Dead By Nightfall

by Beverly Barton

  Griff took the call from Rafe Byrne that evening while he was standing on the patio. He had eaten dinner alone in the kitchen, a plate left by Mattie before she’d gone home for the day. Both Sanders and Barbara Jean had been conspicuously absent, as had Derek and Maleah.

  “I was beginning to wonder if I’d paid you a million dollars for nothing,” Griff said when he answered his phone.

  “There was no point in contacting you until I had some useful information.”

  “And you have some now?”

  “Sir Harlan has invited me to fly over to the States with him in a couple of weeks. He’s taking part in what he refers to as a marvelously unique hunt. He didn’t come right out and say it, but he didn’t leave much doubt as to what we will be hunting.”

  “Did he say where this hunt is taking place?”

  “No, but he did tell me that each of the chosen quarry is very special to our host. Two males and two females. And he’s invited Bouchard. There will be just the four of us so it’ll be one-on-one in the hunt, or so Sir Harlan says.”

  “Two males and two females. And Nic will be one of the two females.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “Nothing more that the old bastard shared with me,” Rafe said. “Just a gut feeling I have.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I think the prey we’ll be hunting is a select group—maybe you and Sanders and Yvette and Nicole.”

  Chapter 36

  By her calculations, Nic was six months pregnant on the day of The Execution ceremonies. Her fringed A-line skirt fit loosely and her leather vest and billowy gingham blouse adequately camouflaged her pregnancy. She was afraid that if either Linden or York looked at her closely today, they would notice the slight fullness of her face and the increase in her breast size. If it happened, it happened. She had known all along that it would be only a matter of time before she could no longer hide her condition. But she had hoped beyond hope that before that happened, Griff would have found her.

  Traveling by horse-drawn wagons, she and five others, including Jonas, sat huddled together in the wagon bed, with an armed guard riding shotgun and two guards, on horseback, flanking the wagon. Not only were she and the other participants in today’s exhibition dressed in costume, but so were their guards. They all looked as if they had stepped off a western movie set. The five men wore decorative leather chaps over their pants, Stetson hats on their heads, and their belts sported big silver buckles. And they had beards and mustaches in varying degrees of growth. Nic and the one other woman had been decked out to resemble the Queen of the Cowgirls, Dale Evans, in fancy attire more suitable for the silver screen than the real old west.

  Nic understood why no one felt chatty on the ride from the hunting lodge. Three people were doomed to execution today and three assigned the role of true life executioner. It was better not to know one another, not to share any personal information with the person you would have to kill. Or with the person who would kill you.

  They arrived at their destination thirty or so minutes after leaving the hunting lodge. Without a watch, Nic guessed at the time by checking the position of the sun. She figured it was mid-to-late morning. The bumpy road, more dirt than gravel, led directly into the little town, but not just any town—a ghost town. The main street consisted of six dilapidated buildings on one side and three on the other. All except two were wooden structures weathered to gray over the years and in various states of ruin. One was a two-story brick with boarded arched windows, and the other a one-story brick with a ramshackle wooden porch. In the distance on a nearby hillside, a couple of other old buildings, possibly once a schoolhouse and a church, nestled snugly beneath towering evergreens, a weed-infested cemetery planted halfway between them.

  The entire town was alive with costumed people: cowpokes, saloon girls, gunslingers, sheriffs, schoolmarms, and gamblers. Nic counted the townsfolk as the wagon rolled along Main Street. By the time the driver stopped the wagon on the outskirts of town, she had counted more than twenty people. Who were they? Surely they weren’t all York’s captives.

  The guards lowered the back of the wagon, ordered them to get out, and quickly divided the men from the two women. She and Jonas exchanged hasty good-bye glances before she and the other woman, a raw-boned brunette only a couple of inches shorter than Nic, were escorted to a nearby shade tree. Their hands were cuffed behind them and attached to shackles hanging from the side of the tree. From where she stood manacled to the tree trunk, she had only a partial view of Main Street, but she could hear the jubilant celebration taking place in the old ghost town.

  She glanced at the woman beside her and wondered if she should say something to her. But before she had a chance to decide, one of the guards came for the woman. Nic watched as he released the brunette from the cuffs and dragged her away, forcing her to march in front of him.

  A few minutes later, a riotous roar rumbled down the street from the little godforsaken town. Cheers and shouts preceded what sounded like a loud drumroll. And then the crowd quieted. The eerie sound of someone whistling sent shivers through Nic. She didn’t recognize the tune, something chillingly melancholy.

  Time seemed to stand still.

  The sun warmed the earth.

  The autumn breeze cooled the air.

  A gunshot rang out. And then another.

  Boisterous shouts and delirious whoops followed.

  Every muscle in Nic’s body stiffened. She knew the first execution had taken place. One down and two to go. Jonas would be the next executioner and then it would be her turn. How long would it be before they came for her? How long before she would have to commit murder?

  “You’ll do it, if not for yourself, for your baby,” Jonas had told her.

  The second execution had taken place a good while ago, the noise from the townsfolk, York’s honored guests, quieted now to a low rumble.

  What are they waiting for?

  With each passing moment, Nic became more nervous and less certain that she could actually kill another human being in cold blood.

  You can do it. You have to in order to save your life and your child’s life.

  The sun hung high in the sky, directly overhead. Midday.

  She saw the guards approaching and knew the time had finally come. One man removed her cuffs, pulled her away from the sheltering tree, and the other man strapped a gun belt around her lower waist. Inserted in the single holster now strapped to her leg rested what Nic suspected was a .45 Colt revolver. My God, was it an authentic weapon or a reproduction? She had handled one of the big old revolvers a few times, a weapon effective for power and control by the user.

  As the two guards led her into what she figured had once been a bustling mining town, another drumroll resonated loud and strong, announcing the main event for today’s execution ceremonies. When they were able to see her, the onlookers, a dozen or so on each side of the street, cheered her slow, dramatic march up the street to face her opponent.

  Whoever the poor man was, would he have a fighting chance? Would he have a gun? And if he did, would it actually be loaded?

  When she had gone a third of the way into the center of town, one of the guards stopped her, and then both moved away from her, leaving her alone in the street. Her heart raced like mad, booming in her ears. She felt hot. Sweat dotted her brow despite the mild temperature. Her hands grew moist with sweat.

  Nic looked right and left, searching the crowd for any sign of York. The damn egotistical son of a bitch, decked out in cowboy finery, stood front and center, a big smile plastered on his face. He looked right at her, threw up his hand, and waved. Could she draw the revolver and shoot York before the guards either tackled her or shot her? If only ...

  Suddenly the whistler trilled another tune, one Nic immediately recognized. The theme song from the old movie High Noon.

  You’ve got to be kidding.

  Like the exciting hunts for humans and the
bloody fights in The Ring, today’s reenactment of an old west gunfight possessed all the pomp and ceremony York’s rich clients expected.

  As the whistler completed his rendition of “Do Not Forsake Me, My Darling,” two guards escorted Nic’s challenger down the street from the other side of town.

  She squinted as they approached, trying to see the face of the man she was expected to kill. Just as the guards moved away and left the gunslinger alone, Nic got a clear view of his face.

  No! It can’t be. Please, God, no.

  The man standing less than fifteen feet from her was Jonas MacColl.

  This was York’s doing, just another sadistically cruel maneuver in his game of revenge. He knew she wasn’t a killer, knew how difficult it would be for her to execute an innocent person. And now he was making it impossible for her.

  She couldn’t shoot Jonas.

  She glanced away, staring into the crowd at York. The son of a bitch laughed when their gazes met.

  Her hand hovered over the holster flap, itching to undo it, and then pull the revolver and aim it at York.

  She looked straight at Jonas. I can’t do this, she wanted to shout. But the look in his eyes told her that he expected her to kill him.

  Fear and frustration induced a strong rush of adrenaline that flooded through her system. Her gaze momentarily settled on Jonas’s holster. He had a gun. He could shoot her. But he wouldn’t.

  And then suddenly, before she realized what was happening, Jonas pulled his revolver from the holster. It was in that moment when she reacted by mimicking his actions, their guns then pointed at each other, that Nic knew without a doubt that Jonas’s gun was not loaded.

  She knew then what she had to do, regardless of the consequences. She did not want to make the ultimate sacrifice, but she could see no other way to end this.

  Asking God and Griff and her unborn child to forgive her, Nic whirled around, aimed, and fired.

  The crowd gasped in shock. Jonas ran toward her as the four guards took aim straight at Nic. He lunged toward her as the guards opened fire, their bullets riddling his back when he protected her from their attack.

  Jonas took her down to the dusty ground with him and covered her body with his. “Why did you do it?” he asked her.

  Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  “Jonas? Oh, Jonas.”

  He lay on top of her, his body a heavy, protective weight.

  Nic closed her eyes.

  And then the weight of Jonas’s dead body disappeared. Nic opened her eyes to see a man standing over her. He reached down and dragged her up and onto her knees.

  “No!” she screamed.

  “You thought you killed me, didn’t you?” Malcolm York said. “I’m afraid you shot my bodyguard. Poor fellow is dead. He died to save me just as Jonas died to save you.”

  York tucked his index finger under her chin. “What’s different about you, Nicole?” He grabbed her and dragged her to her feet, then whipped apart her vest and ran his gaze over her body. “You’re getting fat.” And then as if suddenly realizing the truth, he laughed. “You’re pregnant. What a delightful turn of events. Is MacColl the father or dare I hope you’re carrying Griffin Powell’s child?”

  Looking right at him, Nic spit in York’s face.

  Chapter 37

  “It’s time for the final game,” York told Griffin. “I can’t keep your wife alive much longer. She has become more trouble to me than she’s worth. She’s quite a feisty little bitch, isn’t she?”

  Griff clutched the phone with white-knuckled anger. “Name the time, the place, and the terms. Just you and me, York.”

  “Now, don’t be selfish. We can’t leave Sanders and Yvette out of all the fun we’re going to have, now can we?”

  “I’m the one you want. It’s my wife you’re holding captive.”

  “Yes, I want you, Griffin Powell. I want your head stuffed and mounted over my fireplace.” York laughed, the sound edged with hysteria.

  The man was insane, every bit as insane as the real York had been.

  “And I want to gut you while you’re still alive and make you suffer till you beg me to kill you.”

  “What a bloodthirsty devil you are, Griffin. But we all have our dark side, don’t we? That sweet little wife of yours certainly has hers.”

  “Tell me what you want. But before I agree to anything, I want to talk to Nic again.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You see, she’s being punished for an unforgivable crime. The crazy bitch actually tried to shoot me.”

  That’s my Nic. “Good for her.”

  “No, actually, it’s bad for her, especially in her condition. I’ve had to put her in solitary confinement. Bread and water only, unless of course she can kill and eat the rats in her cell.”

  Griff’s face heated with rage. His hand trembled. “What do you mean, her condition?”

  “Oh, that’s right, you don’t know, do you?” York chuckled. “I could send you some photographs, but since you’ll soon be visiting me, you can see for yourself. Nicole is pregnant.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “As I said, you will soon be able to see her swollen belly. How does it feel, knowing the child your wife is carrying could be her lover’s baby?”

  “You’re lying. Nic isn’t pregnant.”

  “Oh, she’s pregnant, all right. But I can’t say just how pregnant. It’s hard to tell about these things. She could be far enough along for the baby to be yours. How about that, Griff? I not only have your wife, but I may have your unborn child, too.”

  “No, I don’t believe any of this.”

  “As I said, you can see for yourself. I’m inviting you and Sanders and our lovely Yvette to join me and my guests for the hunt of a lifetime. An exclusive guest list. And the prey will be premium quality—the three of you and Mrs. Powell, too, of course.”

  Griff had known there would be a final showdown, that in the end York would want to kill him. Go ahead and try, you son of a bitch. The real York tried for four damn years and I outsmarted him every time. I can outsmart you, too.

  “I want you to fly to Colorado tomorrow and land at the Denver International Airport,” York told him. “There will be a car waiting for you. You’ll find instructions in the glove compartment. I’ll have a small plane at a private airstrip ready for you and your dear friends. Don’t try anything stupid. If you do, I’ll be forced to kill Nicole.”

  The last thing Griff heard was the sound of York’s maniacal laughter. Long after York had hung up, Griff still clutched the phone in his hand.

  York had lied to him. Nic wasn’t pregnant.

  But what if she was?

  What if the baby isn’t mine?

  Griff stormed out of his study.

  “Sanders! Barbara Jean! Maleah! Derek!” He fired off the four names in rapid succession.

  Sanders barreled around the corner, followed by Maleah and Derek, all of them coming from the office.

  “What is it?” Sanders asked.

  “What’s wrong?” Derek and Maleah questioned simultaneously.

  “York called. He wants us—you, Sanders, and me and Yvette—to fly to Denver, Colorado, tomorrow. If you choose to go with me—”

  “Of course we will go with you,” Sanders assured him. “He wants all of us. He won’t be satisfied with only you.”

  Griff nodded. “Please contact Yvette and let her know that I’ve heard from York and explain that he has a special hunt planned, with the three of us and Nic as the quarry.”

  “Oh my God,” Maleah said.

  Barbara Jean arrived several minutes after the others. “Is something wrong?”

  “York called with marching orders for Griff,” Maleah explained.

  Before Barbara Jean could respond, Griff zeroed in on her and said, “I want to speak to you and Maleah in my study now. Please.”

  “Yes, of course,” Barbara Jean replied.

  Maleah seemed hesitant, but sai
d, “Yeah, sure.”

  Griff waited for the two women to move ahead of him, and when they did he followed them to his study and closed the door.

  “York told me something that I didn’t want to believe. I called him a liar. But I don’t know if he really was lying.” He looked back and forth between the two, hoping that one of them could tell him what he needed to know. “I have to ask you both, as Nic’s best friends, if she shared a secret with both or either of you before she left Griffin’s Rest, something that, at the time, she didn’t want me to know.”

  “No,” Barbara Jean said instantly. “Nic isn’t the type to keep secrets, especially not from you.”

  Maleah remained silent. Griff looked at her.

  “What about it, Maleah?” he asked.

  “What did York tell you?”

  “He told me that Nic is pregnant.”

  Barbara Jean gasped. Maleah swallowed.

  “He claims that he doesn’t know exactly how pregnant she is and doesn’t know if the baby is mine or the man he keeps referring to as her lover.”

  “The baby’s yours,” Maleah told him.

  Griff felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.

  “Then she is pregnant?” he asked. “She was pregnant when she left Griffin’s Rest?”

  “Yes. She just found out for sure a couple of days before and she wanted to wait until things calmed down around here before she told you.”

  Griff stared at Maleah, his emotions all over the place. He was happy. He was sad. He was angry. He was hurt. He was racked with guilt and remorse.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? All these months and you knew and didn’t tell me?”

  “You may not believe me, but I didn’t tell you because Derek and I agreed that—”

  “Derek knows?”

  “You’ve had just about all you could handle dealing with Nic’s kidnapping and the sick games York has forced you to play. The last thing you needed was to know that Nic was pregnant. I didn’t tell you for your own sake.”

  “Damn it, Maleah, you had no right to ...” Griff swallowed a gut full of tears.