by Ivy McAdams
The group rode past the head of the alley, and time slowed as Clara's eyes hit each one of them. The one in the front wearing a black hat with a bear claw band. He looked to have some sort of scar on his cheek, and he grimaced around a cigar stub. Behind him two similar-looking men with matching black dusters and double-barrel shotguns. The one behind them caught her attention and stole her breath.
Images of him talking to her through the jail bars bombarded her. He'd been locked up next to her just days before, doing his best to sweet-talk her. He'd even stolen from her while she dozed.
The realization hit her like a jolt of electricity.
“Mason, we have to get them out of there!” she wheezed.
“What?”
She stared up at him with wild eyes. “The Croakers aren’t passing through. One of those men stole Sadie’s letter off me the other day. They know about the money. They’re here to hit the bank.”
Chapter 17
Clara leapt toward the bank, but Mason jerked her back by the arm.
“Wait,” he hissed. “You can’t go barging in there.”
He was right. She needed to cover her position first.
“You stay right here so you can see the door. I have a feeling our men are going to need cover fire.”
“Clara,” Mason said, eyes wide and darting toward the main road in front of the bank. Hers followed, but there was no sign of the Croakers yet. “Just slow down and we’ll―”
She pulled her arm taut against his hand. “There’s no time for slowing down, Mason. The boys think they’ve taken care of the only armed man in that entire bank. And what do you think is going to happen if two gangs hit the place at one time?”
He stared at her silently for a heartbeat before his fingers eased. “Things are going to go to shit.”
“Damn straight they are,” she whispered as she snatched her arm free.
He let her go and flipped the sides of his duster open to reveal the long guns strapped to his hips. He pulled out the shotgun Ace had given her and handed it over.
“Be careful,” he said.
She gave him a solid nod. “You too.”
Then she hurried over to the back corner of the bank and slunk along the wall. Jack was hovering at the opposite corner and frowned in confusion as she approached.
"Jack," she whispered. "I need you to cover across the alley there." She pointed to the space between two buildings across the way. "Stay in there. Wait for us to come outside."
His wide eyes blinked, mouth hanging ajar. “Are you going in?”
“I am. We have company. Keep your eyes open.” She nodded her chin across the alley again.
Jack still stared at her slack-jawed as he pattered across the dusty path and over to his new position.
Nelson had been watching from behind the corner of the tailor shop next door, and he wore a dirty scowl under his bushy gray mustache as she approached.
“I need you to stay right here,” she said as she slid up alongside him.
He shifted his shoulder away from her, and his eyes grew sharper. “Of course I’m going to stay here, woman. I can see just fine.”
Her teeth set, and she lifted her chin. “Stay here but watch the front.”
He scoffed. “Ain’t nothing going on in the front.”
“There will be. Listen up, and watch the front.”
His lip curled in a snarl. “What do you know?”
A ribbon of hot anger zipped through her, and she lifted her shotgun to point it at Nelson’s chest. “Watch the damn front and cover your men.”
The old man’s face tightened, but he didn’t retort.
It was enough for her. She didn’t have time to waste on him.
She lowered her gun and hurried to the back wall of the bank again. The rumble of horse hooves reached her ear, and she glanced at Mason. He gave her a dark, ominous nod.
The Croakers were at the front.
She rushed around the corner and was just reaching for the side door when it opened.
A gasp stole her breath away as she fell back a step, fumbling for her gun. The door swung toward her, and she leapt aside. Jeremiah’s large eyes met hers as he thundered down the steps, two bulging bags slung over his shoulders. Her heart hammered as she moved out of his way, waving him through.
“Go, go,” she whispered as she regained her breath.
The big man moved past her, his gun slung across his back under the big bags. They sagged with weight, and she figured they must weigh close to a hundred pounds apiece.
She stared after him as he stepped into the alley, then turned her attention to the door again. She leapt up the steps and peered through the doorway.
Far across the room, the safe door stood wide open as it had the day she’d visited. Ace stood just outside it, gun in hand, moving his hand and giving silent orders to his men. Clay stepped out of the safe cavity with two bags hanging over his shoulders. He didn’t make it look as easy as Jeremiah, but she was still impressed by his strength.
He blew out a silent breath as he strode toward the door. When his eyes landed on her, he started, staring at her with a deep crease in his brow. His blue eyes danced about her face, behind her, back to her again.
She gave him a pointed look and jerked a thumb over her shoulder to hurry him along. Thankfully he didn’t stand around asking her silent questions and brushed past her and out the door.
Once he was out, she stole a glance to the front of the bank. It was quiet with a dull hum of voices, thank goodness. More or less. A lady clerk stood in the foyer, chatting with other bank staff. One of the men in the front was the small fellow that had taken her back previously. The other man hovered in the doorway to the backside of the building, arm slung casually through the bars of the open door.
Clara’s heart flipped. That barred door would be the only thing between her men and the vicious Croakers in a matter of seconds. It needed to be closed. Their lives could depend on it.
She stepped into the room, waving an arm wide to catch Ace’s attention. When his eyes shifted in her direction, his entire body froze. His large eyes were locked on hers, arms and legs suddenly so rigid he looked as if he might topple over.
She motioned to him to hurry, to run. He was still too frozen to move, eyes unblinking.
Her mouth formed his name silently, pleading him to listen.
Otis stepped out of the vault in front of him, hauling a single bag against his chest, and Ace finally blinked and reanimated. He jerked his bandana down his face and scowled at Clara, gesturing in earnest. What was she doing in there? Get back outside. It’s dangerous.
She knew all of that already, but it wasn’t going to stop her. Her family was still inside the building, and the only measure of security the bank had to keep the Croakers off them was compromised.
But she could fix it.
She gave Ace a stern face and pointed at the back door again, then turned away. He’d have to speak out to get her attention now, and she knew he wouldn’t do that.
She walked through the large back room, silently setting her shotgun on the desk at the end of the hallway and straightening her dress as she entered the corridor.
Her heart drummed like it never had before. Her mouth was dry. Fingers itchy. She was an idiot, but it was too late. She was in, and she had a job to do.
“Oh gracious,” she shouted, picking up the pace to rush down the hall.
The group up front turned alarmed faces on her.
“I saw some horrible looking men outside,” she cried. “Robbers! I think they’re coming this way.”
“Where did you come from?” The man on the door asked in a stern confusion.
She motioned over her shoulder casually. “In the back office there. I saw them through the window. There!” She pointed toward the front door again, doing her best to draw their eyes anywhere but the back room.
Everyone turned to look at the front door as she closed the distance between them. If she could just push that fellow out of the w
ay, she could get that door closed.
But he turned back to frown at her.
“Hey, that back office doesn’t have a window.”
She pulled up short, fumbling for her next fib, when the front doors flew open. The two matching Croakers stepped inside, rifles at the ready. The clerks shrieked just before the men open fired.
Clara screamed, ducking back into the hallway, and scrambled away from the front desk. More gunshots. Clara ran. When bullets drove into the corridor wall next to her, she threw herself into the first office doorway she could.
A man in a gray suit stood behind his desk, eyes wider than the moon. She pressed her finger to her lips as she ran in, joining him behind his desk and ducking down low. He stared at her for a moment before dropping to his knees as well.
Something in the front of the building crashed.
“What the hell?” An angry man’s voice growled from the front. “Go around the back.”
Clara hissed in a breath, fingers clenched between her knees. All she could do was hope Nelson and Mason were on alert.
More crashing and heavy boots on the wooden floor. They were getting closer, and she clenched her eyes shut.
When the thumps reached the doorway, the man next to her jumped up. She reached for his arm, but it was too late. A gun popped, and the man slumped back to the floor as fast as he’d left it. She shrieked as he crumpled, and the footsteps kept coming.
She screamed the only word her mind would focus on.
Ace.
She pressed tight against the desk to hide her body, even though she knew her cover was blown. Whoever was standing in the office with her was just feet away. She could see his dusty brown boots underneath the edge of the desk. He’d stopped, and he stood a moment before he finally spoke. It was the same voice that’d given orders before.
“Ace, hmm?”
There was an amused growl in his throat. Then his boots moved again, swinging wide around the desk at a casual pace.
"I know a couple of Aces," he said. "Maybe one or two that might be inside a bank."
As he drew nearer, she slipped along the opposite side of the desk, keeping low to the ground.
“Wouldn’t be Ace Van den Berg, would it?”
Clara froze, the rushing blood in her veins running cold. Did opposing gangs know each other? Or was Ace more notorious than she knew?
While she let the questions roll through her, the boots continued to move. Then the man slammed a hand down on the desktop, startling her right off the ground, and she leapt up. Realizing her mistake immediately, she spun to face the man and backed away.
It was the man she’d seen riding in the lead of the Croaker group. Bear claw hat and a scar that ran from his jaw to his temple.
“Why hello there,” he cooed, giving her a smile that was almost familiar but for the dirty teeth. She’d seen him somewhere before, but strangely, she couldn’t remember where.
Clara stood silently, unsure of what to do with her hands. She wanted to run. Just make a break for it and go. But there was no way she was getting back out into the hall without him shooting her.
“You here with Ace Van den Berg?” he asked, a sharper edge to his tone.
Clara pressed her lips in tight and lifted her chin. There was no way she was talking to this guy.
He lifted a subtle brow, a dirty grin spreading over his face, and she was struck again by how familiar he looked. Her curiosity vanished, however, when he started toward her.
“Such a coincidence, wouldn’t you say? I haven’t seen that asshole in years.”
She grimaced at him, so tempted to ask questions but still refusing to open her mouth.
The gap between them vanished. She was close enough to see his hazel eyes, the sneer in his grin, smell the liquor and tobacco on his breath.
His hand closed over her arm gently at first, but when she pulled away, it tightened.
“Where’s ol’ Ace hiding then?”
She stared at him, stone-faced. Her eyes narrowed.
His face hardened, grin falling into a snarl. His fingers pinched.
“That’s okay,” he growled. “We’ll find him.”
He hauled her toward the doorway and stalked into the corridor. The bank staff lay scattered on the floor. The man that’d been leaning on the barred door was still there, slumped against it and propping it open for the Croakers to come through. The twins had moved into the back half of the building already while the last man hovered near the front.
“What now, boss?” he asked.
The man with a hold on Clara jerked his gun toward the back. “Get the money, idiot.”
Clara swallowed a lump of nerves. Boss? The Croaker boss had her in his clutches?
The subordinate wandered down the hall, and the Boss followed, dragging her along behind him.
Beyond them, the back room was empty. Her crew was gone.
She drew in a ragged breath, both relieved they’d made it out and distressed that she was alone.
The men marched on until something moved at the back of the room.
A gunshot echoed, and Clara was lost in a flurry of movement. The Boss wrenched her around and jerked the man in front of him back by his coat. The Croaker henchman flew back into them, then fell slack. Blood bloomed over the man’s chest as he slid to the floor, and Clara shrieked.
Her eyes leapt up to focus on the man in the back who’d shot.
Ace.
Her heart stopped as he ran for the door. The look-alike Croakers in front of them lifted their guns and fired.
Ace’s body jerked as bullets hit him, and he dove out the door.
Clara screamed as her chest imploded, her heart and lungs crushed. She wrenched herself against the Boss’s hand, kicking and clawing to get away, all while she was unable to rip her eyes away from the open side door. The flecks of blood on the wood panels.
She jerked harder, wrestling her hand free for a moment before the Boss wrapped both arms around her and hoisted her up against his chest. She kicked and flailed against him, her scream ripping through the soft flesh of her throat.
“Settle yourself, woman,” the Boss barked. “Unless you want to end up on the floor with these other ladies.”
The image of the murdered clerks did well to settle her anger for the time being. But as soon as the rage eased, a wave of grief nearly drowned her. She sagged against the Boss’s chest, tears flowing from her eyes and down her neck.
Why had Ace still been in the building? She'd told him to get the hell out! He shouldn't have been close to the gunfire.
They'd shot him!
Emotions boiled so high in her stomach she was afraid she’d vomit them up.
They’d planned so well. Things had been under control.
No one had accounted for others hitting the bank.
Sobs shook her, but the Boss spun her onto his hip so he could point at the safe.
“Get it. Let’s go.”
The pair of henchman marched across the room and began loading up with bags of money. The Boss strode that way, moving slower with her clutched against him. He made it halfway there before he stopped and took a breath.
“Looks like this ain’t going to work out in your favor,” he said as he set her on her feet.
She wanted to run, but her body refused to listen. Her muscles crumpled under the weight of her grief, and he had to pull her up by her arm and spin her to look her in the eye.
“I thought it’d be nice to get to know you a little,” he sneered. “You know. Take you back to camp. Have a little dinner.” She blinked anxious eyes at him. “You catch me up on what my brother’s been doing for the last ten years.”
Her fingers trembled, sliding up his wrist to grab hold of his arm. Brother?
“What?” she sputtered.
“You obviously know Ace. Quite well I’d venture. I wonder what his taste in ladies is like.”
Her heart hammered throughout her entire body, pounding in her ears and stilling her voice
. The trouble-making imp of a brother Bridget had told her about?
Her eyes darted over the familiar features of his face. He favored Ace, though not as handsome. Certainly not with that sneer and wicked eyes. Just the sight of him made her stomach knot.
He held her a little higher off the ground. She had to reach to touch the wooden boards with the balls of her feet.
“But, it looks like I’ll have to pass on that now.”
Her pulse doubled.
“You see, you and your stupid gang have stolen away two of my men. Men I was depending on to carry this money out for me.”
His free hand dropped to his waist and removed a revolver from its holster.
Clara’s heart plummeted into her stomach, all the blood in her body turning to ice.
“It looks like I’m going to have to help haul these bags out now, and I don’t have any hands left for you,” he said as he lifted the revolver and fit it to her temple.
Chapter 18
Clara thrashed against the Boss’s hold, but he held her tightly and kept his revolver keen on her head. She clenched her eyes shut, spilling a silent prayer as her memories flashed through her mind.
“Ethan!” a voice outside boomed, and the Boss froze.
Clara opened her eyes to watch him frown and tilt his head a fraction.
“I can see you!” the voice continued.
It was muffled, standing somewhere outside the back of the bank. It was a loud, forceful voice that seemed to have snagged the Boss's attention. With all the buzz of adrenaline in her brain, she couldn't place who was speaking.
“Who is that?” the Boss spat.
His two men stood just outside the safe, still and listening as well.
“Let the girl go!”
The Boss’s face contorted into an even angrier frown.
“Who the hell is that?” he roared.
“On guard, Little Brother.”
The Boss’s fingers tightened on her arm, and for a moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of panic in his eyes.
“Ace,” the Boss growled under his breath.
Clara’s heart leapt. Why was someone speaking for Ace? Where was he? She tugged against the Boss’s arm to look around, straining to see outside the open door.
