The press of the trigger was smooth; the report was like a cannon boom in his ears, louder, for some reason, than all the times he'd shot while hunting.

Nearly two seconds later, the bullet pierced the man's forehead and cast him to the ground. Blood seeped out from the back of his head, soaking the gravel, and his legs twitched in death, stirring a cloud of dust at his feet.

It's done, then.

Hugh was done.

There again, he saw something like pleasure in Grey's eyes. "I've never seen anyone shoot like you, Scot." Grey slapped him on the back, then took a swig from the flask he always kept near, grinning against the opening.

All Hugh felt was disgust and a strange sense of relief.

They mounted up quickly, then rode hard down winding mountain trails. An hour after they reached the valley, they neared a village and slowed.

"When we get back to London," Grey began, still jovial, still excited, "I'm going to tell Weyland that you're ready to go out on your own."

Hugh's expression must have revealed his uneasiness with Grey's buoyant mood.

"Don't look at me like that, MacCarrick. You do this for as long as I have, and we'll see if some part of you doesn't come to love it."

Love it?Hugh shook his head and quietly said, "It's a job. Nothing more."

"Trust me." Grey's smile was knowing. "It'll be something more—when it's all you have…."

Chapter One

London, England

1856

Ahardened killer, denied his obsession for a decade.

That was what Edward Weyland was bringing back into his daughter's life with one cryptic message:Jane is in grave danger.

Since receiving Weyland's missive in France two days ago, Hugh had read and reread it with fingers gone white from clutching it in fury.