Hawk's Prize

by Elaine Barbieri

  Tricia found his wrists again at last.

  Drew was barely conscious when his hands fell free and Tricia collapsed against him. Maintaining clarity with pure strength of will, Drew cradled Tricia in his arms. The wound on her forehead was bleeding profusely as her eyes flickered open, and he said above the hiss of the leaping flames, “You have to listen to me, Tricia. I’m going to open the window. The air will feed the flames and we’ll only have a few moments to get out.”

  “The second floor . . . no way out!”

  Drew managed hoarsely, “Are you ready?”

  At Tricia’s weak response, Drew stood up and dragged her to her feet. He touched the windowpane and winced at the heat the moment before he pushed the window open and said, “Let’s go!”

  Flames licked at the floor behind them as Drew grasped Tricia around the waist and swung them both out the window. Grasping the vine that had worked its way up the building, Drew clung there unsteadily. He heard the sickening sound of the vine tearing loose from its roots, and they plunged downward.

  He was still holding Tricia tightly when they hit the ground with a crack and everything went dark.

  Jason stepped out onto the street at the sound of a fire wagon with its bell clanging. Elizabeth and he had just arrived at his quarters when the smell of smoke alerted him to the excitement outside. He glanced up at the unnatural glow that lit the night sky and then shouted to a man racing past, “What happened? What’s going on?”

  “It’s Chantalle’s house—the bordello. It’s on fire!” Chantalle . . .

  Turning back toward Elizabeth as she rushed toward him, he said, “I’m going!”

  Elizabeth was beside him when he reached the street, and Jason said heatedly, “Stay here!”

  “I’m going with you!”

  Unwilling to waste time in debate, Jason mounted and pulled Elizabeth up behind him.

  A heavy banging on the door of his cottage interrupted Clay’s late dinner with Jenna Leigh and brought him to his feet.

  Responding in a few swift steps, Clay opened the door to a young corporal who said breathlessly, “Sir, Madame Chantalle’s house is on fire. The whole building is engulfed. People are trapped in there!”

  Turning back toward Jenna Leigh as he reached for his hat and weapon, Clay said, “Wait here. I have to go.”

  Clay rushed toward his mount, which stood still saddled at the hitching rail. He looked back for Jenna Leigh and saw she was already in the yard, running toward the barn where her horse was stabled. He shouted, “I said to wait here, Jenna Leigh!”

  But she disappeared inside, and his corporal was waiting.

  A sense of urgency awakened Whit from a fitful sleep. At first disoriented, he glanced around the hotel room, and then frowned as the smell of smoke came through the open window. He walked unsteadily toward the open pane, going still at the sight of the blaze that illuminated the sky.

  He heard the sound of running footsteps past his door and he jerked it open, shouting, “What’s burning?”

  “Madame Chantalle’s bordello!”

  Whit paled. Drew had gone there to see Tricia.

  Snapping into motion, Whit turned back to the room, pulled on his clothes, snatched up his gunbelt, and headed toward the street.

  Dazed and unmoving after his fall, Drew lay on the ground in the darkness behind Chantalle’s house. He looked at Tricia, who lay motionless on the ground near him. She was unconscious, whether from the fall or from her head wound he could not be certain.

  His mind cleared when he heard shouts coming from the front of the building. Heat singed his skin, and he glanced up at Chantalle’s house, suddenly aware that it was fully ablaze. A brisk night breeze fanned the flames steadily upward. The fire popped sprays of burning sparks into the night sky as he managed to stand, and then snatched up Tricia’s limp form and carried her a safe distance from the blaze before sinking to his knees.

  His head was throbbing. His lungs were on fire. His eyes were tearing—beside him Tricia lay so still.

  “Tricia . . .”

  Soldiers appeared beside him, shouting orders that he did not fully comprehend. He protested when they picked Tricia up and ushered them both toward a waiting ambulance. Secured inside, he fought the darkness threatening to consume him as the horses jerked into motion. He held oblivion at bay as he clutched Tricia’s hand in his.

  The heat of the fire was intense as flames soared skyward from Chantalle’s bordello and smoke followed in billowing spirals. Knowing that he did not dare ride closer, Jason dismounted and lifted Elizabeth to the ground. He tied up his horse and looked back at her, alarmed by her oddly frozen expression as she watched the tongues of fire exploding outward with ever-increasing force through the windows.

  “Elizabeth.”

  No response.

  “Elizabeth!”

  Elizabeth turned toward him. Her lips were slightly parted, but no words emerged and he said tightly, “I want you to stay here, do you understand? Don’t go any closer. The brick facade could collapse at any minute.”

  Swallowing tightly, Elizabeth said, “Where are you going?”

  “I have to find Chantalle and make sure she’s all right.”

  “But—”

  “She’s a friend. She helped us both when we needed it. It’s time to help her.”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

  Elizabeth nodded again, unable to move as Jason disappeared into the darkness. She stared at the flames as the nightmares that had haunted her came to life before her eyes.

  She turned sharply as a horse drew up beside theirs and a young blond woman jumped down to ask, “Did everyone get out?”

  Elizabeth swallowed. She said breathlessly, “I don’t know.”

  Beads of perspiration appeared on the young woman’s brow and upper lip as she asked, “The soldiers—do you know where they went?”

  “They’re by the fire truck, fighting the fire.”

  “Did you see a tall officer—Colonel Madison?”

  “No.”

  “I have to find him and make sure he’s all right.”

  “No!” Elizabeth grasped the young woman’s arm. “You can’t go near the fire. It’s too hot. You can’t see . . . you can’t breathe.”

  Turning sharply toward her, the young woman attempted to shake off her grip as she said, “That doesn’t make any difference to me. I have to—” The young woman halted, and then said, “Did you hear that?”

  Elizabeth heard it, a woman’s cry for help barely audible over the roar and wheeze of the flames. The woman cried out again, but no one seemed to hear her. Volunteers and men in uniform were running in haphazard fashion around the building, fighting the wall of flame flaring ever higher, but none of them reacted to her cries.

  Driven by a suddenly intense need she could not explain, Elizabeth started running toward the sound of the voice. She slipped and fell in the darkness. She drew herself upright as the young woman reached her side and said, “I heard her again. She’s going to die in there!”

  Elizabeth met the young woman’s intense stare. Her eyes were a startling amber in the glow of the fire, striking a chord of memory that Elizabeth could not seem to identify. She turned back toward the fire instinctively as the young woman stood beside her.

  The roar of the fire . . . the chaos surrounding it . . . flames exploding again and again in fiery sparks that lit the night sky . . .

  She was inside the fiery cauldron. The flames licked at her skin. She could not see. She could not breathe, but she had to save her. She called out, but there was no answer. The fire seared her flesh, but she could not leave her sister behind!

  “Get back!”

  Elizabeth grasped the young woman’s hand as a soldier appeared beside them and ordered again, “Get back! The building is going to collapse!”

  “Someone’s in there. I can hear her!”

  “Sergeant Walker just got her out.”

  Shudderi
ng, Elizabeth fell back behind the line that the soldiers had established, and then turned toward the young woman beside her. She looked into amber eyes reddened by heat and smoke, and a deep quaking began inside her. A name came to her out of the past. A sob rising, she asked hesitantly in a trembling voice, “Is it . . . could it be you, Jenna Leigh? Please tell me, is it you?”

  Elizabeth waited breathlessly for the young woman’s response.

  “L-Laura Anne?”

  Elizabeth gasped. She tried to swallow past the hard lump that had closed her throat. Unable to reply, she stared at the young woman as full realization dawned with a sob of joy.

  Yes, she was Laura Anne—Laura Anne Hawk!

  Hardly aware that she had spoken the name aloud, Elizabeth closed her eyes as Jenna Leigh threw her arms around her and hugged her close. She trembled with happiness as she returned her sister’s hug with all her strength. She felt Jenna Leigh’s tears wet her cheek, unaware that her own tears dampened Jenna Leigh’s cheek as well. They were alive—and together again at last!

  They were still breathless when Jason appeared beside them and slid his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. She looked up as he said, “Chantalle is shaken, but she’s all right. She managed to get out with the rest of her girls. She—”

  Halting when he saw the tears that streaked his wife’s face, Jason glanced between her and the young blond woman whose hand she clutched so tightly. He was about to speak when Elizabeth said in a quaking voice, “Jason, darling, I want you to meet . . . my sister, Jenna Leigh.”

  Watching from a distance, Simon saw the rear wall of Chantalle’s house collapse. He watched as the volunteers scattered, calling out in distress. He had spread the kerosene widely, and with a single match, the fire had come to immediate life. There was no way that either Drew or Tricia could have gotten out alive.

  He had seen Whit running frantically around the fire, looking for his brother, but to no avail. He had also seen the two Hawk women standing side by side.

  It wasn’t their turn yet.

  Turning back to his horse as the frantic scene continued, Simon mounted up.

  Smiling, he rode out of sight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Drew awakened sharply from a nightmare-ridden sleep. His throat hurt, his eyes burned, and his chest was sore. He looked around him at the dimly lit hospital room. He then glanced out the window, where a smoldering blaze still lit the night sky.

  “You’re conscious.” Drew’s attention snapped toward Whit as he emerged from the shadows. He did not reply as Whit continued, “You sure gave me a scare tonight. Hell, when I woke up and found out Chantalle’s house was burning, and then learned that you’d been transported here . . .” His voice breaking, Whit cleared his throat and continued, “Well, I’m glad you’re all right.”

  The fire.

  Tricia!

  Drew attempted to sit up as he asked hoarsely, “Where’s Tricia?”

  “Lie back. She’s in the room next door. She’s fine. Chantalle and the rest of the women got out all right, too, but there isn’t much left of the house.”

  “I want to see Tricia.”

  “She’s all right, Drew. She’s sleeping now. She has a nasty cut on her forehead that’s bound to keep her in bed for a day or two. She probably hit it when you both escaped the fire.”

  “No, it was Gault.”

  A deep voice from the doorway asked unexpectedly, “Simon Gault?”

  The attention of both men turned toward the tall uniformed officer who stood there. His expression stern, Colonel Clay Madison entered the room. He acknowledged Whit with a nod and walked closer to the bed to ask, “Did you say Simon Gault was responsible for Miss Shepherd’s head wound?”

  When Drew did not immediately respond, Clay continued, “The fire was too hot . . . it traveled too swiftly and engulfed the house too completely to have started accidentally. I suspected from the beginning that an accelerant was used, and I have no doubt that it is connected to the recent killings in some way.”

  Fully alert and aware of the possible danger in his reply, Drew responded, “It was Gault, all right. He was waiting in Tricia’s room when I arrived. When I came to, both Tricia and I were tied up. He said he had a grudge against Chantalle, and that he’d get revenge by burning down her house with everyone—including her daughter—in it.”

  Clay’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all he said?”

  “Tricia and I heard him splashing kerosene in the hallway. When it burst into flame, I knew we didn’t have much time to get out. We barely made it.”

  “He didn’t say anything else—where he was going . . . what he intended to do?”

  Drew shook his head.

  “You’re sure that’s all you have to tell me, Mr. Collins?”

  Whit interrupted opportunely, “Drew has a nasty head wound. I don’t think he’s thinking clearly enough to answer all your questions yet, Colonel. Chantalle may be able to give you better answers. She and her women were taken here for the night just for safety’s sake, but she’s well enough to answer your questions.”

  Clay hesitated, searching both men’s expressions briefly before he said, “Of course. I’ll come back in the morning.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Whit turned briefly toward Drew, his expression speaking volumes as he said, “I think Drew will do better if he’s left alone for a while.”

  Waiting only until both men had left the room, Drew stood up unsteadily. His head hurt and his breathing was still labored, but he needed to get out of there.

  Dressed, his gunbelt strapped securely around his hips, Drew moved out into the crowded hospital hallway. The confusion of volunteers, victims, and medical personnel filling the narrow corridors allowed him the anonymity he sought. He looked into the room next to his, and then pulled back sharply when he saw Tricia talking to a uniformed soldier standing there. Relieved that she appeared to be well, he walked a few doors down and glanced into a room where Chantalle sat with several of her women beside her. She was coughing and she looked confused and worn as Whit stood supportively beside her while Colonel Madison questioned her with his back to the door. Drew continued walking. Disoriented and unsteady, he searched for an exit where he could slip away unseen.

  Drew stopped abruptly when he came upon a waiting area where Jenna Leigh sat holding another young woman’s hand as they conversed. He stared at his sister, his throat choking tight with the realization that he had almost lost the opportunity to talk to her and to know the true joy of being with her again. He’d been wrong to turn against her because she’d married the man she loved, even if he was a Yankee. He would correct that mistake as soon as he could and he would . . .

  Drew paused in that thought. A snippet of the conversation between Jenna Leigh and the other young woman caught his ear.

  “Jason doesn’t like Simon,” the young woman was saying, “but I first sensed something was wrong when Simon insisted that Adeline Beaufort’s mansion suited me far better than the hotel where I was staying. He explained that Adeline was visiting up North and he was looking after the place for her. He said I would actually be doing him a favor if I stayed there because Adeline had become ill and would be gone indefinitely.”

  “So?”

  “When I arrived, I discovered that the mansion was isolated from the rest of the city, and that, with the exception of an old crone he had hired as my servant but who reported directly to him, I would be totally alone. If it hadn’t been for Jason, I don’t know what might have happened to me there.”

  “I didn’t know about that place,” Jenna Leigh said.

  “I expect not. Most people don’t.” The unidentified young woman went on to describe its location, and Drew’s expression grew gradually taut.

  The perfect place to hide . . .

  Drew glanced back into the room where Whit remained at Chantalle’s side during Colonel Madison’s questioning. He couldn’t afford to waste any time.

  His decision made, Drew slipped past
the waiting room and continued down the hospital corridors until he reached an exit sign. Managing to leave unnoticed, he mounted the nearest saddled horse and nudged him into motion.

  Dawn was beginning to make inroads into the night sky when he reined his mount to a halt in the shadows of Adeline Beaufort’s palatial estate. The house was dark, and its suitability for any plans Gault might have had for the unidentified young woman was immediately obvious. Drew’s stomach tightened at the thought that Gault’s perversions were endless. He wondered absentmindedly how far the man was willing to go to sate them, and how long his perversions had gone undetected.

  Careful to wind his way to the rear of the building without being seen, Drew paused to survey the premises. The house was large and luxurious, with countless windows to allow light into its expansive interior. There should be at least one of those windows—or possibly a door that had been left unlocked. If there were, he would find it.

  Moving cautiously, Drew checked the rear door. It was locked, as he’d suspected it would be. He worked his way around the house, checking each window until a sash at the corner of the house slid upward easily. His heart pounding, Drew slid through the window. He released a relieved breath when his feet touched down on the floor at last.

  Darkness and shadows . . .

  Drew paused to allow his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark interior of the house.

  At the sound of a footstep, Drew tensed.

  “That’s right, Drew, stand there—but raise your hands.” When Drew did not respond, the voice demanded, “Do it! No one will hear me if I pull this trigger.”

  Raising his hands, Drew turned slowly toward the sound of the voice coming from the shadows.

  “No, don’t face this way!”

  Drew went still again.

  “Lower your left hand and grip the handle of your gun with your fingertips, then throw your gun on the floor—and remember, I can see you clearly even if you can’t see me.”

  With no recourse, Drew complied. The sound of his gun hitting the floor drew his brows into a frown.

  “Kick the gun aside.”

  Drew followed the order.