Jacob pulled away the silk handkerchief and Jessica heaved a sigh. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, only her tongue was too dry. "Water," she murmured. "Could I have some water, Jacob?"
He smiled. "Of course, love. Anything else?"
"Y—you could untie me."
"You know I can't do that." He poured water from a battered pitcher on the table. "You'd just run from me."
"No, I wouldn't, I swear it!" she lied. She watched him come toward her with the tin cup of water. "Jacob, the ropes hurt."
He lifted the cup to her lips and she took a small sip, then turned her head away. "Jacob, you have to tell me why you're doing this to me."
"You shouldn't have run away. You made me the laughingstock of town." He set down the cup and pulled a chair to sit across from her. "I had to leave behind my business to come looking for you."
"I didn't want to be your wife."
He smiled. "But now you've changed your mind, haven't you? Seen your ill ways." He touched the white satin of the wedding dress she had worn for Adam.
She nodded ever so slightly. "But I could never marry a man who keeps me tied up."
He shook his finger. "Aren't you clever. You were always too clever for your own good. I told your father that. He was too free with you. No, I'm not going to untie you. Not yet. I know what kind of temper you have; you might try something foolish and hurt yourself. Once we're on board ship. Once it's left the dock, then maybe, just maybe I could be persuaded to let you go."
"On board the ship! Jacob! You can't take me against my will. You have no right!"
"You're my wife," he replied calmly. "Under the law, I have every right."
"Jacob, if this is about those stock certificates," she said taking a different tact, "I still don't know what you're talking about. I didn't take any certificates. What would you want with them anyway?"
"I know you have them. As your legal husband I'll have a right to them. They're going to make us very rich, Jessica."
"I don't understand. I don't understand what you're talking about."
"I know, sweetheart, business can be so confusing for women." He leaned on his knees, speaking slowly. "Let me explain it this way. Those stock certificates in the South Africa diamond mine that your papa bought from me years ago are now worth a great deal of money. They found diamonds in that mine just before you left."
"That's why you moved up the wedding date?"
"Of course not! I moved our wedding date because it wouldn't have been right for you to have remained under my roof and not been married to me."
"So you admit we're not married!"
"A technicality, love. In my eyes, we've been married since your papa signed that betrothal agreement." He looked away. "As for your indiscretion with that redskin—"
"Indiscretion!" She ground her teeth with mounting anger. "I love Adam! I'm going to marry him."
Jacob whipped around in a sudden fury. "Fornication is nothing to scoff at, my dear child. You could be ousted from the church!"
Jessica let her eyes close for a moment. Adam, where are you? she called silently. Adam, I need you. Help me! She opened her eyes. "Didn't you hear me?" she shouted. "That redskin as you call him is going to be my husband. This dress is for him, not for you." Her eyes narrowed vindictively. "Never for you, Jacob!"
He reached out and smacked her so quickly that she never saw his hand move. The sound of the slap startled her more than the pain of his palm across her cheekbone. Her eyes teared up as she lifted her chin to look him straight in the eye. "Either let me go, or kill me, Jacob, because I'm not going with you. I'm not going to be your wife, and I'm never ever going to let you touch me. I belong to Adam, all of me."
"I'll kill you before I let you go back to him," he threatened, jumping up out of the chair.
"You haven't the nerve!"
Jacob whipped a long-bladed knife off the table. His eyes glimmered with a strange light as he thought of the other girls . . . the other Jessicas. He'd taught them a lesson, hadn't he? His eyes met hers. "Don't have the nerve, do I?"
Jessica screamed as the knife sliced through the air . . .
Lansing sat on the step, watching the town of Harrisburg's activity with little interest. The plot for his dime novel was not coming along well. It had seemed like such a good idea to begin with, to use Miss Landon . . . Mrs. Dorchester as a basis for his heroine, but now, it just didn't seem right. The poor woman, she had been through so much. It was a wonder she wasn't stark raving mad.
Still, despite her behavior, Lansing hadn't liked it one bit when Jake had pushed her around like that. He didn't care what the man's legal rights were, no man should lift a hand to a woman!
A commotion down the street made Lansing stand and stretch on his tiptoes to see what all of the hullabaloo was about. A good reporter always kept his eyes and ears open. That was how a man found a good story.
Half a block up the street Lansing could see a man leading another man in shackles. A crowd of miners and a petite woman, dressed in black taffeta, hurried behind them. "My God!" Lansing muttered aloud. "It's the deputy marshal!"
He stumbled forward, searching wildly for the pencil and pad of paper he always carried with him. "What's happened? What's happened?" he called, running toward them.
The tall man leading the deputy marshal held up a hand. "Stand back," he ordered. "Make room for the prisoner to pass."
"The prisoner!" Lansing squeaked. He flipped a page and began to write. "What's the deputy marshal done?" he asked, joining the crowd.
"Done? He's not done a thing!" Clyde snapped. "There's been a mistake! I wish the United States Government would leave us the hell alone up here. Why do they think we come? To get away from this bureaucracy!"
Lansing turned to another man. "What's the deputy marshal been accused of?"
"Rape. Murder. You name it," a fellow with the blond handlebar mustache answered. "I don't know if he done it. I just come into town."
Lansing gasped. "Rape and murder? Here in Harrisburg?"
"Noo! Of course not! Bunch of whores down in the lower territories. Idaho, Washington, Utah. A whole bunch of them."
"I—Idaho?" Lansing came to a halt. "One of those girls couldn't possibly have been Polly Mulvaney of Pocatello, Idaho?"
"Polly? Hmmm? I believe there was a Polly. Ask that man up there. Johnny. He knows Sern personally."
The crowd had come to a halt at a small wooden building with a squared-off false front. Across the top were written the words, HARRISBURG JAIL. Lansing pushed and dodged, trying to make it to the front before the deputy marshal was led inside, but he didn't manage it.
Lansing turned to the pretty young woman dressed in fashionable black taffeta. "You a friend of Deputy Marshal Sern's?"
She frowned. "Who the hell are you? I know every man in this town and I don't know you."
He swept off his bowler hat to make a formal introduction. "Theodore Lansing, ma'am, of Chicago, but as of late, a traveling man. I'm a writer. I know the Deputy Marshal Sern. Know him well." He popped his hat back on his head and poised his pencil. "Would you care to make a comment concerning the charges?"
Melba raised a tiny fist beneath Lansing's pointed chin. "If you don't step out of my way, I'm going to knock your teeth out!"
Lansing stepped aside and the woman passed. She strutted up the steps past two burly guards and walked into the jailhouse. Lansing followed, but the guards dropped their rifles, barring the doorway.
"Back up, buster," one of the men barked. "The federal marshal don't want anyone inside until the prisoner is safely locked up."
"You think I could get in to see him?" Lansing asked excitedly. "He's a friend. A dear old friend. Known him for years."
The guard shrugged. "Just have to wait and see, won't you?"
Lansing smiled. "Wait? Wait I can do!" With that, he plopped himself down on the step in front of the crowd and began to scribble furiously. He could already see the headlines streaking across the nati
on—DEPUTY MARSHAL GONE BERSERK! KILLS 22 INNOCENT GIRLS, by Theodore Lansing, Jr. "My God!" he whispered.
Inside Melba waited until Adam was escorted to the only cell in the new jail house. Caine stood as the federal marshal opened the door. "What's going on here?" Caine asked.
Adam looked up, his dark eyes fierce and menacing. "You say one word, Caine, and I swear to God I'll rip your head off!"
Caine gave a gulp and retreated to the far side of the wooden jail cell where his mattress lay on the floor.
The federal marshal laid a hand on Adam's shoulder. "I let you out of the shackles you going to behave yourself, Sern?"
Adam looked away. "Sure. Why not? It would be stupid to run. Where the hell am I going to run to?"
Melba waited until the federal marshal slammed the door shut and then she ran to the bars. "Adam, what's this about? Do you know anything about these women who were killed?"
He exhaled slowly. "Of course I do. I knew Sue Ellen McCleen."
"Sue Ellen?" Caine asked. "Toby's Sue Ellen?"
Adam shot him such a furious glance that Caine clamped his mouth shut.
"You knew one of the girls?" Melba shook her head. "What about being in the same town at the times that each of the murders took place?"
"It's true." He shrugged. "It's all true, only I didn't kill any whores! I was with Jessica." He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories. The smell of her damp skin after they'd made love . . . The feel of the weight of her breast cupped in his hand . . . The sight of her lithe, nude body. Adam shook his head in fury. She had betrayed him and yet still all he could think of was her . . . his Jessica.
"I know you didn't kill any whores, but the marshal says they've got evidence."
"Where is she, Melba?" Adam whispered, tormented by despair. Without Jessica he didn't care about the murder charges. Without Jessica, he didn't care if they did hang him.
"I don't know, Adam. I don't know where Jessica is. I just know she didn't run out on you." Melba gripped the wooden bars, searching his dark eyes. "You know it, too, don't you?"
"What could have happened? She doesn't know anyone here that you don't know."
Melba pulled off her black taffeta bonnet. "Say, what about that new fellow in town? Standing outside. Says he knows you."
"Someone knows me?"
"Said you were good friends. Short, skinny little man. Says he's a writer?"
Adam sunk his fist into his palm. "A writer? I don't know any writer. Get him in here!"
A moment later, Melba returned with Lansing in tow.
"Adam Sern, if this isn't a sad day!"
"Lansing?" Adam scowled. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Oh, me, I'm not important!" He whipped out his pad of paper. "What's important is you and these horrendous charges. You didn't rape and kill all of those women, of course."
"Of course not!"
"But someone outside said there was evidence. Hard evidence. They say officials from the Union Pacific are going to be willing to appear in court against you."
"Look, I was there. I was in Pocatello, but so were a hundred other men. So were you! That doesn't mean you killed the whore, does it?"
"Me?" Lansing gave a nervous giggle. "Certainly not! I'm not the murdering type!"
"And I am?" Adam swung away. "Hell, why am I talking to you? Just get out of here!"
"B—but maybe I could help," Lansing said, grabbing at straws. He didn't know if the half-breed was guilty or innocent, but he did know a good story when he saw one. "I could help prove your innocence."
"I don't care about that. They couldn't possibly convict me." Adam grasped the rough wooden bars. "What I care about is Jessica. Have you seen her?"
Lansing blinked nervously.
"You have seen her!" Adam shoved his hand through the wooden bars and caught the reporter by the lapel of his coat. "Tell me where she is!"
Lansing froze, paralyzed with fear. "M—Miss Jessica?"
"We were supposed to be married today. She never showed up."
"There's a law against polygamy in this country, Mr. Sern!"
"Polygamy! What are you talking about?"
"H—her husband, of course! Mr. Sern, if you don't unhand me, I shall have to call the federal marshal in here."
Adam pulled Lansing toward him until the man's hawk nose was pressed between the bars. "Who says she has a husband?"
"W—well, her husband of course. Mr. Jacob Dorchester of Tennessee." His pencil and pad of paper slipped to the floor.
"What do you know of Dorchester?"
"O—only th—that he's been looking for her for months. Followed her across the country."
"He's not her husband."
"W—well, certainly he is!"
"You have proof?" Adam demanded.
"O—of course not. Just the gentleman's word."
"Well, the gentleman lies. He had her kidnapped in Seattle. The man's sick."
"S—sick?"
Adam stared into Lansing's pale face. "Wait a minute . . ." Slowly he released his hold on the reporter. "You said he told you he's followed her across the country?"
"Town to town. Met him in Pocatello myself."
"He was in Pocatello the night the girl was murdered?"
Lansing's mouth gaped open. "I met him in the very same dance hall where the poor woman worked."
"Son of a bitch!" Adam's eyes met Lansing's. "Where's Dorchester?" But before the man responded, Adam knew the answer.
Lansing trembled with sudden fear.
"I said, where's Dorchester?" Adam bellowed. "Is he here? Is he here in Harrisburg? Has he got Jessica?"
Lansing nodded ever so slightly. "My God, I've made a terrible mistake! Jake seemed like such a nice man. He said she was his wife. He said he loved her. He said he just wanted to take her home."
Melba spun around. "Marshal! Marshal! I think you'd better get in here!"
Chapter Thirty
Jessica's own shrill scream filled her head. She snapped her eyes shut as Jacob sliced through the air with the knife.
But instead of bringing the cold blade across her throat, he grabbed a hank of her hair and sliced it off.
Her eyes flew open in surprise.
He smiled, holding up the thick lock of hair. "I didn't frighten you, did I, love?"
The uncontrollable rage she had seen in Jacob's face only a moment ago was gone. He seemed calm again, even rational. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."
She stared at the lock of sable brown hair in his hand. "You cut my hair," she accused.
"I always cut their hair." He sat back on his chair and laid the knife on his crossed knee as he fiddled with her shorn lock.
"Their hair?" She shivered ominously. "Whose hair?"
He divided the strand into three delicate threads and began to braid them. "Sometimes young girls like you need to be taught a lesson. They need to be punished. Flaunting their bodies in front of men like that."
The tone of Jacob's voice made the hair on the back of Jessica's neck bristle. Lansing's words came tumbling back. They all looked like you. Remarkably like you . . . She lifted her gaze to study Jacob's face. "How long have you been following me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I almost caught up to you in the little place called Loco, Utah."
"Were you in Blades?" she asked, beginning to work at the ropes that held her hands tied securely behind her. A girl named Sue Ellen McCleen had been killed, Adam had said. Toby's wife.
"Just for a few days. But you weren't there."
She thought of the dance hall girl slain in her own bed. "Pocatello?"
Jacob frowned. "I ran after the train, but they wouldn't stop it! I had to ride all the way to Seattle to find you. Then you got away again."
Jessica hung her head, letting her hands go limp behind her. It was no use! She'd never free herself! Where was Adam? Why hadn't he come for her? If he truly loved her, he would have come for her! She lifted her head. She had to ask .
. . "Did you murder those poor women?"
His fingers relaxed in his lap. His gaze fell to the knife resting on his knee. "I'd never hurt anyone on purpose. You know that, Jessica." He looked up at her. "I'd never hurt you because I love you." His gaze fell to the floor. "I loved them all, I suppose."
"Did you hurt them, Jacob? Did you hurt them accidentally?" She twisted her hands behind her, suddenly realizing that the ropes were loosening.
He picked up the braid of hair and began to form it into a ring, a wedding ring for his Jessica, just as he'd given them all a ring. "We're going to be married, you and I. I thought we'd take a tour of Europe once this business with the stock certificates is settled. Would you like that?"
"I'd like you to untie me." She wiggled her fingers grasping a piece of the rope. She was almost free!
"I told you. I can't do that until we're aboard the steamer."
"You can't get me on a boat tied up like this!"
"I have help coming. A nice sailor said he would help me smuggle you on. No questions asked."
"It won't work. You can't keep me tied up the rest of my life!" As her last words tumbled from her lips, the ropes gave way, thus loosening the bindings at her feet as well.
He sighed. "No. I don't guess I can. Once we're married . . . once the stock certificates are mine, some decisions will have to be made."
"Decisions?"
He held up the ring he'd formed from her hair. "You can live with me and be my wife, or you can't live at all."
Jessica kept her hands behind her back to give the appearance of still being tied up. Her gaze went to the door.
He looked at the door. "No one's coming, Jessica. No one's coming for you. From now on you'll have to depend on me, on your husband."
Her lower lip trembled. Jacob had the knife. Would he use it if she ran for the door? Did she have a choice?
Jessica waited until he lowered his gaze to the ring he held in his hand, and then she leaped from the chair. It went clattering to the floor and Jacob jumped up, dropping the hair ring but catching the knife.
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