by B. J Daniels
He pushed open the van’s door. It groaned open. He closed it gently not sure what was waiting for him out there in the darkness. The rain had pretty much stopped. He pointed himself toward the patrol car and put one foot in front of the other, weaving on trembling legs. He stumbled and almost fell just a few yards from the van.
He could see that the lights were on in the back of the saloon. But the signal light was still out. Harp would have thought that the sheriff might have driven out this way to double-check on his brother. Flint must have thought Harp could handle it. That almost made him laugh, but he hurt too bad and didn’t have the energy.
Stumbling along through the open field like a drunk on a runner, he was almost to the patrol SUV when he heard the sound of a gunshot. He tripped and fell face-first in the wet, soggy earth. His heart was pounding so hard that he couldn’t hear anything else. Had they come out? Were they about to get into the patrol car? They would see him.
He kept his head down, gasping for breath, his head a bass drum that wouldn’t quit pounding.
After a few moments, he raised his chin. He could see the patrol SUV sitting only yards from him. There was no sound from inside the saloon.
Dropping to all fours, he crawled to the passenger side door of the patrol car, reached up and grabbed the door handle. For a moment, he thought it was locked. To his relief, it opened. The interior light came on.
He hurriedly closed the door, leaned against the side of the car and waited, half expecting someone inside would have seen it and come to investigate. He still had no weapon, didn’t even know if he could fire accurately enough to stop anyone if he had been carrying.
Again, no one came out. This time, he pushed to his feet and, keeping low, opened the door and quickly slid inside and closed it again. Hurry. He had a bad feeling that whatever was going on in the saloon was almost over. Hurry.
He grabbed the radio.
* * *
FLINT DROVE BY his ex-wife’s house. All the lights were out. He parked a few houses up the street, got out and walked back. He wanted to believe she’d been in the house all night and was now sound asleep. The last thing he wanted to believe was that she was targeting Maggie. Stalking her. Tormenting her.
When he reached her house, he walked along the side until he reached the garage and could peer into the window. Her SUV was parked inside. It was wet, just as he’d feared. She’d driven it tonight. He feared that if he checked the hood, he would find it still warm.
Swearing under his breath, he headed for the front door. After ringing the doorbell, he glanced around at the other houses on the block. No one was up at this hour. No one should be, he thought. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until that moment. It had been a long night. Daylight wasn’t that far off. All he wanted to do was go home and go to bed.
But first he had to check on Darby and Mariah—as soon as he dealt with Celeste. He tried to reassure himself that they were fine. Harp would have radioed if there was trouble out there.
Celeste’s porch light came on. He turned back to the door as Celeste peered out before feigning surprise at seeing him at this hour. As she opened the door, he saw that she wore a large velour robe. She cinched it tighter at the waist and played with the wide collar as she said, “Flint? Is something wrong?”
He didn’t bother to answer as he pushed his way in. “Wayne home?” He knew he wasn’t but he guessed he wanted to see if she would lie.
“No, he’s in Denver. What is it?”
He turned to look at her. Damn but she was a fine actress. “Where have you been tonight?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Celeste, I know you went out tonight.” Behind her he could see a blue and white striped raincoat that was still dripping on a hook by the door. There were a pair of black leather boots parked under it.
“Just to the gas station and the grocery. I needed a few things. Why are you asking me this?”
He sighed, removed his Stetson and looked at her. He was too tired for this. Too angry. He didn’t feel like the law right now. He felt like the ex-husband she’d left for another man. “Damn it, Celeste, I know you were over at Maggie’s tonight.”
Her green eyes widened as if surprised. “What? I just told you—”
“I know what you told me. Gas and groceries.” He met her gaze. “I know about the beauty shop, I know about the fire tonight.” He shook his head. “You need help. When Wayne gets back, I’m going to tell him what you’ve been up to.”
“He won’t believe you.” At least she was no longer pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about.
“I think he just might.” He put his hat back on. “You want to end up in prison? If that fire had spread tonight... Or are you headed for the nut house?”
She looked at him with condescension. “Unless you can prove that I’ve done something...” She smiled. “I didn’t think so.”
“Maggie saw you.”
“So it’s my word against hers?” She chuckled. “On a dark, rainy night? How can she be sure of what she saw? I’ve heard she hasn’t been herself since someone broke into her beauty shop and wrote awful things about her.”
Flint closed his eyes, his anger so intense that it scared him. “We both know who wrote those things.”
Celeste quirked one finely honed eyebrow. “Oh? You’ve found some evidence? Thrown someone in jail?” Her smile was all teeth. “I guess not. That would explain why you aren’t here with a warrant for my arrest, wouldn’t it?”
“The next time I have to stop by, I’m going to take you in—evidence or no evidence. I’m also going to have a talk with your...husband. He needs to know what you’ve been up to.” He saw that it was a threat that wiped the smile off her face.
“I’d be careful making false accusations against me. Same with your girlfriend. Wayne has a high-powered lawyer who will take you both for everything you’re worth—and let’s face it, neither of you are worth much.”
“You’re lucky I’m not a violent man, Celeste.” He tipped his hat and left, his blood pressure through the roof. He feared that if he ever got his hands around her throat... The thought shocked him. As he’d said, he wasn’t a violent man. Or at least he’d always thought he wasn’t.
His radio crackled to life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AT THE SOUND of Darby’s voice, Rafael swung around, but didn’t let go of Mariah’s hair as he quickly put Mariah between him and the gun pointed at him. Even before that, Darby couldn’t have gotten a clean shot and Rafael knew it.
“I thought I killed you, cowboy.”
“Not quite.” But close. He felt weak. The room spun. It took all his strength to remain standing. He had to get Mariah away from this man. “Let go of her.”
Rafael laughed. “Or what?”
Darby raised the gun. Angel had put down the shotgun he’d been holding, lowering it gently to the kitchen table and holding up his hands.
“I want none of this,” the man said now as he backed toward the door.
“You take another step, Angel, and I will kill you myself,” Rafael snapped. He still had his hand buried in Mariah’s hair. Angel stopped, but only for a moment; he grabbed the doorknob, flung the door open and disappeared into the darkness. Cold air rushed in as the door banged against the side of the building.
“Let go of her. Now.”
“You wouldn’t dare shoot,” Rafael taunted. “You could hit Mariah. She’s cast her spell on you, hasn’t she? Put her curse on you. And now you’re willing to lose your life for her? She isn’t worth it. Especially after what you did to her. You ruined her, didn’t you?” the man demanded from between gritted teeth.
Darby could see the fury building in Rafael. He knew he was only going to get one chance. As weak as he was from the head wound and loss of blood, he
wouldn’t be able to defend himself against Rafael one-on-one. His only hope was to stop the man now before any more harm could come to Mariah—or to himself.
He aimed, knowing what Rafael had said was true. Taking a shot was more than risky. It was insane. But this situation was insane.
Rafael glared at him, daring him to fire. Darby could feel the gun wavering in his hand. He needed his other hand to steady it, but he couldn’t raise it because of the gunshot wound in his side. He feared the pain would make him black out again.
“You might as well put down the gun,” Rafael taunted. “You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”
Darby pulled the trigger.
* * *
DISPATCH QUICKLY RELAYED that Deputy Harper Cole had called in for backup at the Stagecoach Saloon. Two men, both armed, were inside the building. He was injured, unable to help. Situation inside the saloon unknown.
Flint turned on the siren as he quickly put out a call to all law enforcement. His heart pounded as he read between the lines. The situation inside the saloon was dire. For all he knew his brother and Mariah could already be dead.
The sky to the east was starting to lighten as he raced out of town toward the saloon. He had no idea what he might be walking into. Harp was wounded but had managed to call for help. If the men were still inside the saloon, then maybe there was a chance that Darby and Mariah were still alive.
He could only pray that they were. Other calls were coming in over the radio. Since the sheriff’s department employed only a few men, when there was trouble, game wardens and border patrol could be called in. Both were trained law enforcement. Several were headed for the saloon.
“Stand down until I get there and can assess the situation,” Flint said into his radio. Ahead he saw the turnoff to the saloon and turned off his siren.
* * *
HARP FELT HIMSELF drifting in and out of consciousness. He’d made the call for help, but now felt too weak to move. What would he do if the two men came out of the building and tried to leave in the patrol car?
He couldn’t put up a fight. Not in his condition. Which meant he couldn’t stay here. He glanced around the inside of his patrol SUV and suddenly remembered the compartment where he kept spare ammunition—and his .357 magnum pistol. He wasn’t supposed to carry anything but regulation arms in his patrol SUV but he liked having the pistol with him as a backup even though he’d never used it. He’d even forgotten about it until this moment.
Opening the compartment, he expected it to be gone.
But there it was. With trembling fingers he picked it up. He kept it loaded. Cradling it in his lap, he considered trying to enter the building. Even for him, that was a foolish thought. He was still seeing double, still sick to his stomach, still too weak to even get out of the car and find a place to hide.
The rain had stopped, the sky trying to clear as light radiated up from behind the Judith Mountains. Soon it would be daylight. He couldn’t just keep sitting here, waiting. As he considered what to do, he heard a sound as something banged and looked up to see one of the men running out the back door of the saloon.
From inside the building came the distinct sound of a gunshot. The man stopped as if confused which way to go, before he turned toward the patrol SUV.
* * *
THE BOOM OF the gunshot reverberated around the kitchen. Mariah flinched as if she’d been hit. She saw Darby’s eyes widen in alarm and then they were both looking at Rafael.
He still had a handful of her hair twisted in his fingers. Blood bloomed on his temple. The bullet had grazed him, not taken him down.
He lifted his free hand to touch the bleeding wound and laughed. “You are one crazy bastard,” Rafael said to Darby. “I would not have taken that shot, but you...”
Before either of them could react, he shoved Mariah toward Darby. She lunged to the side, but off balance went crashing to the floor. Her head hit the kitchen table leg as she went down. Stars danced before her eyes as she tried to get to her feet. Behind her came the report of another shot as Rafael rushed Darby.
She’d known Darby had been in bad shape even before he came to her rescue. His reaction time was off because of his injuries. He hadn’t expected Rafael to move so quickly. Or to attack the way he did.
Rafael barreled into Darby, knocking the gun away. She was on her feet. She snatched up the shotgun, but not quickly enough to stop Rafael. He slammed his fist into the side of Darby’s head and spun around to wrench the weapon from her.
Past him, she saw that Darby had slid to the floor and was out cold. Her gaze went to Rafael. He was bleeding from where the bullet had grazed him, but the second shot must not have hit him. Nor was the wound or the loss of blood going to stop him.
Mariah saw that he planned to end this. She took a step back, hit the wall and scrambled for the stairs, but he was too fast for her. He grabbed her arm, spinning her around and knocking her down onto the stairs. Leaning over her, his free hand went to the front of her T-shirt.
She heard the fabric tear. His gaze took in her exposed flesh, before lifting to her face again. His eyes locked with hers.
“Did you really think that your whoring around would keep me from taking you?” he demanded, wiping blood from his right eye as he bent over her.
Mariah felt her heart drop as he grabbed the front of her bra and tore it from her body. He looked down at her bare breasts through the tatters of her T-shirt and smiled as he lowered his head to bite at her nipple. She cried out and kicked wildly as she worked her hand down behind her leg to the top of her boot—and the knife she had put there.
He pressed his body against her legs to quiet them and caught her free hand in his larger one as he pushed her harder and more painfully into the steps at her back. He pulled hard on the waist of her jeans, unsnapping them and breaking the zipper. He jerked the jeans and her panties down, stopping to smile at her as he unzipped his own jeans.
She’d told herself that she would die before she’d let him rape her. He’d thought that her other arm was trapped under her. But now with some of his weight off her as he began to lower his jeans, she drew her arm out.
He must have seen the flash of the knife blade out of the corner of his eye. But he couldn’t move fast enough to protect himself as she went inside his arm with the blade. Mariah knew she had only one chance. She drove the knife into him up to the hilt, pulled it free and drove it in again.
* * *
HARP SLID DOWN in the seat of the patrol SUV as far as he could. Over the edge of the dash he could see Angel headed for the driver’s side of the car. As soon as the man looked in, he would see him.
Fumbling to get the pistol ready, he waited, knowing he had no choice. If he didn’t kill him... And yet the moment he fired, it would alert the other one—Rafael, the really scary one still inside the building. He felt like crying as he realized that he could be dead within moments.
Angel reached the SUV. But his gaze was on the back of the saloon as he opened the vehicle’s driver’s side door. He didn’t seem to see Harp hunkered down in the seat. He didn’t look surprised until he heard the loud report of the gun go off and looked down at his chest.
With two stumbled steps back, Angel fell, dropping to his knees, then keeling over a few feet from the patrol SUV. The wind caught the door and slammed it.
Harp sat up, but he couldn’t see the man where he’d fallen. Didn’t know if Angel would get up and come after him. Or if he had crawled back toward the rear of the building to warn Rafael. His gaze was on the back of the saloon. Either way, Rafael would have heard the shot.
Harp readied himself for the shootout that he feared would take his life. His head still ached, but he was seeing a little more clearly now that the sun had crested the Judiths. Which meant Rafael would be able to see him.
In the distance, he hea
rd sirens and prayed they would get to him in time as he opened his car door and fell out onto the ground to wait.
* * *
RAFAEL LOOKED DOWN at Mariah in confusion. He grabbed her hand, slapping it away as he pulled the knife from his stomach. He stared at the bloody blade and then at her. For a moment, Mariah thought he would stab her. But he still seemed determined to rape her first. He tossed the knife aside on the stairs.
She lunged for it, but it was just out of her reach. Fighting to squirm out from under him, pummeling him with her fists and trying to kick herself free of him, she knew there was no hope against his strength—even injured. He caught both of her hands, held them over her head and leaned down, pressing his bleeding body against hers. She closed her eyes, turning her head away as she bit her lip.
All the fight went out of her. Maybe this was always the way it was going to end. All her running, all her fighting, it had been for nothing. Maybe this was inevitable from the time her uncle had agreed to the marriage dowry when she was fifteen. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, telling herself that Rafael couldn’t hurt her any more than he already had—knowing it was a lie.
But then Rafael shifted over her. He let go of her hands to try to pull his pants down farther. Now that it was within reach, her hand closed over the handle of knife on the stairs. But she closed her eyes, telling herself she didn’t have what it would take to stab him again. Tears were running down her cheeks, hot and salty. She licked her lips, surprised to find herself crying.
At a sound, she opened her eyes. Past Rafael she saw Darby stumbling toward them. She knew that Rafael would hear him any moment. This time, Rafael would kill him.
Gripping the knife handle in her hand, she closed her eyes and drove the blade in Rafael’s chest. Her gaze met his. She saw the surprise in his eyes, saw the light begin to dim in his gaze. Pulling out the knife, she started to stab him again when he collapsed on top of her.
As she struggled to get out from under the weight, Darby grabbed Rafael’s collar and with effort dragged him from her. But she could tell that Darby was barely able to stand.
