Games (Timeless Series)

by Loyd, Sandy

  He sat up straighter and shouted, “They definitely came this way.”

  With the others in pursuit, Jake rode ahead a ways and again slowed. Jumping once more from the saddle, he said in an urgent voice, “Looks like they had some kind of scuffle.” He pointed to the bent grass and broken stalks from the weeds. “She might have tried to get away from him. It most likely slowed him down.”

  Marcus spoke up then and said with fatherly pride evident in his voice, “She’s no pushover. I trained her myself.”

  “When she first told me she was Marcus Franklin’s daughter, I laughed and made light of it,” Simon replied. “Now I only thank God you taught her so well. I also pray she still has her weapon and won’t be afraid to use it.”

  Marcus caught Simon’s gaze and chuckled. “She still has that toy?” At his nod, his grin spread. “Don’t worry, she’ll use it if she gets the chance.”

  Simon sobered and increased his speed. “I am worried. Tyler’s already proven dangerous, so her odds aren’t good that he’ll give her the shot. But maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll underestimate her. I won’t rest easy until we find her. Let’s keep moving.”

  All four men and horses forged on through the path, keeping to the hectic pace Jake established.

  ~~

  Lying on a bed in a room she didn’t recognize and feeling totally disoriented, Giselle struggled for consciousness. Her head pounded. The light hurt her eyes. Shading them with her gloved hand, she glanced around the room. She sat up and noticed she was still wearing her cloak. When Giselle turned to put her booted feet on the floor, a wave of nausea overtook her so quickly, she could only sit still with her head in her hands.

  Once the nausea passed, she sat motionless a while longer, clearing her head.

  Panic set in. She grabbed her middle and hugged herself.

  “Get a hold of your fear,” she whispered. “Do not let it overtake you. If you do, he’ll certainly win.”

  Remembering Bradford’s words about killing Simon, an angst-filled pain shot through her. The dam of emotion burst. Her tears flowed, running down the sides of her face in two steady streams. Since he was dead, her prayers for his arrival this time wouldn’t work. To survive, she had to have a clear plan that held none of the panic or the pain now ravaging her system.

  How had she been so stupid as to not see what had been right in front of her eyes?

  Bradford was a little touched in the head. He had to be, to be so cruel. Too intent on playing silly girlish games of keeping him on her line, she never noticed the telltale signs. Thinking back, she now realized they’d been there all along. His obsession with his mother, his obsession about punctuality, even his comments regarding her working with Libby were all signs of deeper problems. She’d always ignored them. Thinking of them now, she also realized his actions were what held her back from becoming more involved with him.

  “I will not let him win,” she said more determinedly, wiping her eyes. If he thought she’d give in easily, he was in for a big surprise. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. Drying the last of her tears and then pushing up to lift off the bed, her hand grazed the derringer in her pocket, along with the file.

  Sitting back down, her eyes lit up and she sucked in a delighted intake of air. Unbuttoning her cloak while reaching into her dress pocket, she pulled both items out and loaded the small weapon. She stuck the extra bullets in the pocket of her cloak.

  “No! The game is not over yet,” she said, rising. Giselle’s new intention became one of showing that deranged fool she was a worthy adversary who played to win.

  She rushed to the door and tried the knob. Disappointed, but not undaunted, to find it locked, her gaze roamed the room, looking for anything to help her cause. Spying a newspaper, she grabbed it and slid it under the two-inch gap at the bottom of the door. Praying that he’d underestimated her and left the key inside the lock on the other side, she put her file into the keyhole. As the file hit metal, Giselle’s exultation came out in a squeal and her smile was back. Pushing the file farther into the hole, she felt the key move. Upon hearing the clunk of metal hitting the paper on the floor, Giselle closed her eyes and sent up a silent thank-you, also praying her luck would hold. She slowly pulled the newspaper toward her, breathing a sigh of relief when the key slid under the space and into the room.

  She triumphantly pocketed her file. Her grin spread from ear to ear as she hastily stuck the key in the lock and turned it. After unlocking her temporary prison cell, she cautiously opened the door and searched for signs of life.

  Nothing. Warily she stalked into the hallway, holding her weapon close to her body with her elbow bent. Posed as thus, she moved slowly down the stairs, watching for movement.

  When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped to listen. Her heartbeat was so loud. Surely it could be heard in the quiet of the surrounding room. She slipped around the banister, rushing toward the door.

  A sinister chuckle, along with the sound of slowly clapping hands, echoed through the air. Turning in the direction of the noise, her heart sank. All hope for a mad dash out of the house was shattered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, stilling her beating heart.

  Sacre bleu. It won’t be as easy as I thought, but I’m not defeated yet.

  “My dear, you have surpassed my expectations. You couldn’t know how I feel about game playing.” Chuckling again, Bradford shook his head. “Winning without a struggle is no challenge. I do so enjoy the chase, makes winning that much more fulfilling.”

  Now fully turned toward him, she brought her weapon in front of her. “I have no intention of letting you best me, Bradford. Surely you know that about me.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Come, my dear.” He nodded to her gun. “You know you’ll never shoot me.” He started walking toward her with his hand outstretched and a disturbing smile on his face. “Give me the gun before you shoot yourself.”

  She backed up until her ankle met the bottom of the stairs. She halted, unable to go farther without taking a step up. Shaking her head, she said, “I do not want to hurt you, Bradford, but I am not dying. So, if you give me no choice, I will shoot.”

  His outright laughter revealed not only disbelief, but also amusement.

  He was now about fifteen feet from her, still walking slowly toward her. She took another deep breath and waited for him to come closer, knowing the closer he got, the better her chances would be of hitting her intended target. She hadn’t lied to Simon. She was a crack shot, but the derringer’s best feature caused its biggest drawback. Its size—small enough to fit into her pocket—with the shorter barrel, meant it was harder to hit objects farther away.

  Holding her hand steady, she stealthily aimed for his heart while Bradford kept walking.

  Finally she said, “That’s close enough.”

  Perverse laughter was his only reply.

  In a burst of speed, he lunged for her. Only she was expecting it, and she fired.

  He stopped short. The stunned look of amazement on Bradford’s face was almost comical. Watching him glimpse down at the wound in his shoulder, now darkening with red blood, Giselle leapt into motion, using his distraction. She ran for the front door, stopping only to open it.

  In a full-out run, out the door and down the front steps, she could hear him struggling behind her. She prayed the bullet would stop him, or at least slow him down, as she still wore the same hampering impediments.

  She kept running. She was about fifty feet away from the house when his boots clomped on the steps. Increasing her speed, she headed for the trees, a few more yards away, hoping for the time to make it to the cover they provided. From what she could surmise, her only chance of escaping the madman lay in that direction.

  “Stop, Giselle, or I’ll shoot. A shot in the back is no way to end our game.”

  She ignored his words, keeping to her pace. When a shot rang out and a spray of bark from a tree exploded five feet in front of her, she stopped and turned around
.

  Bradford stood not fifty feet away with a rifle pointed directly at her. Giselle noted his shirtfront was covered in blood. It was obvious, from the rage on his face, his wound had done little to stop him. Standing tall with tears in her eyes, her thoughts were bent on staying alive. She’d be damned if she’d make it this easy for him to kill her.

  If ever confronted with becoming a target, make yourself the smallest target possible. Remembering her father’s words, she dropped to the ground and rolled. Then with shaking hands, she shoved another bullet into the chamber of her derringer.

  But she wasn’t quick enough.

  The sick laughter she heard made her realize the game was close to ending and she would be the loser. Of course, she took comfort in the fact that her death from a bullet wound couldn’t be mistaken for an accident. That little bit of irony had her smiling.

  “You may think you have won, but you have not,” she goaded, glancing up and seeing the rifle pointed directly at her. “Killing me will only bring them to you.” Then she let out a self-deprecating laugh and looked directly into his eyes. “Besides, you will be doing me a favor. With Simon dead, I have no reason to live anymore—so go ahead—shoot! I dare you!”

  “My pleasure, Giselle.” Giselle squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. A shot rang out. When nothing happened, she squinted up at Bradford.

  His eyes were big with astonishment and he turned. His last word, “Mother?” was spoken just before he hit the ground face forward, with another bullet hole spilling blood from the center of his back.

  Then all hell broke loose as the bushes from the other side of the clearing came alive with four thundering horses and riders bounding into view.

  Shaking, Giselle rose to her feet. It was then she noticed the older woman holding a rifle, tears streaming down her grief-stricken face, standing behind an obviously dead Bradford.

  As the riders approached, Giselle walked over to her. With her derringer still in her hand, she wrapped her arms around the woman, whose sobs by now were escalating out of control.

  Giselle turned to lead her toward the house.

  “I couldn’t let him do it.” Mrs. Tyler’s whispered words held so much anguish. “He’s gotten away with too much in his life. I had to stop him.”

  “I am sorry,” she said, using the words as a balm to soothe the woman’s hurts. Her tears were flowing freely again. She wiped them away. “I do not think he knew what he was doing.”

  “I have to take care of him.” Mrs. Tyler tried to pull out of her arms. “He’s my son. I can’t let him lie out there like that.”

  At the same time Giselle noticed the lone rider galloping up fast from the road. The elderly man stopped short, and she recognized Harold Bentley. He jumped down and ran toward her and Mrs. Tyler.

  “Emma? My God, are you all right?” He glanced around, surveying the situation.

  Emma’s sobs increased. “Oh, Harold, I’ve killed him,” she wailed in between breaths.

  “Shush,” he said, taking the rifle from her grasp. He pulled her into his arms and gently held her, letting her cry.

  “I had no choice. Don’t you see? He thought I didn’t know what he did. But I’ve kept close watch over him since then. If I hadn’t, he would have killed her too!” She tried to pull away from him. “I have to take care of him.”

  “Come, my dear. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. But first, let’s get you inside.” Bentley led Bradford’s distraught mother toward the house. The sound of Emma Tyler’s soft weeping carried on the cold afternoon breeze.

  Watching them go, Giselle turned. Through tear-filled eyes, she saw Simon jumping off Zeus and running up to her.

  “Simon?” she whispered. He wasn’t dead. Her tears increased—as if a dam had burst inside her head. She wiped her eyes, but the tears of joy wouldn’t stop. The instant their eyes met, she picked up her skirts and ran the rest of the short distance. “You’re alive. Thank God, you’re alive,” she shouted, jumping into his open arms.

  He laughed and clutched her as if he could never let her go.

  She reached up and touched his face, his head, ran her fingers through his hair, if only to make sure he was really there.

  “I felt my life was over at the thought of you dying,” she whispered, just before bringing his head lower.

  “And that’s exactly how I felt.” Simon needed no other encouragement. His mouth smothered hers, letting her know with his lips exactly how he felt. When he lifted his head, his hold tightened. “I thought for sure I’d be too late. Thank God you’re Marcus Franklin’s daughter.”

  Giselle smiled and her tears subsided at last. Finally the ordeal became too much. She sank into his strength and said, “Take me home, Simon. I just want to go home.”

  Marcus, who’d been waiting patiently while the two reunited, came up behind them and cleared his throat. “I can see Simon has things well in hand.”

  “Papa!” she gushed, surprised beyond pleasure. “You came too?”

  “Of course. I couldn’t sit around and not do anything to help save my baby. Despite what some think, I’m not in my dotage yet.”

  Simon rolled his eyes and snorted.

  “Oh, Papa.” Giselle’s smile turned wistful. “What am I going to do without you?”

  “You can’t get rid of us so easily, Giselle,” he said, chuckling. “Your mother and I have no intention of leaving you alone for too long. After all, Alexandria, Virginia, is only but a train ride away.” At Simon’s raised eyebrows, he chuckled again and clapped him on the back. “Look at it this way, son. In getting something you want, you gain us. We promise we won’t interfere too much in your life. But you have to know we do expect grandchildren, posthaste. Sophie and I aren’t getting any younger.”

  “I guess we have our work cut out for us, chérie,” Simon said, grinning and peering into her eyes. “Let’s get you home.”

  Parker sauntered up to them just then.

  “I’ll stay here and take care of loose ends as well as the paperwork,” he said, nodding to Simon and Marcus. “You can take care of the lady. I’ll meet you at Twin Oaks when I’m done. We can telegraph our report to Jonathan tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Parker.”

  Parker chuckled and shook his head. “Now I see why you didn’t want to stay at Twin Oaks, Simon.”

  Simon’s brow shot up in a questioning manner. “Oh, and you find that amusing?”

  “Yeah, I guess I do. Better you than me.”

  Simon’s grin was all knowing. “Parker, I’m giving you the same advice someone once gave to me,” he bantered back. “Be careful! Love happens when you least expect it. When you’re not looking, someone will steal your heart.”

  “No way.” Parker laughed harder, his expression matching his words. “My heart is safe, thank you very much. I have no intention of succumbing to love. Damn, Simon, look at you. You’re pathetic. I hate reformed bachelors—they’re worse than mothers.” He snorted and turned to help Harold Bentley, who was moving toward Tyler’s dead body.

  Jake moved into Giselle’s line of vision to help Harold and Parker. “I’ll help you get him where you need him and then I’ll take care of the horses,” he said. Looking over at Simon, he added, “Why don’t you ride Hercules with Giselle back to Twin Oaks? If Marcus will ride Fortuna, the other horses can take a breather while I help out. I’ll bring them with me when I come.”

  Watching Parker stalk off, Simon’s attention then focused on Jake and his words. “I’ll get them home and make sure they’re taken care of,” he readily agreed, nodding. “Thanks, Jake.”

  Giselle heaved a sigh of relief. She was emotionally spent and the idea of riding safely in Simon’s arms during the journey home seemed like heaven.

  With one arm securely around her, Simon turned to Marcus and asked, “You coming, old man?”

  Marcus bit back a laugh. “Yeah, I’m right behind you.” He followed Simon, who led Giselle toward the stables, saying along
the way, “Young upstarts…think they know everything.”

  As they neared the building, Simon stopped and Giselle glanced at him with the question in her eyes. He nodded toward Parker and Harold, who were talking.

  “I’m really sorry for doubting you, Harold,” she heard Parker tell the older gentleman. “But the evidence pointed your way, and I’m trained to follow the evidence. I didn’t totally believe it, but I did have doubts and questions.”

  “I know, son. You were only doing your job. If I hadn’t been so foolish, and gotten taken in by the boy, none of this would have happened.” He shook his head and sighed. “I only hope Emma can survive this. It seems she’s known for a while about Bradford’s problems. She simply couldn’t accept that he was sick in the mind, so she pretended there was nothing wrong.”

  “I’m so sorry about all of this,” Giselle said in a saddened voice, hearing the torment in Bentley’s words. “Maybe if I had ended things earlier, he wouldn’t have felt he had to do this.”

  “No, it would have made no difference,” Bentley replied, meeting her gaze. “Emma suspected him of killing his father and didn’t want to believe it, which is why she became overly protective of him. If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else.”

  “Come, love,” Simon said, kissing her cheek and pulling her along. “Let’s get you to Twin Oaks. We can sort out all the questions and answers later.”

  Marcus followed the two as they walked inside the stables, grumbling, “I can’t believe Sophie thought it would be more restful on the farm. I need to go home and rest before you two get married.”

  Chapter 28

  Simon, Giselle, and Marcus arrived back at Twin Oaks only to find Colin and Libby in residence. Pandemonium broke out when everyone discovered, with stunned disbelief, what had happened and who’d been responsible.

  Over and over again, everyone repeated the same thoughts with disbelief: “He seemed like such a harmless fellow,” and “Who would have suspected he could be responsible for such heinous crimes?”