mell down the main aisle toward that glow, two thoughts powering every stride.

Save Ami .

Stop Gil .

Yet before he left the cover of shadows, he stopped. So did his heart. Ahead, a broad-shouldered brute wrapped one of his thick arms around the neck of a woman in a green gown, peacock feathers drooping from waist to floor. His other hand pressed a knife to her side.

And the police—the defenders of the weak, the protectors of the frail—were backing off.

Edmund’s gut twisted. This would be quite a different tussle than wrestling Ami away from Gil. One that could be deadly.

God, please. Give me strength. Give me wisdom.

“Tha’s it! Scuttle off to the corners like the cockroaches ye are.” The monstrous man advanced as the line of three officers retreated.

“You won’t make it far, cully!” the largest bluecoat sneered, a veneer of false confidence belied by his next backward step.

Thunderation! If those lawmen didn’t hold their ground, the villain would have free passage out the loading doors in a matter of seconds.

And who knew what would become of Ami at that point.

Edmund’s mind raced, desperate to devise the next move in this dangerous game. He cast a wild look about, searching for something—anything—to combat the blade at Ami’s belly. A length of chain coiled on the floor. No good, though. Too far ahead. The thug would spot him before he could reach it. A broken board leaned against the wall to his left. That could work but ... hold on. He squinted. There in the shadow of a large crate lay a gift from God.

A forgotten crowbar.

Edmund snatched it up.

Dashed ahead.

And swung.

The iron bar hit off-center on the back of the man’s head, but it hit! Thank God, it hit! For a fraction of a second, nothing happened other than a slight stiffening of the brute’s shoulders. Then in a surreal cascade, the villain’s colossal frame plummeted, taking Ami down with him. The dirty floorboards rushed up to meet them with a sickening thwack, the impact jarring the ground under Edmund’s feet.

Ami scrambled from beneath the weight of the unconscious man’s arm, and Edmund pulled her into his embrace, holding her close, his grip a mix of protectiveness, urgency, and heavenly relief. She was here. In his arms. Safe. Whole. Breathing. The realization nearly buckled his knees.

“Edmund?” She tipped back slightly, her nose scrunching in adorable confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Solving a problem, of course. Namely that you were missing. Are you hurt?” His voice rasped, a blend of concern and longing, exposing a vulnerability he hadn’t intended to let her hear. He searched her brow, her cheeks, her chin, mapping every contour, seeking the slightest sign of injury. Then his gaze drifted lower to her side, where the cruel knife had torn the fabric of her gown. No blood, though. Just a ruined bodice. He shuddered. Oh, how close he’d come to losing her!

Thank You, God. Thank You!

“I am well,” she whispered. “But how did you know where to find me?”

“Your father.” He brushed back a loose lock of hair, relishing the moment despite the hellish howls and shouts around them, ignoring even the body at their feet. “Apparently there’s more to you than I realized, hmm, Shadow Broker?”

The name curved her lips into a sad smile. “I made the same mistake about you. Shouldn’t you be at your engagement party right now?”

The question was a bittersweet reminder of the tangled obligations that had driven them to this precipice.

He shook his head, his eyes never once leaving hers. “There is only one woman for me. And she’s right here in my arms.”

She sucked in a breath, her face turning ashen. Not the response he was hoping for but—

“Oh no.” Her gaze fixed just past his shoulder.

A yowling screech shattered the air like a stone against glass. Edmund wheeled about, his body instinctively shielding her from whatever new threat plummeted toward them.

Gil staggered out a nearby door, his face twisted by malice. Blood oozed from the corner of his mouth, a walking, breathing nightmare.

“You!” Gil advanced, swinging a jagged-edged slate like a scythe. “Don’t think you’re taking my prize now! I went to too much trouble bringing those blasted relics here. Wormwell owes me!”

Edmund swiped for the crowbar. He had no idea what the man was talking about, but he did understand the murderous gleam in his eyes. “Gil, listen. Just—”

A bluecoat charged, hitting Gil sideways. They both flew. The officer landed on top. In a trice, the lawman snapped on a pair of darbies and hoisted Edmund’s former business partner to his feet, then dragged him toward the dock door. Gil wriggled like a speared fish, shrieks spewing from his lips.

“Mr. Price!” A steamroller in sergeant stripes barreled toward them. “I thought I told you and the professor to remain at the station.” Newell pulled up in front of him and Ami.

“You did, Sergeant. But see?” In a single motion, he pulled Ami to his side. “I found the lady I was looking for.”

“And a good thing Mr. Price is here, sir.” Though she spoke to the sergeant, she grinned up at Edmund. “You’ll need him for verification of the stolen goods.”

Edmund tilted his head. “What stolen goods?”

Ami swept her hands toward the crates strewn about, some overturned and spilling out their contents. “Your Egyptian artifacts.”