10
Joanna screamed and fought against her captor as Brock crumpled to the ground. The man who had struck him tucked his pistol back into his coat.
“I’m happy to admit I like this bloke better unconscious,” the man grumbled, and then he glanced at Joanna, his dark-brown eyes curious.
“Pretty bird,” he commented, still assessing Joanna. She shivered.
“And not for you.” The man who held her now dragged her forcefully into the room behind them and slammed the door shut. She was shoved into a chair by the fire, and her wrists were freed from the rope. Then the man poured her a glass of wine and pushed it into her shaking hands. She took it, staring down at the contents, and started to raise it up to throw it back in his face, but then he spoke.
“Just drink, Joanna, for God’s sake. You’ve p
