Dragon Fire

by Linda Ladd

  "I'm sorry. I'll never do it again, I promise. I'll do anything you say, oh, Dios, anything you want—"

  Every muscle in Windsor's body tensed as he drew back his long black whip. The knotted thong made a soft whistling sound as it slashed through the air. The lash struck hard into the soft flesh in the small of Nina's back, and she shrieked in agony, the horrible sound echoing off the walls.

  "Stop!" Windsor cried, trying to twist her body so she could use her feet to subdue the man torturing her friend, but her ankles were lashed together, making it hard for her to get any kind of leverage. "She can't stand any more! Look at her back! You're going to kill her!"

  The man turned around, and Windsor tensed all over as the monster with the whip stopped directly in front of her. The light from the lantern shone on him, and Windsor got her first look at Emerson Clan's face.

  His hair was very long, hanging freely down his back well past his shoulders: snow-white like an old man's, but as finely textured as a young child's. The strong fragrance of roses emanating from him was enough to choke her. He wore a mustache, neatly trimmed atop his upper lip, the same silvery color as his hair. His face was unlined and handsome, tanned deeply from months in the Mexican sun, but his eyes were what Windsor stared into—her whole body gripped with dread at the cruelty she read in their ice-blue depths. Never in her life had she seen such a look—only a demon could harbor such innate evil. In that one moment when their gazes locked together, she understood Stone Kincaid's nightmares, and Nina's terror of the man staring at her with such malevolent menace.

  "So you've finally decided to join our little party, have you? I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to bring you around with my good friend here." He held up the bullwhip, coiling it loosely as he spoke. The ruby eyes of his cobra ring shone in the lantern light, and Nina's blood still dripped off the knots of leather. Windsor could hear Nina sobbing. She swallowed hard, but she forced herself to gather her strength and remain calm. Stone Kincaid and Sun-On-Wings had followed them. They would come soon. She would have to reason with Emerson Clan until they were able to rescue them.

  "If you kill us, you will never get your son back," she told Clan, forcing all fear from her mind. She was pleased that she sounded unafraid.

  Clan smiled, his teeth looking as white as his hair in his sun-burned face. "I do hope you're as brave as you seem. I like courageous women the best. They're more fun to break." He glanced over his shoulder at Nina. "Take Nina there, she has no tolerance for pain. Half a dozen lashes, and she passes out. Then I have to go to all the trouble of reviving her. It's a waste of time and energy, don't you think?"

  "I'm not afraid of you, Emerson Clan. And I am not afraid to die, because I will only leave this body and enter another. But you will be punished for your evil deeds in the next life and for all eternity. I feel only pity for you."

  Emerson Clan threw back his head and laughed with hearty abandon. "You're a woman after my own heart, to be sure," he said, his eyes narrowing into malicious slits. "No wonder Kincaid made you whore for him. Yes, that's right, I know all about the two of you being lovers. Nina told me—and you know what, Miss Windsor Richmond? I only had to hold up my whip and let her see it, and she spilled out all kinds of interesting information. You see, little Nina knows me a lot better than you do, or you wouldn't be trying to annoy me like you are."

  "You don't scare me," she said again. "I have been trained to disassociate my mind from my body. You can whip me all day long, and I will tell you nothing. I will not cry out in pain. I will not make a sound."

  "Very interesting." Clan walked closer and grabbed the front of her shirt. He ripped it down the middle, baring her breasts. "And what about this sort of thing? Do you like this better?"

  Windsor's expression did not change as he rubbed his hands over her body. "I feel nothing but contempt for you."

  Clan stepped back, his pale eyes gleaming; then suddenly he looped the whip around her neck, jerking it so tight that her breath was cut off. He held it secure, staring into her eyes, smiling, until she began to struggle, her face turning blue. Finally he released his stranglehold enough for her to draw one shallow breath. He bared his teeth again, a slow, cruel twist of thin lips.

  "We'll just see how different you are from Nina and the others who've felt the bite of my whip, my dear. There are all sorts of ways to inflict pain. I've discovered them all over the years. Some people can't stand physical torture, some can't stand having their bodies violated. And some, my pretty little love—some grow to like what I do to them. You might turn out to be my greatest challenge, I can see that already."

  Sliding his whip from around her neck, he chuckled, then raked his fingers down the length of his long hair. "What's more, I'm going to enjoy everything I do to you, because I know that Stone Kincaid loves you. I find that in itself extraordinary, because for years he's thought of no one but me. We were actually friends once, you know, before he got all righteous and moral, and turned me over for court-martial. Yes, he'll hate you being in my hands. He'll hate thinking about what I am doing to you. And listen carefully, for this is the very best part"—he snarled his fingers in her hair and wrenched her head back until she was forced to look at him—"he'll hate you, too, once I'm done with you, because every time he looks at you, he'll remember you were with me, and it'll make him sick to the depths of his soul."

  "Stone Kincaid will kill you."

  "I don't think so. He'll do anything to get you back, maybe even turn himself over to me. But you know what, Miss Windsor Richmond? I don't want Kincaid anymore. I'd rather have his woman, because I know that will hurt him far more than anything I could ever do to him."

  When Windsor met his gaze dispassionately, he laughed again as if delighted by her defiance. "Oh, by the way," he said then, "using your little pet monkey to pose for Carlos was a nice touch. Too bad I had to wring its neck."

  Inside, Windsor cried out with grief, but she tried not to show any reaction as Clan leaned very close to her face.

  "I do love a challenge," he murmured, his breath fanning her cheek. "So enough talk. Let the fun begin."

  20

  Durango lay nearly a hundred miles east of Mazatlán. Surrounded by the towering Sierra Madre, the village hugged a central square, a meeting place where Indians and mestizos met and talked, courted and haggled. As in most Mexican cities, a massive Catholic cathedral dominated the town, its towering walls dented and worn by the centuries.

  Alongside the enormous symbol of faith, the main plaza was lined with tall, narrow houses with red-tiled roofs, the railed balconies a reminder of the Moorish influence of the Spanish conquistadors. Large terra-cotta pots of geraniums decorated the windowsills and hung from knotted ropes to brighten the dusty pedestrian walks.

  Other than the church, the most frequented establishment was the cantina, a neatly whitewashed brick building erected where three busy streets converged upon the plaza. One evening as the sun painted the sky with melting streaks of pink and violet behind indigo peaks, Stone Kincaid sat by himself at a secluded table on a flagstone-paved patio outside the busy cafe.

  Half concealed by a potted aguava tree, he drank alone, his back against the interior wall. His right hand was curled loosely around a half-empty bottle of tequila. He appeared indolent, his bloodshot eyes heavy-lidded, but behind the pose his mind raced and his eyes darted constantly among the bundle-laden townspeople hurrying past him. His handsome face, now deeply tanned and covered with an unkempt black beard, was composed; the strength in his massive muscles was leashed. But deep in his gut, his emotions were shredded and raw, alive with anxiety and despair, twisting in and out, over and under, like a bed of swarming vipers.

  It had been nine days since Clan had taken Windsor. For five of those days, he and Sun-On-Wings had followed Clan's trail across the mountains to Durango, but they had found no trace of the gerrilleros or their hideout. For the past four days, using Durango as a base, they had ridden up into the rugged mountains all day, ev
ery day, searching the canyons and villages, questioning the campesinos, following every lead, every clue. Stone no longer slept, no longer thought of food. Only when the sun went down did he return to the cantina that Clan had designated and sit by himself, suffering through the long, endless hours that crawled by while Clan kept him waiting.

  Oh, God, what had that son of a bitch been doing to her? What awful things had he put her through? Stone's stomach took a forward roll, quivering with repugnance as he remembered the ridged scars on Nina's back. Windsor's skin was so soft and smooth, so vulnerable and easily bruised. He squeezed his eyes shut, clamping his lips in a strained, tight line. He felt sick with a guilt that weighed down on him like a granite coat. What if Clan had managed to find out what Windsor meant to Stone? He'd delight in transferring every caustic drop of hatred he felt for Stone onto her.

  Don't, he thought, don't think about it! Concentrate on something else, anything! He pressed his fist against his mouth and consciously turned his mind into an empty slate, a brand-new black one, as fresh as the ones he had used as a boy on the first day of school. When he had been incarcerated at Andersonville and the hardship and pain had threatened to overwhelm him, he had learned to mentally take a rag and erase his thoughts, eradicate the torture and grief, until his mind became black and empty, a total blank. The slate inside his head had saved his sanity in the prison camp, and he would use it again to help him survive the horror of Windsor's capture. No, don't think about Windsor, he told himself again, not even her name. Don't dwell on the pain and guilt eating away your heart. Don't think at all.

  Instead, he focused his energy on the need to remain patient and in strict control of his emotions so he would be ready when Clan finally showed up. Despite his resolve, frustration stubbornly rose to the surface again, like a bubble in a boiling kettle, trying to take over his mind. What had her last words to him been? Tonight you will be free of Emerson Clan. You will sleep peacefully in my arms with no terrible dreams of revenge to haunt you. Oh, God, oh, God.

  Wipe the slate clean, he thought determinedly.

  Clan was late on purpose. Stone knew that. He had not come in a week, as he had said, because he wanted Stone to suffer for as long as possible. Stone was well aware of how the son of a bitch thought. Clan was confident that time was on his side. Stone would never hurt his son, and he knew it. He also knew that Stone would do anything to get Windsor back.

  Oh, Windsor, where are you? How could I have gotten you into this? His guilt-ridden mind screamed the agonizing accusations before he could subjugate them, and he shook his head and wet cracked lips. No, don't think about her, don't do it, goddammit! Wipe the slate clean, wipe it clean! But oh, God, he missed her! He needed her back so badly he wanted to die! He'd kill himself if he could stop what was happening to her! What if Clan didn't show up? What if he just kept Windsor for himself?

  Gritting his teeth so hard that his facial muscles ached, Stone took up the cerebral eraser and rubbed away Windsor's beautiful face, her smile, the sweet fragrance of her hair, until his mind was blank and dark and dead. His grip on the bottle of tequila tightened, and he concentrated solely on taking a drink. Consciously, he performed the motions—lifted the bottle, put it to his mouth, drank, swallowed, forgot, didn't think. The tequila tasted warm and potent and bitter as it slid down his throat into a burning stomach.

  Clan would come. He wanted Carlos enough to put Nina through hell and back. And he would know that Stone would never let him have the baby while he was holding Windsor and Nina. Oh, God, how could he give up poor little Carlos to the murdering bastard? But he mustn't think about that either. It had to be done; it was the only way he could keep Windsor and Nina alive.

  Scanning the crowded street again, Stone tipped the bottle to his mouth. He drank deeply, wishing he could get drunk, the way he had at Sweet Sue's. Windsor had looked so beautiful that night in the bathhouse, and he had wanted her so desperately. God in heaven, how could he have let this happen? He should be shot for being such a fool. Wipe the slate, wipe it clean, don't think.

  His gaze slid over the town fountain located in the center of the square. Every inch of his body went stiff. Clan was standing next to the well. The bastard was smiling. While Stone watched, Clan began to move in his direction, weaving his way among the men and women loitering in front of the cantina. Stone drew his gun and laid it atop his knee. Never in his life had he wanted to kill anyone as much as he wanted to murder Clan at that moment. He wanted to put the Colt revolver against Clan's temple and pull the trigger. His finger itched with the need to kill.

  "Hello, Kincaid. It's been a while since we shared a bottle, hasn't it, amigo?"

  Stone stared at the man he had pursued for so long, the man he hated with every ounce of his being. His whole body quivered with the craving to grab Clan by the throat and choke the life out of him. He forced himself to remain motionless. He must not let Clan use his weaknesses against him.

  Instead, he studied Clan's appearance. He had changed since last October in Chicago when Stone had nearly captured him in the fiery lobby of the Star Hotel. Now he wore a black frock coat and trousers, and a white shirt with a stiff, starched collar encircled by a black string tie. He was dressed like an undertaker, Stone thought, noting that Clan's hair was longer than he remembered, falling in lanky strands over his back and shoulders. He walked with a slight limp, Stone noticed with triumph, pleased to see that the bullet he had fired into his leg the last time they'd met still caused him pain. But his eyes were the same, pale and lifeless, frighteningly cold and cruel.

  "Sit down, Clan." Stone's words were clipped off, terse and impassive. He forced himself to relax.

  Emerson Clan took a seat across from him. They stared at each other without speaking, then Clan smiled lazily as he slid a hand inside his black frock coat. Stone's fingers tightened around the ivory handle of his gun, but Clan merely withdrew a gold cigar case.

  "Care for a smoke, Kincaid?" he offered, striking a match on the wooden tabletop. He leaned back, coaxing the expensive square-tipped cheroot into flame.

  Stone shook his head. "Where are they, you bastard?"

  Clan leaned back his head and exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke. He took his time answering. "I must compliment you on your taste, my friend. Your lady is quite a beauty. And brave, too. At least, she was at first."

  Stone went rigid, but, well aware of the power Clan would wield over him if he detected a hint of vulnerability, he deliberately acted unaffected. He shrugged, forcing a nonchalant smile. "She's a woman, like any other."

  Clan cocked a silvery eyebrow. "Indeed." He paused, reaching again into his inside coat pocket. "Then I don't suppose this will bother you much." He tossed something onto the table, and Stone looked down at the long fall of silky blond hair, still braided into the queue that had hung down Windsor's back.

  "I thought you might like something to remember her by, in case we can't come to terms—"

  Clan's smug grin disintegrated as Stone lurched to his feet, his face contorted with rage, and grabbed Clan by the neck. His fingers encircled his throat, his thumbs clamping hard atop Clan's bobbing Adam's apple.

  "Go ahead," Clan croaked out hoarsely, "kill me and you'll never see her again."

  The strangled threat brought Stone back to his senses as nothing else could. He released his death grip. Clan collapsed weakly backward into his chair, and Stone fought for self-control as the other man coughed and held his hand against his bruised, aching throat.

  "You always did let your temper get the best of you," Clan muttered. "It's still getting you in trouble. That's why we made such a good team when we were at West Point. I kept you under control. Just think what we could have done together by now if you hadn't played the hero."

  "You were a goddamn traitor, feeding information to the Rebs."

  Emerson Clan didn't answer. He drew in a deep lungful of smoke, then held the cigar idly between his thumb and forefinger as he gazed out over the crowd. "I have to ad
mit I'm rather surprised that you've kept after me for so long. How many years has it been now? Six? More? Just think, Stone, old buddy, if you'd given up on catching me, your lovely little Miss Windsor Richmond would still be writhing under you in bed." He nudged Windsor's braid with his fingertip. "And all this would still be attached to her pretty head."

  Stone's hands knotted into hard fists. Clan saw the way they were clenching and unclenching. He gave a satisfied chuckle.

  "My goodness, Stone, you should see the look on your face. You must be in love. But don't worry, none of my men had her. I kept her for myself." His white teeth flashed in the deepening dusk.

  A vein throbbed visibly in Stone's temple. "Don't push me too far, Clan. Remember, I have your son."

  Clan's amused expression remained in place. "But you won't hurt him. You're much too honorable."

  "Get down to business, goddamn you, before I lose patience and enjoy putting a bullet in your brain."

  "Temper, temper, Kincaid." Clan bent his neck and blew an unbroken ring of smoke toward the sky. "I'm ready now to trade your woman for Carlos."

  "I want Nina, too."

  Surprise flickered across Clan's handsome features. "Nina? Whatever would you want her for?"

  "You've abused her long enough."

  "Nina's a betraying bitch. If my men and I hadn't been watching the incoming ships, your little scheme to capture me might have succeeded. But we both know that I'm just a little bit more clever than you are, don't we, Stone? That's why you just can't seem to catch me, no matter how hard you try. You really ought to give up and go home." He stubbed out his cigar, scarring the tabletop.

  "When and where do we make the exchange?"

  "You get that dirty Injun to bring my son here, then I'll tell you where you can find the women."

  "Yeah, Clan, like hell." Stone's laugh was contemptuous.

  "What? You don't trust me?" Clan's lips stretched into a mocking grin.