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Page 285
paused. "Did your friend Brant explain why they wished to ambush me?"
"He is not my friend!" René exploded. He walked around the bar and poured himself some rum. The swig he took was long, and he thumped the glass down upon the wood. "They wished revenge for your taking Mariah from them. They heard she was still here, and they had seen the man Pierce near Harrigan's. He had hired them to bring her to him. Because they'd failed, Pierce had given them no money."
Pierce. That name again. Thorn watched his fingers curl into a fist and pound against the bar.
Pierce wanted Mariah. Who was the man? Had he actually written the story of which she spoke? Or had he conspired with her for reasons unknown to get her to concoct that ridiculous story about being from the future?
Was he her husband? Her lover?
And why, despite his purposeful freezing of his emotions, did it hurt Thorn so much to think of it?
"So," he said, "they failed to kill me, but instead took their revenge by harming Mariah." A pain stabbed at his gut, as though he had taken the knife he'd hurled at Samuel instead of that rogue.
"How is she?" René asked softly.
"How would I know? Holly is with her, not I."
"I would wager," said René, "that she would heal faster by knowing of your presence at her side rather than Holly's or mine."
"Then she is a fool!" shouted Thorn. He cast his hand over the smooth surface of the bar, sweeping the metal tankard from it. The flagon fell on the floor with a clatter, tossing ale all about.
"She is not the only one," René grumbled. He took his own glass and headed toward the kitchen.
Thorn stared after him. Had René dared to imply that Thorn was a fool? He would fire him. He would fire that Holly about whom René seemed to care so much.
He would fire Mariah. If she lived . . . no, he would not think of that.

 
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