Free Far From Broken by J.K. Coi Page A

joined the other man, both of them moving against Jasper together.
    “Go.” Jasper threw the order over his shoulder as he dodged the swipe of a blade and countered. His movements were sure and capable. He blocked easily, striking back with strength and focus. As his fists connected with flesh more often than the others were able to hit him, she wondered why he didn’t draw his weapon against them, but soon realized that the very close quarters of the shadowy, narrow alley made that a worse idea than fighting hand to hand. In any case, it was obvious that Jasper’s military training had done him well and he could more than take care of himself. But she still couldn’t leave him.
    In very little time, he had disarmed both men. One lay unconscious, having been thrown back. He’d fallen and hit his head against the sooty brick wall. The other was bent over on his knees, cradling his broken wrist to his chest.

Chapter Seven
     
    Turning to Callie, Jasper did his best to rein in his temper, but a fire burned in his gut and a tic worked in his cheek. A rush of adrenaline surged through his system. “Get back to the carriage and have the driver hail a constable,” he bit out between heaving breaths.
    After that, it was just short of an hour before they finally returned to the clinic. Callie had stubbornly refused to leave until the police officers assured her the old homeless man would be given a decent burial—to be paid for by Jasper, of course—and the men responsible for his death would not go unpunished.
    It was only when he had seen the victim lying dead amidst the garbage and realized he had only one leg, that Jasper’s anger subsided enough to let him breathe again and he’d been able to understand what had set Callie off. In the thick of the altercation, he hadn’t noticed anything but her—rushing into danger. Now, at least he no longer wanted to throttle her for her reckless behavior, although he still intended to shake some sense into her as soon as he had her alone.
    Malcolm was waiting for them. The look on his face told Jasper everything he needed to know. Their time was up.
    General Black had arrived. “Where is he?”
    The captain tipped his head toward the drawing room entrance. “In there with Mrs. Campbell. Arrived a little over an hour ago.”
    “Who?” Callie looked between the two men.
    Jasper nodded and started walking. “All right. Take Callie upstairs.”
    “No,” she said.
    She followed him and he spun back around to face her, his temper cresting once more. “You’ve already caused enough trouble this morning. Let me deal with this.”
    “If you’re implying that it’s somehow my fault we were shot at. Or that I asked you to follow me into that alley…”
    “Bloody hell. You were shot at in an alley? ” Malcolm glared at Jasper, waiting for answers. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then stifled a groan at the sound of a throat being cleared behind him.
    “Colonel Carlisle. What is this about a shooting?”
    Callie’s short, indrawn breath told him she knew very well who’d come to greet them.
    He turned around to face the man whose methods against Britain’s enemies had painted him the bloodiest and most ruthless general in recent history. Black towered over Mrs. Campbell, who had accompanied him from the drawing room, although he stood eye-to-eye with Jasper.
    However, while Jasper was lean with the aristocratic figure that had characterized a long line of Carlisle earls, Black was wide and burly, attesting to his common beginnings and hard-laboring past. The scar cutting across his face had only added to his dark reputation, but Jasper was unimpressed.
    “General Black. I heard that you had arrived. What brings you to Manchester? Is there suddenly a shortage of women and children to exploit and murder in France?”
    He was tempting fate by so blatantly taunting a superior officer, but couldn’t seem to help himself. It was said that last year the