The Fortune

by Beth Williamson

  Frankie dozed on the cot, her long curls surrounding her head. Her lashes lay on her cheeks like tiny fans and her mouth was slightly open. Everything was blessedly quiet, at least for the time being.

  Then she started snoring.

  John held back a laugh with effort. She never stopped surprising him. Although her snoring was ladylike, she was definitely sawing some wood. He pressed his mouth into the crook of his elbow as a snort threatened. It wasn’t the time or place to act like a fool over a woman, but he was doing it anyway.

  “Is that her?” Callahan spoke from his cell.

  “It sure as hell isn’t me.” John kept his back turned to the other man.

  “She sounds like a tiny bear.” Callahan sounded as amused as John was.

  “Shut up. You are not allowed to talk about her, jackass. In fact, you’re not allowed to speak to her.” John’s amusement had faded in a snap. “You put her life in danger.”

  “I was doing my job.” Callahan didn’t sound as firm as he had earlier. “I’m sure there are things you’ve done for your job you aren’t proud of.”

  That was too close to the truth. “I don’t kidnap women.”

  The other man was quiet for a minute. “I didn’t hurt her. She did all the damage. Pulled us off the damn horses.”

  “Good. I’m glad she did. You deserved it.” John glanced at her, the sweet but fierce woman who snored softly. She had already tucked herself neatly into his heart. Damn.

  “I know.” Callahan laughed without humor. “I didn’t know what Mr. Peck had done. I turn a blind eye because I have to.”

  John turned, his anger bubbling up from his gut, burning his throat. “You didn’t have to do anything. You chose to. Don’t start pointing fingers at your boss because you don’t have the balls to do what’s right.”

  Callahan’s jaw tightened. “Don’t judge me.”

  “I ain’t judging you. I’m only saying what’s true. Why the hell would you think a lady like Frankie would be with a man like Peck? Because she liked him? And why would he send a hired gun like you after her?” John clenched the bars so hard, his knuckles hurt. “You will never touch her again.”

  Fire licked at his heart, pure white-hot rage at what Frankie had been through. It wasn’t Callahan’s fault, but he was the convenient target. John hadn’t let himself lose control, not for three years, but what Peck did to Frankie pushed the self-control off the edge. He wanted to hurt someone, something, to ease the pain he felt for her.

  Frankie had been the man’s prisoner for three days—long days, he’d bet. Somehow she had survived, and her heart and soul still beat with passion. Peck hadn’t destroyed her, thank God. But John wanted to destroy him.

  “I don’t ask questions, boyo. Where I’m from, if you get a job for the Five Pointers, you do anything they ask. If you don’t, you die.” Callahan sat back on the cot his arms wide. “Would you have me die for a woman I never met? I didn’t know. I swear to you, Malloy, I didn’t know what he did.”

  “What are the Five Pointers?”

  “A gang, in Manhattan, in the neighborhood I grew up in. Peck runs it. Hell, he runs everyone.” The other man ran his hands through his thick black hair. “I turned a blind eye many times, Malloy. Too many times.”

  John’s red haze began to fade and he finally heard what Callahan was saying, or rather what he wasn’t saying. He wouldn’t return Frankie to Peck. The big Irishman had changed his mind after hearing what she’d told John.

  As his anger receded, he let go of the bars and stalked back to the window. The sound of Blue helped to calm him. He needed to get back his self-control before he did let it loose. Therein were dark times and he didn’t want to go there.

  Very soon he would tie Blue’s reins to the bars and try to get the hell out of there. Now he had a choice to tell Callahan his plan or risk him trying to stop them or following them. John’s gut told him the Irishman had changed his mind about his path in life.

  “I’m getting us out of here.” It was out before he could snatch the words back.

  Callahan’s head snapped up. “What’s that you say?”

  John reached through the bars to touch his horse. “These sod walls are no match for my mustang. I’m getting us out of here.” He met the other man’s gaze. “Are you with us?”

  There was barely a moment’s hesitation. “You know I could take her as soon as your back is turned.”

  “You won’t.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Callahan cocked his head, his brows furrowed.

  “Because I’ll kill you if you touch her. And it won’t be an easy death.” John bared his teeth, his anger and protectiveness rising up around him.

  Callahan nodded. “I believe you. And aye, I’m with you.”

  John didn’t trust the other man but he had to take a chance. “When we are out, you go north, we go south. We split up so they have to choose who to track. I’m taking my horse. You’ll have to find your own.”

  “I can take care of myself, don’t worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried, Callahan.” John didn’t like the man. He’d be happy to be rid of him for good. “I’m letting you know how it will be out there.”

  “Like I said, I can take of myself. I ain’t a child, Malloy.”

  John ignored him in favor of waking his lady. He stopped, hand in midair over her cheek when he realized exactly what he had thought of Frankie.

  His lady.

  Was she his? Or was he imagining what he wanted? No, it wasn’t either. A momentary burp in his brain, was all. Frankie was an amazing woman who drove him crazy, but a one-of-a-kind female. If there was one who would make his own plans seem inconsequential, it was Miss Chastain.

  He touched her cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the silky skin. Her eyes fluttered open and she focused on him, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. The happiness he saw in the depths of her eyes took his breath away. He stared at her, his body immediately on edge, needing, wanting her.

  “John?”

  He shook himself, unable to dispel the notion he wanted to see her every morning, just like this. Sweet, soft and smiling.

  “It’s time.”

  The happiness in her eyes faded to be replaced with a wariness and fear. He hated to be responsible for that, but it couldn’t be helped. The next couple of hours—hell, the next couple of days—were going to be harder than anything she’d ever experienced. That was saying a lot, considering her history with Oliver Peck.

  She sat up and braided her hair with quick, precise motions, then twisted the braid into a knot on the back of her head. He was intrigued by how efficient she was. Within two minutes, she had straightened her clothes, tightened her laces and stood at the ready, her mouth set in a grim line.

  He wanted to smile at the same time he wanted to be in any place besides a jail so he could kiss the hell out of her. She glanced at Callahan and raised her brows.

  “He’s leaving too.”

  “Is that wise?” She didn’t sound judgmental, only curious.

  “Probably not, but there isn’t much of a choice.” John looked through the bars and noted the moon had indeed set. It was time. “Check to make sure the sheriff is asleep.”

  Frankie walked silently to the bars and peered out. Time ticked past as the three of them stood unmoving. Finally, she stepped back and turned with a nod.

  John whistled low for Blue and reached out the window for the horse’s bit, then tugged. The mustang obeyed, bringing his reins within reach. John took the leather in hand, thankful he never skimped on tack. He tied them around the bars as tight as he could.

  “Okay, boy, pull.” He spoke in a harsh whisper, not daring to make too much noise. Blue pulled on the reins until they were taut. “That’s it. Harder.”

  At first, nothing happened. John pushed at the bars at the same time Blue pulled. Frankie joined him, her small hands gripping the bars tight enough to make her knuckles white. John pushed hard, the rough metal b
iting into his hands until they were slick with sweat or blood.

  “Move, dammit, move.” He clenched his teeth and pushed with every piece of him.

  A bit of rock and dirt broke free, trickling down the wall. He met Frankie’s gaze and bared his teeth in triumph. She dug at the corner that was crumbling as John alternated pushing and punching the bars. Soon an entire side was free. They were almost there.

  A little bit more and they’d be liberated. Frankie dug faster and John rattled the bars back and forth. Then suddenly the bars were gone, landing with a muffled thump outside. Frankie gasped and raised her hands in triumph.

  That’s when he noticed she had dug until her fingers were raw and bloody. He wanted to yell at her for injuring herself but there was no time. They had to get out of there.

  “Move.” He laced his hands together to give her a boost to escape. She stepped onto his hand and fit through the opening without a hitch.

  John glanced at Callahan, who watched with an intense stare. “I’ll tie off the reins on the other side and yank. You push with all that muscle you got hanging on you.”

  “Don’t leave me here, boyo.”

  “I won’t.” John climbed through the opening, twisting his shoulders back and forth until he managed to fit. Small hands reached for him as he went headfirst toward the ground. She didn’t break his fall, but she did turn him sideways so he landed on his side instead of his head.

  “Are you hurt?” she whispered in his ear, her voice shaky and tense.

  “I’m fine. Let’s get Callahan out of there.”

  “Are you certain we should free him?” Her face was no more than a white oval in the dark.

  “I gave him my word.”

  She didn’t ask any more questions, but squatted down to unknot the reins from the bars. By the time he had gotten to his feet, she was leading the horse over to the bars. Most women would be a blubbering mess of foolish right about then, but not Frankie Chastain. She did what had to be done without complaint and with bigger balls than most men.

  John patted Blue’s neck. “One more time, boy, one more time.” They had only moments before someone heard or saw them. There was no time to waste.

  He quickly tied off the reins on the other barred window. This time, he pulled alongside his horse, and the work was easier. In less than a minute, the bars were free. He had doubts Callahan would fit through the small opening, so John dug away at the loose sod at the same time the Irishman did the same thing on the other side.

  Watching the big man squeeze through the opening was probably funny, but all John could think of was the seconds ticking by. To his relief, Callahan tumbled down, but he brought half the wall with him. It was no small noise.

  John untied Blue’s reins from the bars like a madman, each moment his last. He expected bullets to start flying and blood to flow.

  “You’re on your own.” He tossed the words at Callahan as he jumped into the saddle and yanked Frankie up behind him. John kneed the mustang into motion and took off into the blackness of the night, the dog running behind them.

  Frankie hung onto John, fatigued beyond measure. She couldn’t feel her behind, legs or hips any longer. Her back screamed in agony with each thump of the horse’s hooves. Yet she kept quiet, her fear over who might be chasing them stronger than her pain.

  Their daring escape from jail was like a dream, something she would have read in a novel. Not a crime she committed. Yet here she was running from the law like a common criminal. It was embarrassing, exciting, exhilarating and exhausting. She never would have considered breaking the law, much less be a wanted criminal.

  Of course, a year ago, she was living an entirely different life in New York. Their apartment was small and their means as well, but the Chastains had been happy. Now they were a thousand miles from what had been their home, separated and the future uncertain.

  Her parents and sisters were probably sick with worry, wondering if she were dead or worse. She hadn’t wanted to put them through her disappearance again. They had endured so much while she had been held prisoner by Oliver Peck. Their departure from New York was supposed to free them from worry and open up the possibility of a happy life again.

  However, Oliver’s reach had extended across the country. She shouldn’t have been surprised but she was. Declan’s change of heart shocked her. Peck hired men who were loyal to the point of killing themselves for him. The man was diabolical, but he was also brilliant. Declan’s reversal would be his death. She knew it and so did he.

  Her mind kept spinning around and around, replaying the conversation over and trying to figure out why. Declan didn’t appear to be stupid. If he worked for Oliver, and was trusted to retrieve her, his lotus blossom, then Declan was high up in the ranks.

  Yet he had thrown away everything to let her go.

  She had a hard time believing it was her story. He had to have heard more than one tale of dark torture and born witness to others. Something else must have triggered his actions. She could not figure out what.

  When the pink light of dawn colored the sky in the east, she turned her face and closed her eyes. They were gritty and sore from a night spent on horseback. John reached back and patted her thigh. She grunted, unable to form a word.

  The horse slowed and she lifted her head to look around. He’d found a small copse of trees with some tall grass moving gently in the early morning breeze. It was simple but it looked like paradise to her.

  He pulled the horse to a stop. “Easy, boy, easy.” John dismounted as though he was fresh as a daisy in spring. He held up his arms to her to help her down.

  Frankie wanted to smack him for not looking miserable, but she accepted his offer with gratitude. She doubted she could stand up or walk given how numb her lower half was. His arms were warm and full of strength, welcoming her. She breathed in his scent, of man and of John. He held her tight while she trembled from weakness.

  “I’ve got you, Frankie.”

  Tears stung her eyes at the sweetness in his gruff voice. He scooped her into his arms. She lolled against him, unable to lift her head more than a few inches. Soon cool grass surrounded her as he laid her on the ground. She rolled to her side and pillowed her head on her arm.

  “Keep an eye out for the dog. I don’t want him to get lost,” she murmured. The dog had become a symbol of freedom for her. She wanted to rescue him as he had helped to rescue them. Perhaps tomorrow she would carry him, no matter what John said.

  “Fine, but I ain’t gonna like the damn dog.”

  He kissed her forehead and moved away. Frankie smiled to herself and surrendered to the darkness of sleep.

  She didn’t remember John coming back, covering her with a blanket or snuggling up behind her. Yet when she cracked her eyes open later, she was safely tucked against him, a scratchy but serviceable blanket over them. The sun was bright beyond the shade of the trees, telling her it was midday. She didn’t want to move, not even a smidge, but her bladder has other ideas.

  The first movement sent sharp pain up her legs and into her back. She groaned at the intensity of the pain. Sweet heavens, but she had never felt so sore in her life. A furry head nudged her hand and she managed to pet the dog. He licked her hand and she smiled. He whined and she looked into his eyes. Exhaustion was evident in the canine, and guilt took a bite out of her. She should have carried the dog. The poor thing had worn itself out following her.

  “Are you awake?” John’s sleep-tinged voice sent a shiver down her spine.

  “Yes, but I wish I was still asleep.” She inched forward, her bladder insistent and throbbing now. The dog got to his feet with a whine and watched her with his big brown eyes, tail barely wagging. “I need to, um, find some privacy.”

  He lifted his arm, freeing her. “Of course. Do you need help?”

  “Not since I was two.” She scooted forward and pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her muscles protested the movement with a vengeance. Never one to admit defeat, she rolled to her kn
ees and tried to stand. Unsuccessfully. She tried again and met with the same result. A whine sounded again and she glanced over at the dog that appeared to be sympathizing with her.

  “How the hell did the damn dog keep up with us?” John grumbled.

  “He might be dirty, but he is smart.” She smiled at the dog and his tail sped up. “I should think you would be glad we all got out of that town alive. From now on, we’re going to carry him.”

  “I’m glad we got out alive, I’m but not keen on carrying that flea-bitten hound who seems to worship you.” He sounded almost jealous.

  If she wasn’t miserable and sore, she might have enjoyed sparring with him. However, her bladder reminded her she had more pressing needs. Gritting her teeth, she began to crawl toward a deeper clump of trees. The soft grass made her progress easier, but it was ridiculously hard to move forward even a foot.

  “Woman, you are going to hurt yourself.” John picked her up by her waist and carried her to the trees. “You can’t stand, what makes you think you can squat on your own? Just ask for help.”

  She hadn’t thought that far ahead, but she had to admit he was right. Squatting would be beyond anything she could hope to manage at this point. Letting go of her modesty, and her pride, was harder than the slow crawl she’d attempted. Frankie sucked in a deep breath and let it out.

  “I would appreciate your assistance.” The words were pulled from deep in her gut, forced out.

  “Gladly given.” He made no comment but helped her walk to a clump of bushes. She should have been mortified when he helped her squat, but she couldn’t. Like a gentleman, he waited while she performed her personal business, then pulled her to her feet and walked her with care back to their nest.

  Her muscles were sore, but the more she used them, the less painful it was to move. By the time she sat down on the blanket, she was breathless but felt better. The dog plopped down beside her. John stood over her, hands on his hips. Instead of the smug, amused look on his face, he looked concerned, his brows furrowed.