Perfect Timing Read Online Free PDF Page A

the gate for the police by remote control.”
    The awful noise increased, and Ceara heard what put her in mind of thick, heavy doors being slammed closed. A sudden cessation of the wailing preceded a rush of footsteps coming toward the building. Seconds later, voices rang out in the cavernous enclosure.
    She jerked with a start when Quincy vaulted over the stall gate and strode past the stallion to grasp her arm. “This way,” he said, pulling her forward. “Beethoven won’t react well to a bunch of uniforms.”
    The relentless pressure of his grip told Ceara that balking would accomplish little. She allowed him to tug her along, stood obediently as he opened the gate, and then exited the stall with him. It wasn’t until she saw a blue blur of men running toward them that she grew truly frightened. With a slight shove, Quincy Harrigan forced her forward, and the next thing she knew the men were upon her. They grasped her shoulders with unnecessarily rough hands, spun her around, and wrenched her arms behind her back. Cold metal clamps closed around her wrists.
    “You have the right to remain silent,” one of the constables barked at her. “Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights that have just been read to you?”
    Ceara understood the implications, if not the specifics. These men meant to incarcerate her. As two of them flanked her and grabbed her arms to lead her away, she threw a frantic glance over her shoulder. “Me satchel!” she cried. “’Tis mine! I cannot leave it behind!” The bag held all her keepsakes from home. Without them, she would have no reminders of her family. “Please, will ye not at least let me keep me things?”
    The men holding her never broke pace. Ceara continued to look back and plead to fetch her belongings until they tugged her through a doorway to exit the building. Blinding flashes of red and blue created a whirling confusion of light that bathed everything in the semidarkness. Ceara had never seen anything so stunning, not even when her father ignited gunpowder to impress guests at his annual festivals. Surely not even a thousand candles could produce such a lavish display.
    Stumbling forward between her two captors, she stared with growing alarm at three shiny, dark blue carriages. While peering into her mum’s crystal ball, she’d glimpsed similar horseless conveyances and knew that some mysterious, unseen power propelled them into motion. But none that she’d seen had looked exactly like these. Atop the roof of each one perched a long, boardlike object that emitted the spurts of bright color, and along the sides golden flames had been painted. A third officer hurried forward to open a rear door of the closest equipage. One of Ceara’s escorts shoved her toward the opening, clamped a hand over her head, and pushed her down onto an incredibly soft seat.
    “Feet inside,” he ordered.
    Ceara swung her legs up and over the threshold. The man leaned forward to pull a strap over her shoulder and across her torso. With a sharp click of metal, she was imprisoned where she sat, her bound hands forming an uncomfortable lump at the small of her back. Battling tears, she saw that thick wire mesh separated the rear compartment of the conveyance from the front one. She truly was being imprisoned. But what was her crime?
    She caught movement from the corner of her eye and turned to see Sir Quincy standing just beyond the window. Booted feet spread, arms akimbo, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat, he looked intense and fearful. In the flashing light, she saw the grim set of his lips and the twitch of a muscle in his lean cheek. What had she done, she wondered, to make him hate her so? Such enmity was born only of a heart filled with malice. He had not troubled himself to bring her the satchel. Indeed, he