An Undercover Detective's Bride

by Blythe Carver

  He couldn’t care for her. Not the way she cared for him. If he did, why did he not take the chance to tell her so? She had lingered so long with him at the station, hoping all the while that he would say something, anything. Whatever it took to share what was in his heart.

  The answer was quite simple, then. There had been nothing for her in his heart. She’d been foolish to ever believe there might be.

  It was a relief, the ranch coming into view. They need not discuss her any further.

  She wasn’t the only one who was relieved, either. Molly clasped her hands together at the site of the house they had all come to love so well. “I never thought the site of that house would bring me such joy,” she confessed, sounding almost embarrassed by this admission.

  Rachel understood what she meant. Perhaps their father had been right in his way, bringing them together at the ranch. Knowing they would come to love it as he had. While she’d certainly detested him for what he was putting them through, her thoughts on the subject had softened considerably since they first arrived in Carson City.

  Just as her sisters had.

  Still, she wished she could be entirely happy. She wished her aching heart would grant her a bit of respite. How long could she survive with this ache in her chest, the sense that she might burst into tears at any moment? How did anyone live this way?

  Lewis brought the team to a halt, and Cate was quick to leap from the back of the wagon. “Oh, how I’ve missed my books and my plays!”

  “Yes, that is indeed the most important thing we left here,” Holly smirked. “Cate’s books and plays. What a relief it is to know they have been reunited.”

  Even Rachel could chuckle at this. Perhaps it would be all right, after all. With her sisters’ help, she would recover from this disappointment, and she would be better for it. She’d never experienced heartbreak before, nothing like this. She would be wiser in the future. She would not leave herself open to such pain.

  “If you don’t mind, I would very much like to go to my room and sleep for a while. I haven’t slept well as of late.”

  Lewis cast a sympathetic look her way. “Who could blame you?”

  Molly climbed down from the wagon, which led Lewis to take the team onward, into the stables. “Of course, dear. Rest as long as you need. I might rest a bit, myself.”

  She climbed the steps leading up to the front door, following Cate and Holly inside. Why was it such a surprise that everything looked just the same as it had before? Nothing changed.

  Nothing except for her. She would never go back to being the person she had once been.

  Her feet were heavy as she climbed the stairs. To think, she had never imagined being away for so long when she’d left the house that morning. The day she shot Mason Murphy through the shoulder. How was she to know the direction her life would take after that terrible experience?

  She stepped into her room and instantly felt relief. She could be alone here. There was no one to answer to, no one’s expectations to meet. She need not hide her broken heart. She kicked the door closed while her hands worked at the pin holding her hat in place.

  She heard him before she felt him clutching her. And in that instant, the moment the floorboard creaked beneath his foot, everything came to her at once.

  It had all been a ruse from the start.

  He’d been waiting for her return.

  She drew in a breath, intending to scream out her horror and a warning to the rest of the house, but his strong hand clamped over her mouth before she could make a sound.

  He laughed in her ear, his breath hot, the smell of it making her stomach churn.

  “Miss Reed,” Liam O’Connor whispered. “We meet at last.”

  20

  “Faster, faster!” Mason urged the gelding, the poor beast was running full-out as it had since leaving Carson Street. It was a swift animal, to be sure, though not fast enough.

  Nothing would be fast enough.

  When would he ever reach the ranch? Was it already too late? He would never forgive himself if that were the case.

  Sweat rolled down his back, sometimes rolling from his forehead into his eyes. He knuckled it away, frustrated. All of his faculties needed to be trained on her. On reaching her.

  How could he have been such a fool? So blind? So willing to believe that everything had turned out for the best?

  To think, he’d been all but moments from boarding the train.

  Then again, if this blasted animal did not pick up speed, he would be too late. It would not matter either way.

  No. He could not allow himself to believe it.

  He leaned over the horse’s neck, shouting into its ear, pressing his heels tight against the beast’s ribs. “Yah! Yah!”

  Was that even the right thing to say? He had no idea. Rance or Lewis would be able to tell him, but he had not the benefit of their company. Only the thought of Lewis being present at the ranch when the girls arrived gave him any measure of relief.

  Though Mason had no idea of the sort of man Lewis Sutton truly was. If he had grown up on a ranch, he might not know how to handle himself against a man as cunning and devious as Liam O’Connor.

  Was he even traveling in the correct direction? He’d followed the route Molly had described, but was he remembering it correctly?

  What a terrible joke on him if he wasn’t. Leaving the woman he loved to die because he couldn’t remember whether to turn right or left at the wide road which crossed Carson Street two blocks after the hotel.

  He was about to give up all hope when suddenly, cresting a ridge, the horse brought him to what he assumed was the Reed ranch. A large, stately home stood in the distance, surrounded by flat land in all directions. To the east, a herd of cattle grazed. To the west, a river cut across the land like a sparkling ribbon under the bright, mid-day sun.

  This had to be it. If this was not it, he would beg for help from whoever the house belonged to.

  Though it pained him to do so, he kicked the horse’s flanks. The poor beast took off, kicking up dust in its haste to be rid of its rider. Mason’s thighs ached, chafing after such exertion. He was not accustomed to riding this way.

  He was also not accustomed to riding with one arm in a sling. He’d long since given up the option of using only one hand, and the tightness in his shoulder served as a reminder of what might happen if he overexerted himself. The wound, only somewhat healed, might easily reopen and lead to another heavy loss of blood.

  There was nothing to be done about that. There’d be time to worry about it once Rachel was safe.

  If such a thing was even possible anymore.

  The house looked quiet. No one ran, screaming from its doors. He didn’t know if this was a good sign or no.

  Perhaps he had the women restrained. Had he already threatened their lives? No doubt, as he would waste no time in asserting his authority over them. Bully that he was, he would make certain to frighten them as badly as possible before he took what he wanted.

  And he wanted Rachel. He was willing to take a tremendous risk to get to her.

  Mason pulled the gelding to a halt and was quick to dismount, the poor beast in a lather after such hard exertion. He would have to tend to the animal once all was said and done. He took the stairs two at a time, only at the very last moment thinking better of bursting into the house. No sense in alerting Liam to his presence.

  With this in mind, he opened the door slowly. This might not even be the correct house, he reminded himself. He took one cautious step inside, then another. The door closed with a quiet click, leaving him in the center of a grand entry hall decorated with flowers which, unfortunately, had to come to wilt after neglect.

  This had to be the place. No one had lived here in at least a week, the layer of dust on the small card table beside the door told him so.

  He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and Cate gasped at the sight of him. He held a finger to his lips, darting to her as silently as possible.

  Tak
ing her hands in his own, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “I believe he is here.” She went rigid. “Where is Rachel?”

  She managed to whisper while gasping for air. “She said she was going upstairs to lie down.”

  “And what of the others?”

  “Phoebe’s in the kitchen with Holly. Molly went upstairs to rest, as well.”

  “Lewis?”

  She began to shake almost violently. “He went to tend to the team.”

  “Where does he keep his pistol?” He looked up the stairs as he asked it, wondering whether Liam was already up there with her. There was no time to waste if that were the case.

  “In the study. In his desk drawer.”

  He could not have locked it, or it would not have been so easy for Rachel to obtain it. “Get your sisters from the kitchen and leave by the back door. Go straight out stables, as quietly as you can and with no sense of urgency in case he’s watching. Find Lewis. Tell him what I told you. I’ll take his pistol upstairs.”

  The floorboards creak overhead, causing Cate to nearly convulse in terror.

  “Cate,” he hissed. “You must do this. Warn Lewis, tell him to come at once but again, with no urgency. Do not come on the run, do not let out a cry. Tell him to pretend nothing is amiss, and I will go upstairs to tend to Rachel. With any luck, there’s nothing to fear, and I have missed my mark.”

  Only he knew he hadn’t. Not this time.

  He pushed her down the hall. “Go!” he hissed while choosing the room which looked the most like a study. The door was open, and a desk sat before the windows which overlooked a garden of roses just beyond. Such a beautiful, idyllic scene.

  How could such horror and such loveliness be contained in the same space?

  All of this went through his head as he worked his way through the desk. Sure enough, in the bottom drawer was nestled a pistol. It was loaded, one stroke of luck in the middle of all of this.

  He dashed up the stairs two at a time, his eyes moving back and forth all the while. Only two of the doors were closed. Using his powers of deduction, he guessed that the room facing the front of the house was the master bedroom, where Molly and Lewis would most likely sleep.

  He had not ascended with any plan in mind, but the sight of that closed door gave him an idea. Rather than rushing straight to Rachel’s room, he tiptoed down the hall and opened the door slowly, silently.

  Sure enough, Molly was in bed, and she sat up with a shot at the sight a man who was not her husband.

  He held a finger to his lips, just as he had downstairs, and went to her. “I believe Liam is in the house. I’m going to Rachel’s room. I need you to stay here and lock the door. Count to ten, and then let out the loudest, shrillest scream you possibly can.”

  “Why?” she whispered as she followed him to the door, drawing a wrapper tightly closed around herself. As if modesty mattered the slightest in such a moment.

  “To distract him if he truly is there.”

  Molly reached out, gripping his wrist tighter than he would have imagined she were capable of doing. “Help her.”

  “I intend to.” With that, he slipped down the hall and counted to ten as he did so. He wanted to be aware of when Molly would scream, that he might time his kick at Rachel’s door perfectly.

  Eight, nine, ten.

  She was as good as her word. A shriek rose up on the other end of the hall, where he had just been. Even though he knew its cause, it left the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up.

  He lifted his right foot and, with all his might, kicked out. The lock broke, sending the door flying inward.

  Before him on the bed was Rachel, her face tear-stained. Her wrists were tied to one of the bedposts with a length of cloth which appeared to have been torn from her curtains. She was wide-eyed, drenched in sweat, but alive and looking as though she were unhurt.

  Her eyes cut to the side, indicating the space behind her bedroom door. With the pistol in hand, he swung the door shut and was greeted by a fist smashing itself into his face.

  In his surprise, he had not the opportunity to fire the gun. The impact sent him hurtling backward, falling over a chair placed before a vanity table. He sprawled on his back, and was quickly overtaken by Liam.

  “Nice to see you again,” Liam snarled as he cocked his fist and prepared to deliver another blow.

  But Mason was quicker. He drove a knee into the man’s ribs, then took him by the back of the neck and used the same knee on his nose. A sharp crack echoed through the room as he made contact, and blood soon spurted from the wound.

  Liam fell backward, one hand over his now broken nose. “You vile bastard,” he snarled through the blood which ran over his mouth. “You liar, you backstabber.”

  Mason scrambled to his feet, quick to deliver a kick to Liam’s stomach before he could right himself. Again he kicked, this time at his side. Liam’s wretched groan told him he might have broken a rib or two. He hardly felt sorry for having done so.

  Still, Liam managed to get to his knees and drive himself into Mason, headbutting him in the stomach and knocking the air from his lungs. They fell back against the vanity, shattering the mirror and sending glass flying in all directions. Rachel screamed, and he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye before falling to the floor.

  She struggled against her bindings, even going so far as to use her teeth on the torn fabric. He only hoped that if she managed to free herself, she would do nothing foolish.

  “Run!” He shouted before Liam delivered a blow to his mouth. His lip split, his ears rang.

  Liam turned around at the last moment, just as Rachel freed herself. He abandoned Mason in favor of taking hold of her, his arm about her throat.

  Mason gaped in panic, his eyes moving this way and that whenever possible. Where had the pistol gotten to? He supposed it must’ve slid beneath the bed or the chifforobe, because it was nowhere on the floor.

  Liam chuckled, spitting blood on Rachel’s shoulder. “You thought it would be so easy? You thought you could lure me out of town with the false report of her imprisonment? I saw straight through it from the first.”

  “Congratulations,” Mason spat. “The girl had no intention of saying a word of what she saw back in Baltimore. You came all this way for no reason. You’ve done all of this in vain.”

  “I would not be so sure if that if I were you.” Liam looked down at Rachel, his hand caressing her throat and making her whimper in fear and disgust before reaching into his pocket for a knife which he held against her delicate skin.

  Horror rolled through Mason at the site of this, and he got to his feet without ever taking his eye from the gleaming metal.

  “Don’t be foolish,” he whispered. “I know you are not a stupid man. Everyone in the household is aware of your presence, and the sheriff is on his way. You cannot possibly escape this.”

  A momentary flash of fear crossed Liam’s face, but it disappeared just as quickly. “So be it. So long as she is quiet and cannot lead to the downfall of my men. I would gladly make the sacrifice of my freedom or even my life for their sake. I will silence her just as Byrne was silenced.”

  To his complete surprise, a smile touched the corners of Rachel’s mouth. “I know something you don’t know,” she whispered with a note of satisfaction in her voice.

  “What is that?” Liam laughed, clearly paying her little mind.

  Her eyes never left Mason, not for a moment. Only then did he notice what she held in her hand, hidden in her skirts. She had picked up the pistol on freeing herself, and Liam had clearly not taken notice.

  “I know exactly what she’s referring to,” Mason smiled, in spite of his split lip and the pain it caused him. There was much more pain coursing through other parts of his body, his lip hardly mattered just then. Especially not when he understood the way her mind worked.

  “What is it, then?” Liam asked, pressing the blade tighter against her skin. A thin line of blood began to trickle dow
n, sending Mason into a frenzy he could barely control.

  “Byrne isn’t dead. We took him away, I fed a story to the newspaper, just as I did here.” It was a risk, to be sure. Would Liam slit her throat just as a way of paying him back?

  He did not.

  Instead, he growled. “Where is he?” he spat. “Where did you hide the cur?”

  Mason smirked. “I could tell you, but that would mean you releasing her. Let her go, unharmed, and I will tell you what you wish to know. Her life for Byrnes’s life. And after that, this is over. I will tell you where I hid him, I did it myself, knowing such a task could not be left to another man. But you’ll never know if you hurt her. And the rest of your men will never know, because you will either die or be locked away for the rest of your life. None of them will never be able to contact you. And Byrne will go free, alive, and able to report to the authorities whenever he so desires.”

  Liam didn’t know whether he could believe him, which came as no surprise. He was a naturally suspicious person, and the present situation had only served to exacerbate that.

  Slowly, slowly, the knife left Rachel’s throat. As if getting some loathsome task finished quickly, he shoved her into Mason.

  She stumbled, catching herself quickly, and passed him the pistol with her body between Liam’s and Mason’s.

  Their eyes met. She nodded slightly.

  Then, she threw herself onto the bed, out of the way.

  Liam’s mouth fell open at the sight of the pistol which Mason aimed at him.

  For the briefest moment, they stood frozen. Neither of them moved, neither of them even breathed.

  Mason wondered what Liam was thinking, whether he knew this was the last moment of his life. Did he understand? Did he perhaps wish he’d done things differently? There would never be any telling.

  For just as the man appeared prepared to lunge, Mason fired the pistol.

  And unlike Rachel, he aimed for the heart.

  In an instant, Liam O’Connor was no more. He dropped to the floor, eyes still wide in shock.

  He did not move again.