Moriarty's Musician

Knowledge Is Power, Part 9

The priest's wide-brimmed hat was inclined low over his face when Annabelle opened the door. It didn't matter that the priest would officially seal her fate. Nothing mattered. She was a prisoner of a serial killer, and if she made any move to reach out to the priest for help, Nicholas would kill him too. She couldn't let that happen.

Even with the tsunami of information now firmly engraved in her mind, what good would it do? She'd die before she let Nicholas hurt the few people she loved. But maybe that was the answer. Annabelle's eyes glossed over. If she killed herself before Nicholas forced her to marry him, everyone would be safe.

Annabelle stared with unseeing eyes at the priest's collar. Maybe that last bullet wasn't meant for Nicholas, after all. Maybe it was meant... for her.

Moriarty tipped his head, the shadows under the priest's hat still concealing his face. But when he saw Annabelle, his heart raced. The light that streamed from the cottage sent a glow around her head, making her thick, mahogany tresses glisten in the dancing firelight. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He had found her.

But something was wrong.

Moriarty's smile fell, and his eyes rolled over Annabelle's face. Even in the dim lighting, he could see her eyes were swollen, and a large bluish bruise travelled down the length of her cheek. But what made his nostrils flare was the ghostly emptiness in her gaze. Even as he lifted his chin higher so she could see his face, her eyes were unseeing. Her misery made his hand shake as it gripped the gun. This wasn't Annabelle. Where was she? Where was her fire, her gumption, her strength?

He swallowed down the rage brewing in his chest. He was going to dig the gun down Byron's throat and unload the bullets into him!

The longer Moriarty studied the anguish on Annabelle's face, the more he longed to pull her into his arms and cradle away her hopelessness. And when he finally spoke the words he had said over and over in his mind as he drove with Father O'Rourke, they came out in a strangled whisper.

"Did you miss me?"

Annabelle blinked and slowly raised her gaze. Their eyes connected, and shock flashed across Annabelle's face. Deep brown eyes reached out to grab hold of her bloodshot greens and she saw him. The relief that flooded her features made all Moriarty's uncertainties that she would reject him evaporate into the chilled night air. She was happy to see him!

But their silent reunion was cut short as an arm snaked around Annabelle's body and the edge of a knife pressed into her throat.

"I should've known I couldn't trust a bloody priest." Nicholas tightened his hold around Annabelle's chest.

Moriarty jerked the gun from the folds of his priestly robe and held it high in the air, his face livid with anger as his entire body shook.

Nicholas kept his face pressed against the back of Annabelle's head. "Put the gun down, Moriarty, or I'll kill her."

Moriarty answered with a loud click of the gun as he pulled back the hammer with his thumb and aimed it for Nicholas's head. But he couldn't get a clear shot. Not without shooting the one who kept her eyes riveted on him.

"Tell him to put the gun down, Annabelle," Nicholas growled from behind her head.

Annabelle didn't move, but her voice rang with conviction. "No."

Moriarty's eyes flew back to Annabelle's, his finger hovering on the trigger.

Nicholas tipped the end of the blade so it pressed against the artery in Annabelle's neck, making her gasp. "Annabelle—tell him!"

"James," Annabelle kept her eyes firmly planted on Moriarty, "shoot me if you have to but kill him. You can't let him live—please."

"What the hell?" Nicholas's hand moved up to Annabelle's throat, and he yanked her back into the cottage as Moriarty followed.