by Kristin Holt
No— no! Didn’t he realize the trunk would be airless— no solution at all?
But he dropped inside, so far inside only his shoulders were above the rim.
And suddenly she saw. The trunk had a false bottom. And below that trunk, a crawl space.
Chapter Nineteen
Josie clung to her husband’s hand as he led her into the cool depths of a basement? A tunnel?
In the absolute darkness, she couldn’t tell which.
He’d taken time to close the trunk, reset the false floor, to ensure anyone who followed wouldn’t know where they’d gone.
“You were going to leave me up there?”
“No, dearest. No.”
“So where is Gertie?”
“She went ahead.”
“And you know about this tunnel?”
What else hadn’t her husband told her? Had he chosen Gertie’s house to rob because he knew the woman? Was this a set-up?
“She called to her dogs, ducked inside here, and I followed, just far enough to make sure she didn’t lock us out.”
“Where are they now?”
“Ran on ahead. Do you feel the air current?”
The air wasn’t close and dank as she expected, but fresh and cool, as if well-ventilated.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Pray she hasn’t locked a gate or a grill on the other end.”
Josie scooped up her ruined dress to hold it high enough to prevent falling.
Moisture seeped up through the holes in her boots and made her stockings uncomfortably wet.
At least the ceiling was high enough for even Adam to stand and walk.
He must have had his hand extended to feel the wall because he moved forward with confidence and certainty, surging forward at a near-sprint.
The tunnel took a gradual curve. Josie sensed it more than felt it, but eventually a pale light showed at the far end and in another twenty or so paces it became evident they approached an exit— or at least another access point.
“Who built this tunnel?” she asked.
“I have no idea.”
“What is it for?”
“I don’t know.”
But when they reached the other end of the tunnel it became apparent the passageway dead-ended, with only one other access point— at least that they’d noticed in their dark and rapid trek.
How far had they come, underground? One mile? Half a mile? Less?
Light fell through a trap door in the tunnel ceiling. A rough hand-hewn ladder— heavy and sturdy, provided access to the building above. Golden lamplight, a halo around his black hair, mussed from numerous scuffles and endearingly rough.
From where Josie stood, exposed rafters in the structure above identified it as a barn or other outbuilding.
With care, Adam waited at the bottom of a sturdy-looking wooden ladder and peered upward, through an open trap door leading into a wooden building.
Josie’s heart climbed in her throat. He couldn’t go up there unarmed. She retrieved from her pocket the pistol Gertie had given her and tapped Adam’s hand with the grip. “Take this,” she whispered.
He nodded, checked the hammer and tucked the weapon into the back of his trousers.
Adam grasped her hand, silently nudged her behind himself. He put a shoe to the bottom rung. He climbed just enough to peer above the floor boards.
He stiffened, as if he’d heard or seen something she could not.
Footsteps sounded on the rough floor boards.
Someone approached.
“Well, well. Look who finally came calling.” A man’s voice. Deep. Resonant. And almost hard. “A dead man.”
Josie’s skin crawled in fear for her husband. How would they escape?
Whoever it was, a burly man, heavy, thick through the shoulders dropped to his haunches at the mouth of the trap door.
Josie’s heart beat raced, and not from her underground rush. This man could easily be one of the marauders, one of the men who knew she and Adam were in the adobe house and wanted them dead.
All this time, Adam kept the pistol Josie had passed over to him tucked in the back of his trousers.
Why hadn’t Adam pulled it free, kept it in his hand as a show of strength and so he might use it in self-defense?
Her husband must have held the other man’s gaze for some sort of silent communication passed between them. Adam slowly moved his feet up the rungs. He stepped out of the tunnel, and though he kept his attention completely on the lean and powerfully built man beside him, Adam curled his fingers in an invitation for Josie to come on up.
Surely, if he feared for their lives he’d tell her to run, wouldn’t he? Rather than bring her up where she’d bring herself into closer proximity to a murderer?
Josie couldn’t think about it. She scurried up the ladder and ducked under Adam’s protective arm. This close, the older man towered over Adam’s more-than-six-foot frame. Gray streaked the hair at his temples, beneath a weather-beaten Stetson. He dressed much like Gertie had, in working gear. This man ranched or farmed or otherwise belonged in this rustic, wild place.
Was this his tack room? It had to be within a spacious barn. The tunnel had led them to a tack room.
Probably out of line of site from the mob burning down Gertie’s house.
But once the house was consumed in flames, the floor boards reduced to ash, the foundation of that house would be exposed, and someone would easily see the lack of human bones and the tunnel lined with stone.
They wouldn’t be safe here for long. She nearly opened her mouth to remind the men of impending danger when the stranger offered Adam a handshake.
“Adam Taylor,” the big man said. “We finally meet.”
Adam’s accepted the handshake. Did he know this fellow? Or was it out of habit?
“And you are…?”
“David Forsberg.”
Josie clung to her husband’s damp shirt, trembling herself. Who was this man, and what on earth did he want with them?
“Where is Gertie?” Adam asked.
“Nearby.”
“I’ll take a wild guess and assume as Gertie led us to you,” Adam said, “and you seem to know who I am. You’re no doubt the David Forsberg on the Silver Queen payroll.”
“Are we safe here?” His heart still pounded and he wanted nothing so much as to push past the door of the lamp-lit room into the barn beyond and peek out a window or door, get the lay of the land, so to speak.
“For now.”
“Then talk, Forsberg. How are you and Gertie tangled up in this?”
Josie had wrapped both of her hands on the waistband of his trousers. She clung to him with the same force as she had when he’d last seen her with her sister, at Union Station. She obviously found strength in physical touch.
For now, it was enough that she stayed behind him.
“You’re bleeding.” Forsberg had seen the blood on Adam’s shirt.
“It’s stitched— don’t worry about it.”
And blast it if Forsberg didn’t approach and yank Adam’s shirt out from his trousers.
Adam grabbed the older man’s forearm. “Hold up there.”
“You have no idea what I do for you and your company, do you Mr. Taylor?”
“You’re—” He drew a blank. A big, yawning blank.
“I’m the physician hired to look after your men. Didn’t stop to wonder why I live outside of camp?” Forsberg batted Adam’s hold away, pulled up the offending shirt and when he found Adam’s Union Suit in the way, seemed to assess how much blood had come through the fabirc.
The old man— a doctor!— moved out of his light source. “No bullet hole. You say you’ve had sutures. Could’ve opened it up. Let me see.”
Apparently the fellow wouldn’t give Adam an answer of any sort until he did his show and tell. He unbuttoned the top two buttons, loosened his cuffs, and pulled his shirt over his head. Next, unbuttoned the union suit and peeled it down.
Josie stayed out o
f the way of his flailing elbows but the moment he stilled, she’d clutched onto his trousers again. She rested her cheek against his back, and her nearness and the brush of her breath against his bare skin felt delicious.
Soothing in a way having a doctor on hand could possibly do.
“That’s sewing thread,” Forsberg noted. “Who did this?”
“My wife.”
“Already on the lam by then. Hmm.” Forsberg grunted— apparently permission for Adam to pull his clothes back on. “Well, Mrs. Taylor, you did a fine job of sewing your man back together. The stitches held, despite all you’ve no doubt been through. By the looks of your trousers and shirt, I’d say you took a nasty fall, kicked around in the dirt awhile.”
“I told you this was nothing.”
“I bet it bled like a stuck pig.”
“When fresh.”
Forsberg grunted. “And that three-quarter mile run through the tunnel didn’t help.”
“Why a tunnel? What’s that all about?”
“Know much about Mormons, Taylor?”
“Enough.” With his primary residence in Ogden City, he’d known and worked with plenty. Most of them were good men and fine neighbors… if a little standoffish. But he understood why they kept to themselves. He would, too, if he lived differently than everyone else.
“Well, I am one. My wife Gertie lives in that adobe place at the other end. I use the tunnel when I need to make a hasty escape, evade the law a time or two, myself.”
Josie leaned around, to get a look at David Forsberg, he guessed. “You’re a polygamist? I’ve never seen a polygamist before.”
“Now did I admit to unlawful cohabitation? I did not.” But Forsberg winked. “My first wife lives in the house next to this barn.”
“How many wives do you have?” A kind of awe flavored Josie’s voice.
Adam glared at Forsberg. “If you two wouldn’t mind having this conversation later, I suggest we take care of the bigger issues at hand.”
“No problem, Boss.” Forsberg chuckled. He opened the doorway into the barn, dark and heavy with the odors of animals, leather, hay and straw. He stood stock still, listening apparently, and using whatever senses he had at his disposal. A man who knew how to avoid capture and prison time evidently knew a thing or two.
He picked up the lantern. “Follow me, you two.”
Adam clasped Josie’s hand and followed the doctor. He supposed the old man could be part of the problem at Silver Queen, but his gut told him that was unlikely.
“We’re going for a ride.” He opened a false bottom on his wagon, revealing enough space for a man to lie flat— or a man and a small woman. “Get in.”
Adam balked. He couldn’t imagine spending five minutes lying flat in an enclosed space. Like a coffin.
“You want to get out this alive? Less than a mile from here, you’ve got a mob of nearly a hundred angry miners. They’re madder than a dropped hornet’s nest and every bit as mean. Gertie told me they called you out, Mr. Adam Taylor, so I suggest if you and your bride want to live to see morning, you’ll do as I say.”
A beat passed and Adam held his breath.
“You know how many times I rode in that compartment? Plenty. Air holes, too. Now get in.”
Adam turned to Josie. This decision included them both. He needed to consider what she wanted and her safety, too.
Josie climbed into the back and dropped inside.
“When we get to wherever we’re going, David Forsberg, I want some answers.”
Chapter Twenty
They rumbled across a bumpy road, squished and uncomfortable in the hidden compartment in the wagon bed. Josie’s light weight and warmth pressed to his side, kept him sane.
It was a tight fit, cramped, awkward, and they were jostled about, never knowing which way they’d be thrown. But it certainly gave Adam plenty of time to think.
His beautiful bride lay beside him. This is not what he’d planned for their honeymoon. Hiding, cowering, placing her in danger.
She couldn’t be too impressed.
Remorse and anger vied for dominance. Outrage won out. In fact, his temper rose by the moment. His own men trying to kill him? To murder his tiny, sweet wife?
Josie clung to him. She’d been wonderful throughout. The only bright spot in his life since they’d left Utah.
He thumped a fist against the wood. “Where are you taking us?” he called out to the doctor.
“Quiet. We don’t want anyone to know you’re back there. I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
Adam gritted his teeth. Somewhere else he could hide out from his own men?
Maybe it was time he came up with his own plan. “Josie. I’m truly sorry about this.”
Her hand clenched on his chest as her slight weight allowed her to curl up beside him. “It’s not your fault.”
“I had planned to spoil you, to woo you, to win you. Some courtship, isn’t it?” He could hear the bitterness in his voice. “You probably wish you’d never left Lawrence.”
“Well, you certainly know how to show a girl an exciting time.”
He tried not to chuckle. Their situation was dire and he found himself biting back a grin. This girl did things to him, to his emotions, his heart.
“I think it’s pretty obvious somebody doesn’t want you to arrive at the silver mine,” her soft voice worried. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“I don’t know, but that’s a really good question. It would have to be someone who knew we were coming. But I suppose word gets around fast.”
“Or, conversely, perhaps someone wanted to lure you out.”
“By killing innocent men?”
She smoothed his shirt. “Either way, if you were dead, who gains the most?”
“Financially?”
He felt her nod.
“Well, you would.”
She giggled. “Really? Oh dear, my evil plan is discovered.”
He grinned. “I would suspect you, but you’ve been in danger beside me the entire time.”
“Perhaps it’s part of my plan?”
He couldn’t help it, he chuckled that time.
“Quiet back there.”
“Just quit patching me up,” he whispered. “Then you’ll be a rich widow.”
“I really didn’t think this through, did I?”
He smothered another laugh. Wished there was enough room to kiss her.
“Back to the subject at hand. Who would inherit if we both died?”
“It would stay in the family.”
“Could anyone in your family want to kill you?”
“No. Richard and I were trained to take over because there was no one else. My father surely isn’t interested.”
“What about Richard? Could he be trying to kill you? For an inheritance?”
He huffed out a breath. “No. The idea is ludicrous. Anyway, it wouldn’t go to him. It would go to my family. And trust me when I say they are completely uninterested in running the business. They just like getting the monthly stipend my grandfather set up. No one is hurting for funds.”
“All right. So if it’s not for profit, do you think you have a flat-out killer on your hands? We had one in Lawrence a few years back. Everyone was afraid and there were a lot of deaths before the man was caught. The public wanted to know why, but we never received a satisfactory answer. It seemed he just liked to kill.”
“A psychopath? That doesn’t feel quite right, but it’s certainly something to look into.”
“If not that, could it be about revenge?”
The thought electrified him and the hair on the back of his neck rose. “It’s a possibility. Men die every year working the mines. We do our best to ensure safety, but accidents happen. Mistakes are made.”
And it actually fit, didn’t it? Certainly better than someone running around murdering miners a dozen or more at a time for pleasure.
“What about the Utah mine? The one where ten men lost their lives? Do you think that was sim
ply an accident? Or could they be related? Do you suspect sabotage?”
He was slow to answer as he thought it out. “If sabotage is taking place at other sites, how many men would have to communicate? And if they did correspond, it would have to be by telegraph.”
She shifted beside him. “Aren’t mines pretty isolated?”
“Yes, they are. Which is why we have telegraphs at every mining site.”
But his men didn’t have access for the most part. He considered the fact he was headed to a safe house to hide. He sincerely doubted those men roamed the countryside trying to find him. In the middle of the night, someone must have riled them up, and they’d gone for blood. But at this moment? He had no doubt they worked the mine, earning their living.
A living, made possible by his family’s business. Maybe even rethinking what they’d done last night. The question was, who riled them? He certainly wasn’t going to find out while sitting in a safe house and hoping that the doctor would glean some information. A lot had happened. Someone tried to stick a knife in his back, attempted to blow them up with dynamite, and then endeavored to burn them inside a house.
He was one of the owners of the blasted company and he was hiding in the back of a wagon! And his wife watched the whole damn thing.
He ought to go to the mine and fire the lot of them. Or better yet, have them arrested. He might be young, but he wasn’t inexperienced. What must his wife be thinking of him at this moment? Hiding in the back of the wagon? And headed to a new place to hide.
His jaw clenched. He needed to be proactive, and it needed to be now. While he still retained his self-respect.
With the side of his fist he pounded on the wood of the hidden door. “Doctor— let us out of here. Now.”
Hours later, two towns over, he’d sent out a telegram of his own.
Hours after that, he received a response. Apparently, New Mexico’s territorial governor, LeBaron Bradford Prince, agreed with Adam.
Men trying to kill off the tax-paying owners of large companies needed a bit of a reprimand.
Chapter Twenty-One
