Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(97)

“I've never ended someone's life before,” Andrew muttered, shaking like a tree in a storm—only the storm wasn't from outside; it was his own inner upheaval. “But you deserve it, Jimmy.”

“Why?”

Andrew's mouth twisted in a spasm of bitterness. “I always knew what to expect from you. Even though the rest of the world was filled with liars, I could depend on you. Now it turns out you're the worst of them all. Keeping Rochester's dirty secret, stepping into my shoes when you thought I was gone…well, you can't have what's mine. I'll kill you first.”

As Andrew spoke, he ventured closer, waving the gun agitatedly. Rapidly Logan considered making a grab for the weapon and forcing it from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Madeline standing in the nearby wing, and his heart skipped several beats. Dammit, he thought in sudden terror. Leave, Maddy. Get out of here! But she didn't move. It was incomprehensible that she would place herself in such danger. She could be hit by a stray shot…she could unwittingly provoke Andrew into a fit of deadly rage. Logan broke out into a sweat, not daring to look at her.

“I don't want anything of yours,” Logan said to Andrew, finding it hard to speak. “All I want is to help you.” His throat felt as if it had been lined with barrel stays. He realized that Madeline was moving, walking noiselessly behind the set piece and flats for God knew what purpose. Locked in agony, he waited for her to stumble, to bump into something. Pregnancy had made her clumsy of late.

“Help me?” Andrew scoffed, swaying before him. “What a fine show of brotherly concern…I could almost believe you.”

“Put down the damned pistol and talk to me,” Logan said curtly.

“God, I despise you.” Andrew's hand shook as he trained the gun at Logan's midriff. “I never realized before how much like my father you are. Superior bastards with your filthy secrets, manipulating everyone around you—”

“I never treated you that way.”

Andrew shook his head in torment. “Jimmy…how could we not have known? All those years…”

“Andrew, wait,” Logan said, the blood draining from his face as his half brother cocked the pistol. “Andrew—”

There was a startling crack as the nearby flat collapsed, the hinged pieces snapping downward as if pushed by an unseen hand. Without any anchoring braces, the reinforced timber frame fell on Andrew before he had time to react. The gun went off with an ear-splitting explosion, a wayward bullet instantly burying itself in the side of the proscenium.

Madeline stood in the space where the flat had been, staring at the results of her efforts.

Logan gazed at her, frozen for a few seconds, registering that she was all right. He bent to shove the collapsed flat aside and crouched on the floor to grab his dazed half brother by the collar. Andrew reeked of wine, gin, and countless other distillations. His dazed eyes opened to stare into Logan's downturned face. As Logan had expected, the flat hadn't been heavy enough to hurt him. “What happened—” Andrew began.

Logan clipped him on the jaw, knocking him out cold. Subsiding peacefully onto the stage boards, Andrew began to snore.

Madeline hurried over to them. “Is he all right?”

Logan stood slowly. He resorted to the tactic of counting to ten, but it did nothing to stem the flood of panicked rage. He was afraid to touch her, afraid he might throttle her.

“What the hell was going through your mind?” he heard himself ask raggedly. “Did you give a thought to the safety of our child?”

“No, I…” Her bewildered gaze met his. “All I could think about was you.”

“I can damn well look after myself,” he roared, unable to keep from snatching her shoulders and shaking her. “By God, madam, you've finally managed to make me insane! I'm going to relive the past minute every day from now on until I'm a raving lunatic.”

“I could hardly stand by and watch him shoot you. There's no need to be angry. No one was hurt, and everything's all right now.” Her gaze traveled to Andrew's slumbering form. “For the most part.”

“Everything is not all right,” Logan said savagely, letting go of her. His heart still thundered in his chest. Half of him wanted to continue shaking her until her teeth rattled, while the other half wanted to crush her against him and cover every inch of her with violent kisses. The thought that she could have been hurt, even killed, filled him with sheer panic. He fought to shut away the tide of emotion, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists in the effort.

Madeline stared at him in obvious bewilderment. “I don't understand.”

“Then let me explain,” he replied, his voice turning ugly. “Your only value to me is the child you're carrying. All I've asked of you is to take care of him—and you're too damned impulsive and reckless to do even that.”

Madeline's face drained of blood. She looked blank except for a stricken expression in her eyes. “I…” She was strangely out of breath. “I'm sorry if you find me so lacking.”

They were interrupted by the company members who came rushing to the scene, having heard the gunshot as they worked in other parts of the theater.

“Mr. Scott—”

“What happened?”

“Who is that, and why—”