She lifted one of her husband’s pistols from its silk-lined compartment, turned and took aim. Jimenin’s eyes rounded. “Get out,” she said in a low voice. “And don’t shadow our doorway again.” He tried for a taunting grin, ruined by his chin’s nervous quiver. “That’s not loaded.” The click of the flintlock’s hammer made him blanch. Louvaen’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. “You think not?” Her finger curled around the trigger. He backed slowly toward the door, his features sharpening with hate the closer he got to safety. “You and me, bitch. We’re not done.” Her arm hurt with the weight of the
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