Skeeter's eyes bulged. He glanced quickly down the road, as if he expected the sheriff to materialize any second. "How'd�"
Lainie slipped inside the bank and shut the door quietly behind her.
"Who the hell are you?" The words boomed across the lobby in a voice so loud, Lainie flinched.
A squat, barrel-chested man pointed two pearl-handled six-shooters at her. She recognized him instantly. Dark, squinty eyes peered out at her from a mass of leathery, wrinkled skin. "I'm talkin' to you," he growled.
Lainie stared at him, surprised in spite of herself at how mean he looked. "Don't mind me, Mose. I'm just watching."
The man in the center of the room spun around. His looming shadow cut across the black and white marble floor, huge and menacing. He was tall, probably six-four, and broad-shouldered, wearing a long, dirty brown duster, black woolen trousers, rough white cotton shirt, and a ragged vest. Scarred chaps hung low on his narrow hips, brushed the dusty leather of his boots. Two pistols hung in the holsters at his sides; their copper bullets studded his wide black gun belt.
A black Stetson was pulled low on his forehead. Beneath the brim, his hair was a wild fringe of silver gray that hung in waves to his shoulder blades. A dusty red mask concealed the lower half of his face, but it didn't matter. Lainie would have recognized him anywhere. His eyes weren't the kind a woman forgot�especially if she'd invented them. They were brown and deep-set,
22
framed by thick, winged black brows, and cold. Colder somehow than she'd expected.
"How did you get in here?" he said in a deep, rolling voice that hinted of Scotland.
Lainie shrugged and grinned, as if to say, Shit happens. "Skeeter's not the best lookout."
Above the mask, his eyes narrowed. He took a step toward her, the rifle held negligently in his arms. "How do you know about Skeeter?"
She stared, admiring her handiwork. Damn, he was a good-looking man. Handsome, square-jawed, rugged. A thousand dark secrets lurked in his eyes; danger clung to him like a shroud. All he needed now was a Harley-Davidson.
He strode across the lobby, his duster flapping against his legs as he walked. When he reached her, he yanked her toward him. She stumbled against his chest and hit so hard that for a second she couldn't breathe. Her head snapped back. She stared up into his face, seeing all the hard lines and deep furrows that betrayed the harshness of the past she'd invented for him. "Lay down."
She glanced at the cold, dirty floor. "I don't think so."
He stared, unblinking. One eyebrow cocked slowly upward. His hold tightened, almost lifted her off her feet. "This is a bad time to think, lady. Now, get on the goddamn floor."
"Enough is enough." She tried to wrench her arm free, but couldn't. "Look, John�" she said in as reasonable a voice as she could manage.
A muffled sound came through his mask. It sounded like a sharply indrawn breath. He squeezed her arm more tightly and yanked her toward him. "What did you call me?"
Lainie felt a sense of apprehension that was ridiculous.
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This was just a dream. He couldn't actually hurt her. "John. It's your name, isn't it?"
He pulled her close and stared down at her through cold eyes. "How did you know that?"
Lainie remembered suddenly that no one knew Killian's first name. He was a legend among outlaws, a man without a history or a past. He was simply Killian.
She cursed her own stupidity. Whatever happened to dreaming you were gifted and godlike instead of stupid and mouthy?
Lainie's heart beat faster, her breathing quickened. God help her, even though she knew this was a dream, she felt a flicker of fear. She knew Killian, knew him inside and out. She'd created him, fashioned him from the cold darkness in her own soul. He was everything that terrified her in a man. Everything she hated about herself.
She fought the idiotic feeling of fear. This was just a dream, after all, and one that had to follow her plot. She might feel danger, but it wasn't real. Any second now she was going to wake up in the safety of her own bedroom. The realization calmed her, gave her immeasurable strength. She didn't have to take any crap from this Neanderthal he-man. Without her, he didn't exist.
Her sense of control returned. She was the creator here, the one with the power. He was nothing more than words on a computer screen. "You don't scare me."
His eyes narrowed. A tiny pulse beat in his taut jaw. "Then you ain't real bright, lady."
"Shoot her, boss," Mose growled. "We don't got all goddamn day."
Killian cocked his head toward the teller. "Get the money, Purty."
Purty dove for the bags of money and clutched them to his scrawny chest, backing out slowly.
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Mose cocked both guns and followed Purty, keeping his back to the door.
Killian stood as still as a statue, watching her, his gun still trained on the teller. She could almost see the thoughts in his head; he was wondering how she knew so much, how much of a danger she presented.
Suddenly he grabbed her by the back of the neck.
"Ouch," she squeaked, trying to wrench free.
He yanked her backward, his fingers pinching into the tender flesh of her nape.
"Nobody move," he said to the people sprawled on the floor. "We got a lookout waitin' across the street. You can't see him, but he can damn sure see you. He's gonna shoot the first person who comes out of these doors."
Killian curled his arm around her shoulders, pinned her against his massive chest. Lainie tried to wrestle free, but his arm was like a cold steel weight against her flesh as he dragged her out. She kicked at him, clawed at him, struggled to be free. "When I do the rewrite, I'm going to kill you here, Killian. In the middle of the lobby. It's going to be bloody, too. Painful�"
He clamped a hot, gloved hand over her mouth. She sucked in a gasping breath and clawed at his arm.
They burst through the closed door and backed into the hot sunlight. Skeeter hurriedly handed each man a set of reins. Purty and Mose jumped up onto their mounts.
The street was empty, deserted.
Lainie felt a surge of irritation. Where in the hell was Joe Martin? He should be coming around the corner now, guns drawn, silver marshal's star glinting in the sunlight.
She couldn't wait to see him. His appearance in this dream would be a hell of an improvement. A cross be-
25
tween Mel Gibson and Daniel Day-Lewis, he was every woman's ideal hero. A heart-stoppingly handsome man with a needy heart and a sense of humor. Her and Joe in the desert, alone ... Now, that would be a dream.
Killian dragged her toward the horses, then tossed her over his shoulder. She hit his back so hard, it drove the air from her lungs. She gasped and slammed her fists into his back. "What are you doing?"
"Shut up, lady."
He flung her onto a saddle and pinned her in place with an unforgiving grip.
Skeeter frowned. "Hey, boss, that's my horse."
"You can have him," Lainie said. "If you'll just tell Tarzan here to let go of me ..."
Skeeter blinked up at her. "Huh?"
Lainie groaned. "I must have written better dialogue for you, Skeeter."
"Shut up, lady," Killian snapped. "Skeet, you ride behind Purty. We'll get you a fresh horse at the change."
He shrugged. "Okay."
"Shut up?" Lainie's temper snapped. She hated it when a man told her to shut up. "Now, look here, you arrogant bastard�"
Killian silenced her with a thundercloud of a look. "You don't seem to understand your situation, lady. I could shoot you."
"Go ahead if it would make you feel better. Jesus, I can't imagine why I created such a macho pig ... even for a villain."
He grabbed her reins and vaulted into his own saddle. Pulling her horse close, he leaned toward her. "You give me one second's worth of problems, and I'll shoot you."
"Blah, blah, blah."
He looped the reins around his saddle horn and kicked his horse. The stallion lurched forwar
d, dragging
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Lainie's horse with him. Lainie snapped backward like a rag doll.
They were off, galloping hard.
"G-Good getaway," she hissed between painful bounces. "I'm sure no one in town noticed."
"Shut up."
Lainie watched through blurry, dust-clogged eyes as the town sped past. Where in the hell was Joe?
"Only me. Only / could create a hero who shows up too late." She shook her head, hanging on for dear life. "You'd think I was dating the man."
Chapter Three
f
They reached the change point in under an hour. Killian glanced backward out of habit, but he knew there wouldn't be a posse today�if you could call a bunch of pansy-assed merchants on fat horses a posse. He'd been robbing banks long enough to read the signs, and today they'd been crystal-clear. The town had been dead quiet, and as soon as the good ol' boys in town heard Killian's name, they'd forget about getting their money back. It was one of the benefits of a bad reputation in the West. Only men with a death wish dared to follow an outlaw to his hideout.
Up ahead, four fresh horses were tethered to a tree. Killian frowned. The moment's relief he'd felt at seeing the quiet expanse of desert behind him vanished.
Just what he goddamn needed .. . four horses and five riders.
He jerked on the reins and leaned back in the saddle, bringing his stallion to a skidding halt. The horse he was leading immediately rammed into them.
The woman made a wheezing grunt of a sound at the impact. "Goddamn it," she snapped, straightening enough to glare at him. "Aren't you supposed to signal?"
The other horses slid to a dusty stop alongside them. 27
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Purty and Mose leapt to the ground and started uncinching their saddles.
Skeeter jumped from his seat behind Purty and glanced back toward town. Sweat ran in dirty rivulets down his wrinkled cheeks, darkened the pale blue fabric of his collar. "You think there's a posse followin' us, boss?"
Mose laughed throatily. "Not from that half-assed, backwater nothin' of a town."
"Fortune Flats is not a backwater town," the woman said with an uppity snort.
Killian wrenched her off the horse, clamping an arm around her before she could run. Holding her tightly against him, he removed her saddle and dropped it on the dusty ground.
She squealed and kicked out. The tip of her boot slammed into his shin, sending a spark of pain up his leg. "You a�"
He slapped a hand across her mouth and tightened his grip. Her eyes narrowed. Squishing her against his side so tightly she couldn't move, he turned to the men. "We'd best split up, just in case some tinhorn gets a hair up his ass to follow. Skeeter, you take the back way to the ranch; Purty, you and Mose head out toward the canyon. We'll meet up at the ridge in a few days to split the cash."
Mose gazed down at the woman, his eyes slitted and black against his tanned, mustached face. "You want me to kill her, boss?"
"We ain't killers, Mose," Purty said reasonably, tipping his hat back and scratching the dampness from his brow. " 'Sides, we could use a woman up at the hideout."
Mose studied the captive, his speculative gaze moving slowly down her body. "I like my pieces a little skinnier."
She stuck out her arm and flipped up the middle finger of her right hand.
Mose surged toward her. "Why you�"
Killian stopped the other man with a sharp look and pulled her tighter against him. "That an invitation, little lady?"
"Not hardly, asshole."
He spun her around to face him. Her head snapped back. She glared up at him through furious, gray-green eyes. "Get your hands off me, you pig."
Killian felt a smile start. "Most people don't call me a pig to my face, lady." He leaned closer, whispered, "They're afraid I'll kill them."
"You can't kill me, you idiot," she said. "It's my dream."
The sheer craziness of the remark caught Killian off guard. He leaned back and studied her, frowning.
Something was wrong with this woman. Really wrong. Nothing about her was ... normal. Not even her clothes. She wore a huge red sweater that hung past her hips. A deep gash of a neckline drooped almost to her waist, showing a band of flesh and a black clingy thing that covered her breasts. The jeans she wore looked to be a hundred years old, bleached to the color of foam and mottled with ratty holes. Even whores wore more.
And clothing wasn't the only strange thing about her. Her hair was cut short, like a man's, only it sort of ... flared up on top, the stand-up curls defying the laws of gravity. She had a narrow, pale face with sharp cheekbones and full, puffy lips that would have been damned kissable on another woman.
"Yer crazy, lady," Purty said quietly.
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Killian loosened his grip on her, and she immediately spiraled away. She made a grunting sound of satisfaction, then folded her arms across her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. "Wake up, wake up, wake up."
He watched her, completely at a loss. "What in the hell are you doing?"
She ignored him. "Wake up, wake up, wake up."
Skeeter turned frightened eyes on Killian. "She's crazy," he murmured. "And she knows my name."
"Mine, too," Mose said in a suspicious voice.
"Wake up, wake up." She sighed audibly. "Goddamn it, wake up."
"Jesus H. Christ, boss," Mose growled, saddling his fresh horse. "We been witnessed by an insane woman. I say we shoot her and get the hell outta here."
"You can't shooter for yappin', Mose," Purty said, tying the money bag around his saddle horn and climbing into the saddle. "I say we take 'er back to the ridge. We can figger out how she knows so much up there."
It made sense. And Killian didn't have time to think of a better solution. "Okay, Purty. You take her with you."
Purty laughed, a rich, rumbling sound that seemed to shake the dusty earth. "I done my time with crazies, boss. Sorry."
Skeeter held up his hands before Killian could even speak. "Don't look at me, boss." He cast her a nervous look. "She ... scares me."
Killian gritted his teeth. Perfect. "Fine. She goes with me. You boys go ahead'n take the fresh horses. I'll ride the black for a few more miles. She can ride my roan."
Purty grinned at Killian. "You're gonna need a mite bigger horse, boss. That roan's sorta puny."
The woman's eyes popped open and drilled Purty. "Purty, you make another crack about my weight and
31
I'll cram those decaying, yellowed teeth down your knobby neck. Got it?"
Purty threw his head back and laughed. The hacking sound reverberated across the silent desert. As the sound faded away, he shook his head and pulled down the brim of his dusty brown hat. "Boss, you got your work cut out for you. See ya back at the ridge."
Mose frowned. It was his usual expression, dour and suspicious. He looked at the woman and slowly shook his head. "I'm tellin' ya, boss. You'd best kill this one. It'd save time in the long run."
Purty slapped him on the back, sending a puff of dust into the air between them. "Mose, you gotta quit bein' so damned generous with women."
Skeeter let out a hoot of laughter and leapt up onto his horse. The three riders barreled backward and spun around, leading their tired horses behind them. When the dust cleared, they were gone; all that remained was the thundering echo of hooves on hard-packed earth.
There was a moment of blessed silence, then the woman spoke.
"I need to ... you know . . . have some privacy."
Killian turned to her. She stood there, one hip thrown sideways, her arms slammed across her chest. Frustration was stamped on her delicate features. She wanted to run; he could see it in her eyes, but he also saw that she understood her situation. There was nowhere to go.
He gestured with a hand. "Go ahead."
She tapped her foot for a second, then looked away. "I said I'd need some privacy."
He glanced at the landscape around them. It was a huge, brown plain dot
ted with small, flowering shrubs. He couldn't help smiling. "This is as private as it gets."
She stared at him, gape-mouthed. "You expect me to just cop a squat out here in the middle of all this noth-
32
ingness? God, there are scorpions out there, and snakes and lizards." She shuddered. "All kinds of grotesque little creatures just waiting for my bare butt to hang their way. Uh-uh. No way."
Killian smiled. "A feminine little thing like you ... I figured you could piss standing up."
Her gaze narrowed. "Turn around."
"I don't know, lady. I live to see crazy women pee."
She flipped up her favorite finger and spun away from him. As she passed a thin, straggly tree, she yanked off a handful of leaves and marched toward the biggest little shrub she could find.
He grabbed her saddle from the ground and tossed it onto the roan's swayed back, tightening the cinch quickly. He could hear her footsteps fading into the distance, punctuated by unladylike curses.
He turned his back on her. After a few minutes, he heard her come up behind him.
He cocked his head toward the roan. "Get on."
"No way. I'm going to wake up now."
He shook his head. Christ, this was getting old. He sighed and faced her. "Get on."
She stared at him, her fathomless hazel eyes fixed on his. For a second he thought he saw a softening in her gaze, but that was impossible. This woman was as soft as a thorn. "I can't seem to wake up," she said, crossing her arms and looking away.
He reached for his gun, pulled it out, and dangled it negligently along his thigh. "Get on the horse or I'll throw you on."
Her gaze flicked to his weapon, and he could see in the sudden narrowing of her eyes that she received the unspoken threat. She almost smiled, a brief upward tug of the lips that held no humor. "I guess I've got no choice."
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"That's right. Now, get on the horse."
"Don't think for a second I'm coming with you because of that gun. You can't kill me. It's my dream." She frowned. "Well, actually it's becoming a nightmare."
He stared down at her, unsure for a moment of how to respond. "Lady," he said softly, "you're crazy."
She gave him a cocky shrug. "You aren't the first to say that."
"I don't imagine I am." Turning, he reached for the rope tied to his saddle.
She swallowed convulsively, her gaze fixed hard on the rope. "Wh-What are you going to do with that?"
"I'm gonna tie your hands." He saw her flinch at his words, noticed the pallor that moved across her cheeks and the slight tremble in her lower lip just before she bit down on it. "Why?"
When Lightning Strikes Page 3