Thrice Familiar
Page 22
“I don’t know. Someone took him from the hideout.”
“These criminals followed us there and planned to snatch him themselves. But someone got there first, so they decided to nab me instead.”
“Exactly as we thought,” Catherine said. She explained the things that had happened in Clifden with Cuchulain and how Patrick had been hurt.
“Damn! We need Patrick here.” Old Mick looked around the room. “They’ve taken everything that could be considered a weapon.”
There was the scuffle of feet, and Catherine shushed Old Mick. “Just eat this and don’t worry,” she said, loud enough for her captor to hear.
As Old Mick was finishing the last of the cold soup, Catherine heard someone at the front door. False hope sprang up, but was quickly suppressed. Patrick was the only one who could find her, and he was undoubtedly still sleeping soundly. There would be no rescue attempts on her behalf.
“Your lady friend is here,” she heard the young man say. She knew then that Allan had arrived—for better or for worse.
Straightening her back in the chair beside Old Mick’s bed, she watched the doorway. When Allan walked into the room, he was dressed in a cashmere coat and wool slacks. Every hair was impeccably groomed. “Allan,” she said, as if they were meeting at a friend’s home for cocktails.
“Catherine.” He shook his head, his worry clearly showing. “Where is that damn horse?”
“So it was you? I didn’t want to believe it.”
“I’ve got everything I own riding on the bay in the race Saturday. We both know Limerick can beat King’s Quest hands down. The only way for me to win is to detain Limerick from racing. I’ll win by default.”
“Not very honest gains.”
“Not very easy financial times. I’m afraid my luck has been running against me lately. In cards, horses, and women. Ridgeway convinced me to make the bet. He said Limerick had a bad knee, and that he’d make sure it was good and sore. He played me well.”
Catherine recalled the day when she’d ordered Timmy to ride the big gray—at Kent’s insistence that Patrick was mollycoddling the horse. So Patrick had been correct. It wasn’t surprising. At this point, the only thing that surprised her was her own gullibility.
“So you and Kent have been working together,” she deduced.
Allan’s laughter was bitter. “Fat chance, that. I wouldn’t turn my back on that wolverine.”
Confusion touched Catherine. “You’re not involved with Kent?”
“Not on your life. Why would I want to work with a man I can’t trust?”
“Indeed,” she answered, aware that Allan had missed the irony of his statement. “Do you know if Kent has Limerick?”
Comprehension spread across Allan’s handsome face. “If he has him, then he’ll deliberately run him.” His head snapped up, his gaze riveted suddenly on Catherine. “If you honestly haven’t hidden the horse away, then there’s no need to hold you anymore.” As he finished speaking, the younger man with the gun entered the room.
Catherine smiled, and for the first time she felt the tension ease. “Thank goodness. I knew you’d see—”
“What shall we do with the two of them, Allan?” The young man spoke softly. “My, Allan, you haven’t introduced me to your friend. Miss Nelson, my name is Craig. Craig Neville.”
Something in his eyes made Catherine afraid, but she knew she could never show her fear. “Why, you’ve got to let us go, both me and Old Mick. Isn’t that right, Allan?”
“Allan isn’t making any more decisions.” Craig lifted the gun.
“Look, no harm has been done to me or Old Mick. We can stop this now. Let us go, and no one will be the wiser.”
“Allan may believe you, but I’m not such a moron. Where’s the horse?” Craig’s eyes were deadly.
Catherine forced a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t have Limerick. The game is over. You can’t simply kill us because we don’t have what you want.”
Allan arched his eyebrows. “He can, Catherine. And I can’t stop him.”
The flutter of fear nearly choked Catherine. At that moment, Craig looked perfectly capable of killing both of them. She could expect no help at all from Allan. She’d been correct—he wasn’t a killer, but he wasn’t a hero, either.
“Where is the horse, Catherine? You see, along with Allan’s fortune, he managed to bet mine, as well. It really isn’t a matter of winning or losing. It’s that if we don’t pay our gambling debts, the people we owe are going to kill us. This race was our last chance. You understand, don’t you, that we’re desperate? Totally desperate. Now I’ll have the truth. Are you and Ridgeway in this together?”
“It’s to Kent’s advantage if Limerick doesn’t run.” Catherine had to keep him talking. “We’re hunting him, too,” she continued. “My future depends on finding that horse.” She felt Old Mick stir beneath the covers and put a hand on his shoulder to warn him to be steady.
“I have to find that horse.” Allan looked back at Catherine. It was as if he didn’t know her.
“We have to get out of here, and we don’t have time to baby-sit your friends,” Craig said. “They’ll be after us, and they won’t take another excuse this time. They’re going to kill us both.”
“Shut up, Craig.” Allan’s voice was emotionless.
“Allan, I can help you. Father will—”
“Thanks, but it won’t work this time. I’m in too deep. Now you must tell me where the horse is.”
“What would you do if you had him?” Catherine asked. “You can’t run him or breed him? What good is he to you?” Catherine felt her chances slipping away.
“Make certain he won’t run Saturday.”
“Allan!” She started to rise.
Allan moved swiftly across the room and pushed her back down into the chair. “I don’t want to hurt you, Catherine. Honestly, I don’t. But I have no choice. I owe money. Lots of it. And the people I owe are going to kill me.”
“In a not very pleasant way,” Craig said as he walked to stand beside Allan.
“Do what you have to.” Allan shook his head, suddenly weary, and walked out of the room.
Sandpaper was scrubbing at Patrick’s face. He pushed it away with his left hand, only to find himself stroking smooth fur. One eye opened to confront a green-gold eye glaring back at him. He opened the other eye and brought the black cat into focus.
“Familiar,” he said, and the syllables sounded thick and slow.
“Meow.” The sandpaper tongue swiped at Patrick’s chin.
“Okay, okay.” Patrick realized the cat was standing on his chest. He eased forward in the rocker, cradling the cat in his arms, as he started the painful process of awakening. His head throbbed. His body felt as if he’d been beaten with a bat.
It took several minutes for him to fully remember the incident with Limerick, and he wasn’t certain how he’d gotten home.
“I saw him, and I should have had him,” Patrick said as he stroked the cat’s back. “But now I know where to look.”
“Meow!” Familiar sank sharp claws into Patrick’s hands and began to tug gently.
“If you were a dog, I’d have to call you Rin Tin Tin,” he said as he unhooked the cat and stood. Obediently he followed Familiar to the telephone. He saw Catherine’s note and the time.
“Good Lord, it’s been over two hours! She should have been back!”
“Meow!” Familiar agreed.
Fully awake now, Patrick tore the top sheet of paper from the pad, and then as a second thought took the entire pad. He wanted to remove all traces of where he was going. With Familiar on his heels, he pounded down the narrow stairs and got into his vehicle.
As the Rover sped through the night, Patrick tried to quell his growing dread. His callused hand reached out to stroke Familiar as he pressed the accelerator even closer to the floor. One Robby’s Lane. He knew the area, and the isolated locale made him even more anxious.
As if sensing Patrick’s
distress, Familiar put both front paws on the dash and stared into the night.
Half an hour later, Patrick stopped the Rover and slowly got out. Familiar moved beside him, black on black in the tunnel of the trees. They were just off Robby’s Lane, not thirty yards from the main road, but the house still wasn’t in view. He had no idea who lived at the address. He didn’t mind a trek, as long as it didn’t take too much time. The element of surprise was crucial, and Patrick intended to have it.
With Familiar by his side, Patrick eased down the road. In less than five minutes, he saw the vague outline of a house. A single light was burning in the front window, partially hidden by lace curtains. Patrick knew Catherine was inside when he discovered Mauve’s car.
“Easy, Familiar,” he whispered, as the cat darted ahead of him.
The cat was in too big a hurry to respond. He leapt onto the windowsill and banged into the glass.
“Hey!” A cry rose from within the house.
Patrick pressed back behind a shrub and watched as the front door opened and a young man stepped into the yard. “Damn black cat,” he said, bending down to pick up a rock. “I’ll bet I can brain him.”
“No!” Catherine cried out. “He’s only a cat, leave him alone.”
“Craig!” Allan rebuked his friend. “Leave the stupid cat alone.”
Patrick felt his fingers clutch the leaves of the shrub, but he held back.
With a yowl of rage, Familiar leapt from the windowsill toward the man in the doorway. In two bounds, he was digging into the man’s chest, slapping at his face with both front paws.
“Get this damn animal away from me!” The man threw up his hands and fell backward off the stoop.
There was laughter inside the house, male laughter. Patrick didn’t wait. He saw his moment and darted forward. He had only the tire tool he’d brought from the Rover, and he used it with a quick, clean snap of his wrist on the man’s unprotected head. Craig twitched once and then settled, motionless, on the floor.
“Thanks,” Patrick whispered to the cat. He heard Familiar’s low growl and darted to a hiding place beside the house just before the front door opened again.
“Hey, Craig!” Allan called out. “Don’t tell me a single cat bagged you?” There was tension in Allan’s voice. “Quit fooling around and help me in here.”
“Meow!” Tail straight in the air, Familiar marched past Allan and into the house.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Allan said. He stepped into the yard. “Craig? Hey, the game isn’t funny anymore.” He walked down the steps and turned right. In two strides, he stumbled over his partner’s legs. “Son of—”
Patrick’s well-placed blow caught him at the back of the head. He fell forward like a sack of oats.
“G’night, and sweet dreams,” Patrick said, never loosening his grip on the tire tool.
The front door was open, and he could see Familiar pacing back and forth in front of a chair. He heard a soft footstep and faded back into the shadows by the door. He had no idea how many others might be inside the house. Well, he’d get them one by one if it took all night.
“Patrick?” Catherine’s voice registered hope and fear. “Is that you? Old Mick’s here. We’re alone.”
“It’s me.” He stepped forward so that the light from the window fell on his face.
“Thank goodness.” Catherine didn’t bother with a step at all, she simply let herself fall into his arms.
Patrick caught her, releasing the tire tool at last. He felt the urge to crush her to him, to hold her so tightly that she might forever become a part of him. And as his hands moved over the curves of her body, the urge to protect her changed to a desire to possess.
Catherine felt Patrick’s lips grow more demanding, and for one moment, she yielded to his need and her own. For one tantalizing spiral of time, she acknowledged the tumultuous emotions that combined to make her want and love him.
“Patrick,” she whispered, knowing that with his name she’d spoken her future.
“If anything had happened to you....”
“Meow!” Familiar said from the top step.
A shadow fell across the cat, lengthening as it moved closer and closer to the door.
“It’s a fine and pretty pair you make, courting in the front yard like a pair of hounds. An old man might as well be taken off by the fairies.”
Catherine and Patrick broke apart, both breathing heavily. Patrick recovered his composure first. “And well I knew that no one would have an ornery old carcass like yourself. Had I been worried over you, I would have come inside.”
“We’d better tie those two up before they come to. I’ve got a bit of magic I intend to work on them with a rope,” Old Mick said, rubbing his wrists. “They weren’t too careful with my old bones, and I intend to return the favor.”
Patrick’s hands moved over Catherine’s body slowly, savoring each curve. He kissed her forehead before he stepped away from her.
“I was wondering how long it would take the two of you to see what I saw from the beginning. You’re mad for each other. But Patrick’s family has always been cursed with strange stubbornness. With horses, they’re blessed. Land and women are different matters.” Old Mick moved slowly down the steps as Patrick began to drag Allan into the house.
Motioning Catherine aside, Old Mick touched her arm. “I want to thank you for coming after me.”
“I only managed to get myself caught,” Catherine said.
“Nonsense. You found me. But there’s something else.’ He leaned in closer to whisper. “Patrick isn’t a man to love lightly. Don’t play with him, girl. If it’s a game, let him go now. He’s lost his family and his home. Don’t take his heart.”
Touched by the old man’s concern for his friend, Catherine took Old Mick’s hand. “I pledge to you,” she said squeezing his fingers, “that I have no intention of playing with Patrick. I’m afraid I love the man.” She smiled, wondering at the ease of her own revelation.
“Good, then,” Old Mick said, “let’s tie these rascals with forty coils of rope and go and find us a racehorse.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Patrick said. “Now we only have to determine where the thief has hidden him. I’ve given it a lot of thought. Limerick has to be within a twenty-mile radius of where we saw him on the Clifden Road. No matter who is holding the horse, I believe that Kent is behind the whole thing. He’s the one who’ll benefit the most.”
“The rider, Cuchulain, was a horseman.” Patrick put his arm around Catherine’s shoulder. “Kent has money enough to hire anyone he needs. I don’t like Kent’s methods, but I can’t deny that he has the skills to pull off something like this. And as I said, there are people who’d do it for the pleasure of getting even with me. The bit about Cuchulain threw me for a while, but anyone can do a little playacting.”
“Can we find Limerick?” Catherine realized she was asking for the impossible—a reassurance.
“We can, and we will.”
She felt Patrick’s arm tighten, a measure of comfort and promise, and she knew that he might disappoint her in fact, but never in spirit.
“Let’s hope we find him alive,” Old Mick said from the doorway.
17
“Go on now,” Old Mick said, handing Catherine the reins to the Connemara pony. “Familiar and I will get the van across the mountains.”
Catherine mounted the Irish pony and looked up the rocks to where Patrick already sat astride his horse. Dawn was just breaking. In a miracle of speed, Old Mick had managed to find two surefooted ponies near Clifden for them to ride up into the mountains and bogs. Patrick was determined to track Limerick—without any further delay. The ponies, native to the western coast of Ireland, were as nimble as mountain goats and extremely rugged.
“Stay away from Allan and Craig. They’re fine tied up, Patrick made sure of that.” Catherine could tell Old Mick was up to something, and she didn’t like it. He was far too eager to get her and Patrick off and gone.
Not for a minute did Catherine believe that line. Old Mick was definitely up to something.
“I’ll join you beyond the bogs,” Old Mick called to Patrick. “Don’t worry. I’ll find you.” He waved them on.
Patrick locked gazes with Catherine. They were both worried, but they had little choice but to begin the search for Limerick. “Old Mick, go home and tend to yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.” Old Mick nodded and stooped to pick up the cat. “Come along with me, you rascal. We’ll catch them down the road.”
“Catherine!” Patrick called her name as he turned his pony toward the rocky path.
Catherine followed him, looking toward the mountain that disappeared into the fog. It was pure stone mixed with patches of pasture, a hard and unforgiving land. She’d often heard of the Connemara terrain, but she’d never attempted to ride across it. In places, the ground was so filled with moisture that it quivered beneath the weight of the horses. On either side might be the dangerous suction of bog, where water and rich earth combined to make a type of muddy quicksand. If anyone knew the way, it would be Patrick. She held firm to that thought as they started out.
Patrick put his pony into a gallop. They had to make time while they still had road. Once they were in the mountains, it would be up to the Connemara ponies, and Patrick, to pick a path.
They rode in silence, Patrick scanning the ground for Limerick’s prints. It took an hour for them to find one. Looking over her shoulder, Catherine could see the Clifden road far below her. They were traveling higher and higher. Mountain sheep, dotted with pink-and-blue ink to mark ownership, grazed around them. The hazy morning was broken only by the bleating of lambs and the breathing of the ponies as they climbed.
When they hit a stretch of bog, Catherine almost halted. The little mare she was riding stepped from rock to rock, but the thick mud hid sharp edges and poor footing. Several times they slipped, and Catherine could only cling to her saddle, hoping not to make the mare’s work any more difficult. The sound of the hooves sliding on the rocks was terrifying to a horseman.