How to Steal a Thief's Heart - Bree Wolf Page 0,23

realize what had been happening and thus stuck his head out the window to seek an answer, the door on this coach remained closed. Whoever was inside was clearly debating how to proceed, which tended to rule out an inebriated mind. Of course, someone with a level head was far more dangerous!

Sighing, Pierce threw his right leg over his gelding’s neck and then slid out of the saddle, keeping one pistol trained on the driver at his feet. A part of him wished the man would finally charge him for he disliked the need to split his attention like this.

Approaching the closed door, Pierce intentionally turned away from the driver, his interest seemingly focused on the coach alone. “I said step outside!” he repeated, noting the tension that suddenly gripped the driver’s shoulders.

In the next second, the man kicked out and Pierce barely sidestepped his attack. However, the moment the man pushed to his knees, Pierce flipped the pistol in his right hand and brought its butt down hard on the man’s head.

Instantly, the driver crumpled back down, his eyes closed.

Of course, his head would hurt like hell tomorrow!

Returning one pistol to his belt, Pierce carefully approached the coach. Never before had he known a peer to carry a gun on an outing intended for entertainment and pleasure. However, one could never be too careful.

Standing off to the side, he tried to peek in through the windows, but found the curtains drawn. Annoyed, Pierce huffed out a breath, then as quick as lightning reached for the door, hauling it open.

Everything remained still, and yet, he could have sworn that he heard a sharp intake of breath. In the dim light from the street lamps, however, he saw very little as it seemed the coach’s passenger had retreated to the far corner of the vehicle, the only place where darkness still lingered, hiding him from sight.

After casting another careful glance at the driver, who was still lying flat on the ground, Pierce stepped up to the door, his pistol pointed at the darkened corner. “I said step outside,” he growled.

A deep sigh, tinged with a hint of anger, caught his attention, and he felt his brows draw down in suspicion the moment a woman moved into the dim light drifting into the carriage. “And what will you do if I don’t?”

Shocked almost witless, Pierce stared at her.

Her skin glistened with wetness, no doubt from the rain as her attire looked thoroughly soaked through. Her hair seemed almost black in the dim light as it hung wet and in disarray about her head, framing two large, dark eyes that looked at him with such reproach that he felt the sudden need to apologize.

And then it hit him.

He knew her!

He’d been watching her. Of course, now she looked different. Gone was the stern hairdo. The grey, mouse-like gown lay hidden under a dark cloak. And her eyes looked back at him without the hindrance of those hideous spectacles.

She looked different.

So very different.

But it was her.

No doubt about it.

It was his little, grey mouse.

Miss Caroline Hawkins.

Pierce could barely stop himself from blurting out her name, momentarily unable to form a coherent thought. He could not remember the last time someone had thrown him off guard quite like this. What on earth was she doing out here? On a night like this? Alone?

“Well?” she prompted, her jaw hard as she glared at him. Still, a slight tremble lingered in her shoulders, and Pierce doubted it had been caused by the lingering cold alone.

Intrigued, Pierce lifted a foot and then climbed into the carriage, reminding himself not to linger too long or someone might take notice. At his entrance, his grey mouse immediately scooted back to the far corner, her eyes widening in alarm. “What is it that you want?”

Her voice trembled, and Pierce knew he was a beast for toying with her. He felt an almost desperate need to know what she was about. “I want your valuables,” he told her, keeping his voice low as he seated himself diagonally from her. He held out his non-pistol-bearing hand. “Hand them over.”

Her throat worked, and her eyes widened. “I…I have nothing of worth.” Her chest rose and fell faster now, and her hands clamped onto her cloak, pulling it closed as though seeking to hide something.

Pierce knew she was lying. “If you do not hand them over,” he told her, trying to hide his amusement, “I shall be forced to search you.” Suppressing a grin, he