The Sharpshooter's Secret Son

by Mallory Kane

  Five minutes to get Mindy outside to safety. If she was in there. Through the haze in his brain, Deke tried to remember why he was sure that was where Frank was holding her. He couldn’t. But it hardly mattered. It could be their only chance.

  He set the end of the fuse down at the edge of the inner door, praying he’d be able to come back and light it. He patted his jeans pocket, where the disposable lighter was.

  That much dynamite would blow this whole basement area to smithereens, if the fuse stayed lit.

  Then he turned to the door. He had maybe three minutes before the noise of prying the planks away from the door alerted James.

  Here goes. He started with the planks at knee level, just above the top of the trapdoor. The nails screeched and the wood creaked. But within thirty seconds he had two of the twelve-inch-wide planks off and had started on a third.

  Sure enough, the wood behind the cross-nailed planks was just like the wood he’d kicked in to get through the trapdoor. He figured with one or two well-placed kicks he could have an opening that was thirty inches wide and about three and a half to four feet tall. Plenty of room for Mindy to get through. If he had the strength to kick the boards away.

  By the time the third plank let go, he was reeling from exhaustion. Fever from loss of blood, he was sure. He gulped in a lungful of air, hoping it would fortify him for another few seconds. He reared back and kicked the door. Wood splintered loudly.

  At that moment, the north door opened and two soldiers in desert camo grabbed him, jerking the crowbar out of his hands and wrenching his arms behind his back. He groaned out loud at the screaming pain in his right arm.

  Somehow, the pain heightened his senses. Suddenly, he was hyperaware of everything around him. The bright light from the open door. The air that swirled about him, evaporating the sweat and cooling his skin. The loud, sawing breathing of the two guards.

  They shoved him through the door into a narrow foyer. He directed all his strength toward staying aware of everything around him. There were three doors in the tiny foyer. Besides the one they’d pushed him through, there was a door to his left and one directly in front of him. He was about to find out where at least one of those doors led.

  A guard pushed open the door in front of him. Across a short expanse of rough flooring, lit by a single bare bulb, he saw Mindy. Tied up and gagged.

  His heart slammed against his chest with a ferocity that left him breathless.

  “Mindy,” he rasped. His throat closed up and his eyes stung with relief. He hadn’t let himself even think of the possibility that she wasn’t behind the door. But now, seeing her, he knew he’d feared just that.

  She shook her head violently. He nodded slightly, hoping to send her the message that he knew James was waiting for him. That he was prepared.

  By the look in her wide, frightened eyes he knew he wasn’t fooling her. With one quick glance, she saw how sick he was. How weak.

  She knew that he wasn’t prepared. That he wasn’t even sure how much longer he could stay upright.

  Her gaze dropped to his right hand and back to meet his eyes. She knew how long it had been since James had cut his arm. He could see in her eyes that she was calculating the amount of blood he’d lost and how far along the infection was. She shook her head again.

  He sent her what he hoped was an encouraging smile and took a step forward.

  With a whoosh of noise, spotlights flared, blinding him. Immediately, the sound of weapons being raised hit his ears. And slowly, as the red spots from the lights faded, the outlines of three men coalesced. They were dressed in military fatigues and boots, and were aiming their weapons at his head.

  The smallest man slung his rifle over his shoulder and stepped over to Mindy’s side. He extracted a 9 mm handgun from a side holster and pointed it at the side of her head.

  “Nice of you to join us. What were you doing out there, tearing through the wall? Trying to get away and leave your pretty girl behind? That’s cold.”

  Deke’s gaze snapped to the speaker. The accompanying movement of his head made the edges of his vision turn dark again.

  Still, there was no mistaking who the speaker was. It was Frank James—without his bandanna. No question. As he thought, the face was so close to the sketch of Novus as to almost be identical.

  Deke blinked to clear his vision and studied James’s face. Somehow, without the bandanna covering his lower face, his eyes seemed more pronounced.

  And familiar.

  “Hey, Min. You feeling better?” he said casually, inwardly wincing at the sound of his voice. It wouldn’t fool an infant, much less a roomful of trained combatants.

  Mindy nodded, but her face was still drawn and pale, and she looked exhausted. Worse, if he could judge by the look in her eyes, she was worried about him.

  “She’s doing just fine, Cunningham. When we found her where you’d abandoned her, she was in a lot of pain. But thanks to some friends of ours, we were able to figure out what was wrong and correct it.”

  Correct it? Bile churned in Deke’s stomach. “I swear to God,” he said hoarsely, “if you hurt her, or—”

  “Calm down, Cunningham. The drug we gave her is a medication that’s commonly used for preterm labor. Ask your wife.”

  “You’ve got a gun to her head. What do you think she’s going to say?” He met Mindy’s gaze, and saw that James was telling the truth. If he could still read her as well as he once could.

  “You’ll see that she’s no longer in labor. And she’s feeling fine, which is more than I can say for you right now.”

  Deke shook his head and concentrated on the pipsqueak’s words. He was well aware of the blood slowly oozing out of his wounded arm, and the clammy sweat prickling his forehead and neck. It infuriated him that he was letting a little knife wound affect him.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he growled.

  “I’m not. Trust me.” James grinned, and the thing that had been bothering Deke ever since the first time he’d seen the fake cowboy suddenly came clear.

  Of course Frank James was Novus Ordo’s brother. But looking at him, Deke realized something else. Those eyes had looked at him from behind the shemagh every day while he was held prisoner by Novus.

  It was Novus himself who’d held the gun to Deke’s head, who’d grinned at him when he’d ordered him to rise to his knees. His eyes were older and more sinister than James’s, but they were the same eyes.

  James nodded his head. The three guards stepped toward Deke in unison, their weapons still raised.

  Deke noticed that they were—to a man—Middle Eastern in appearance. Novus’s men who’d infiltrated the United States. A chill ran through him. The implications were ominous.

  On a few days’ notice, Novus Ordo had brought together a half dozen armed and trained zealots to carry out a plan he was creating on the fly.

  At least a half dozen. Probably more.

  “What do you want from me, James?”

  “Okay, Cunningham. Time to do a little business.”

  “You’ve heard my offer. It hasn’t changed.”

  “Sure. I know your offer. I let your wife—’scuse me, ex-wife—go, and you’ll answer all my questions. And I’m sure you’re telling the truth—you’ll answer my questions. But all your answers will be lies.” He shook his head, laughing. “Now I’m sure that you’ve practiced ’em until they sound just as good as the truth—even while you’re being tortured.”

  “Nnh,” Mindy moaned and struggled, and shook her head. “Nnnh—nhh.”

  He knew exactly what she was saying. Tell them. He loved her for caring whether they hurt him. But there was far more at stake here than the lives of two people.

  “I’ll tell you the truth,” he said quietly.

  Mindy couldn’t take her eyes off Deke. She was so glad he was here. And so worried about him.

  Spots of color stained his cheeks, standing out against his pale skin and pinched mouth. His right hand hung useless at his side, an
d a drop of blood shimmered on the end of one finger. Also, one end of the bandage she’d made out of his shirt dangled from the sleeve of his shearling jacket. It, too, looked soaked with blood.

  Mindy’s stomach churned. It had been doing flip-flops ever since the nurse had given her the injection of magnesium sulfate.

  Deke must have lost at least a pint of blood, maybe more. She wondered how long the wound had been actively bleeding. She’d wrapped it as well as she could, but she’d known it would eventually come loose and separate the edges of the cut. She’d intended to be there to rewrap it.

  No, truthfully, she’d hoped they would be out of here safe and sound by now, and he’d have a stitched-up arm and a course of antibiotics for the infection.

  Acrid saliva filled her mouth. She swallowed and focused all her strength on not giving in to the nausea. Magnesium sulfate was excellent for slowing premature labor, but it was also excellent for causing nausea. She clenched her teeth against the queasiness, praying that she wouldn’t throw up while her mouth was gagged.

  At least these terrorists had a health professional in their group. Although the idea that they had soldiers and nurses and God only knew who else available inside the United States was a sobering one.

  “Just let Mindy go,” Deke muttered. His words sounded slurred.

  Frank James laughed.

  As calmly as she could, Mindy assessed their situation. Not good.

  Judging by the lack of color in his face and the way he was swaying, it was a miracle that he was still upright.

  A miracle and a testament to his strength of will and his determination. He needed lots of fluids, and probably a blood transfusion.

  His skin looked tight and drawn across his cheekbones. His mouth was compressed into a thin line, and his nostrils and the corners of his lips were white and pinched. Sweat glistened on his forehead and neck.

  Stay with me, Deke. Don’t quit now, she wanted to say. But that wasn’t fair. He was the strongest man she’d ever met. He would die for an innocent. She knew he’d endure anything for his son. But he’d pushed himself further than any normal human being could have. He’d pushed himself past his body’s limits, and it was shutting down.

  The idea that he was mortal, that there was a point beyond which even his steely resolve couldn’t push, sent a soul-deep terror searing through her like a spark touching a line of gasoline. The terror manifested itself physically as paralyzing nausea.

  Her throat was too dry to swallow, so she squeezed her eyes shut and waited until the red haze of intense queasiness passed.

  At that instant, Sprout kicked her, as if to remind her that everything she did, everything she felt, affected him, too.

  For the moment, the mag sulfate had done its job. But every few moments, she felt little aftershocks of contractions.

  At eight-plus months, Sprout was capable of surviving on his own. With her knowledge and experience, she’d bet money that Deke’s son would be born within the next twenty-four hours.

  She did not want him born in an underground mine, held hostage by terrorists. And she certainly did not want him born an orphan.

  She had to come up with a plan.

  “You sound sincere, Cunningham. But then you always do. Even with a gun at your head, you still lie.”

  The gun barrel pressed against Mindy’s head dug into her flesh. She couldn’t see James, but she could see Deke.

  His pallor had taken on a gray tinge, and his eyes weren’t focused on anything. He took a stumbling step forward.

  A soldier stepped in front of him and swung the butt of his gun at his head. The impact sounded like a gunshot.

  Deke slumped to the ground.

  “No!” Mindy screamed through her gag.

  “Get up!” the guard growled in a heavy accent. He raised the gun butt again.

  “Stop!” she cried desperately.

  “Hold it,” James snapped. “Careful. He’s no good to us dead. Pull his head up. I want him to see this.”

  The guard grabbed a handful of Deke’s hair and jerked his head up.

  Deke rose to his knees, swaying. He squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked several times. The guard’s blow hadn’t broken the skin, but he was going to have a black eye and one hell of a headache.

  Don’t fight them, she begged silently.

  “Let’s see if you can lie while there’s a gun at your wife’s head. Is it loaded? Is it not?” He cocked the hammer of the .45. Mindy closed her eyes.

  “What do you think, Mrs. Cunningham?” He jerked the bandanna away from her mouth.

  She winced, and felt Sprout move in reaction to her pain. She licked her dry, chapped lips.

  He wasn’t going to kill her. He couldn’t. If James killed her, he’d never get anything out of Deke. Somehow, her argument didn’t make her feel better, considering the gun barrel pressed to her temple.

  Deke’s jaw clenched and his chin ratcheted up a notch. His face was pale as death. “Wait—” he muttered.

  “Deke, no,” she gasped. “He won’t do it. He needs me.”

  “You think so?” James mumbled, easing the pressure of the barrel against her temple.

  Mindy held her breath.

  “I don’t know whether Rook is alive—”

  James pushed the gun’s barrel against her head again.

  “I don’t know,” Deke said quickly, “but I know the most likely place he’d be.”

  “You know where he might be if he were alive, which you don’t know.” James barked a short derisive laugh. “Sorry, I just don’t buy it. You’re not quite ready to tell the truth.” He squeezed the trigger, and the hammer clicked—a hollow sound that seemed to hover in the air.

  Mindy’s chest was tight with tension. She struggled for breath, as Sprout moved restlessly inside her. Fine tremors rippled through her limbs.

  James made a gesture that she could barely see out of the corner of her eye. Two guards rushed toward Deke and jerked him upright. He didn’t speak. Mindy had no idea if it was stoicism or pain and exhaustion.

  His head lolled on his neck. He could hardly stand on his own.

  “All right, Cunningham. Let’s see how much stamina you’ve got. Every hour on the hour I’m gonna stick one live round into this gun, spin the chamber and put it against your wife’s head and—bam!” He grinned. “Or not. Every hour on the half hour, I’m gonna break one of your fingers. So don’t count on being able to handle a weapon.” He nodded to the guards.

  The two men pulled Deke to his feet and began to half drag him to a door in the back of the room.

  “By the way, Cunningham. There’s only one thing we want to know. You lead us to Castle, and we’ll make sure your wife and baby are safe.”

  Deke muttered a curse aimed at James.

  The fake cowboy just chuckled.

  Mindy hoped that in his dazed and injured state, Deke knew what she knew.

  Frank James had shown his face to them. There was no way he was going to let them live.

  Chapter Ten

  There was a clock on the wall, put there on purpose, Mindy was sure, so she could watch the minute hand go around. So she could anticipate, minute by minute, second by second, the instant when the guards would break one of Deke’s fingers.

  Then she’d have to watch the crawling hand for another half hour as she waited for James to come in, stand in front of her and load the single bullet into the revolver. Then he’d spin the chamber, press the barrel to her head and pull the trigger.

  A twinge—like a miniature contraction, tightened her abdominal muscles for an instant.

  Settle down, Sprout. You stay put. Mommy needs time to figure out a way to save your daddy.

  There had to be a trick to it. Didn’t there? As long as Novus believed Deke had the information he needed, he wouldn’t kill her. Nor would he leave her life or death—or anything else he could control—to chance. So the bullet in the spinning chamber had to be a fake.

  The minute hand bumped forward.
Her heart bumped against her chest. It was eleven twenty-nine. One minute until they broke Deke’s finger.

  She opened her mouth and screamed. She didn’t know why James had removed the gag, but she was thankful that he had.

  “Don’t do it!” she yelled. “Stop! I’ll make him talk! I swear! Just don’t hurt him!”

  She stopped, holding her breath, but the only thing she heard was the silence.

  “Don’t hurt him!” Her eyes were glued to the clock.

  The minute hand quivered.

  “Please!” she whispered in desperation, as tears welled in her eyes.

  It jerked forward. And centered on the six.

  “No!” she screamed as the tears streamed down her face. “No! Please!”

  The door behind her opened.

  She twisted, straining to see who’d entered the room. “Who is it? Is that you, James?”

  The man who called himself Frank James stepped into her field of vision. “What are you yelling about?” he asked in an impatient tone.

  “Where’s Deke? Is he all right? Did you—”

  James held up his hand. “Slow down. Try to stay calm. Now what are you saying?”

  Mindy glared at the man who held Deke’s wellbeing and the fate of her child in his hands. “Please bring Deke back in here, or take me to him. I’ll make him tell you the truth.”

  James assessed her. “Has he told you the truth?”

  She did her best not to look away from his staring eyes, but she couldn’t stop herself from blinking.

  “So he has. Well, the truth is the truth, no matter who delivers it. Why don’t you tell me what he told you?”

  She dropped her gaze then, wondering what Deke would want her to say.

  He took a step toward her. “Mrs. Cunningham?”

  “He told me he doesn’t know where Rook is.” She looked up at the fake cowboy.

  James’s beady eyes studied her face for a long moment. She could see the little wheels in his little brain turning, and hear what he was thinking. He had to decide if he believed her.

  She tried to keep her expression bland, even as her mind raced. Ever since James had captured her she’d known this moment would come. But she still hadn’t figured out what she was going to tell him.