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“Sir?” someone shouted from behind me.
No! No, no, no, no, no.
It was him. The High Cliff killer. I couldn’t tell you how I knew, but I knew. He was calling to me—no, he was chasing me down.
His voice was definitely closer when he added, “Sir, wait!”
Fucking hell.
I plowed forward, ignoring him, and bumped into a couple who’d been innocently meandering down the street right into my path. Dammit, I was never going to get through this crowd with a freaking pushcart without being caught by him.
Mumbling an apology, I bullied my way past and then startled more people into diving out of my way as I charged forward. And all the while, the hairs on the back of my neck heated with intensity, telling me the High Clifter was gaining ground.
That’s it. This trolley sucked anyway. Abandoning it and the bag of bread with it, I darted to the right, going faster than I should. Someone had left a green scarf draped over a stool I was passing by, so I snagged it up, flipping it around as I ran—I mean, as I hobbled—and I pulled it over my head like a cloak.
Hiding my face, I stopped worrying so much after that about how fast I was walking, and I seemed to make space between me and my pursuer.
Something told me he was still back there, though, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I caught sight of him again, confirming my fears.
“Jesus.” Was he some kind of bloodhound? The scarf should’ve lost him from my trail.
When I spotted someone remove their straw hat up ahead and set it down on a fence post beside them, I lost the scarf and veered that way, nicking the hat next.
That didn’t help either. The man behind me seemed to know my next move before I even made it. He followed me around buildings, through people, and caught on whenever I doubled back again.
He always found me.
There was just no way to escape him.
I was going to need assistance.
Melaina would no doubt skin my hide for ruining what hopefully wouldn’t be her only chance to meet with the jeweler, but it couldn’t be helped. I raced full speed ahead toward the narrow alley where our horses were tied and waiting.
Glancing over my shoulder as the opening of the backstreet approached, I hissed a curse when I spotted the High Clifter still back there and coming this way. His tracking skills and persistence were eerie as hell.
I waited until the last second to dart into the alley, painfully bashing my shoulder on the corner of a building as I went, and I nearly wept joyous, relieved tears when I saw Melaina still there, waiting outside for an audience with the jeweler. Thank God.
She jumped up from the broken wagon when she saw me, gasping with immediate indignation.
“What the hell did you do this time?” she demanded, already accusing me of causing whatever problem had befallen me. “You had one job! Jesus, stop breaking character. Old men don’t run that nimbly.”
“High Cliff soldier,” was all I could gasp as I fled right past her, racing toward my horse that was still saddled and ready for any kind of hasty departure we might encounter—exactly like this one, in fact. “Hot on my trail.”
“Holy fuck. Go, then!” Melaina ordered, shooing me along before glancing around the alley, only to snag up a discarded cast iron skillet that had been lying among strewn trash. Clutching it to her chest with both hands like a weapon, she ducked into the shadows of a recessed doorway and called, “I’ll take care of him and meet you at our spot.”
I didn’t even glance her way as I called, “Deal,” and grasped the reins of my horse before flinging myself into the saddle.
“Hey!” a voice yelled from the opening of the alley.
It was him.
My heart lurched into my throat as I wheeled the horse around and charged toward the opposite opening, and we took off, galloping to freedom.
Which left the High Clifter far behind.
And me safe from execution or capture one day longer.
Chapter 3
