"I'd sleep better knowing you were on the best mount I had, darlin'."
"No one has ever given me anything like that." Without words, Chris knew she hadn't received a gift of any kind in a long time, the necklace hinted at that, the horse only confirmed it. And the uncommon sheen in her gold eyes brought him to his knees.
"Thank you, oh, thank you," she whispered, and in front of the entire town she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He sank into her, forgetting the scandal they consistently caused and only feeling the heat of her body against his. Lucky giggled. Several people cleared their throats noisily and they pulled apart. Chris noticed the area was strangely silent. Victoria did, too, and together they scanned the crowd of mostly men. Grins popped through the sea of faces like bursting bubbles before a sudden cheer shook the wood and startled the horses.
"Your face is red," Lucky pointed out.
"Horrible, huh?" Victoria said and Lucky launched into her open arms.
"Well now.," the auctioneer bellowed. "You ail know the marshal expects to be paid in dollars for his horseflesh.'' Laughter erupted and Chris waved to Joquin, trusting him to get a fair price and followed Victoria toward the paddock so she could see her horse. They hadn't moved much beyond the crowd when she stopped. He bumped into her. He followed
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the direction of her gaze, then casually turned his attention to Lucky when the boy asked to visit a litter of puppies he'd seen. Victoria kissed his cheek in agreement and Chris warned, "Don't go far," as the child took off running. "You see him?"
Becket was on the far side of the grounds, but his presence unmistakable, his eyes on Victoria. "Yes," Chris ground out.
"We need the murder weapon or that journal," Victoria said for his ears alone, pausing to examine tack hung up for sale. "And he can't approach me if you're glued to my hip."
"Victoria," he warned, his expression worried.
She faced him, grabbed the edges of his black leather vest and pulled him beyond the edge of the holding pens. Then she pulled him down to meet her face.
"I love you."
He grinned, his breath catching.
"And now that I have you—"
"And my undivided attention—"
"You have to give me some rope."
"To hang yourself?"
She made an irritated sound. Then she kissed him, a thick, wet sexy kiss that drove the air from his lungs and the blood to his groin.
"Now that you can't hover," she said, sliding her hand down his body and cupping him warmly.
She had great hands, he thought, closing his eyes and peeling them from his body. "God save me from twentieth century women."
"Uh-ah, I'm one of a kind, buster."
He opened his eyes. "I love you so much." *
"I know, but I'm still a bounty hunter and I have to socialize, give him an opening."
"If you reject him—"
"He'll try to kill me,"
His fists clenched and he muttered something vile in Cheyenne. "This is dangerous."
"And our job."
He stared at her for a long moment, absorbing her vibrance like strong wine. He could never stop her from being who she was, not because they loved, but it didn't keep him from feeling helpless.
"Go partner." He inclined his head toward the crowd. "Go on."
She took a step away. He caught her arm, pulling her back for one last kiss, putting all his love into it.
"Keep me in your sights for as long as you can," she whispered before walking away.
The tremor in her voice told him she was scared.
Good.
Fear made you cautious.
It brought little comfort, for when he rode back to town to find the journal, she was on her own.
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She could feel his eyes on her as if he were touching her and it made her flesh shift and creep along her bones.
Licking her lips for the hundredth time, Victoria refused to look in his direction, concentrating on the little boy rolling in the dirt with puppies lapping at his face as if he were made of chocolate. She smiled, kneeling, tickling him and he suddenly latched on to her neck and dragged her down into the confusion of doggie breath and red Colorado dust. People nearby laughed softly, some huffed at her display and she resisted me urge to read them the riot act about loving a special kid like Lucky. Instead, she enjoyed him, the feel of him in her arms making her chest tight with need. And she realized again how much she stood to iose.
Before, she was agonizingly alone and it suited her job best. The risks were to herself, and the waiting and pain left to no one. But now she had everything, everything she desired and dreamed about and Becket stood in the way. Lucky cupped her face. "You fun, Miss Toria." "You are fun," she corrected and he nodded and repeated. She kissed the top of his head, settling him close and letting
the brown and white puppies race around him, nipping and barking. The Baretta in her skirt pocket dug into her thigh. "1 likes dem."
"I like them," she schooled and covertly glanced around for Chris. Up until fifteen minutes ago, she knew exactly where he was, but now he was gone. Immediately, she searched the crowd for Becket, her gaze casually skipping right past him to Noble and Abigale, who were dancing. She smiled at the couple, recognizing that Abigale was no longer making Noble suffer for not visiting her.
Rising to her feet, she dusted off her doe skin skirt and pulled Lucky to his feet. He pouted and she sent him a warning look. "We'll ask Chris if you can have one. If," she stressed when his face immediately brightened, "if Mister O'Brian wants to give one up."
Lucky hopped from one foot to the other.' 'He does, I asked.'' "I'll speak to him."
"Miss Toria." There was a whine to his voice, a higher pitch, and she struggled with patience considering her nerves were tight as wire and Lucky was playing right into Becket's hands. She didn't want anything to happen without Chris near. He was her backup, and it would be at least an hour before he'd return. The fair was beyond the edge of town, partially in the shade of the forest, and even if he raced back, which he wouldn't because it would draw attention, it would take him at least ten minutes.
Drawing Lucky away from the dogs, she approached a man shaving ice off a huge block, then scooping it into folded paper cups before pouring syrup over the top. She bought two, handing one to Lucky and thinking this kid was going to be on a sugar high for a week after cream cakes and penny candy.
Children called to him and he looked stunned, then wary, first glancing at her, then to the boys. His expression revealed his insecurity and the memories of how he'd been treated by this town.
"You don't have to go," she whispered, dropping her hand
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on his shoulder with a gentle weight. He looked up, biting his lower lip. "But can I?"
"Sure," she said and he gulped down the melting ice, crammed the sticky paper in her hand and took off.
Victoria watched, gaging whether they were going to make him look foolish or allow him into the game as a true player in the foot race. Some of the boys ribbed each other, snickering at Lucky. It set her teeth on edge. Lucky lined up with the rest and the reverend counted off "on your mark get set" and Victoria's stomach tightened as he dropped the white scarf.
Lucky didn't seem to know what happened, the other kids were running and she realized he'd expected the word go, or even a gun shot. But instantly he knew and ran. Boy, could he run, she thought, her heart leaping hard as he sprinted like a deer. And he was in the running now, keeping up with the others twice his size and she ran to the sidelines, to the finish line. Sweet beaded beneath her clothes.
Come on, baby, show them. Show them you can do it. He saw her and smiled, and she felt the surge of power in him, the pride he'd lost over the isolated lonely years and he pushed ahead
, air hissing through his teeth, his arms pumping like mad. Victoria ran to the finish line, oblivious to the cheers, oblivious to her own screams of encouragement and thinking, / wish Chris could see this.
Then he crossed the finish line first, straight into her arms, into her heart and she swung him around and round and laughed and told him she was so proud of him.
Deputies and Noble patted him on the back, passing him around like a prize, and Lucky beamed, smiling like she'd never seen him smile before and tears came to her eyes as the other children approached and congratulated him. She watched him skip along with his new friends and Victoria knew a profound and joyously sweet feeling of victory for more than just a race.
Someone offered her a handkerchief.
She looked up to see a deputy, Seth, standing close.
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"He's like a wildfire."
"More like a stampede, don't you think?" Seth chuckled.
"I never knew he could run like that." She wiped her eyes, waving to Lucky.
"He had to run or get belted," Seth said.
Victoria stilled, slowly lifting her gaze.
Seth back stepped, intimidated by the rage in her eyes. "It's why we could never find him. He stole to eat, but never got caught. He runs like the dickens."
"He'll never have to steal again," she told him.
"I know, ma'am. The boss has been trying to get him to live with him since we first saw him, but it's you that kept him there."
"I appreciate that, Seth. What are you doing here, not that I mind, but weren't you on duty?"
"Change of shift."
She leaned closer. "Did you see Chris?"
He frowned. "I thought he was here?"
He must still be in the office, she thought.
' 'I came to deliver this." He offered a telegram and shrugged. "Hell if I know what it means."
She took it, an uneasy feeling rippling over her spine.
Chris jimmied the lock and the drawer sprung. He searched carefully, but found nothing, replaced each article as it was and went to the bedroom. He dug beneath the mattress, then retucked it. He opened every drawer, shoving his hand beneath crisp folded clothes, then frustrated, he turned to the wardrobe. He quietly pulled items out of the cabinet—the carefully placed boots ranging in colors, the clothes nattily pressed and hooked. He accidently jolted against the door and stilled, listening for sounds from upstairs, from the girls. The saloon was empty, closed for the afternoon and Chris moved more cautiously. Running his hand along the seams of the wood, he felt for a loose spot, a crack or a break. It was a gut feeling, and he pressed his fingers against the wood.
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Then he felt it, the give, the spring and with his knife he pried up the edge. A fractured sound pierced the quiet like a bone breaking before he slid his hand beneath. His fingers touched cloth, the firmness of a book spine and he grabbed the journal, removing it and immediately turned toward the light. He flipped to the last entry, a quick glance telling him he'd rather not read the details of so many deaths, and let his gaze scan the perfectly formed writing.
/ can honestly say I am annoyed that the lawmen are doing nothing to find me. It takes the joy from the kill. Almost. None would know I didn't mean to take Velvet. But I was beyond need then, that ugly feasting in my head pushing me over the edge. I wept for her. It was the one time I regretted. But as he read on, Chris felt the color leave his face. There is something defiant in her, in her eyes, in they way she deals with these soppingly docile folk. Like me, she does not belong. And I love her so deeply I will go mad if I cannot take her with me.
Chris felt the blood rush to his feet, then skate up to his heart. It beat loudly in his ears. His prey was selected. And it was Tori.
and she swallowed, sinking to one knee and forcing a smile
for Lucky.
"See what I won! See!" He waved a fat blue ribbon in her
face.
"Way to go, pal!" she said automatically. "Too cool."
Instantly, she felt eyes on her, scraping her face like a knife. In half a heartbeat, she knew she'd made a deadly mistake.
Slowly, she tilted her head and lifted her gaze, staring over the top of Lucky's head. Becket stared back through sharp, narrowed blue eyes from a short distance away.
Time was up.
He knew she was a traveler.
Victoria looked down at the telegram, but the writing was faint in the dimming light and she moved closer to a torch. It was addressed to Chris.
Have followed up on cases specified. STOP. Found three more. STOP. Similarities are concurrent. STOP. Dates of crimes begin over three years prior. STOP.
The sender listed date after date, the victims names and occupation. Wife and mother.
Her hands shook. Sudden perspiration dripped down her temples.
He's been here before.
Somebody slammed into her, jolting her from her thoughts
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Slowly, she stood.
"Give this to Noble and find Chris. Now, Seth." Seth recognized her fear and his gaze followed hers to Algenon Becket. The deputy's features tightened and he took the telegram, hesitating to leave her.
"I'll be all right," she murmured quickly. "Go." He moved off.
Victoria bent and whispered to Lucky. He glanced around, searching the picnickers for Abigale and reluctantly stepped away. Victoria stood still, her breathing regulating into calm. It skipped suddenly as he approached her. "I wouldn't."
He caught Lucky as he passed, and the boy looked up at Becket, wide-eyed and panicked.
He's hurt him before, she realized. Damn the bastard. So much for her theory about him protecting the kids.
"Let him go or you're dead," she whispered, her hand closing around her gun. "I can put a bullet between those baby blues before you move an inch." Around them more torches and lanterns were being lit to
stave off the approaching twilight, beer kegs tapped with a cheer and a swarm of thirsty cowboys. Music colored the air with a festive twangy reel, but to the townspeople, who hardly gave them a glance, they appeared to be two people casually conversing.
"Hardly," he said and his gaze dropped meaningfully. And hers followed.
Oh God. His arm was slung around Lucky's shoulder yet in the broadness of his palm was a small knife, tucked close enough to the boy's throat to scare her.
Lucky didn't even realize it, looking up at her trustingly. From the angle of their bodies, not a soul could see it, but her. She forced a smile to her face. "Let him go."
"Lift your hand out," he said softly. "And give it to me." She did. She wouldn't risk a mark on Lucky for anything and handed Becket the gun. He slipped it discreetly inside his coat.
Victoria considered screaming, flinging accusations and getting a wall of people to surround him. But that put innocents at risk, and she'd never forgive herself if anyone was hurt. This was between Becket and herself. No one else. "Let him go."
He released Lucky and Victoria never took her gaze off the killer as she inclined her head sharply. Lucky ran into the crowd.
"How long?" He stepped closer, touching a hand to the small of her back and urging her around spread blankets and vendors, families and tables laden with food.
"I've been right behind you every step of the way." Something slipped behind his stiff features, then vanished. "Not close enough."
No, she thought, not enough to keep Velvet alive, but enough to stop him from taking at least one mother from her family. "Where are we going?" "To the fall." She stopped short. "Not a chance in hell." He was so close
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she could smell his cologne, see the deadly intent in his eyes, red rimmed with the disease eating at his brain.
"Oh yes," he said smoothly and lifted the cane to his face as if to scratch his chin. With a practice flick, the cane separated at the hilt. "You're mine now, Miss Victoria Mason."
His smile was thin and sinister, showing to everyone who'd look what he hid.
'I'll kill you first," she said with all the anger raging inside her. "And I'll like it." "Killed many, have you?" "Not as many as you."
He nodded, as if modest over the accomplishments, then without looking back, as if aware that no one noticed them leave the heaviness of the crowd lingering at the shaded edge of the forest, he caught her arm and pulled her into its denseness. "He won't make it, you know," he said when she looked at her watch. "He won't have time. We'll be gone, forever." Absolute terror spirited through her. Not for her life, but for the certainty in his eyes. She tried not to let her fear show, in her voice, her expression. She'd done it a hundred times without failure, why was she losing it now? Because he knows what you 'II risk. "Go then, I won't stop you."
He glanced beyond her, to the crowd, checking again to see if anyone noticed them. Obviously satisfied, he met her gaze, his perfect lips curled in a soft snarl. He flicked the cane and the casing slid effortlessly free, revealing the blade, the blade that had ended over twenty lives. "You'll never stop me. No one can." He smiled that cheesy, thin smile that made her want to do him right there, now, then he pulled her by the shoulder deeper into the forest. He was taking her back.
He loosened his string tie to bind her hands rightly behind her. She fought and lost but the scratches on his face and a nasty bruise on his lip were worth the back-handed smack across the jaw. But a gun and the stiletto curbed her temper
and she waited for another opening, feeling helpless without her hands, without a weapon. She hadn't strapped her knife to her leg as usual, never believing she'd screw things up this bad. Twentieth century slang got her, she mulled disgustedly, wiggling her fingers, trying to stimulate the circulation she was losing to numbness.
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