Anything for You

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Someone was.”

  “But not me.”

  She stared up into his eyes, which were shadowed by the deepening twilight. So often she had seen them narrowed in rage, laughing, glittering with desire. Adam loved her and wanted to protect her from her headstrong idiocy.

  “Where have you been?” she whispered.

  “On a wild goose chase. I intercepted another of the notes. Idiot that I am, I couldn’t resist checking it out.” He scanned the woods. “Thank goodness, I’m back in time to save you.” He scowled at the wagon. “You’re luckier than Mrs. Glenmark was.”

  Gypsy’s heart froze in mid beat. How could she have forgotten Sylvia’s carriage had crashed with a broken axle? Just like the wagon here. She wanted it to be a coincidence, but she knew it was not.

  “Let’s go,” Adam said. “Whoever was shooting at you is gone.”

  “But who was it?”

  “That we need to figure out right away.” Gripping her hand, he stood. A few quick slices with a knife freed the horse from the traces. He scowled at the wagon. “This was no accident.”

  She wrapped her arms around her muddy coat. “I don’t like to believe someone in the camp would want to hurt me.”

  “No?”

  When he shoved something into her hands, terror choked her. The wool hat.

  “I found this peeking from beneath your pillow when I was going to leave you a message to stay put,” he said as he settled his rifle under his arm. “Who are you trying to protect?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “If I’d given it to you, the murderer might have seen. Then he would be more determined to kill you.” She stepped closer to him. “For the love of heaven, Adam, I love you too much to risk you like that.”

  “And I love you, honey. Fool that I am, I’ve let you convince me to break the most important vow I’ve ever made.”

  “What vow?”

  “To keep from getting caught up in anyone’s life again, so I’d never have to risk getting hurt by seeing someone I love get hurt.”

  “You’re a fool.”

  His smile was grim. “Maybe so, but I’ve made another vow.”

  “Will you break this one?”

  “Never.” He ran his fingers along her cheek. “I was heartsick when my friends were killed in the war. I couldn’t save them, but I’m going to save you.”

  “Adam,” she whispered, all jesting gone from her voice, “you should go and not come back. He’s after me and those I love. If you go now …”

  “Too late. Everyone in camp knows I love you.” He took her hand and stepped over the ruined food. “Let’s get back to the wanigan. I want you to stay there until we unmask this coward.”

  She shivered. “The hat was under the kitchen.”

  “I know, but I’m not sure where else you’ll be safe now. This logjam has to break soon! Come on.”

  Gypsy did not ask what had been in the note, and he did not tell her. They hurried in silence through the woods. When the wanigan came into view, he helped her down the steep hillside and onto the raft.

  “Wait here while I check inside,” he said. He shoved the rifle into her hands. “Do you know how to use this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Use it if you have to. Don’t trust anyone.”

  “Even you?”

  His grin could not warm his cold eyes. “Trust me, Gypsy, but if anyone else pops out of the woods, fire over his head. That should scare him.”

  “Anyone? If one of the flunkeys—”

  He gripped her arms. “They’re gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “No one was here when I came to leave you a message. I saw Oscar and Per wandering along the shore to watch the river hogs working.”

  She frowned. “They were supposed to be—”

  “Forget about feeding the jacks for a minute, Gypsy! I’m trying to keep you alive.”

  Another shudder arched across her tense shoulders. “I know.”

  “Fire the gun if you see anyone other than me.” He put his hands over hers. “Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good. I’ll be quick.”

  Gypsy held her breath as he vanished into the kitchen. Looking at the woods, she started at every shout echoing up the river. Someone must have been smoking nearby, because the heavy odor of a cigar surprised her. Her flunkeys knew better than to smoke in her kitchen. She pressed her back against the wanigan wall and tightened her grip on the rifle.

  “Gypsy?”

  She whirled, raising the gun. She lowered it as she stared, wide-eyed, at Adam.

  Gently he took the rifle and put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right, honey.”

  “I’m so scared.”

  “I know, but don’t worry. There’s no one inside.”

  When he bent by the rope holding them to shore, she asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you for another spin, honey. Not to Nissa’s Porcelain Feather Saloon this time.” He sawed through the thick rope. Shoving against the shore, he pushed them out into the river. “This way no one can sneak aboard tonight.”

  “But the flunkeys—”

  “Can sleep on the shore with the other jacks.” He opened the wanigan door as the slow current drew the raft into deeper water. “This gives us a chance to share what information we have without other ears around. There must be some clue to tell us who’s chasing you.”

  “And who you’re chasing.”

  His lips grazed hers before he steered her through the door. “One and the same, honey. Now, let’s find a way through this mess. I could use a cup of very strong swamp water.”

  She edged past the barrels. Tossing her bonnet on the table, she turned to Adam. Another man stood behind him in a cloud of cigar smoke. As she started to greet Bert, the words clogged in her throat.

  He raised a pistol just as Adam asked, “What’s wrong, Gypsy?”

  “She doesn’t want your head aired in front of her, Lassiter.”

  Bafflement widened Adam’s eyes. “Bert?”

  “Don’t recognize me without the accent?” He laughed. “You fools!” His voice lost any hint of humor. “Put the rifle down, Lassiter. This is between Gypsy and me.”

  When Adam hesitated, Gypsy whispered, “Do as he says, Adam.”

  “That’s right,” Bert mocked. “Do what your boss says.”

  Adam’s fingers clenched on the rifle as hers fisted at her sides. She wanted to plead with him, but did not dare to speak. If he tried to save her, he might die.

  She released the painful breath burning in her chest when Adam set the rifle on the floor. Calmly, he said, “The gun is loaded, Bert. Be careful with it.”

  “I’ll be careful.” He chuckled. “You should have checked behind the wanigan as well as in it. I figured if Gypsy didn’t do everyone a favor by dying out on the road, she’d be back. You were a fool to come with her, but you made it easier by cutting the wanigan loose.”

  Gypsy whispered, “Let Adam go. You don’t want him.”

  “No, but you do.” He jabbed the gun against Adam’s nape. When she gasped as Adam winced, Bert laughed. “You’d do anything for your lover, wouldn’t you?”

  “Let him go. Then you can—”

  “Shut up, Gypsy!” snapped Adam. “Don’t make promises he’ll make sure you keep.”

  Bert pushed Adam forward a step and closed the door so no one on the shore could see what was happening in the wanigan. Bert’s shirt bulged. Another weapon? She prayed not.

  He gave her no time to ask. “I should thank you, Lassiter.”

  “Thank me? For what? Not killing you before this?”

  “You kill me?” He laughed sharply. “I could have killed both of you out by Farley’s house if I hadn’t been so worried someone would hear Gypsy’s screams.” Jabbing the pistol against Adam’s neck again, he chuckled. “Of course, then I wouldn’t have had all this fun.”

  “Then why—” Gyp
sy choked on the rest of her question as Bert pulled back the hammer on the pistol.

  “Shut up!” he snarled. When she nodded, he slowly put the hammer back without firing the gun. His grin returned. “Until you tipped me off, Lassiter, I wasn’t really sure Gypsy was the woman I was searching for.” Looking at her, he smiled around the cheroot he held in his teeth. “At first, I was pretty sure. She was as white as a ghost after I made sure she got one of my notes.”

  “You sent them?” she cried. “But how? They were postmarked from Saginaw, and you were here.”

  “I got a friend to postmark the envelopes before I came out here.” He frowned. “But you stopped being afraid, Gypsy.”

  Adam laughed, shocking her. “That’s because I was making sure she didn’t get your sadistic notes, Sayre. And maybe she isn’t the woman you’re looking for. Those notes would have scared anyone.”

  “Oh, she’s the woman I’m looking for. I knew after I heard you two cozying up the other day and talking about Virginy. Then I knew my guess wasn’t so far off the mark.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

  With a growl, he snapped, “Because of Joby.”

  “Joby? Who’s Joby?”

  “He was my older brother, but you killed him!” His lips twisted.

  Horror teased Gypsy when Bert poked Adam again with the gun. He wanted her to beg for their lives. She would. She’d do anything to save Adam. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t?” he shrieked. Raising the pistol, he put its tip against Adam’s ear. “Do you want to see me kill this no-good sneak now, or do you want to tell him first about how you killed my brother?”

  “Joby? Joby Sayre?”

  “Corporal Jonas Sayre of the New Jersey Light Artillery.” He laughed when she gasped. “So you do remember that name, Gypsy Elliott! Or do you prefer to be called by your real name? You were a fool to take your brother’s name.”

  “Elliott?” asked Adam in a taut voice.

  Bert chortled. “Your brother’s name wasn’t Gypsy, was it, Elizabeth Wilkins?”

  “Wilkins?” Adam repeated fiercely.

  “Mean something to you, Lassiter?” He emphasized his question with another nudge of the sharp barrel.

  “Colonel Glenmark’s wife’s maiden name is Wilkins.” Adam saw the silent apology in Gypsy’s eyes. Not that he could blame her, for he had been as secretive. If one of them had revealed the complete truth, they would not be about to die.

  “Fooled you, too, Lassiter? Don’t blame your boss. He just did what his wife asked. Sylvia Wilkins Glenmark helped her sister hide in the north woods by telling her husband lies. He doesn’t have any idea why Gypsy wanted to come here, does he?”

  She must choose her words carefully. She did not want Daniel to become his next victim. “Sylvia told him I was trying to get away from a broken heart. He believed it was a lover I was fleeing, not just the grief of seeing my family die one by one. It wasn’t coincidence, was it? It was you!”

  “I thought Sylvia had paid for helping you, but she’s still alive.” He chuckled. “I’ll take care of that after I take care of you.” His lips tightened in distaste as his thumb played on the hammer of the gun. “At first, I hadn’t planned to kill her, because she was married to Glenmark when you murdered my brother.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did!” Tapping the ashes from his cigar onto the floor, he said, “I searched Glenmark’s home for an address for you. The fool thought Farley was the target. That must be why he sent this sneak to find me.”

  Adam interjected quietly, “You said you weren’t sure who Gypsy was until—”

  “Trying to squirm out of being so caught up seducing her that you let the truth slip out, Lassiter?” He laughed. “I wasn’t sure she was stupid enough to come here. I knew Glenmark’s wife had helped her hide somewhere, but I thought it would be at Glenmark’s mill or office. I went there first, but she wasn’t there. The last place connected with Glenmark was this damn logging camp. But which woman was she? Farley’s mistress or one of Nissa’s harlots or the camp cook? I began to suspect Gypsy was the woman I’ve been looking for. You confirmed it for me, Lassiter, with your talk about Virginy.”

  Gypsy put her hand against the molasses barrel in front of her. Too many lies had played them into Sayre’s hands. If only she had been honest with Daniel and Sylvia. If only Daniel had urged Adam to tell her the truth. If only she had told Adam her real name. Those ifs meant nothing now.

  “If you’ve stalked and murdered my family in retribution for your brother’s death,” she said, “then you’ve committed your crimes for no reason.”

  “You lured Joby into your home. When you discovered he was a Yankee, you killed him!”

  “Corporal Sayre was dying when he stumbled into our yard. He’d been caught by a Confederate patrol in the city. The bullet was in his chest! How he lived to reach us, I don’t know.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.” Renewed despair filled her as she let the memory flow out. “Mother and I helped him into the house. He had lost consciousness before we could get him to the settee in the parlor.” She swallowed past the thickness in her throat. “Within minutes, he was dead.”

  She raised her gaze to Bert’s. He must believe her.

  “Bert, we were so scared. If we had contacted the Confederate garrison, we could have been shot for trying to help a Yankee.” Her hand clenched on the barrel. “The only choice was going to the Yankees, but, with my brother having fought for the South, I knew they might not listen. I went anyhow. If I had not been able to say Colonel Daniel Glenmark was my brother-in-law, they would have …”

  “Shot you?” sneered Bert. “That would have been too bad.”

  “I don’t know what they told you in the official report,” she whispered as she straightened her shoulders. “We did nothing to harm him and could do nothing to help him.”

  “You’re lying! I read the letter my mother received from Joby’s commander. He died by a Confederate ball fired by Elizabeth Wilkins at her parents’ home. Right then and there, I promised to see all of you dead. I took care of them. Now it’s your turn.”

  She shook her head. Sickness cut through her at the thought of so much death caused by a miswritten report. “I’m telling you the truth, Bert. If we could have helped him, we would have.”

  “You’re lying! You—”

  Adam interrupted, “Sayre, she saved your life! Don’t you owe her something for that?”

  “Saved my life?” Incredulity widened Bert’s eyes.

  “You would have burned to death if she hadn’t been so quick when you caught your sleeve on fire.”

  Gypsy watched Bert’s face. Emotions sped past his eyes, contorting his lips. Slowly he lowered the gun. She shivered with relief. She took a step forward, raising her hand to Adam. A fierce curse froze her in place.

  “Don’t move, Gypsy!” Bert shouted.

  “Bert—”

  “Shut up, woman!” The deranged glitter returned to his eyes. “If you think I’m grateful to you, you’re mad. I wouldn’t have been burned if it weren’t for you.”

  “Be sensible,” urged Adam. “She’s been honest. She didn’t kill your brother.”

  “Whether she did or not, one of her Johnny Rebs did. I loved my brother. He’s dead. Soon she will be. Get over there, Lassiter.”

  The gun in Adam’s back seconded the order. Walking around the cask in the middle of the floor, he fisted his hands at his side as Bert kicked his rifle out of the way. It clattered against the door.

  Gypsy backed away from Bert’s satisfied smile. The cruelty which haunted her gleamed in his eyes. Eight years of pain and betrayal might end before she drew her next breath. She wanted to apologize to Adam for drawing him into this lunacy. She had let love entrap her and the one she loved yet again.

  “Sit on the floor, woman!” Bert laughed. “Sit like a good girl if you don’t want me to kil
l Lassiter now, Gypsy. Gypsy or Elizabeth? Which name do you want on your grave?”

  She refused to answer. The horrible memory of her family’s faces, frozen in the torment they had suffered before this man murdered them, flashed through her mind.

  His smile vanished. “Sit on the floor!”

  “All right. Just—”

  “Do as I tell you, or I’ll let you see the color of Lassiter’s blood.”

  “Bert—”

  “Sit!”

  Carefully she lowered herself to the floor. She leaned back against the table as he ordered.

  “Lassiter, on your knees.”

  As Adam obeyed silently, she held out her hand to him. She wanted to touch him once more before they died.

  Bert slapped her hand away and whirled to hold the gun inches from Adam’s face. “Tie her hands behind the table leg, Lassiter.”

  “Listen, you stinking—”

  Bert reaimed the pistol at Gypsy. “Tie her up tight, Lassiter, or she’s dead now.”

  Adam jumped to his feet. Bert raised the gun to Adam’s chest.

  Gypsy cried, “No, Adam! Don’t!”

  Grinning when Adam hesitated, Sayre said, “Listen to her. She has more sense than you.”

  With no choice but to obey or watch Gypsy be murdered, Adam knelt on the floor. Sayre shoved a ball of thick twine into his hands.

  When Gypsy obeyed Sayre’s order to put her hands behind the table leg, Adam leaned forward. “I won’t leave you here,” he whispered as he secured the rope around her wrists. “I love you.”

  “Save yourself,” she begged, her luminous eyes glowing with tears. “You can’t save me.”

  “Up!” ordered Sayre before Adam could answer. Keeping the gun aimed at her, he checked the ropes. “Good job, Lassiter. Or do you prefer Major Lassiter?”

  “The war is over, Sayre. Let the past go.”

  Bert ignored him and continued, “Too bad you got mixed up with Gypsy here. You’re not a bad guy for a sneaky cop.”

  He stood. “I’m not a police officer. I’m a private detective.”

  “Not much difference in my book. Either way, you’re going to be a dead one. If you’d just hit the hay trail and kept going, you’d have been left alive to mourn Miss Wilkins and her sister along with Glenmark. Now …” He motioned with the gun toward the door.