by Mallory Kane
He stiffened. “Oh. Yeah.” He straightened and looked around. “Got any idea which way you came in?”
“I think we came from somewhere back there.” She gestured toward a heavy wooden door on the north wall. “But I could be totally turned around.”
“Okay.” He wrapped his fingers around her upper arms and set her gently away from him. “Do you still have my knife? He didn’t search you, did he?”
“No.” She unbuttoned her sweater, retrieved the knife from her bra and handed it to him.
He closed his fist around it, soaking up her warmth. “You stay right there. I want to explore a little.”
“Don’t leave me,” she breathed. She clutched at his white shirt. “If I lose you in the dark, I’ll go crazy.”
“You’ll be fine. I’m not going far.”
“Deke, what if he’s waiting for you again?”
“I’ll be ready for him. You stay right there.”
Holding his knife in his right hand, he fished out the cigarette lighter with his left and struck it, then took a second to get his bearings. The trapdoor he’d come through was on the west wall of the basement. So he turned south, following the dirt wall until it curved around to the west. From the hollow sound of his footsteps and the whisper of air in his ears, he figured he was in a tunnel.
He walked a few feet farther, but nothing changed. The tunnel looked totally abandoned beyond the tiny circle of light cast by his lighter.
After extinguishing the lighter and pocketing it, he blindly examined the walls, but all he felt were thick, rough boards, like railroad ties, and dirt walls. In a few places his fingers brushed across some sort of mesh screening, probably designed to hold the dirt in place.
He felt along the ground with his feet, from wall to wall, but found nothing. No rails for the coal cars. This tunnel had probably never been finished. It was a dead end.
He retrieved the lighter and struck it again as he turned to retrace his steps. He’d felt steel rails under his boots in the alcove where Mindy was waiting. The rails led into the tunnel on the north side of the alcove. That was their only hope of getting out.
Just as he rounded the curve, back to the area where he’d left Mindy, light flared, revealing two dark silhouettes. Deke smelled the phosphorus smell of a match and the unmistakable odor of lantern oil. Alarm pierced his chest.
James. He had Mindy.
“Mindy?” He cautiously pressed his right arm against his side, hoping to conceal his knife. He didn’t want to take a chance that James would catch a glint from the steel blade.
“Howdy, Cunningham,” Frank James drawled. “Nice of you to join us. I’ve been waiting for you.”
He hung an oil lantern on a nail above their heads with one hand, while his other aimed a Colt .45 revolver directly at Mindy’s head. The red bandanna across his face stretched as he grinned.
Terror sheared Deke’s breath for a second time. Previously, when he’d seen the steel barrel pressed against her temple, he’d sworn that if it killed him, James would never again get her into that life-or-death situation.
But here they were. And just like before, his consciousness was split in two. Half saw her precious head, once again threatened by the 9 mm barrel with its lethal cargo. The other half spun through a whirlwind of memories—the hot metal cylinder pressed against his own skull, the distinctive snick-snick of the hammer cocking, the slow grind of the barrel turning, and finally, the hollow click as it hit the empty chamber.
He knew the horror of waiting to hear those sounds. A shudder rocked his whole body.
He shook his head and stared at her. He had to stay here, in the present, on alert.
Her wide green eyes sparkled with tears as her hands cradled her tummy. “Deke, I didn’t know—”
“Shut up!” James yelled.
Deke wanted to reassure her with his gaze, but he didn’t think he could pull it off. So he turned his attention to James so she wouldn’t see how scared he was that the man might be dumb enough to actually shoot her.
His only chance was to distract James and turn his anger toward him and away from Mindy.
“You’re a coward,” Deke growled. “Hiding behind a woman—a pregnant woman.”
“You better watch yourself, pardner. You’re not the one in charge here.”
“In charge? Are you saying you are? Give me a break. You don’t even have the guts to use your real name. You’re named after an outlaw—hell! Not even a real outlaw. You’re named after the brother of an outlaw.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed and his gun hand shook. “You shut up. Frank James was a great outlaw. As great as his brother.”
Deke felt triumphant and apprehensive at the same time. He’d gotten to him. He’d struck a vein with the remark about the cowboy’s moniker.
The guy was obviously under somebody’s thumb. Most likely Novus. Frank was exactly what he looked like. A hired gun.
“Yeah, not so much. The only thing I remember about Frank James is that when people talk about Jesse they sometimes say, ‘and Frank, too.’ I know something else, too. I know you’re ashamed of something or else you wouldn’t be wearing that ridiculous bandanna over your face like a bad TV cowboy.”
“You don’t know anything about me.” A red spot appeared in the center of James’s forehead. And his gun hand shook.
That scared Deke. Nobody could trust a nervous gun hand. Still, he had no choice. Somehow, he had to catch the guy off guard. All he needed was two seconds.
“I know enough to know you couldn’t pull this off alone. You’re working for Novus Ordo, aren’t you?”
The gun barrel shook even more at the mention of the terrorist. “Shut up! You think you know so much. You don’t know nothing.” Dark spots dotted the bandanna where sweat rolled down James’s pinched face.
Deke shifted to the balls of his feet and curled his fingers, ready to attack. One second. He only needed one second.
The cowboy was breathing hard, practically gasping, and the bandanna was fast becoming soaked. He looked like he was on the verge of panic.
Deke concentrated on keeping his own breathing even as he studied the other man. He’d bet money—hell, he was betting his life and Mindy’s and her unborn baby’s—that the coward had never killed anybody.
At least not face-to-face.
He could do this. He was bigger, stronger and faster. He could stop James before he got off a shot.
He had to.
As if he sensed Deke’s resolve, James looked him dead in the eye. His beady pupils gleamed with malice as he cocked the hammer. He turned his head toward Mindy, still holding Deke’s gaze.
Then his finger squeezed the trigger.
Chapter Five
Horror closed Deke’s throat as he watched James’s finger tighten on the trigger.
The sound of metal sliding against metal made him cringe. The chamber slowly turned.
Knowing he could never beat the bullet, and propelled by terror, Deke slung his knife underhanded at the cowboy’s arm, then lunged at him with full-body force.
All hell broke loose.
Mindy screamed.
James squealed as Deke slammed into his skinny torso, pushing him against the timbers that lined the mine shaft. Gravel and dirt rained on their heads and peppered the dusty floor.
Deke shouldered James in the solar plexus as hard as he could. They crashed against the wall, and James’s breath whooshed out. Deke closed his left hand around James’s right wrist and beat it against the timbers, again and again.
Finally, the gun thudded to the dirt floor.
“Grab the gun, Min, or kick it away.” He drove his forearm into James’s face, trying to crush his nose and slam it up into his brain. James grunted and tried to shove Deke off him, but Deke wasn’t about to let go.
He fisted his hands in James’s shirt and dragged him forward, then body-slammed him against the wall again.
“Mindy!” he yelled.
She didn’t answer.
Terrified that she was hurt, he threw the cowboy down to the ground, slamming his face into one of the steel rails, and whirled.
“Mindy!”
The oil lantern’s flickering light sent shadows chasing around the tunnel. But none of them looked like her. Deke blinked as he scanned the small space.
“Deke—”
A wave of relief washed over him, so sharp, so spine-tingling, that it almost drove him to his knees. He turned toward her voice and saw a shadow move.
“Min,” he breathed. She was on the ground. “Are you hurt?” He reached for her.
“I don’t think so.” She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her.
“Stay back,” he whispered, and set her gently against the far wall.
Her eyes slid past him and widened in the flickering lantern light. “Look out!”
When he whirled, Frank James was diving for the gun.
Deke dove, too, landing on top of the smaller man. He shoved him out of the way and reached out to grab the gun.
When he did, a searing pain slashed up his arm. Shocked, he fell backward.
Behind him, Mindy cried out.
He rolled and dove for the gun again, but it wasn’t there.
James had it.
Deke was on the ground and James was standing, so he wrapped his arms around the silver-toed boots and jerked, hoping to knock James off his feet. Deke got his right foot under him for momentum and stability, but when he threw himself forward to unbalance James, his foot slipped.
He tried again and managed to head-butt James in the stomach. The man’s breath whooshed out as he tumbled backward.
A thrill of triumph filled Deke’s chest. He spotted the gleam of the knife blade at James’s feet. He lunged for it.
At the very instant his fingers closed around its hilt, the heavy wooden door behind James opened and a big shadow loomed in the doorway.
Deke tried to check his momentum, but his feet slipped again. As if in slow motion, he saw the blue-white arc of the Taser coming at him.
MINDY WATCHED IN HORROR as a large, dark man appeared from nowhere. The light was behind him, so he was barely more than a silhouette, but she saw the blue light and heard the static.
The Taser.
Helpless to do anything, she merely stared as Deke’s spine arched and the fine muscles hidden under his smooth, golden skin trembled. Then he dropped where he stood, his legs collapsing as if they’d turned into rags.
Then the big man kicked him out of the way. “Where’s the woman?”
Deke had set her against the far wall, in the shadows. But she knew they’d spot her any second. There was no way she could defend herself, so instinctively, she closed her eyes and pretended to be unconscious.
“I don’t know,” James gasped, struggling to breathe. He coughed. “Forget her.”
“Here she is.”
Mindy’s muscles tensed, and it was all she could do to keep from cringing.
“Leave her!” James yelled breathlessly.
She heard the bigger man’s footsteps, felt him standing over her. She didn’t know why she thought it was so important to keep up the pretense that she’d passed out, but she did.
“She’s out cold. I can grab her.”
“No! What did I just say?”
“But they could get away.”
James’s breathing was almost back to normal. “Get over here,” he ordered.
Mindy heard the man’s heavy footsteps recede.
“Now pay attention,” James whispered.
She held her breath, listening.
“They’re not going to get away. This isn’t about capturing them. They’re already captured. It’s about—” James lowered his voice even more, too low for Mindy to understand.
She opened her eyes to narrow slits. The two men had their heads together. She could hear the hiss of James’s whisper, but couldn’t understand a thing.
The big man nodded. “I’ll get the knife.”
“Leave it. It’ll make him think he’s smarter than us.” James coughed again and took a deep breath. “Let’s get out of here.”
He opened the door on the north wall, and the two men disappeared through it.
Blinded by the bright light from the open door, Mindy scooted blindly across the dirt floor toward Deke. Several times, her bottom bumped against the raised metal rails.
As her night vision came back and she made out his silhouette, she noticed the blacker-than-black pool that was spreading under him. It wasn’t just a trick of the shadows.
It was blood.
Deke’s blood. That’s why he’d kept slipping as he’d fought James. She’d seen James jerk Deke’s knife out of his side with a roar and brandish it as Deke dove for the gun.
The lantern’s light had reflected off the blade as it sliced an arc through the air. Behind the blade, red droplets had scattered in a fine spray that caught the light like tiny rubies.
Then Deke had gone down.
“Deke,” she whispered, touching his forehead with her fingertips. She knew it would be foolish to assume that their kidnappers were gone for good. So she kept an eye out for the least hint of light.
“Deke, wake up. Are you okay?”
He groaned and stirred.
“Deke? Answer me.”
He made a low growling noise in his throat and tried to push himself to his hands and knees, but his right arm wouldn’t hold his weight. He collapsed again.
She didn’t know what to do. Watching him struggle helplessly sent fear burrowing into her—soul-deep fear. She’d never seen him weak or injured. The sight was like a slap to her face.
Deke Cunningham was flesh and bone, just like everyone else. Just like her. He was breakable.
She pressed her palm against his forehead. “Wake up,” she pleaded. “I’m going to need your help. I don’t think I can stand up by myself.”
He made a noise. It could have been a groan or a brief snort of laughter. Carefully, holding his right arm against his side, he rolled up into a sitting position, got his legs under him, and pushed himself to his feet.
Mindy looked up. His face, distorted by the wavering lantern light, was a grimacing mask of pain. She had no idea what being Tasered felt like, but if it could do this to her ex-husband, it had to be bad.
But what really worried her was the knife wound in his arm.
In typical Deke fashion, he composed his face, then looked down at her and crooked his mouth into a half smile. He held out his hand.
“You can’t just give me a hand up,” she said wryly. “I’m way beyond that. This is not going to be pretty.” She rolled over to all-fours, and slowly, using the wall for support, she carefully pushed herself to her knees.
“Can you come around and get your left hand under my arm and lift?” She was embarrassed by her helplessness in front of him, and he picked up on that.
“What’s the matter, Min? I’ve seen you in more interesting positions than this.” He moved to her right side and hooked his elbow under her arm.
“This is different.”
He lifted her with a grunt. “Yeah. You weigh more.”
“Not funny,” she grunted, as she managed to stand with a whole lot of help from him. “I’m sorry. I know that hurt you.”
“No problem,” he muttered.
She stepped to one side so the lantern light shone fully on him, and gasped when she saw the amount of blood that soaked the arm of his jacket.
“Oh, no, Deke. All that blood.”
“It’s okay,” he muttered. “What about you? Did that bastard hurt you?”
She shook her head. “You took care of me. Now I need to take care of you. Take off your jacket.”
Once he’d managed to peel the jacket off, she lifted the slashed cotton fabric away from the wound and hissed through her teeth.
“It’s nothing,” Deke protested, pulling back.
“Oh, no, trust me. It’s something,” she retorted. “You’ve got
at least a six-inch gash. You need stitches.”
“How do you suggest I get ’em?”
She winced at his gruff tone. He didn’t like to show weakness—any kind of weakness. Not physical, and certainly not emotional. He never had. He’d learned early that weakness drew predators like a shark to blood. So he’d long ago decided that the best defense was an impenetrable shield and a strong offense.
Over the years she’d watched him learn those lessons, from his alcoholic father, from the other kids in school, from life. She’d been there for every brick he’d laid to fortify his heart.
She understood that his anger wasn’t aimed at her. She just happened to be in the way. Just as she’d been many times before.
With the ease of long practice, she ignored his words and his attitude. “I can’t sew up the wound, but I can wrap it.”
“Min, we don’t have time—”
“Just shut up and take off your shirt.”
With a frustrated sigh, he complied. He kept his right arm still as he undid the buttons with his left hand. When his shirt was hanging open over his bare chest, she took his left hand. “I’ll get this button,” she murmured.
He let her undo the sleeve, then he shrugged the shirt off with a groan, and carefully slid it down his right arm.
“Oh, Deke. Look what he did to you.” Dark bruises covered his side, where James had kicked him with those silver-toed boots. His right forearm was coated with blood, and in taking off his shirt he’d smeared the blood all over his abdomen and chest.
He shrugged, sending ripples along the muscles of his shoulders and arms.
Mindy couldn’t take her eyes off him. They’d been married for nine years and lovers for two years before that. She knew every inch of his body. Every curve of muscle. Every scar.
He seemed leaner, harder, and yet at the same time less harsh. Every bit as handsome, though. And every bit as sexy.
Memories washed over her—the feel of his hot, naked body against hers. That silk-over-steel strength and the unimaginable thrill of being filled by him.
As she’d told him many times, their problem was never the sex. She was just as turned on by him as she’d always been. Maybe more.
She still wanted him. She was eight months pregnant, cold, hungry and terrified, and yet the desire was still there, humming, vibrating, singing, inside her.
