Just the kind of place vermin like this would choose. He stayed shoulder-rubbing close to the wall, inching along. His free hand slid on the raw wood. Splinters caught and plowed into his finger tips.
He ignored them. Every fiber of his being was focused on the job, the task at hand. His heart pounded erratically in his chest. It was a new sensation for him. Lord knew this wasn’t the first time he’d walked into some trap or ambush. Somewhere along the way he’d made peace with the inevitable realization that one of these times he wouldn’t make it out. What did it matter?
But this time it mattered a great deal, because this time he wasn’t alone.
Without turning, he laced his fingers through Rebecca’s.
Rebecca was glad for the tightening of Luke’s hand on hers. She was glad he was here. No matter what had happened before, she was very glad he was here now. For reasons she didn’t fully understand, she trusted him to get Andrew back, to get them both safely out of here and home.
Something small and fast brushed across Rebecca’s feet. “Oh!”
“Rats,” Luke whispered through clenched teeth.
She gulped down a sudden rise of bile and steeled herself to continue.
Another small, cautious step, and then another. It was like walking on eggshells, she felt the need to be so quiet, so cautious.
Where was Andrew? Why didn’t they show themselves? They hadn’t changed their minds, had they? No!
“Luke, I—”
“Shh...”
Luke stopped abruptly, making her come up short. Her hand slammed into his back, and she felt the muscles wire-tight there. He nudged her behind him, trapping her against the rough wood surface of the saloon wall.
“What?” she whispered, pushing lightly on the hard plane of his back. Heart racing furiously, she peered around his shoulder into the blue-black darkness.
Luke didn’t answer.
“Is it Andrew?” she said softly, remembering his admonition to be careful and do as he said.
He didn’t answer her, didn’t even glance her way. She could see that he was staring hard into the blackness near a stack of wooden crates. Packing straw spilled over the top and onto the dirt.
When Luke finally spoke, his voice was so hard, so cold, it didn’t seem to come from him at all.
“You gonna stand in those shadows all night, or are you coming out?”
Her heart pounding like a runaway locomotive, she lifted herself on tiptoe and tried to peer around him again. This time he purposely inched in front of her, blocking her view. She sank back, annoyed. “Let me see.”
He didn’t.
For a full ten seconds, nothing moved. Just when she was about to ask him who he was talking to, a scratchy male voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere said, “Hey, mister, you got the money?”
“Depends on who’s asking.” Luke sounded as though he were negotiating a deal for a two-dollar saddle instead of paying a ransom.
How could he be so calm? Rebecca wondered briefly. This time she did inch free of him. “It’s Andrew, isn’t it? Can you see him? Move so I can see him!” She pushed at Luke. She might as well have been pushing on a slab of granite, for all the good it did her.
About that time, Luke pulled his hand free of hers. She felt his elbow brush against her ribs as his hand moved closer to the gun tied to his thigh.
Her earlier joy was instantly replaced by alarm. “Please, Luke, tell me—is it Andrew?” she begged him, desperate to see her son.
Fear tied a knot in her stomach as large as a hangman’s noose. “Luke, give him the money.” She shoved the small cloth bag into his hand.
He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he’d felt the bag in his hand.
That was when she heard the scratchy voice again. The man was still unseen, at least by her. “Who you got with you, mister?”
“Where’s the boy?” Luke said flatly, ignoring the question.
“Like I said. Money first.”
A shadow moved in the darkness and slowly emerged enough that Luke could make out the distinct outline of a man. One man.
His first thought was for Becky and her safety, and, for a second, he cursed himself for allowing himself to be bullied into bringing her. But there was no time for self-recriminations now.
He shifted, bracing his feet, making certain that Becky was behind him and hoping she remembered his instructions to run if things went wrong.
“Gimme the money,” the man said harshly.
“Boy first,” Luke replied. Son of a bitch, there was no kid, and the odds were the boy was already dead, he thought with heart-sinking sadness. But if there was even one chance in a million, he’d play out the hand.
“You do what I’m tellin’ you or we’ll kill that kid,” the man threatened. “Now gimme the goddamn money.”
The odds had just gotten a little better. Maybe they really did have the boy as insurance and were planning to do away with him later. “How do I know you’ve got the boy? How do I know you’re the ones?”
He felt Rebecca’s fingers curl and dig into the muscles of his upper arm, and knew what she was thinking. It was the same thing he was thinking. This would tell it all.
“Little kid, about eight, black hair, black eyes, wearing brown pants and a white shirt.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said, softly enough that only Luke heard. He also heard the terror in her voice.
“So where is he?” Luke pressed, convinced now that the boy was alive. And there was no way he was turning over the money without the boy.
“The kid’s safe. That’s all you have to know.”
“When do we get to see him?”
“After we get the money, dammit.”
Luke felt Rebecca’s hand on his back. “Luke, give him the money.” She slid out from behind him before he realized what she was doing.
“Here,” she announced, waving the parcel in front of her. “Here’s the money.”
“Becky!” Luke grabbed her arm and jerked her hard against the wall. The packet fell to the ground at his feet. “Stay put,” he growled, in a fierce voice that made her hesitate long enough for him to say, “Okay, mister. You want the money, here it is.” With the toe of his boot, he nudged it forward into a small spot of yellow moonlight.
“Luke,” Rebecca said, and squirmed behind him, making it difficult for him to concentrate. “Where’s Andrew?” She squirmed again. “Did he take the money? Where’s Andrew?”
Luke spared her a glance. “Wait,” he growled quietly.
“But—”
Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw the man inch forward, like a rat going for the bait. Come on, he silently coaxed. Come on. If he could get this guy, then he could make him talk.
The man, clad in dark clothes, crept into the light. Recognition hit Luke about five seconds before the man looked up.
“You,” the man snarled, staring at Luke with ferret eyes.
“Small world,” Luke answered. “You still beating up women?” Dread was moving fast through him, tensing his muscles, turning his blood to ice. This was the same man he’d had the run-in with at the saloon. He should have known any man who’d beat a woman wouldn’t be above stealing a child. Trouble was, this kind wouldn’t mind killing one, either.
“Mister, you know a man could get hisself killed, poking around where he ain’t got no concern.”
“Now, you know, I agree, except I do have a concern here. I want that boy. It’s that simple. Turn him over and you can have the money...all ten thousand—”
The man’s head came up with a start at the mention of the amount. It was almost as though he hadn’t known how much was there, which was odd, unless...unless someone else had sent the note. A boss perhaps?
The man inched farther into the light and, bending, reached for the money.
“Don’t,” Luke said, and edged his hand closer to his gun. The unmistakable click of a gun’s hammer being pulled back stopped him cold. Another man, one Luke also r
ecognized from before, stepped out of the shadows. Damn. He should have known.
The first man picked up the money and regarded Luke smugly. “I sure do appreciate you comin’ all the way down here to bring us this—” he tossed the packet in the air once and caught it “—money.”
The kidnapper drew his gun as his cohort joined him.
This was going from bad to worse. Luke knew exactly what was about to happen, and he wasn’t going to let it. They were both silhouetted by the light, and Luke was at least partially concealed in the shadows. He figured he could get one for sure, and maybe the other. Anyway, he’d keep them busy long enough for Becky to get away.
In a hushed tone, he said, “When I tell you, make a run for it.” Discreetly he moved his hand toward the .32 concealed under his jacket.
“No!” she shouted, and bolted out in front of him. “Where’s my son?”
Panicked, Luke grabbed for her. “Becky, no!”
“My son!” Becky shouted, and lunged at the two men. It was all the distraction Luke needed. In one motion, he shoved Becky hard away from him, drew his gun and fired twice.
He heard her groan as she slammed into a stack of wooden crates. He’d ask her forgiveness later. Right now, he was trying to keep them both alive.
One man doubled over and crumpled to the ground, dead in a pool of his own blood. The other man took off, firing as he ran. Luke dodged for cover. “Stay down!” he ordered Becky as he scrambled to his feet.
“Luke!” Becky’s scream echoed through the alley.
“Stay down!” he ordered again. Gun drawn, he ran flat out after the other man. Down the alley, he saw the man duck into the back door of a saloon. If the boy was alive, he wouldn’t be for long—not if that guy got to him first.
Luke hated leaving Becky in the alley, but he didn’t have any choice. He kept going, and momentum propelled him into the closed door with a force that rattled his teeth. He hammered on the door with his fist. The knob turned when he tried it, but the door refused to open.
“Son of a bitch! Open the damned door!”
Heart racing, he hurled his shoulder into the door. Once. The wood creaked. The vibration ricocheted through him with bone-jarring force. Twice. The distinct sound of wood tearing spurred him on.
“Dammit, come on! Give!” he ordered the solid door, slamming into the pine with all his strength.
The wood shattered and split. Half stumbling, he fell through the door into a small, cramped storeroom.
He was scrambling to his feet when he heard Rebecca calling his name. Seconds later, she grabbed his arm. Her skin was deathly pale in the dim light of the storeroom, her eyes were bright with terror, and her clothes were covered with dirt. “I’m coming with you,” she said, clutching the money in her left hand.
“No,” he snapped, in a tone that brooked no argument. “This time we do it my way.” In one quick motion, he concealed her in an alcove of boxes. He shoved the gun from his shoulder holster into her hand. “Don’t move. Do you understand me? Don’t move from this spot. If anyone tries anything, comes near you, kill ‘em.”
She stared blankly at the gun in her hand. “I can’t. I—”
He shook her—hard. “Do it.” A little softer, he said, “Stay put, and trust me.”
Luke didn’t have time to argue with her. That bastard had a head start, and it only took a second to pull a trigger. Luke spun on his heel and disappeared out the other door.
Rebecca stood in the cramped storage room, surrounded by crates labeled Whiskey and Beer. She stared down at the gun Luke had shoved in her hand, feeling the smooth wood of the handle against her palm and the cold metal against her finger, where it curled naturally around the trigger.
It had all gone so wrong. How? How had it happened? Luke had been right—all along he’d been right about tonight. If he hadn’t been here, they would surely have killed her and taken the money.
Fury beyond anything she’d ever known consumed her. These men had taken her son. One was dead, lying in a pool of blood with all the other garbage. She felt no sympathy for him, no remorse. Her grip tightened on the gun. Amazing how something so small could take a life, she thought.
She glanced up at the closed door. How long had Luke been gone?
The sounds of voices mixed with piano music, each drowning out the other until there was nothing but an unpleasant din. She paced to the door and back, the gun in one hand, the money in the other. She’d been willing to comply with their request, to give them all she had for her son.
Now it was as if a clock were running in her head, the minutes ticking past with every beat of her heart. Time was running out. If Luke didn’t find Andrew... If Andrew was already dead...
She glanced down at the gun in her hand. For the first time in her life, she understood blood lust, the desire to kill another human being.
* * *
The saloon was packed tighter than a stockyard feeder lot, and smelled about the same, from the unwashed bodies and unwashed clothes. Men stood four deep at the bar, and every table in the place was full.
Luke made his way around the room, his gaze searching every whiskered, red-eyed face.
All right, where are you?
The roulette wheel was going full out, and the click-click of the little ball grated on his nerves. A gray-haired man was dealing faro at a table near the bar.
A scantily clad woman was dealing blackjack, and winning easily, since the men seemed more interested in her endowments than in her hole card.
Luke scanned the room again. Maybe the man wasn’t even in here. Now that gave him pause. Maybe he’d just ducked through here and headed out the double doors. Damn, if that was true, then he’d never find him.
Tobacco smoke was thick as fog, and the smell of cheap rotgut made his stomach turn. He kept one eye on the staircase that led upstairs. There were rooms up there, the girls’ rooms, but they offered a place to hide or a place from which to take aim. This guy wouldn’t hesitate to shoot into a crowd if he thought it would help him.
Luke kept moving, scanning faces, drunken faces, puffy faces. Searching. Searching. Moving in the direction of the stairs.
When he got close to the bar, he grabbed the narrow-faced bartender by the front of his stained white shirt and dragged him up close. “You see a man come in here, maybe bleeding?”
The man shook his head frantically.
“Listen, you, I want that man.” Luke shook him hard. Everyone gave them a wide berth, and no one tried to interfere. “Where is he?”
“I—” The barkeeper swallowed hard, his brown eyes bulging in his head. “I ain’t seen no one.”
Furious, Luke let go. Damn.
Time was running out. The frantic pounding of his heart told him he’d lost that scum, and most likely the boy.
How could he have been so stupid? He should never have let this happen. What kind of a lawman was he? He should have known. Ah, hell, he did know better than to walk into an alley like that—and with Becky. He should have locked her in her room and done the job he’d spent the last eight years of his life perfecting. The one time she counted on him, he failed. No, make that two times, Scanlin.
“Hello, sweetie,” a saloon girl purred.
“Not interested,” he said shortly, and kept working his way through the crowd. He was headed for the stairs.
Six doors faced the balcony and the saloon beyond. One was as good as another. Gun drawn, he turned the brass knob and shoved the door open with a bang.
A half-naked whore looked up, startled. “What the—” she muttered. The naked man she was draped on top of looked embarrassed.
He yanked the door closed.
Two steps, and he twisted open the knob on the next door. Empty.
Moving fast, he tried the next door. Locked. Not for long. One good kick, and the door flew open, banging into the wall and nearly slamming shut again.
A woman screamed. Luke took in the scene in the blink of an eye, then flattened himself against
the wall beside the partially opened door.
“Give it up,” Luke ordered. “This is the U.S. marshal.”
Gun drawn, he pulled back the hammer. He sucked in a deep breath, like a man about to dive underwater. With steely determination, he hurled himself around the doorway.
The kidnapper was slumped on the end of the bed. Bloodstained and pale, he was packing bandages against his wounded side. “Hold it right there, you son of a bitch!” Luke yelled.
As though by magic, a gun appeared in the kidnapper’s hand. He fired three, four shots. The woman screamed again.
A bullet whizzed past Luke’s head like a saw blade and buried itself in the plaster wall. Luke dived for the bed, his shoulder bouncing off the iron footrail, and slammed into the floor with a thud that made him see stars.
It was all the time the man needed to jump through the open window. Momentarily dazed, Luke staggered to his feet and raced to the window to peer out into the darkness. The man was gone. He had escaped down the back staircase.
Angrier than he’d ever have thought possible, Luke turned back to see the woman he’d helped earlier, pale and shaking, hugging the wall for all she was worth.
She didn’t move, didn’t give any sign she even knew he was there. “Millie! Where’d he go?”
When she didn’t respond, he grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her.
“Millie. Come on. Where’d he go?” She thrashed her head, her red hair falling down to cover half her face.
“You know what he’s been up to, don’t you? Don’t you?”
She gave a shaky, dazed sort of nod.
“He’s gonna kill that child if I don’t get to him first.”
Luke knew the instant that recognition dawned in her eyes. “He...can’t.” She swallowed hard, as if gulping down the horrible realization.
“He can, and he will. That boy is a witness.”
Panic pounded in his blood and his brain. Like a drowning man, he made one last desperate attempt to survive. “In the name of God, Millie, if you know where that boy is, tell me!”
Susan Amarillas Page 15
