Last Chance

by Jill Marie Landis

  "You know they're right, don't you?" he asked.

  "About what?"

  "Going back to town."

  Rachel pretended to not know what he was talking about. "I'm not going back tonight, obviously, but tomorrow—"

  "Rachel, whether you want to face it or not, your life has been irrevocably changed by this incident."

  If he only knew, she thought.

  He was watching her closely. Too closely. Rachel felt her skin crawl.

  Robert pushed away from the railing and stepped toward her so quickly she had no chance to move away. He reached out and in a move that seemed very casual, slipped his arm about her waist. If he was offering her comfort, he was failing miserably.

  "Let me help you put this all behind you, Rachel. Leave with me when I go back to New Orleans. We can travel the world together."

  He had forgotten one important factor.

  "What about Ty?" she asked, her voice low. She knew that although they were directly outside Stuart's office, which was unoccupied for the moment, every window in the house was open. She didn't want to risk anyone overhearing their conversation.

  Not when she hoped to find out as much as she could about his life in New Orleans.

  "Tyson can come along, of course. He's my nephew, after all."

  "It would be very expensive," she said, toying with a button on her sleeve, "the three of us traveling around the world."

  Head back, he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Then he looked down at her. "I don't have to worry about money, Rachel."

  "No?"

  "No."

  On the verge of asking how he had built his business up so successfully, she was caught unawares when he flicked the cigar over the balcony and swept her into his arms.

  Her initial reaction was to struggle, but she forced herself to relax, to let him think she trusted him, hoping to get him to trust in her.

  Robert dipped his head to kiss her, surprised at her acquiescence but willing to take advantage of it all the same. He tightened his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers.

  Rachel closed her eyes. All of her senses rebelled as she tried to feign a mere fraction of the passion she had experienced in Lane's arms. She let Robert deepen his kiss and opened her lips to him. His tongue slid between them. Although the night was warm, she shivered, not with passion, but with revulsion, as she forced herself to reach up and slip her arms about his neck. The kiss seemed to go on and on, but instead of driving her mindless with desire, she became fully aware, too aware, of his every move. Robert pulled her closer, pressed his hand against the small of her back before he let it slip down to cup her hip and then her buttocks.

  Rachel pulled back with a gasp. "Robert, you startled me."

  "I'm sorry, but if you only knew how long I've waited for this moment, Rachel—"

  "Isn't this charming?" Lane Cassidy's voice cut through the heavy night air.

  Robert's profession of love died in his throat. He quickly released Rachel, and together they watched as Lane Cassidy vaulted over the low veranda rail in a bound. He landed almost silently not three feet away.

  Dressed from head to toe in midnight black, Lane leaned against the rail, much as Robert had done earlier. He struck a casual pose, but was feeling far from nonchalant. His gut had twisted unmercifully at the sight of Rachel returning Robert McKenna's kiss.

  He tried to read her expression, to see into the depths of her eyes, but they were hidden by the shadows of the night. Was she still on his side, or had she betrayed him?

  Had she learned her lessons far too well last night? Had his lovemaking only inspired a newfound wantonness in her? He couldn't believe it of her. There had to be a logical explanation, but his temper was swiftly overriding his good sense.

  Rachel felt Lane's tension from across the porch and tried to step farther away from Robert, but her brother-in-law reached for her hand. Afraid to upset Robert, she did not shy away. But she had to let Lane know she had not betrayed him. "Go inside, Rachel. I want to talk to Mr. McKenna alone," Lane demanded without a trace of warmth.

  "I'd like to stay."

  "I'd like you to go." There was no room for argument in his tone. She tried all the same.

  "Please…" Somehow she had to let him know exactly what she had told Robert and to make certain he knew that he could still put his plan to trap Robert into motion, that she had not revealed he was a Pinkerton agent.

  "Rachel, perhaps it would be best if you left us alone. Obviously there is something pressing Cassidy feels the need to discuss," Robert urged.

  Rachel felt trapped with both of them watching her so intently. Her mind raced as fast as her heart was pounding. Robert was unarmed—at least she thought he was, since there was no way Loretta would allow firearms at her table.

  Lane's gun was clearly visible in the darkness, the cold steel reflecting flashes of moonlight whenever he moved.

  He could defend himself.

  With a last, searching look at Lane, Rachel reluctantly did as they asked and left them.

  Lane watched her retreat, silently admiring the graceful way she slightly lifted the hem of her skirt before she swept into the house on a rustle of silk. Content to let Robert make the first move, he found he didn't have to wait long.

  "What's this all about, Cassidy?"

  "I think you know."

  "I don't intend to stand here and play cat and mouse with you. We both have better things to do. You, for one, should be running from the sheriff," Robert reminded him.

  "So should you, for that matter," Lane countered. He watched McKenna stiffen ever so slightly. "It's only a matter of time before somebody else figures out that you're the notorious Gentleman Bandit."

  "That's absurd."

  "Is it? The robberies conveniently coincide with your trips home, McKenna. Can you explain that?"

  "Coincidence."

  "I don't think so. Besides, I have proof," Lane bluffed.

  "How can you have proof when there is none?"

  "How can you be so certain there is no proof unless you are the Bandit?"

  Robert sidestepped giving an answer. "Obviously this is why you wanted to meet with me the other day. Why drag Rachel into it? Why the kidnapping?"

  "She showed up out of nowhere, yammering that I should leave her and the boy alone. I couldn't very well tell her that I knew you're the Gentleman Bandit, could I? I wasn't thinking straight and didn't see any way out of it, so I rode off with her to scare the hell out of her and to show you I mean business. It looked like it worked. Scared her right into your arms."

  "Then you haven't talked to her about this idiotic suspicion of yours?" Robert demanded.

  "I'm not that stupid. Besides, if I'd planted a seed of doubt in her mind, you think a stickler like Rachel would let you touch her?"

  "You have a point." Robert visibly relaxed and strolled to a wicker settee. He sat down, crossed his legs and rested his palm on one knee, content to stare up at Lane for a moment. "If you have proof I'm the Bandit, why don't you go to the authorities and collect the reward?"

  "And kill the goose who could wind up laying me a golden egg? I've spent too long on the wrong side of the law to turn you in when I can have a piece of the take."

  Robert smiled. "I think I'm beginning to understand. You ran off with Rachel to impress me with your sincerity, is that it? Or did you just want her all to yourself for a while?"

  "When I need a woman, I don't have to steal one," Lane told him bluntly.

  "No," Robert said, "handsome as you are, I don't suppose you do."

  Pretending not to mind while Robert toyed with him, Lane reached back and rested his hands on the porch rail as if he had all the time in the world. He could hear voices inside, and although the conversation was not clear, he thought he could tell Rachel's voice from the others. How long would it be before one of the McKennas happened along?

  "How do I know you can be trusted?"

  The question caught Lane by surprise, for he had hoped,
but never guessed, that cornering McKenna would be so easy.

  "You don't, but the way I see it, you don't have much of a choice. I'm good with a gun. The best around. That's what I'm here to offer."

  "I have been thinking of expanding my business interests," Robert said, suddenly coming to his feet. He closed the distance between them and stopped directly in front of Lane. "You might be just the man I need."

  So far McKenna had not admitted his guilt outright. Lane needed more than innuendos.

  "I'll have a job for you in two days' time," Robert continued. "Nothing complicated, just a quick transfer of funds. I'll give you the particulars in the morning. We can meet at the line shack again, if that suits you."

  Lane's mind raced ahead. He had to get word to Boyd and have operatives in place before the next holdup—he couldn't afford for anything to go wrong this time. An irritating shred of doubt still lingered. Things were going too smoothly. Had Rachel betrayed him? Was McKenna baiting a trap for him?

  Lane knew he would have to get to Chase and make certain none of the Trail's End hands stumbled upon the rendezvous, but before that, he had to get to Rachel and talk to her alone.

  Inside the house, Mary Margaret struck up a tune on the piano and began to sing. The warbling sounds carried loud and clear through the open windows.

  Robert moved along the veranda, headed for the door. "Until then, keep out of sight. The sheriff is still looking for you, although I doubt if he could find his own ass in the dark."

  Lane raised his hand to his hat brim and gave it a tug, then hopped back over the railing and disappeared into the darkness.

  Robert entered the house alone, and Rachel sighed with relief. From the settee near the window, she watched him pause beside the tea cart and pour himself a liberal dose of brandy, cup the snifter in his palm and savor the bouquet, content to forestall taking a sip until his hand had warmed the liquid.

  Mary Margaret was trilling along with the scales, her lips taut, quivering her lower jaw precisely as she had been instructed to do by the voice teacher Loretta had imported from Chicago for an entire summer two years before. The sound was torturing Rachel's frazzled nerves. She hoped it wasn't keeping Ty awake.

  Loretta and Stuart had already retired to their suite of rooms, Stuart well into his cups after the day's trying events. Loretta, unable to wrest any more information from Rachel, had stormed upstairs behind him.

  As if he could read her mind, Robert smiled at Rachel over the rim of the snifter and then walked over to where his aunt was lost in her music. He tapped Mary Margaret on the shoulder and so startled her that she gasped. She and the piano fell silent.

  "I think Rachel could use some peace and quiet, don't you?"

  Mary Margaret glanced over at Rachel, who attempted a weak smile and a nod, affirming Robert's appraisal.

  "Music is very calming," Mary Margaret said with a sniff.

  "Not tonight, I'm afraid," he insisted.

  She folded her music with a snap and stood up. Rachel watched her go. The moment Mary Margaret was out of the room and her footsteps could be heard on the stairs, Rachel was up and moving to gain Robert's side.

  "What in the world did he want?" Rachel asked, trying to appear affronted by Lane's sudden appearance.

  Robert deftly twisted his wrist to swirl the brandy in the snifter. He watched the liquid, not her, as he said, "Cassidy is obsessed with you, but don't worry, I warned him off. I told him he was never to come near you again."

  The game was being played out faster than she liked. Rachel clasped her hands together at her waist to keep them from trembling. "Thank you."

  Robert was watching her closely. "You should have seen his face when I told him you had agreed to come to New Orleans with me."

  "You did what? How dare you tell him something like that when I have agreed to nothing of the sort?" She couldn't hide the fury and contempt that roiled up inside her. Hands fisted at her sides, she took a step toward him and then realized her mistake.

  Robert was smiling at her like a cat with a canary gently entrapped between his jaws. He finished the last of his drink, set the snifter down and took two steps in her direction.

  "Perhaps you care for him after all."

  "It's not… it's just that… that I don't appreciate your taking liberties with the truth."

  He stepped close enough to reach out and fondle her earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. Rachel froze, uncertain, caught in a web she had spun to protect the man she loved.

  "What is it about him that excites you, Rachel?"

  "He doesn't—"

  "Don't tell me that's not true. I could feel the exhilaration radiating off you when he appeared out of the darkness." He ran his hand along her neck, his thumb massaging the hollow of her throat. "I could smell it."

  She wanted to shake off his hand but couldn't. Something in his eyes, something dark and threatening, held her there, kept her silent.

  "Is it the fact that he's notorious? If you like notoriety, I can give you that, too."

  "Let me go," she whispered.

  "Surely the truth doesn't frighten you, does it?" He cocked his head, a cold smirk on his face.

  The condescending look in his eyes reminded her of Stuart. Too much of Stuart. She found her wits, her will, her strength.

  "Let me go," she said again, but forcefully this time. Rachel struggled, trying to back away, but his hand was on her throat and held her imprisoned.

  "Why don't we get to the truth, Rachel?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I know you well enough to know you're hiding something."

  She felt herself flush. "No I'm not."

  "What is it? What did Cassidy tell you?"

  "Nothing."

  Robert's voice fell to a hush. He glanced toward the hall, then pulled her close. Inches separated them. "It doesn't matter what he told you, or what might have been going on between the two of you. By tomorrow, he'll be gone for good. Your reputation is in shreds. You will have no choice but to go with me to New Orleans."

  Gone? What did he mean, Lane would be gone for good? Gone where?

  Panic set in. She lashed out with her arm, took him by surprise and broke his hold on her throat. In an effort to escape him, she rushed headlong toward the double doors that led to the veranda, in her haste almost knocking over a table supporting one of Loretta's precious candelabra.

  Robert was on her in a flash. He grabbed her about the waist, forcing her off-balance. Rachel's toe caught in her hem. She lost her footing, felt herself falling. She stretched out her arms to brace herself. On the way down she fell against a fern stand and sent a Chinese urn crashing to the floor. Dirt and shards of the ceramic flew everywhere. The stand hit the veranda doors and forced them open.

  Robert straddled her, drew his hand back, ready to strike. Rachel raised herself up to her elbows and taunted him.

  "Hit me, Robert. I'd like to see you explain that to your parents."

  "I can handle them," he assured her.

  There was the slightest sound on the veranda. Rachel looked up. To her intense relief, Lane was framed in the open doorway. His gun was aimed dead at Robert's heart.

  "Why don't you explain it to me, McKenna?"

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Move away from her, McKenna, and no one will get hurt."

  There was not an ounce of hesitation or fear in Lane's voice as he stood in the doorway, his gun trained on Robert. Rachel tried to struggle to her feet.

  "Don't do anything stupid, Cassidy," Robert said, keeping his voice low as he raised one hand in submission. Reaching out for Rachel with the other, he helped her rise.

  Shaken, Rachel stood up, intent on moving away from Robert, but he didn't relinquish her hand. Before she could blink, he whipped her around in front of him, effectively using her as a shield. Blind anger suffocated her when she realized she had unwittingly become a pawn he could use against Lane.

  "If you don't want her har
med you'll put the gun away and get out now, Cassidy."

  Lane shook his head. "Sorry. It's too late for that."

  Muffled voices upstairs were followed by pounding footfalls. Rachel glanced toward the hall, then back at Lane. He had not moved. Robert held her close, so close she could feel the studs on his shirtfront pressing against her back.

  "You've got less than a minute to get out," Robert told Lane. "All hell will break loose when my father catches sight of you."

  "I've been to hell and back more than once," Lane assured him.

  Lane's eyes were forbidding enough to convince anyone that he had already seen the black depths of hell and wasn't afraid to face it head-on.

  Shouts echoed through the foyer and down the hall. Rachel tried to struggle, but Robert held her tight against him as the doors to the parlor flew open. Stuart McKenna crashed into the room dressed in a nightshirt, clutching a rifle that wavered in his hands.

  "What the hell—" His jowls quivered as he tried to focus his bloodshot eyes.

  Lane drew the old man's attention. "Mr. McKenna, before you do anything rash, I think you should know I'm an operative of the Pinkerton Detective Agency and I'm here to arrest your son on suspicion of robbery."

  "Balderdash!" the elder McKenna sputtered, his alarmed gaze cutting to Robert, who still held Rachel imprisoned in his arms, then back to Lane.

  Behind her, Rachel felt Robert shift his weight. He let go of her with one hand as he fumbled in his coat pocket. She reacted before he could recover, stomping the heel of her shoe down on his foot and elbowing him in the ribs.

  With a woof of pain and surprise, Robert let go.

  Off-balance and thrust sideways, Rachel stumbled away. Robert raised his arm, and she saw the flash of a silver derringer almost concealed by his palm.

  Before she could move, before she could call out a warning, he aimed the gun and fired at Lane.

  Lane immediately fired back and hit Robert in the shoulder. The force of the bullet spun Robert back against the wall, then he fell to the floor. Rachel screamed and reached for the heavy drapery to right herself. She clung to the velvet folds and watched in horror as Stuart, confused and muddled from too much liquor, tried to steady his rifle. He took aim at Lane and fired.