Hamish looked up from the dirt. He saw Delaney standing near the confused, restless carriage horses. He knew she had to leave immediately.
With his free left hand, Hamish reached deep inside his shredded, bloody driving coat. His fingers fumbled for a second, feeling the warm, sticky blood, before they found the hedger and the parchment.
He pulled the highly important evidence out of his pocket.
Hamish raised his arm and threw the heavy ledger and the folded shipping manifest across the dirt road toward Delaney.
The book and the paper sailed through the cold air. They landed heavily in the brown dust, coming to a stop right near the hem of her ruined white dress.
"Miss Kingsley," Hamish gasped out.
Blood was dripping steadily from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin and mixing with the dirt on his face. He looked at her with pleading, urgent eyes.
"Please, go," Hamish begged her, his voice a low, rough rumble. "I will take it over from here."
