Outlaw's Honor

by B. J Daniels

  “You have it bad,” his brother Flint had said. “Are you sure you’re up for this? We could hide Mariah somewhere safe and—”

  “He would eventually find her.” He’d shaken his head. “We need to end this.”

  Now as he moved through the dark of the saloon, the flashlight beam bobbing ahead of him, he hoped he hadn’t done wrong by having the two of them stay here to fight. But hiding out would do no good. Rafael wanted a showdown. Putting it off would only leave Mariah living in this constant fear. Or worse, continuing to run. Darby couldn’t stand to see her like this. He’d do whatever he had to in order to free her.

  The empty dark bar felt strange. He stood for a moment, listening to the rain. Outside the window, he saw the flash of headlights cutting through the downpour and quickly turned off his flashlight as he moved closer to the front window.

  His heart took off like a gunshot as the vehicle slowed. Was this it? Was this the showdown he’d been expecting?

  As the vehicle turned in, Darby saw that it was a sheriff’s department patrol SUV, the emblem on the side, the light bar on top. He only got a glimpse of Deputy Harper Cole behind the wheel in his raincoat, the hood up.

  Through the side window, he saw the deputy park, get out and head for the back door of the saloon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  DARBY STEPPED TO the door, unlocked it and reached for the knob. Before his hand touched it, the wind caught the door, swung it open and banged it hard against the side of the building like earlier.

  He looked through the doorway out into the darkness, wondering why Harp had returned. The deputy stood just outside, his back turned as he looked toward the stand of pines. The rain still fell hard, Darby noticed as he glanced past Harp to the trees. Had the deputy heard something back there? Seen something?

  “Did you see something?” Darby asked and started to reach for the shotgun beside the door.

  Harp didn’t answer, but slowly began to turn toward him. He felt a chill on the wind, a shiver that ran the length of his spine. The night seemed to have gone too quiet suddenly as Harp turned and Darby saw the gun in his hand.

  It surprised him that the deputy had drawn his weapon. He glanced past him to the pine trees, black against the night and the pouring rain. His hand closed over the shotgun by the door. The deputy was half turned, his head down, raindrops cascading off the hood in a dark shower. Only the gun in Harp’s hand caught any light.

  As Darby lifted the shotgun, a voice came from under the hood.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Not Harp’s voice. Not Harp. The thoughts raced from his brain, but not quickly enough. He glanced up to find the weapon in the man’s hand pointed at his heart. The man lifted his head—and Darby knew he was looking at Rafael Vale.

  * * *

  HARP CAME TO with a start. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. It sounded as if he was in a tin can. Rain drummed on a metal roof overhead.

  It took him a few moments. He was in a van. That brought everything back in a rush. He tried to sit up, knowing he had to get out of here and fast, but he was bound and his head felt too heavy for his neck.

  He shivered, remembering why he was wet. He’d been lying on the ground in the rain earlier. But he’d been wearing his sheriff’s department raincoat then. He wasn’t now.

  In the dark of the vehicle, he tried to assess how bad his situation was. His head ached where he’d been kicked in the temple as did his arm. Had the blow to his head knocked him unconscious? Or had he been shot and passed out? He remembered Rafael pointing a gun at his head at some point.

  He hurt all over so it was impossible to tell how badly he’d been attacked. His wrists were bound with duct tape behind his back. His ankles were also bound and there was a piece of tape across his mouth. But he didn’t think he’d been shot.

  Where were the two men who’d put him in here? With a start, he remembered enough of the conversation before he’d been knocked out to know. The Stagecoach Saloon. They were the men after Mariah Ayers.

  He closed his eyes, sick to his stomach. He’d really fucked up this time. If this didn’t cost him his job, he didn’t know what would. And as crazy as that Rafael one was... He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. Mariah was screwed. But that meant so was Darby Cahill.

  He listened to the rain, fighting panic. What if they came back? They couldn’t let him go.

  His eyes had adjusted to the darkness inside the van enough that he could make out a couple of duffel bags as well as some plastic shopping bags with rope and duct tape.

  Maybe there was something he could use to free himself. And then what?

  All he could think about was getting out of this van and as far away as he could before the men returned.

  Anything was better than waiting here in the dark for those two men to come back. He was no hero.

  Using his feet, he pushed his way toward the bags at the front of the van, praying he could find something to cut the tape and free himself.

  He tried not to listen to what was beyond the rain pounding on the van’s roof. He probably wouldn’t hear them come back until they slid open the side door on the van. And by then, it would be too late.

  Harp realized he didn’t even know how long they’d been gone. He could have been out for an hour, even longer. Or it could have been only minutes.

  He reached the bags, rolled onto his side and began to go through them. It was slow and painful work since his hands were bound behind him, and his arm, while not broken apparently, was so badly bruised that it hurt like hell.

  Nothing in the first bag. He groped for the second bag and froze. Was that a gunshot he’d just heard?

  * * *

  DARBY KNEW HE’D never get the shotgun up and fired in time. He brought it up quickly, lunging at the man in the doorway. He’d known before he acted the chance he was taking. Rafael was a big man. More than that, he’d been ready for Darby to react.

  Suddenly the sound of the pouring rain seemed amplified as he shoved the shotgun at the man in the doorway. Rafael took the glancing blow off one shoulder and knocked the gun aside. Darby heard the report of the shot as the man fired. The bullet tore into his side, forcing him to let go of the shotgun.

  The shotgun was wrenched from his hands and, bleeding, he was forced back into the building. Darby grabbed his side, his fingers coming away wet with blood as he saw a second man follow the first into the entry just outside the kitchen and the stairs to the apartment.

  Mariah had never described the man who she’d been promised to at fifteen. Darby was only a little surprised to see that Rafael was a large handsome man. One look in the man’s dead dark eyes and he knew why Rafael was so dangerous.

  “Where is my wife?” the man asked as he handed Darby’s shotgun to the other man.

  Darby could understand why he’d made the mistake he had. Rafael was wearing Harp’s raincoat. He’d also been driving the deputy’s patrol car. Was Harp dead? He thought he probably was since he’d apparently crossed paths with these two men.

  “Darby?”

  His blood ran cold as Mariah called down.

  “Mariah, don’t—!” he yelled as he lunged for Rafael. The blow with the butt of the gun knocked him to the floor. The second one turned the lights out.

  * * *

  MAGGIE REALIZED THAT she must have fallen asleep because she woke with a start to the smell of smoke.

  Sitting straight up in bed, she assured herself it wasn’t a dream. She definitely smelled smoke. Swinging her legs over the side, she slipped her feet into her slippers as she turned on a light.

  Grabbing her robe, she hurried downstairs, turning on lights as she went. As she reached the kitchen, she saw the blaze on the back porch. Nothing seemed to be on fire and yet she could still sme
ll smoke.

  She grabbed the landline phone on the wall and dialed 911. Someone had set her back porch on fire!

  That’s when she saw a small figure standing in the rain wearing a blue and white striped raincoat and what appeared to be black designer boots.

  Maggie stared. Leave it to Celeste to commit arson dressed fit to kill. The 911 operator answered.

  “What is your emergency?”

  Maggie couldn’t speak as Celeste pushed back the hood of her raincoat exposing her blond bob that shone even in the rain, even in the dark night.

  Celeste was looking right at her.

  “Hello? What is your emergency?”

  Maggie glanced at the back porch, surprised to see that the blaze had burned out. She couldn’t see what had been burning, but whatever it had been had gone out.

  The smell of smoke still lingered in the air, though, along with the bad taste in her mouth. This was just another threat. Another promise of what would come if Maggie moved in with Flint.

  The 911 operator was trying to get her attention.

  “There was a fire, but it appears to have gone out,” Maggie said into the phone. “I’m sorry for the call.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need help? I can call the fire department—”

  “No. There’s no need.” She hung up and looked out into the darkness. Celeste was gone.

  * * *

  FLINT WATCHED THE city maintenance men move the large cottonwood limb from the street, then signal the utility company crew that they could go to work on the downed power line.

  He’d gotten a call earlier that part of town was without electricity and still the storm raged on. He knew what would be next and wasn’t surprised when he heard from dispatch.

  “Flooding along Main and out by the overpass. One car stalled.”

  “I’m on it,” Flint said. “Have you heard from Harp?”

  “Not since earlier.”

  “Let me know when he checks in.” He planned to go by the saloon as soon as he took care of getting the road blocked until the flooding subsided. First he had to get the stranded car out of the middle of the street.

  He got on the horn to the city boys to ask for some help, figuring they were probably already inundated with calls.

  As he drove, he thought about Maggie. Maybe he should run by, just to make sure everything looked all right at her house. Her fear of Celeste seemed overblown compared to what his ex had done—if she had vandalized the beauty shop, which he suspected but couldn’t prove. He was still a lawman, biased as he was.

  Maggie was so sure that Celeste’s antics would escalate if she moved in with him. Was that why she was dragging her feet?

  Maybe it was too soon. Maybe they should wait. But wasn’t that what Celeste hoped to accomplish with her childish tantrum at the beauty shop?

  Flint told himself he couldn’t think about it now. He stared out through the rain, his windshield wipers flapping. No lights were on at Maggie’s house. No cause for alarm. He tried to relax, wishing Maggie would do the same.

  He made sure the city had the flooded street blocked off and was about to make a run out to the Stagecoach Saloon to check on his brother and Mariah, when he got a call from dispatch.

  “You asked to be notified if there were any problems at this number?” the dispatcher said.

  He recognized the number at once. Maggie’s landline. “What is it?”

  “She called earlier to report a fire but then said it was out.”

  Flint tried not to panic. “Like a kitchen fire?”

  “She didn’t say. Seemed...disoriented,” the operator said. “Called us to see about sending someone over there. I recognized the number.”

  “Thank you. I’ll run by and check.” He was already headed there as he disconnected. A fire?

  * * *

  HARP DUG FRANTICALLY through the second bag, his hopes evaporating. What had he hoped to find? Something sharp that he could—

  He almost missed it in his hurry. His fingers returned to the object he’d tossed aside in the bag. He latched onto it, telling himself it couldn’t be a sheathed knife. That would make things too easy.

  Hurriedly, he pulled off the cover and felt the sharp bite of a blade. He closed his eyes for a moment. This felt almost like a trick. Too easy. Were they standing outside just waiting for him to think he was going to get away before they dashed his hopes to death?

  His head hurt so bad he just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up until this was all over.

  A sound outside the van made his eyes fly open. Holding his breath, he listened. Just the rain? He slipped the knife blade between his wrists and felt a sharp pain as it bit again into his flesh.

  More careful, he positioned it and then began to move his wrists up and down, up and down. When he cut through the tape, he almost stabbed himself in the back. But he was so relieved to have his hands free, that he let out a sob as he ripped the tape off his mouth.

  Sitting up, he groped around in the dark for the knife, found it again and went to work on the tape around his ankles. He was so close to getting away now, they couldn’t come back. Not now. Just a few more minutes.

  The tape gave. He ripped it off and, still holding the knife, reached for the door handle. It took him a moment to find it. He hesitated, knowing it would be loud when he opened the side door.

  But he didn’t want to take the time to climb into the front of the van and use one of those doors.

  A thought struck him. Could he get even more lucky? He pushed the bags aside and slipped between the seats to reach for the ignition, saying a prayer as he did.

  When he found the keys gone, he told himself he should have known his prayers weren’t going to be answered. He was a sinner. Maybe this was his payback for the life he’d led so far. He hadn’t been that bad, he told himself.

  He started to draw back, when he figured he should check one more place. He pushed himself farther forward and felt on the floorboard. No keys.

  Then his fingers brushed something that jiggled. A key ring. He couldn’t believe it and he closed his fingers around it. Four keys.

  Scrambling he slid into the driver seat and started trying keys. He found the right one on his second try. Stepping on the clutch he turned the key. The motor started right up. He turned on the headlights and threw the van into gear. His heart was pounding so hard he thought he might have a heart attack. He expected the side door to bang open at any moment and the two men to kill him before he could get away.

  As he pulled back onto the muddy road, the blinding headache making him see double, he couldn’t remember a time he’d felt better. He roared up the road, his headlights cutting through the rain and night.

  * * *

  “WHAT WAS IT?” Maggie asked as Flint inspected the small area that had been scorched black by whatever had burned there. Angry, sick and near tears, she hugged herself as she watched him. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Something that burned up but miraculously didn’t catch your back porch on fire. If it hadn’t landed on the tile...”

  He rose to look at her. “Maggie, what were you doing on the back porch in the middle of the night?”

  “I wasn’t.” She had answered the door in her robe and slippers, having given up any chance of a good night’s sleep after that. When Flint had arrived, she’d been sitting in the dark living room. She’d seen his headlights and had answered the door even before he’d knocked.

  She felt in shock. Like a sleepwalker, she seemed in a fugue state. But a part of her roiled in fury. Celeste had to be stopped. And who was going to do it?

  When she’d opened the door to Flint, all she’d done was point at the back porch. Now she felt his intent gaze. She saw the worry. Unfortun
ately, she suspected he was more worried about her mental state than that of his dangerous ex-wife.

  “Did you notice the window on the porch? It has been pried open—just like the one down at the shop. That’s how whatever was burning was dropped onto the porch floor.”

  She could tell that he hadn’t noticed. He’d just assumed she had started the fire. Her patience felt as if it was wearing thin with him.

  “So how did you—”

  “I woke up and smelled smoke. When I came downstairs I saw it burning and called 911.”

  “But it burned out and you cancelled the call.”

  “That’s because I saw who did it.”

  He looked only mildly surprised and seemed to brace himself.

  She felt anger bubble up inside her. He’d said he agreed that it had “probably” been Celeste at the beauty shop. But she could see him already wanting to find a reason it couldn’t have been Celeste tonight.

  “She was wearing a blue and white striped raincoat and black boots and standing in my back yard. She had the hood up until the fire was almost out and then she pushed the hood back exposing her blond hair. She was looking right at me, daring me to...” That was just it, she wasn’t sure what Celeste was hoping she would do. Probably exactly what she was doing right now.

  Flint cleared his throat. “I’m not saying it wasn’t Celeste.”

  “That’s big of you,” she said and started to step past him.

  He grabbed her arm. “I’ll check the window for fingerprints—”

  “She was wearing gloves. Flint, we’ve been here before. She’s taunting me. She’s knows we’re back together. She’s warning me what will happen if I move in with you.”

  He sighed and let go of her arm. “How could she know about that?”

  “I told my landlord. You know how news travels in this town.” She rubbed the spot where his fingers had been, feeling close to tears.

  “I’ll go over and talk to her, but again, I need proof to arrest her.” His gaze met hers and in it she saw him pleading with her to understand. She did understand.