Dammit! How did he draw his gun so quickly?

Glancing over my shoulder as inconspicuously as possible, I was just able to see a tiny gun in his hand, then suddenly realized: he hadn't drawn his gun at all. He had hidden one in his sleeve.

Goddamn blasted professional killers!

"Did you really think I wouldn't expect this?" Creed demanded in a scathing tone. "Did you really think I wouldn't be prepared?" Jabbing his gun into my back, he jerked his head at Mr Ambrose and his men. "You! Over there, backs to the wall, hands over your heads!"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose's jaw worked and his eyes narrowed infinitesimally. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his grip on his revolver tighten. "I suggest you stop this now. Drop your weapon and release her, or I promise you will regret it."

"Shut your mouth! Drop your gun and move, now!" Grabbing me by the back of the neck, Creed jammed his gun even harder into my spine. I was so going to beat the crap out of that bastard and have Ambrose Junior use him as a camel lavatory. "Or do you want me to put a bullet in your broad?"

A muscle in his jaw twitching, Mr Ambrose took a step back. Slowly, his grip loosened and a moment later...

Thud!

His revolver hit the ground.

Creed smiled. "Good boy. Now get up against the wall, all of you!"

"You can't seriously think you will get away with this!" the sheriff demanded. "Who do you think you are?"

In answer, all Creed did was point at the wall.

The sheriff snorted. "I'm not going to stand against the wall on the order of some lowly—"

His words abruptly cut off and his eyes widened. Apparently, he had just noticed the poster hanging on the aforementioned wall showing a handsome face with large, bold letters above it:

WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE

Ellard Simeon Creed

Reward: $215,000

All colour draining from his face, the sheriff stumbled a step backwards—then quickly moved over to the wall and plastered himself against it.

"Smart guy! Now the rest of you!"

Hurriedly, everyone followed the sheriff's example, until all of them were lined up against the wall: Mr Ambrose, his men, a fuming Marshal Angleton and various deputies. Only I and the other desperados remained in the centre of the yard.

Crap, crap, crap! Mr Rikkard Ambrose, what did you get me into? Next time you get a brilliant idea like this, I'm gonna take it and ram it up the place where you shit gold!

And you know what the worst thing was? The way the bloody son of a bachelor's face didn't even twitch once! Instead, it stayed cold and unmoving, and utterly emotionless! He didn't even glance my way! He was my husband, dammit! He was supposed to rescue me from these kinds of situations! Even if I would smack him afterwards for treating me like a damsel in distress, he was at least supposed to try!

Meeting his gaze, I tried to gesture with my one free hand, plead with my eyes, do anything and everything to try and convey the message.

His response was to cock his head about half a millimetre.

If I somehow survive this, I'm going to murder him.

But before that, I was going to have to kill the slimeball who was currently jabbing his gun into my back. Slowly, imperceptibly slowly, I moved my one free hand towards the place where, apparently unnoticed by anyone, my loaded revolver still hung, just waiting to be drawn and—

"Nuh-ah." A hand closed around my wrist, stopping me dead. With a mocking smirk, Creed shook his head at me. "Don't even think about it."

Dammit!

Inwardly cursing in at least half a dozen languages, I let go of my revolver and, with a clatter, it dropped to the cobblestones.

"Very good. Now come along." With a jerk, he sent me stumbling backwards and started dragging me towards the gate that led out of the courtyard. "Everyone, gather round!"

Without hesitation, the desperados did as ordered. Sarge, Diego, Brass, Wolf and the others surrounded their boss.

"What now, boss?" Sarge growled.

"Now?" Creed smiled. "Now we're going to take care of these gentlemen and find the bank in this town. I very much look forward to seeing my new home. Sarge, Diego, Wolf, go dispose of—"

He was interrupted by a metallic click directly behind him.

"Sorry, boss," I heard a gruff voice from the same direction. "That ain't gonna happen."

For a moment, everyone was frozen at this turn of events. Everyone. Me. Creed. The marshal. The sheriff. Everyone, except...

Mr Rikkard Ambrose leisurely dusted an invisible dust mote of his precious, mint-condition, ten-year-old tailcoat.

Oh boy.

Oh boy, he didn't. If this was part of his plan, if he had known this was going to happen this entire time...

I was going to kill him! Or kiss him! Or both, in no particular order! Hm...I probably would have to get him into a bedroom either way. And then I could break out some of the utensils Amy gifted me for my last birthday, and—

My important contemplations were abruptly cut off when the world unfroze and finally reacted to the new turn of events.

"Wolf!" Creed snarled behind me. "You damn traitor!"

"Depends." Shrugging, the man called Wolf, who had a gun pointed straight at Creed, jerked a thumb towards my husband. "I worked for him long before I even met you, so I'd be damned either way."

I knew it! I goddamn bloody knew it! Oh, hubby dear...you're gonna get it.

Creed's eyes narrowed. "I see."

For a long, long moment, no one and nothing moved. We all stood there, Wolf's revolver pointed at Creed, and Creed's gun pointed at me. The man's eyes, however, were directed straight at Mr Rikkard Ambrose who was still standing casually against the wall, his face cold. Unmoving. And, as everyone only realized now, in control of everything.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a single drop of sweat roll down the side of Creed's face—until suddenly, he smiled.

Uh-oh...

The man's posture straightened. I felt his grip on his revolver tighten as his stare at Mr Ambrose intensified.

"Wolf isn't going to shoot."

Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "No?"

"No. Because even if he does, I might have enough time to pull the trigger and ice this bitch." A hand grabbed my neck from behind, squeezing hard. "Are you willing to risk that?"

A deadly chill descended over the courtyard. Dark eyes brimming with murderous intent, Mr Ambrose stared straight at Creed in a way that would make most men collapse from the mere force of his gaze. A long moment passed. And another. And...

"No," Mr Ambrose admitted. "I am not."

I felt a tug at my heart.

Damn you! Don't show weakness now of all times! Even if it does give me bloody butterflies inside!

"Ha! I knew it!" Chuckling darkly, Creed gestured to his men. "Come on, boys! Grab that bastard Wolf! We're going to get out of here, and then we're going to have some fun torturing him and that bi—"

Mr Ambrose's move was faster than I could blink. In a flash, he held another revolver in his hand, cocked and ready to go.

Bam!

I felt it. The hiss of the bullet as it blew past my face. The twitch of Creed's body as the projectile tore through his shoulder.

"Son of a...!"

Roaring, Creed grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and raised his gun until it was right behind my head. I froze. An instant later, he pressed the trigger.

Click! Click!

Um...wait a minute. I wasn't exactly an expert in projectile weapons, but was that what a gunshot was supposed to sound like?

Click, click, click!

Probably not.

Creed seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Eyes widened in shock, he stared down at the gun in his hand and my decidedly non-perforated head.

"What the—?"

"Creed," an oh-so familiar, ice-cold voice cut him off mid-sentence. A voice that made my heart sing. "Did you really think it would be this easy?"

Slowly, Creed looked up from his empty gun—only to come face-to-fist with Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

Thud!

Ellard Simeon Creed flew backwards, blood spattering out of his mouth.

"Did you really think I would allow you to hurt my wife?"

Wham!

Once again, Creed staggered back. There was a harsh crack as his skull slammed against the stone wall. A moment later, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he hit the ground hard.

Striding past me, Mr Rikkard Ambrose gazed down at the unconscious outlaw as blood trickled down the side of his head. Bending down until his mouth was beside the man's ear, Mr Ambrose spoke, his voice an icy whisper only I could hear.

"Didn't I tell you? You. Will. Regret. It."

Straightening, he turned away from the motionless refuse on the ground. For a long moment, Mr Rikkard Ambrose gazed down at his blood-spattered fist—then raised his eyes and let his icy gaze sweep over the remaining desperados. He didn't even need to utter a single syllable to convey his silent message: Anyone else?

Metallic clatters echoed through the courtyard as every single outlaw pulled their firearms out with their fingertips and dropped them to the ground.

Mr Ambrose gave a curt nod and glanced over at the still frozen deputies. Immediately, they sprang into action, cuffing the desperados and dragging them away without even bothering to look at the sheriff who was supposed to be their actual superior. Mr Ambrose, meanwhile, stepped over to me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"You...you shot him!"

"Indeed.

"Straight past my face!"

"Indeed."

"While he was pointing a bloody gun at my head!"

"Indeed."

I felt my fingers twitch, itching to wrap around a certain someone's throat. "Stop saying that bloody word! You put my life at risk! What if that bastard's gun hadn't been jammed? What would you have done then? You...you...!"

Halfway through my rant I distantly realized he had moved. Moved his arm, specifically. He was holding out his hand and there, on his palm, lay a pile of shiny, metallic objects. Amazingly enough, considering this was Mr Ambrose, they were not coins. Instead...

"Wolf has been working for me from the very beginning," Mr Ambrose spoke, lifting the shiny bullets on his palm a little higher. His deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into mine, silencing any interruption I might have wanted to make. "Do you really think, Mrs Ambrose, that I wouldn't have made him empty and disable every single one of their weapons? Do you really think I would let you be in danger?"

Hurling the bullets aside to scatter over the courtyard, Mr Ambrose turned fully towards me. I swallowed at the intensity in his eyes. Eyes that told me he had held everything in his hands from the very beginning. Eyes that told me he would do anything to protect me.

"Besides..." A granite grip captured my wrist, revealing the knife hidden up my sleeve. With his other hand, he grabbed my chin, forcing me to look deep into his eyes. "I couldn't very well allow you to rescue yourself again, now, could I? That's my job."

I glared up at him. "Misogynistic pig!"

"Thank you for the compliment, Mrs Ambrose."

Taking a step towards me, he leaned forward until his face was only inches away from mine. His eyes suddenly ramped up their intensity to a whole other level, his hand moving from my chin to gently caress my cheek and finally land on my shoulder.

"Now, answer my question. Are you all right?"

His eyes were cold. Hard. Heartless.

They were the eyes of the man whom I loved.

My mouth curled up into a smile. "Yes."

"Adequate." Reaching out, he cupped my cheek in his hand. "Stay that way. That is an order."

My smile spread into a full-blown grin. "Yes, Sir, Mr Ambrose, Sir!"

My dear hubby nodded and, striding past me without giving the other people so much as a glance, he stepped over to where De Ravera was lying on the ground, arms still tied and eyes widened in terror. Bending down, he lifted the man's chin until frightened eyes met ice cold ones.

"Fool." He jabbed a finger at the outlaws, still gazing into the Spaniard's terrified eyes. "You really thought you could use people like them against me? I used to be one of them. I survived the hell that breaks or makes a man, and came out on top. You never stood a chance."

Then, dropping the man's face back into the dirt, he rose and strode away without another word.

***

It took quite a while to sort everything out because, as the sheriff explained, processing criminals of such notoriety required additional care and diligence. There was also the little fact that most of the deputies were scared shitless from being held at gunpoint by the most dangerous criminal this side of the Atlantic Ocean, but that surely didn't have anything to do with the delay, did it?

The thing that didn't take long to sort out, however, was the bounty. Mr Rikkard Ambrose could be amazingly convincing.

"Five hundred and thirty, five hundred and forty, five hundred and fifty-seven thousand dollars and thirty cents." Pocketing the stack of cash, he gave a curt nod at the sheriff. "Much appreciated."

"I'm sure." The sheriff pulled a face. "Now, get the hell out of my office so I can drown myself in a bottle and try to forget all this."

Without a word, Mr Ambrose turned around and strode out of the office. I started to follow him—then glanced back and waved with a broad smile. "Toodeloo. We'll try and come visit again as soon as we can."

And, ignoring the sheriff's groan of agony, I scampered after Mr Rikkard Ambrose. My dear husband was currently striding across the street, towards the hotel to which the marshal and Karim had gone ahead to book rooms for the night. The pair were waiting for us at the bar. The moment the two of us entered, one of them jumped up and strode towards us.

"Mr Ambrose!" Striding towards us, Marshall Angus Angleton bowed deeply. "I must most humbly apologize for my unjustified criticism earlier today. If anything I said was interpreted as an insult, I sincerely beg your pardon."

"My pardon?" Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "For what?"

"Why, for assuming you would collaborate with those despicable desperados, of course." Shaking his head, the marshal put on a disappointed expression. "I should have realized it was merely a ruse to apprehend them all. And please give my compliments to your double-agent." Grabbing a glass of whiskey from the bar, he lifted it in a toast. "Staying undetected in a gang of outlaws for this long—admirable, really admirable."

Mr Ambrose stared at him. "Double agent?"

Angleton blinked. "Mr Wolf, naturally."

"Oh, Wolf? He's no double agent. He's a ruthless killer with a massive price on his head I used to work with in my younger days."

"Pfffft!" In an arc, Mr Angleton sprayed his whiskey all over the bar.

"Are you all right?" I asked, concerned. "Do you need some medicine? I heard there is a travelling salesman in town who sells excellent remedies."

"Ggrgh!" Massaging his throat, the marshal coughed. "Krk! Grg!"

"Well, if that's all, Marshal, we shall be going now." Giving the man a curt nod, Mr Ambrose turned away. "I have matters to take care of."

And he strode off, me hot on his heels. For one, because I wanted to get out of there before the marshal was able to process the new information, and for another, because something my dear hubby had said had caught my interest. An interest that grew all the greater as I saw Mr Ambrose march towards Wolf, who was leaning against a wall at one end of the bar.

"So..." I gestured at the man with the three-day beard leaning against the wall. "You used to know him?"

Mr Ambrose gave a cool nod. "We are...acquaintances."

I read between the non-existent, silent lines—and gasped. "You have a friend?"

"That would be an egregious exaggeration of—"

A devious grin spread across my face. "You have a friend. You. Have. A. Friend! Mwahahaha!"

That caused Wolf to glance up, and a feral grin to spread over his face. "I like her. Where did you find her?"

"In none-of-your-business land," was my dear husband's curt reply. The two of them stared at each other, like either of them might launch into an attack at any moment.

Finally, Mr Ambrose nodded. "Wolf. "

The desperado nodded back, one corner of his mouth quirking up. "Dick."

A muscle in Mr Ambrose's cheek twitched. "I go by Mr Rikkard Ambrose these days."

The other man smirked. "I'm sure you do. You've come quite a long way." He glanced at me. "A very, very, very long way. I mean...you seem to be aware that she's female. And you're paying her wages. I mean, not that I'm a stranger to paying women for their services, but usually that involves—"

"Silence!"

"Ah, there's the old Dick I know and don't love, since I'm straight." Tipping his hat, the man gave another smirk, and made his way to the door. "Been a pleasure working with you again. But now I gotta go. Seems like your friend, Angleton, is getting back control of his faculties. Call me crazy, but I'd rather not be here when that happens."

And, tossing his cigarette into a nearby vase, he strode out of the bar.

As for sweet little me?

I captured Mr Ambrose's arm in my grip before he could escape, my eyes glittering with determination that would make the strongest of men quiver in his boots. "Well, well...one never ceases to learn. Now, why don't you tell me all about your friend, and what the two of you got up to in your youth?"

--------------------------------------------

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT, my dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen:

For those who have not heard yet, I'm hard at work preparing "Storm of Bells" for publication as ebook and paperback, with extra chapters from Mr Ambrose's POV. If you would like to read about Lilly's wedding (and the following night) from Mr Ambrose's POV, you have something to look forward to! Wish me luck so I can hopefully complete the publication before Christmas! :)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob