Touch of Steel

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The only sound louder than the breath panting from her lungs was that of blood dripping onto the toe of her boot.

Claire Brooks crouched behind the grimy chimney stack and pressed her hand to her side. Wet seeped through the boning of her corset and the thin wool of her coat, warming her chilled fingers.

Her lungs burned and her gun hand was cramped, but she refused to set down her pistol. She refused to give u<Ǖp the chase. It would take more than a hole in her side to stop her now.

Across the roof, she heard Howard scurrying away like the rat he was. He could not escape, not when she had already chased him across five countries. Robert’s death could not go unavenged.

Gritting her teeth against the ungodly burning in her side, she braced her shoulder against the sooty brick and leaned hard as she dug her boot heel into the rough stone. She pushed herself to her feet, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

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