Briony pushed back her rain-slicked hair and rubbed her eyes to try to clear her vision. “That’s right. I’m valuable. The baby is valuable. I guess that means you can’t use your gun on me.”

“I could shoot you in the leg,” Luther warned, “and after that stunt you pulled with the syringe, I’d enjoy it. Get your ass over here right now.”

Briony shook her head. “I don’t think so. Come and get me.”

“No one wants to hurt you,” Ron said. “Let’s just get this over. Get in the car and we’ll sort it all out.”

Luther pulled a gun and aimed it past Briony. “Your brother is coming this way, and I sure as hell don’t mind shooting him. Get in the car now.”

Briony turned her head to see Tyrel hurrying through the downpour toward her. There was no time for anything but action, and she took it, somersaulting across the ground and going in low to sweep Ron’s legs out from under him. As he went down, she came back up and stomped hard on his wrist, reversing to kick him in the knee, hoping to incapacitate him.

The gun went flying and she dove for it using a second somersault. She was able to scoop it up and continue forward her motion toward her brother. “Catch!” She tossed the gun. With the tremendous reflexes gifted to the Flying Five, Tyrel picked the gun out of the air, shoving his sister behind him as they backed toward their own trailer.

“We can’t get trapped, Tyrel,” she cautioned.

Luther dragged Ron into the cover of the bushes and sent a warning shot that sprayed leaves all over them. “Just hand her over and no one will get hurt,” he called.

“Did they really kill Tony?” Tremors wracked Briony’s body from the violence rushing into the spaces around her. The emotions choked the breath out of her and pounded at her head. She bent over and vomited, unable to stop the cramping in her stomach.

Tyrel kept pushing her back behind him with one arm as they retreated.

“Someone hit him over the head and threw him in with one of the tigers,” her brother answered grimly.

“Damn them. I told them Tony was the father of my baby. I shouldn’t have done that, Tyrel. I shouldn’t have said anything at all.” Deep inside she was crumbling, going to pieces, screaming even. She was directly responsible for Tony’s death, and a big part of her was certain she was connected to the murder of her parents. “Maybe I should go with them. If I stay with you, they’ll try to kill you, Seth, Ruben, and Jebediah.”

“Pull yourself together,” Tyrel snapped. “Do you think for one minute we’d let them take you away from us? Get as far away from this as you can. You’re already sick. In another minute you’re going to go down, Bri, and I can’t watch over you and keep them off of you.”

Briony backpedaled until she reached the edge of the trailer. She wouldn’t allow her disability to compromise Tyrel’s safety. She took a deep breath, let it out, and ignored the shards of glass piercing her skull. She loved Tyrel, and Luther could just go to hell if he was counting on her crumbling under the pressure. She glanced up at the roof while Tyrel exchanged another shot with Luther. Someone would hear the shots and come running right into the middle of a war zone.

“I’m going over the roof, Tyrel, and get behind him.”

He glanced back at her, his expression furious-protective. He could see the sweat on her body, the toll of violence already ripping at her. Pain shot through Briony, but at the same time she was humiliated to think that in spite of her all special gifts, her capabilities, her brothers had to protect her because she was unable to use her speed and agility or marksmanship.

“No, you’re not. These people are playing for keeps. Seth and Ruben and Jebediah will be here any minute and we’ll get you out of here. Just stay put.”

Luther was moving, trying for a better angle on Tyrel. Briony couldn’t stop to think about it, the emotions of all the men swamping her. Anger. Resolve. Luther had an eagerness to destroy-to kill. He was really angry with her-not because of the syringe, but thinking Tony was the father of her baby was somehow a blow to his ego. It made no sense to her, but he was broadcasting loud and clear.

Briony crouched and leapt straight up to the roof, bending low to stay out of sight, running lightly and leaping to the next roof and then the next. From her vantage point she could see the crowd gathered around the tiger’s cage and Randall, the other trainer, inside. Jebediah stood outside with a tranq gun and the tiger lay, sides heaving, head lolling from the knockout shot. Randall bent down to pull Tony’s body away from the big cat.

Below her and just to her right was Luther. He lay flat on the ground, gun in both hands, arms extended, determined to line up a shot on Tyrel.

Beside him, Ron cursed and moaned, holding his kneecap. “I think my leg’s broken. She broke my leg, Luther.”

“Idiot. Why do you think they picked her to mother the kid? I warned you, but you had to fall for her big brown eyes,” Luther spat contemptuously. “Go to the car and get it running. We’ll need to get out of here fast. She can’t hold out much longer, and when I shoot her brother, she’ll go down hard. I’ve been studying her for a while.”

Luther had been studying her? He thought her knew her capabilities and her weaknesses? Briony wiped a smear of blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. He didn’t know the first thing about her determination. The man wasn’t killing her brothers, and he sure wasn’t getting her baby. She lay flat on the roof, anchoring herself as the wind and rain slashed at her, making the roof slick.

Briony focused on the gun in Luther’s hands. Ron began to inch his way back through the brush, toward the car running a few feet away. He dragged his leg, cursing every few feet. She refused to allow her mind to wander, holding to one thought, one action, her entire being focusing on the metal object Luther clutched so tightly.

The metal appeared dark in the rain and shadows, but as she continued to stare at it, it took on a slight glow. Luther suddenly swore and dropped it in the grass. The gun shone with hints of yellow and orange through the gray of the rain. Luther looked around, a small smile suddenly appearing. You’re good. Better than we thought-or hoped. Come home where you belong.

The voice was pitched low, and the vibration running through her body made her stomach knot. Alarm spread through her. What was he doing? It was an attack-but not on her-on the unborn child. Stop it. Feeling desperate, Briony pressed one hand to cover the baby and clutched at the roof with the other to keep from slipping.

The baby should be mine. Come with me or I won’t stop and the useless kid you’re carrying is going to die.

Briony didn’t bother to argue. She could feel Luther’s resolve. He wouldn’t stop until he had Briony. She blocked out her fear for the baby and for herself and concentrated once again on the gun.

You’d better listen to me. I know you can hear me. You were promised to me-meant for me. Get in the car or I’m killing your brother. You know I can do it too.

The gun wiggled in the grass, began to rise, and dropped back to earth. Briony took a deep breath and forced calm into her mind. It didn’t matter what he was thinking or feeling or saying. Only the gun mattered. It was the only thing in her world. It rose slowly, and swung around until the muzzle was aimed straight at Luther.

The most difficult part was to keep the gun in levitation while she focused on the trigger. She’d never actually fired a shot this way, but anything was possible.

Luther turned his head, the movement catching his eye. He rolled out of the line of fire, his hand snaking out so fast it was a blur, knocking the gun back to earth. You should have listened to me.

Briony saw the determination on his face as he slipped back into the bushes. He was going after Tyrel. Without hesitation, she rolled backward, straight off the edge of the roof, turning in midair the way she did during a performance, to land on her feet. Sprinting around the corner of the trailer, she raced back toward her brother.

Luther burst out of the shadows, slapping the gun out of Tyrel’s hand, knife gleaming as he sliced viciously at his jugular. The blade missed by a scant half an inch as Tyrel stumbled back. He did a series of back springs to put several feet between them, but Luther was just as fast, covering the distance in a single leap, the knife slashing fast, over and over, cutting Tyrel’s arms as he tried to defend against the unbelievably fast attack.

Blood splattered in all directions-drops hit Briony as she burst from the garden to strike Luther with the heel of her hand flat on his chest, putting her weight behind it and using every ounce of adrenaline and enhanced strength she had. He slashed with the knife as he fell backward. Briony felt the bite of the blade along her forearm, but she kept going straight at him, kicking at his hand to try to get rid of the blade. She missed his arm, but nailed him in the ribs.

As she attacked again, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Ron emerged, limping, gun in hand. Briony leapt at Tyrel, knocking him back as Ron fired off several rounds in rapid succession. Briony and Tyrel hit the ground, rolling away to shelter.

Luther rose and glanced toward the animal cages, where the people were beginning to turn heads. “This isn’t over,” Luther snarled. “And when I get my hands on you, you’re going to wish you were dead.”

Briony kept her head down, trying not to be sick, the pain squeezing her head almost as bad as the day she’d found her parents. Was it possible Luther could amplify what she was feeling?

Tyrel stroked her hair. “How bad, honey? Did he cut you?”

She waited until she heard the car leave before she pushed herself into a sitting position, rocking back and forth. “I’m going to pass out, Tyrel. I can’t have a seizure, I don’t know what it would do to the baby.” She raised her hand to press her palm against her head. Blood dripped steadily.

Tyrel swore. “That’s deep. You need stitches.”

“Maybe we should call Dr. Sparks,” Briony suggested a little hysterically and leaned over and threw up again.

Pounding footsteps announced the arrival of her other brothers. Seth reached down and plucked her out of the wet grass, while Ruben wrapped her arm in his shirt.

“How bad, Tyrel?” Jebediah asked. “You’re all cut up to hell.”

“They’re shallow,” Tyrel confirmed, “but Briony’s needs stitches.”

Jebediah swore. “Get her in the house. I’ll take care of both of you, and then we have to get out of here.”

“Where are we going?” Ruben asked. “Why are they suddenly after Briony?”

“She thinks they killed Mom and Dad,” Jebediah said. “And I’m beginning to think she’s right. Get everything out of the safe and let’s go now.”

“Jebediah.” Seth’s voice stopped them all. He was standing in the doorway of Jebediah’s room.

They turned slowly to stare at him. He stepped back to allow them to see the chaos in the trailer. The place had been torn apart and the safe door was open-the contents gone.

“There were three of them,” Briony whispered. “I didn’t even smell them.” She looked at her brothers with horror on her face. “Who are these people?”

CHAPTER 8

Briony stared out the window into the pouring rain. The small villa where Jebediah had taken them belonged to an old friend of her parents, a fellow circus performer now retired. They traveled most of the night to get there and arrived tired, hungry, and irritable. Being in the close confines of the car had been hell for Briony. Her brothers were angry and scared and worried. Tyrel was in pain and trying to hide it. No one said a single word about Tony’s death-but it was on all of their minds. She threw up so many times Seth even began to curse, frustrated by all the stops they had to make.

“Briony?” Tyrel stood in the doorway. “Are you up to talking or do you need to be alone for a while?”