West of Paradise

by Hatch, Marcy

“You’re Will’s sister?” Katherine said, taking a step toward her.

  She looked at Katherine now, her dark eyes turning confused.

  “Well?” Jack prompted.

  The woman’s eyes darted between them for a second or two, settling on Jack and turning hard. “You should go. Both of you. Right now.”

  “Go? Go where?” Jack asked, frowning at her.

  “Anywhere.”

  Jack shook his head. “No, I think we’d rather hear your story, the part where you left Boston and strangely ended up here, in Tombstone. Unless you’d rather take a walk down to the sheriff’s office. I’m sure he’d be interested to hear why you’re here, once I tell him who you are.”

  “Just because I’m Will’s sister doesn’t mean I had anything to do with what he did,” Mrs. Pratt said defensively.

  “Maybe. And maybe not. But if you don’t start talking—” Jack leaned forward and Katherine was almost going to protest, beginning to feel badly for the woman.

  “All right then!” she cried. “There’s no need to threaten me. I’ll tell you. I . . . I’m with her.”

  “Excuse me?” Jack said.

  “I’m with her. Alanna McLeod.”

  For a moment both Jack and Katherine were speechless.

  “But . . . she’s responsible for the death of your brother,” Jack said when he found his voice.

  “It was Larry Sweet who killed my brother! She loved Will. She told me so!”

  “And you believed her?”

  “Yes, I did . . . I do!” Mrs. Pratt said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

  “I think you better start from the beginning,” Jack said.

  Mrs. Pratt gave a hard sigh, speaking hesitantly, almost stuttering. “It was . . . after you left. I got to thinking about everything you said and I did a little investigating of my own, found out who she was. And when Will wrote to me, asking if I could send him money, I knew they had parted ways. It took a bit of doing but eventually I spotted her outside her . . . grandfather’s house with her son and I knew it was Will’s, knew why she left him.”

  “Does she know who you are?”

  “I told her.”

  “You’re lucky she didn’t kill you like she has everyone else.”

  “Why would she? She knew I had William’s best interests at heart. My brother could no more have been a good father to him than our own was. It just wasn’t in him. It was best for everyone if they stayed apart, better for my brother, and better for his son.”

  “And you think she can be a good mother?” Jack asked, incredulous.

  “She has been good, was good for him until . . . until you showed up.”

  “Me?” Katherine said indignantly, “It’s not my fault I look like her, and may I remind you that I’m not the one who has killed people!”

  “Where is she?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Pratt said. “She said she would be back this afternoon.”

  “Where’s William?” Katherine asked.

  “He’s in our room,” Mrs. Pratt said.

  “You left a child in a room alone?” Katherine asked, incredulous.

  “He was sleeping,” Mrs. Pratt said, giving Katherine an odd stare.

  She turned to Jack for support but he, too, was giving her the same odd look, the one that told her she’d forgotten what time she was in.

  ❧

  Jack scrutinized Eliza Pratt again. She was hiding something. There was more to her story than she was saying. He was sorely tempted to bring her over to the sheriff—but that might not get him what he wanted. No, better to keep her close, her and the child. Eliza Pratt might not be worth much to Alanna, but Jack was willing to wager the child was.

  A part of him immediately dismissed the notion of using a child as a hostage. But then he thought, if that child could draw Alanna in and aid in her capture, well, wouldn’t everyone be better off? Including the child?

  “I think we should adjourn to your room, Mrs. Pratt,” Jack said, sweeping his hand politely toward the door as he turned the knob, deciding on a course of action. “We will wait for Alanna there.”

  He ushered her out, checking the corridor first on the off chance she tried to make her escape. But Mrs. Pratt did no such thing, walking ahead of him and stopping before a door at the very end of the corridor.

  “This is our room,” she said.

  “Well, go on and open the door,” Jack said.

  Mrs. Pratt drew the key from her pocket and unlocked the door, gently pushing it open. At a glance, Jack could see that the room was furnished much as their own, the only difference being a pair of single beds rather than the double.

  Mrs. Pratt went toward the far bed where a small boy was curled up, his fingers in his mouth. Jack followed.

  No sooner had he stepped across the threshold than he felt the sudden sting of a blade and something crashing into the back of his head. He went down fast, bashing his head on the corner of the dresser and hitting the floor hard. Stars erupted in a sea of black and he fumbled for the gun at his shoulder. His fingers grasped at nothing, and before he could even contemplate the notion of trying to get up, someone had hold of his hair and was pulling it painfully, yanking his head back.

  “Get in here,” a voice snarled. “And shut that door.”

  ❧

  Katherine stared at herself in horror.

  It’s not me, she told herself. It wasn’t. It was Alanna McLeod, smiling just as pretty as you please, one hand in Jack’s hair while the other held a bloodied blade at his throat.

  Katherine could see a big welt near his hairline, blood running down the side of his neck from the lamp Alanna had broken over his head. More blood stained his side, the small patch spreading. There was something odd in his expression, and it took her a second or two to realize what it was: it was doubt. For the first time since they’d met Jack wasn’t sure of anything.

  “Well, well, well, what have we here?” Alanna said, letting go of Jack’s hair and pulling the Colt from the nearly hidden holster and waving it in front of Jack’s eyes. “Did someone forget to turn in their firearm to the proper authorities?”

  She aimed the gun at Katherine, cocking it with a cold eye and practiced fingers. “You, shut that door like I asked if you want to live a little longer.”

  Katherine did so, certain in that moment they were both going to die; there was something beyond hatred in Alanna’s eyes, something that held every hurt she’d ever had, every wrong, every wound that wouldn’t heal. For reasons Alanna probably didn’t know and Katherine couldn’t begin to guess, it was all directed at them. They were a symbol for some demon she thought she could kill.

  “It won’t help you to kill us,” Katherine said.

  Alanna turned quick as a penny and slapped Katherine across the face, stunning her.

  “And you had best keep your tongue still,” she said, bringing the gun closer to Katherine, who looked away. “Now, make yourself useful. Get him into that chair and tie him to it.”

  Alanna reached to pull a long blue scarf from the top of the dresser, never taking her eyes off Katherine, and laid it over the back of the chair.

  Jack was still on the floor, dazed, one hand holding himself up and the other pressed to the wound in his side. The stain was growing, blood seeping, and Katherine was almost tempted to tell Alanna to go screw herself. After all, if she was going to kill them anyway, it hardly mattered whether Jack was tied to the chair or not. But before she could gather her courage to tell Alanna off, Jack made a noise and shook his head.

  “Do it,” he said.

  Katherine set her jaw together and walked the few steps to where Jack lay, bending down to him. He clutched at her with his other hand and she pulled him to his feet, helping him over the chair. H
e slumped in it and she had to grab hold of him, righting him like he was drunk.

  “Jack—” Katherine began, afraid for him.

  “Shut up!” Alanna leveled the gun at Katherine’s head. “You don’t talk! Either of you! Now tie his hands behind him and make it tight.”

  Katherine took the scarf with trembling hands. Jack gave her his hands, pressing them together to make it easier for her. Tears started in her yes, burning, blurring her vision, and she felt her whole body convulse in one huge sob as she tied. But she sucked it in and breathed until the tightness left her chest, blinking the tears away.

  “Step away from him,” Alanna said, waving the gun in the direction she wanted Katherine to move. She kept her eyes on Katherine while she checked the tightness of the scarf, stepping back once she was satisfied.

  “Now, who wants to die first?” she asked, using the gun as a pointer. “You, my little look-alike? Or you, Jack McCabe, bounty hunter?”

  Neither of them said anything.

  “What? No one wants to die today?”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Jack said. “Katherine alive is just as good as Katherine dead. I’ll wager Jim Woolbridge would be happy to take her in your place.”

  “Oh. Is that her name?” Alanna asked, inspecting Katherine like she was a piece of meat. “Well, you may be right, Jack, but I think I like the sound of Katherine dead better. Anyway, your friend Jim is no longer with us, I’m afraid. Loose ends, you know.”

  “She can still take the fall,” Jack said. “Kill me . . .”

  “No!” Katherine cried, moving involuntarily toward him.

  Alanna pulled the trigger and the gun went off like a firecracker, the bullet whizzing by Katherine’s head and embedding itself in the wall behind her. She gave cry and fell to her feet instinctively, crouching near Jack.

  “I think you should be first,” Alanna said to him. “If not for you, Will and I would be living happily in Mexico by now. That was the plan you know, to live happily ever after. But then you had to get on that train and ruin everything.”

  “Kill me then,” Jack said evenly. “But let Katherine go. She had nothing to do with it.”

  “Oh no? Then why was she traveling with Will? What were they doing in Boston together, eh?” She glared at Katherine who shrank from her gaze. “Well? Tell me, what were you doing in Boston with Will.”

  Katherine searched frantically for words but they had frozen on her lips.

  Alanna took a step closer. “Well?”

  Katherine shook her head, knowing she could not tell Alanna the truth.

  Alanna took another step closer, leveling the gun, her blue eyes as hard as diamonds. Katherine flinched.

  “Miss Alanna, please, I think there’s something wrong with William.”

  Mrs. Pratt was on the bed, leaning over the boy. She looked at Alanna, worry creasing her dark eyes.

  “What is it?” Alanna asked crossly.

  “He won’t wake up,” Mrs. Pratt said.

  “I gave him some Winslow’s Soothing Syrup. I didn’t want him to see anything . . . unpleasant.”

  “But he looks funny,” Mrs. Pratt persisted. “I think his color is off and I’m not sure if he’s breathing right.”

  Alanna glanced once at Katherine and Jack, as if they were somehow to blame, before edging over to the bed where William slept, keeping the gun aimed in their general direction.

  Katherine peered at Jack. The blood from his head wound had quit dripping, most of it beginning to dry, but the knife wound was still seeping. The whole bottom half of Jack’s shirt was red now. There was sweat beading across his forehead. He looked hard at her, his mouth moving silently.

  She shook her head, not understanding, glancing over at Alanna who was going to turn back to them any second. She shuddered and shifted her gaze to Jack.

  He tried again, slower, and glanced down toward his feet, repeating himself until her eyes widened in understanding.

  The other gun. The .32 he had in his ankle holster. She slid her eyes over to the bed where Alanna was leaning over her son, then back to Jack, nodding. She reached over to his ankle, heart pounding like crazy in her chest, and pulled the gun free.

  “He’s fine,” Alanna was saying. “I probably gave him a little too much.”

  Katherine clamped her teeth together and raised the gun with both hands.

  The last time she had done this she was trying not to hit anything, and that had been hard. This was a thousand times more difficult because now she absolutely had to hit something, and it was another person. And that person looked like her. She breathed in deeply, trying not to shake, trying to aim. Steady, she told herself . . .

  Alanna caught the movement and the gun in her hand came up.

  Katherine pulled the trigger, felt the gun jerk in her grip. She held it tighter and aimed again and pulled, aimed again and pulled. The noise was deafening.

  Alanna’s eyes widened in surprise.

  Katherine rose to her knees and aimed and fired three more times.

  Alanna shuddered and collapsed to the floor.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God . . .” Katherine was shaking.

  “Get the gun,” Jack said. “Quickly.”

  Katherine dropped the one in her hands and ran over to where the other had fallen, grabbing it and aiming it at Alanna’s fallen form.

  “Oh, lord, you killed her,” Mrs. Pratt said.

  “Check her, Katherine. Carefully.”

  Katherine bent down, putting a finger to Alanna’s neck in imitation of what she’d seen in films and shows. She didn’t feel anything but she wasn’t a doctor either. She searched Alanna’s face, her eyes so blue, staring at . . . nothing. Katherine watched her a moment more, waiting to see if her chest would rise. But she was still and the three expanding bloodstains began to drip and pool beneath her. Katherine rose and went to Jack, untying him from the chair.

  Immediately he slumped over to one side and would’ve fallen if she hadn’t caught hold of him. Mrs. Pratt was crying a little on the bed and somewhere the noise of footsteps reached Katherine’s ears along with people yelling and pounding on the door.

  “Open up!”

  Katherine didn’t dare leave Jack, but in a moment whoever it was figured out that the door wasn’t locked and barged in. There were five men, all wearing similar suits and coats of drab brown and black.

  “What the hell happened here?” one of them asked.

  Katherine glanced at Jack who was starting to look a little pale. “We need a doctor, right away,” she said, adding, “and . . . and the sheriff. That woman is Alanna McLeod.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Aftermath

  Katherine reached over to Jack, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand and breathing a small sigh of relief when she found it still cool to the touch. The doctor had said if anything killed Jack it would be infection. The head wound looked nasty but it would heal quickly, not being very deep. There was a bandage with salve on it now. The knife wound, however, that was the one that concerned the doctor. No way to know how deep or what damage.

  “Keep him quiet for the next few days, no moving about, and make sure the wound stays clean. I’ll come by in the morning and see how you’re doing.”

  That had been after they’d carried Jack to their room down the hall where he promptly passed out. It left Katherine to talk to Sheriff Behan alone, forcing her to tell the story without any helpful hints from Jack.

  Should she continue with the charade they were married? Tell the sheriff everything they knew about who Alanna was? And what would Eliza Pratt say? What if their stories contradicted one another?

  In the end she gave her name as Katherine McCabe, deciding that it was better to play a married woman than a loose woman. An
d she mentioned Harlan Harris’ name, knowing he could be wired and would vouch for both of them. As an afterthought she told them what Alanna had said about Jim Woolbridge; Sheriff Behan and his deputy had gone off in search of Jim.

  They found him in his room at the boarding house, “cold as a wagon wheel” according to Mrs. Pratt who had come knocking on her door not long after to tell her. She was still dressed in her prim little gray dress though she’d left the matching bonnet behind. Her hair hung in a long braid down her back.

  “Has William recovered?” she asked.

  Mrs. Pratt (Eliza, she told Katherine to call her) nodded. “I told the doctor what she’d done and he checked the boy over, said he’d be fine but that I shouldn’t give him any more.”

  “Have they asked you about her . . . about Alanna?”

  Eliza nodded.

  “What did you say?”

  “I just said that I had no idea who she was until the two of you showed up. They don’t need to know any more than that.”

  Katherine agreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment. The fewer questions the better.

  “Did they ask you how come the two of you look so much alike?” Eliza asked.

  “No, but I expect they will. The deputy kept looking at me funny, and he said they might have more questions.”

  “Why is it you two look so much alike? Are you related?”

  “I can’t imagine how she looks so much like me,” Katherine answered, the lie slipping off her tongue easy now for as many times as she had said it. “And I’m certain we’re not related.”

  “Strange,” Eliza mused. “I imagine it must have irked Will to no end when he found out you weren’t her.”

  “It did at first. But we came to an agreement, seeing as how we had both been wronged by her.”

  Eliza shook her head. “I don’t know what he thought he was going to do. She would’ve done anything to protect that boy.”

  “He wasn’t the same, you know. Not like when he was with her.”