by Carol Finch
Now here she was, an injured hostage whose hours were numbered. The fact that she’d gotten Kate—wherever she was—into this mess made her feel decidedly worse. Her bleak thoughts scattered like buckshot when Oscar, huffing and puffing for breath, dropped her in an unceremonious heap on the rock-hard floor of a musty cavern. Alexa gritted her teeth and silently endured the pain shooting through her arm and chest.
“It might take a while to gather horses and supplies for our cross-country trip.” Elliot’s voice echoed around the cavern. “I’ll have Lily pick up what we need.”
“Don’t know why you need to bring her along,” Oscar mumbled. “One whore’s as good as another in my book.”
“Well, we obviously don’t read the same book, do we?” Elliot retorted sarcastically. “Besides being a prize piece, she has connections you don’t know about. Those connections will help us get set up elsewhere.”
Oscar might not know about those clever connections, but Alexa did.
“Just don’t forget I’m up here,” Oscar demanded. “You try to double-cross me and the citizens in town won’t be the only ones out for your blood.”
“Settle your ruffled feathers, Denton.” Webster’s voice faded as he exited the cave. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. All three of us will be riding off to California or Oregon to start our new lives.”
When Oscar kicked her hip with the toe of his boot, Alexa continued to play possum, even though it hurt like the devil.
“You’re no fun,” he muttered. “But you will be before I toss you in the river and let you drown.”
Now there was some encouraging news, she mused as his lumbering footsteps receded. Abuse and drowning. That didn’t leave her much to look forward to.
Refusing to dissolve into tears and give way to disabling fear, Alexa pictured Coop standing beside her. Ah, how she wished he were here to boost her spirits. She’d give anything to possess his strength, experience and ingenuity.
Unfortunately she had to rely on her own creativity, although her mind was clogged with the aftereffects of the sedative Coop had crammed down her throat. Listening intently, Alexa concluded that she was alone in the cave. She heard no one else squirming about. Wherever Kate was, she obviously wasn’t in here. Unless she was no longer breathing…
The grim thought threatened to reduce her to tears. Alexa inhaled a steadying breath and prayed that Kate was still among the living. Then she tried to figure out how she could get the drop on that bully when the odds weighed heavily in his favor.
Harold was still reeling from the shocking telegram that informed him that Webster—the crazed bastard—had taken Kate Hampton hostage and that Alexa had been injured. How? The message hadn’t explained.
It had been a disastrous evening in progress already, what with his attempt to host the social gathering without Alexa’s expertise. He had no idea how organized and efficient she was until he tried to plan the event and make it run as smoothly as Alexa did.
“Harold? Something wrong? You look a mite distressed,” Ben Porter observed as he poured himself a drink from the bar in the study.
“He’s right,” Ambrose Shelton chimed in. “You look ill.”
Harold feared that if he didn’t share the disturbing news with someone he might pop. Unfortunately both men were on his list of possible informants so he needed to keep his trap shut. On second thought, he might be able to determine who was involved by gauging their reactions to the news.
“Webster, the crazed maniac, took my daughter’s best friend hostage to force me to give him the contract and ordered me to pay a ransom. Plus, I received news that Alexa was injured, thanks to Webster, too, no doubt.”
“What!” both men chirped in unison.
Their response caught the attention of the other six men who were in the study, helping themselves to Harold’s fine stock of liquor.
Harold gnashed his teeth. He stared into Ben’s hazel eyes then fixated on Ambrose’s slate-gray ones. He’d hoped he could tell who faked shock and who didn’t. But damn it, he wasn’t sure which one might be the culprit.
“How much ransom?” Ambrose asked.
“If you need funds I’ll help you raise it,” Ben quickly volunteered.
“Ten thousand.”
Again, he tried to gauge the sincerity in the two men’s expressions. He wondered if Webster’s cohort was trying to find out if the scoundrel had added more to the ransom so he could keep extra for himself. But confound it, Harold couldn’t tell if one or both men looked guilty.
“Ten?” Ambrose hooted. “Does that bastard really think his scheme will force us to give him the government contract?”
“Sounds desperate to me,” Harold replied before he downed his drink in one swallow. His third, but who was counting?
“So what do you want us to do, Harold?” Ben asked. “Pay him or call upon every gunfighter and bounty hunter in the territory to track him down? I hear Wyatt Cooper from Albuquerque is the best in the territory. I can contact him.”
“A young woman’s life hangs in the balance,” Harold replied, trying to imagine how upset Percy and Meg Hampton must be. For sure and certain, he’d be devastated if Alexa faced such grave danger.
“So we will pay,” Ben presumed. “I will see to the arrangements for you…”
Ben’s voice fizzled out when the same courier, who had delivered the telegram earlier that evening, materialized at the study door. Icy dread trickled down Harold’s spine, fearing that Kate hadn’t survived the calamity. He stared hesitantly at the folded missive the courier placed in his hand. When he read the telegram, he plunked down in the nearest chair to prevent collapsing on the floor.
“Dear God!” he howled in dismay.
Ambrose scurried toward Harold. “What now?”
Harold handed him the note. The room spun furiously around him and he struggled to draw a breath.
“Alexa has been kidnapped,” Ambrose read aloud, drawing the gasp of every man in the room. “Who would dare?”
Harold suspected Ambrose was involved and fear and desperation over Alexa’s safety overwhelmed him. Outraged, Harold exploded from the chair like a discharging cannonball. Chaos broke loose when Harold, in a wild rage, accidentally slammed into Ben and sideswiped two other men on his way to wrap his fingers around Ambrose’s thick neck.
Ben yelped when he banged into the end table, tripped over his own feet then kerplopped on his backside. Bodies tumbled like bowling pins as Harold slammed into Ambrose’s barrel-shaped torso, sending them both crashing to the floor.
“Harold, damn it, have you gone mad?” Ambrose choked as he tried to pry Harold’s fingers from his throat.
“Here now, Harold, get hold of yourself!” John Marlow yelled as he bounded back to his feet to grab Harold by the nape of his jacket. “Get off Ambrose and calm down!”
“What in the world is going on in here?” came an unexpected voice from the doorway.
Stunned to the bone, Harold released his grip on Ambrose’s neck then he pushed himself upright on the floor. His eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets when he stared at the new arrival. “How?” he croaked. “Why are you here? Sweet mercy—”
Shock, excitement and fear got the best of Harold. His eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out on the imported rug.
Coop reined Bandit toward the edge of town then halted abruptly. He couldn’t decide where to search first. He heard the clip-clop of hooves behind him then twisted in the saddle to see Miguel and Gil approaching.
“We turned this town upside down but there’s no sign of Alexa,” Gil reported somberly.
“Where’s Kate?” Coop asked Miguel.
“Since I rented a room for her mother at the hotel earlier, I took her there to rest. Then I sent a message to Percy so he’d know that his daughter is safe.”
“Any idea about where Alexa might be?” Gil questioned Coop.
If he could think straight, he might come up with a few ideas. Unfortunately the image of Alexa b
ound, gagged and blindfolded, while suffering agonizing injury, was tormenting him to no end. “I guess I’ll check Lily’s place first,” he said finally. “If she isn’t there we can presume that she joined Webster in hiding out.”
The threesome headed for the private entrance to Lily’s second-story suite. Coop didn’t expect the madam still to be tied to her chair. Sure enough, she wasn’t. Brenner, the gunman, wasn’t hog-tied on the floor and the posted guard, who kept watch at the back steps, wasn’t around, either.
“I’ll check with the other women,” Gil offered. “Maybe they know where Lily went.”
Coop surveyed the room, noting the ornate trunk at the foot of the bed stood open—and empty. “For sure she left in a rush with as many of her belongings as she could cram into carpetbags,” he said, calling Gil’s attention to the trunk. “Find out if any of the women saw Webster in person.”
“Will do.” Gil hurried off to question the harlots.
“I’m worried as hell,” Miguel confided as he glanced around the dimly lit room.
“That makes two of us.” Coop wished he could shake the unnerving dread that hung over him like a dark cloud of doom. “Where would Webster and Denton take her? It would have to be a natural fortress because no one in town will offer refuge to that conniving bastard.”
“High ground,” Miguel speculated. “Somewhere with plenty of cover to hide, in case this turns into an all-out manhunt. Someplace where you can see someone coming from a long distance so they can’t get the drop on you.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Coop agreed. “The upper canyon is a perfect hideout. Water is readily available. There are trees and underbrush for protective cover. When I was there, waiting to meet Mr. Chester, I noticed a few hollowed-out caves that could serve as a fortress.”
“Si, that is exactly where I would stash a hostage,” Miguel said excitedly.
When Coop rushed onto the small terrace at the back entrance of the suite, he noticed a wagon stashed in a lean-to on the far side of the corral. “There.” He pointed, drawing Miguel’s attention. “My guess is that Webster or Denton returned to retrieve Lily.”
“They probably exchanged the wagon for horses,” Miguel predicted.
Gil hurried through the room to join them on the terrace. “Webster was here about a half hour ago to fetch Lily,” he reported. “She did leave in a rush and didn’t say if or when she’d be back. One of the girls said Webster promised to give her money to move the wagon and park it behind one of the saloons, but since he didn’t pay her in advance she didn’t bother with it.”
“They could be planning to skip town to pick up the ransom in Santa Fe,” Coop mused aloud. He stared grimly at Gil. “Miguel and I are headed to the upper canyon. We think that’s where Denton is keeping Alexa. I need you to send another telegram to Harold Quinn, telling him to leave shredded newspaper rather than bank notes for the ransom.”
“You don’t expect Lexi to survive, do you?” Miguel said bitterly. “Why bother with real money, right?”
Coop endured the mutinous glare Miguel directed at him. “My policy is to handle all hostage ransoms the same. You don’t reward a cutthroat for disposing of his hostage and collecting a hefty payment. Isn’t that right, Gil?”
The marshal nodded somberly. “That was our practice when we worked together.”
Miguel swore ripely. “I was beginning to like you, gringo. But turns out your heart is made of solid rock. We’re talking about Alexa. I know you care about her so don’t try to deny it.”
He had cared about his father and brother, too, but that hadn’t changed the outcome of the tragedy, he mused as he descended the steps.
“Paying Webster and his informant won’t guarantee we can reach Alexa in time,” Coop told Miguel, and then turned his attention to Gil. “After you send the telegram, join us in the canyon with as many posse members carrying torches as you can round up on the spur of the moment. We’ll mount an extensive search to locate Alexa.”
Gil darted off, but Miguel was still glaring holes in Coop’s back as they jogged toward their horses.
“I care about Alexa,” Coop admitted. “A lot. But that doesn’t change my policy of dealing with heartless outlaws. Webster and Denton included. You expect the worst from them. Always. That way you’re never caught off guard.”
Miguel expelled a sigh as he mounted his horse. “In case things don’t turn out for the best, you should know that I think Lexi cares deeply for you. She never gave any other man her affection, only cordial attention and common courtesy.”
That should make Coop feel better, knowing he was special to Alexa. But it didn’t. Nothing would pacify him except having her safe in his arms again. He knew from previous experience with hostage situations that her chances of survival were slim to none.
And that scared the living hell out of him.
Chapter Seventeen
Alexa could hear Oscar thrashing around outside. His muttered oaths reverberated around the inside of the cave. She had unintentionally dozed off and didn’t know how long she had slept. She wondered if Oscar had calculated the time required for Elliot to fetch Lily and the horses then decided he had been left holding the hostage. Either that or Elliot had been spotted, captured and wasn’t returning at all.
Alexa sincerely hoped the latter was true.
No matter what had happened to Elliot, she predicted Oscar would come storming inside to take out his anger and resentment on her. Which meant she had better find a way to get loose or her future would be short and extremely unpleasant.
Alexa patted the band of her breeches with her bound hands then swore quietly. The pistol she had tucked away after she escaped Oscar at Elliot’s office earlier that evening was long gone. She presumed that Coop or the physician had removed it before stitching up her wounded shoulder.
The disappointing realization gave way to an encouraging thought. She had tucked a dagger in her boot before riding off to sneak into Elliot’s office. If she were lucky, no one had noticed it.
A relieved smile pursed her lips when she inched her knees up so she could reach down to check her boot. The dagger was where she had left it. Elliot and Oscar hadn’t bothered to check her for weapons since she had been injured, sedated and easy to abduct.
Although pained seared her arm, she used the dagger to saw through the rope that encircled her ankles. Hopeful anticipation rose inside her as she clamped the dagger between her knees to steady it while she cut the rope on her wrists.
Once free, she rolled to her knees to rearrange the quilt and rug to look as if she were still sleeping. She tested her ankle, thankful that she could put weight on it after she’d landed wrong when she leaped out Elliot’s office window. She tiptoed to the exit and craned her neck around the jutting stone wall. Oscar stamped back and forth in the moonlight. He paused at regular intervals to stare downhill, waiting impatiently for his cohort to show up. After spouting a string of crude oaths, Oscar lurched around and stalked toward the cave.
Alexa flattened herself against the wall and held her breath, in hopes of being overlooked. She was counting on Oscar’s eyes taking a moment to adjust to absolute darkness in the cave. Sure enough, he moved blindly toward the motionless form he had deposited near the back wall.
“Your time has come, bitch,” he boomed loud enough to wake the dead. “You’re about to find out the only real purpose a woman is born to serve.”
His voice was still ricocheting off the stone walls when Alexa slipped outside and scanned the area hurriedly, trying to determine the most effective escape route. She decided to climb upward so she could keep an eye on Oscar, who would exit like a snarling grizzly, when he realized she had somehow eluded him.
Wincing in pain, Alexa scrabbled uphill, using tufts of grass and boulders to steady herself. A moment later Oscar’s roar of rage belched from the cave. She sank behind a boulder when he stormed out to survey the area.
“You cunning bitch! You’ll pay in spades this time,” he be
llowed hatefully.
He commenced pawing and slashing at nearby shrubs in an effort to locate her. Alexa didn’t want to give her position away so she inched uphill backward, moving as quietly as possible. Oscar, the imbecile, was making so much racket during his temper tantrum that he couldn’t hear her moving up the rock ledge above him.
Things were going better than expected. She was slowly but surely placing more distance between her and her vicious captor—
The gratifying thought scattered like buckshot when her foot slipped on loose pebbles near the base of a boulder. Her leg shot out in front of her, causing a cascade of stones and pebbles to tumble over the overhanging ledge, giving away her location.
Oscar whirled around and grabbed his six-shooter. “I’ll shoot both your legs out from under you!” he snarled. “I’ll use you as my private whore before I put a bullet through your blue-blooded heart.”
His scare tactics worked, she was sorry to say. Especially when he began firing off shots that whizzed so close to her head that she swore she could hear the angels playing their harps in heaven above. Below her, Oscar scrambled uphill, spouting all sorts of ruthless threats. He fired off another shot that slammed into the cedar tree near her left shoulder. He swore crudely when he lost his footing, causing his next shot to go astray. Yelping and cursing the air blue, he landed spread-eagle on his backside.
Alexa bounded to her feet, latched onto a stripling for balance and heaved herself upward. Then she prayed for divine intervention—because she knew she didn’t have the strength and stamina to escape without assistance.
She ran for her life—and hoped her guardian angel could spare the time to lend a helping hand.
Coop snapped to attention when he heard a roaring voice roll down the canyon like an avalanche. He dug his heels into Bandit’s flanks, urging the horse into its swiftest gait. The terrifying sound of a discharging pistol reverberated off the V-shaped walls of the canyon. Coop’s heart stalled in his chest. He kept picturing Alexa pelted with more gunshot wounds. Outrage and fear for her life burgeoned inside him.
