"Did he say anything about where he was going? Anything at all?"
Deke scuffed his foot in the dirt, sending up a cloud of parched dust. "He did mention something about Andrea again," he admitted reluctantly.
"What?" Jesse's whole body went rigid. "He mentioned her by name?"
"Not to me, but to his mother. Something... something about proving Andrea wrong about him."
Jesse felt as if the earth shifted under his feet.
"What do you think he meant by that?" Deke asked, honestly perplexed.
He didn't want to think about it, or imagine what Mitch's out-of-kilter mind had planned, but a bad feeling had begun to take hold. Jesse climbed into the buckboard and gathered up the reins. "I have to go," he told Deke.
Concern creased Deke's brow. "Maybe I should come with you."
"I can handle Mitch. Thanks anyway."
Deke laid his palm on the mule's rump. "Jesse, whatever your problem is with my son, I want you to know he's not bad. But I... I know... well..." He swallowed visibly, struggling to hold his emotions in check. "I'm asking you to settle things between you peaceably. Please, if you find him... don't hurt him."
Jesse's expression grew dark. "I'm sorry, I can't promise that. But out of respect for you, Deke, I'll try."
* * *
Andrea tucked a fast-asleep Zachary into his cradle in her bedroom and covered him gently with a blanket. She smiled down at the cherubic face, remembering Zachary and Jesse together tonight. In her dreams, before everything had gone so wrong, she had imagined them together as a family: her and Zachary and Jesse. Certainly, the baby had accepted Jesse into his life as if he belonged there and would miss him when he left.
She would miss him, too.
That came as no surprise, but it had been days since she'd allowed herself to admit that Jesse had insinuated himself back into her life in ways from which she wasn't sure she could ever fully recover.
She picked up a large turning key from her dresser and began tightening the loosened ropes beneath her mattress. Certainly her romantic fantasy about never marrying again for 'anything but love' was a useless old adage, one no doubt made up by some spinster who never found that perfect, elusive happiness. Because she would never feel about another man the way she did about Jesse despite what had happened between them. It was as simple as that.
The farther away she'd gotten from that horrible day when Mitch had come by—when he'd told her what Jesse had been doing behind her back—the more she came to believe that Jesse had never intentionally meant to hurt her. Just as she'd also begun to suspect she'd let her own stubbornness keep her from seeing the truth.
Mariah Devereaux's words came back to her. Don't let your pride stand in the way of your happiness, she'd said. It would be a terrible mistake.
Had she done that after all? she wondered. Had she been so stubborn and prideful she couldn't see the gift he'd offered her? Not once, but twice he'd asked her to be his wife. Why was it so easy for her to believe the bad about him, and so hard to believe the good?
Pulling the edges of her wrapper together, Andrea walked to the window and pushed aside the lace curtain, hoping to see Jesse's wagon on the road home. Mahkwi's shooting had cut him to the bone and she worried he might do something foolish—like look for Mitch Lodray himself.
She could see no sign of him. The barn lights were out. Silas and Private Johnson were inside. Deed's had been assigned watch. She could just see him posted in the shadows outside the barn.
She would wait up for Jesse, no matter how long it took. She'd make a cup of tea and keep the water hot for him. Maybe when he came home, they could talk. Maybe even...
A sound downstairs cut off her thought. She frowned, wondering if it was the captain. But he'd been asleep the last time she checked. She could hardly believe the decoction she'd given him to help him sleep hadn't put him right out.
Barefoot, she crossed the room and padded silently down the steps, her wrapper billowing behind her. She'd left a light on in the kitchen when she'd come upstairs, but now that light had gone out. Strange. She'd just refilled the fuel in that lamp yesterday. Perhaps the captain had gotten up and turned it down, thinking she'd forgotten it.
In the dark, she made her way to Jesse's old bedroom and opened the door a crack. Moonlight spilled through the open curtains onto Captain Steele's sleeping features. His chest rose and fell in the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep. Confused, she eased the door shut and started back for the kitchen.
A dark silhouette of a hooded man emerged from the shadows of the hallway, a mere arm's reach away.
Chapter 23
A scream bubbled up in her throat, but it came to nothing as the man leaped for her and clamped his hand over her mouth. She slammed against the wall behind her from the force of his weight. A breath-stealing pain shot through her head and back. The fingers of his left hand dug into her cheeks and she stared wide-eyed at the rough burlap sack that covered his face. Two holes for his eyes were all that made his appearance human. The cold steel of his revolver pressed against her arm.
A gunshot shattered the quiet outside. Shouting erupted. Men's voices, she couldn't tell how many, echoed on the night air.
Raiders! The frantic realization struck her as the man pulled her back against him and began dragging her to the back of the house toward the rear door.
Her first thought was for Zachary, alone upstairs. Oh, my God! What if they burn the house? What if they don't even know he's there?
More shots rang out outside.
Andrea kicked at him and struggled in his arms, but his arms pinioned hers like iron.
"Don't struggle," came her captor's hoarse whisper.
She was too terrified to listen. She tried to bite his hand, but couldn't. She screamed, but the sound wasn't more than a muffled grunt.
His fingers tightened against her mouth and he gave her head a retaliatory jerk. "Stop it!" he hissed and dragged his gun up to her temple. "I don't want to hurt you, Andrea."
His words made her go absolutely still in his arms. Bile rose in her throat and her stomach took a sickening plunge. It was Mitch. She would know his voice anywhere.
"Now," he said with a grunt, yanking her toward the door, "we're just going to take a little walk. Just you and me. Open the door," he commanded, releasing her arm.
It seemed too much to hope that Captain Steele would come roaring out of his bedroom with his gun blazing to save her from this madman. Desperate, she thought of Jesse in town. He'd been right. Mitch must have shot Mahkwi to get her out of the way. Oh, Jesse!
"Do it!" he repeated.
With a trembling hand, she reached for the knob.
Mitch pushed her out the back door and down the two steps there. With his gun pointed at her temple, he dropped his mouth close to her ear. "I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth now. Don't make a sound, you hear?" His tone was peculiarly entreating and vicious.
She shook her head with a promise not to. But as soon as his hand lifted away from her mouth, she screamed as loud as she could.
* * *
Jesse heard the shots as he rounded the bend in the road approaching Willow Banks. His gut twisted at the sound. Damn it to hell! He was too late.
Hauling back on the reins, he reached for his rifle tucked under the benched seat and jumped to the ground. Hastily tying off the mule on a fencepost, Jesse took off at a run through the dry cornfields to his right.
As he kept low and traversed the field in ground eating strides, he cursed Mitch Lodray. He'd expected trouble tonight, but he hadn't expected gunplay. He heard the retort of at least seven guns. More than was possible from the three soldiers, Silas, and even Mitch. That could mean only one thing. Mitch hadn't come alone.
Jesse plunged onward. Dried cornstalks crackled against him, tore at his face, and sliced into his hands as he straight-armed a path for himself. When he got closer he stopped and crouched down with a full view of the yard. The house was pitch dark. Flashes of g
unpowder accompanied each shot, illuminating the darkness briefly. From his position, he could see that at least four men were positioned opposite the barn directing their fire there: one behind the buggy, another two crouched behind the well. A fourth darted between the split-rail fencing and the barn wall, his rifle trained on the wide open loft door. Something in their silhouettes was wrong.
Then it struck him—they all wore hoods. Hell, he thought, confused. Maybe it was actually the raider attack the soldiers had been expecting and not Mitch at all. Maybe, Jesse thought, Mitch had nothing to do with what was going on here.
Instinct refuted that speculation.
No, he knew with a deep down gut feeling Mitch was part of this. And he was after Andi. If that was true, his original theory about an insider had been right. Mitch Lodray was responsible for the terror Adams County had been under for the last few months.
Jesse's gaze darted downward. In the shadow of the barn lay a crumpled figure. It was too dark to see who it was or which side of the fight he'd been on. Jesse prayed it wasn't Silas as he lifted his own rifle and took a bead on the man edging toward the barn.
His shot found its mark, and the man was lifted to his toes with a groan before dropping heavily to the ground. A shout went up from one of the men in the yard and a bullet sailed by Jesse's ear, close enough for him to feel its heat. He flattened himself to the ground and crawled through the corn to a safer position. The sound of his own ragged breathing echoed in his ears.
Another bullet plowed into the dirt four feet from him. They couldn't see him. Not clearly anyway, he reasoned. Jesse raised his head and looked toward the house. He knew only one thing—he had to get to Andi. If Mitch was indeed involved in this, he would be trying to make his way to her.
Another bullet exploded a stalk ten feet away. He smiled grimly. They were guessing. If he kept moving, they wouldn't be able to find him. He got to his feet in a crouch and ran, seeking the cover of the corn. Thirty feet away, he stopped, took aim again, and fired at the man crouched by the well. His bullet struck the man in the arm, forcing him to drop his rifle.
Jesse got to his feet again and ran. The ensuing gunfire burrowed into the dirt at his heels. He prayed Andi had had the good sense to grab the baby and run out the back when she'd heard the gunfire. Maybe she had and was halfway to the Rafferty place by now.
That thought gave him a brief moment of hope. He stopped again and took a quick aim on the raider.
The sound of a scream reached him through the din of gunfire. God Almighty—Andi's scream.
* * *
"Shut up!" Mitch's closed fist connected with her cheek, and the barrel of the gun glanced off her forehead, cutting off her cry and nearly knocking her to the ground. His hand around her upper arm was the only thing that saved her from a fall. Her breath came fast and shallow. Pain radiated across her face.
"That was foolish. Foolish, Andrea!" Mitch nearly shouted.
Yes, she thought with numbing clarity. It was foolish. No one would hear her. No one could possibly hear through the sound of gunfire. She was alone with the monster who'd haunted not only her dreams, but many of her waking hours for the last three years.
He smelled of sweat and bay rum and cigarettes. She slid her eyes shut, thinking of her son, lying unprotected in her room. She felt nauseous, filled with a sense of rage.
"Are you going to throw me down and try to rape me again, Mitch?" she asked, glaring at his masked face.
His thumb stroked her windpipe. "Rape you? Andrea, you wound me. It was never about that. I just need you to understand—"
"I won't let you do it, Mitch. I swear I'll kill you before I let you do that to me again."
"You've got this all wrong. I just need you to listen to me. I've got everything set now, Andrea. I have my own money. We can go away together. Never have to worry about—"
"Take your hands off me!"
His hand tightened around her arm and he gave it a brutish jerk. "As soon as we're away from here, Andrea," he told her, dragging her toward the horse he'd tied by the spring house. A thick cloud passed over the moon, making the going awkward and suddenly dark.
"You're a coward is what you are," she accused.
That seemed to touch a nerve in him. He yanked her closer to his chest. Tearing the sack off his head, he leaned closer so his lips touched her ear. "Everything I did, I did for you!" he gritted out in a harsh whisper. "Everything." He swept an arm toward the gunfire in the distance. "Even that. Even the raiding... All for you. For us. It wasn't easy, you know. It took imagination; brilliance, even. But I did it. She never would have believed it," he added with a bitter smile, "but I knew I could do it. I'm rich now, Andrea. Don't you see? You and I can go away together now."
Andrea felt his breath on her, steamy in the cool night air. Fear sliced through her sharply. She? Who did he mean? His mother? Was all of this about her?
Good Lord, he was deranged.
"I—I don't want to go anywhere with you, Mitch," she pleaded more calmly than she felt. "Please... please just let me go. I won't tell anyone. I won't even tell you were here—"
He yanked her harder. "Don't say that."
"Mitch, for the love of God—"
"Shut up! You're coming. It's... it's all planned. You'll like it when we get there. I know it. You just need some time—"
She shook her head and grasped his arm that had drawn tightly around her throat. "Do you think I'll love you for this? Do you think I can ever forgive you for taking me away from my home? My son?"
"He'll just be a burden to you. When we get to where we're going, I'll give you another son, as many as you want. And they'll be ours. Not Zachary Winslow's... And not that sonofa—" He turned back to her, the whites of his eyes glistening in the dark. "Not Jesse's."
His thumb stroked the back of her neck sending shivers up her spine. "He's not good enough for you. You should know that by now."
"No, you—you've got it all wrong, Mitch. We're not together."
"Andrea," he said in a disappointed tone. "You're not going to lie to me again? Not now. Not when I've gone to all this trouble just for you?"
"I—I don't know what you mean."
He started pulling her again. The acrid smell of gunpowder drifted by them on the night breeze. Gunshots were close and peppered the night with deafening sound. And in the momentary silence that came between shots, she heard her baby crying. Her heart sank.
"You think I didn't see what he was trying to do?" he demanded. "To get back into your good graces again after he ran out on you once before? That bastard doesn't deserve you."
She shook her head in disbelief.
"He'll pay for that, too, I promise you."
She struggled futilely against him, lashing out with her feet.
He leaned close to her ear again, tightening his muscled arm brutishly around her throat. "I'll always love you more than him. You know that, don't you?" His hand drifted down over her breast. On an indrawn breath, Andrea froze. Nausea inched up her throat.
Mitch's chest rose and fell faster against her back. "I've waited so long for this, Andrea. I have all your things right here with me. You'll feel more at home when we get to where we're going."
"Th-things?"
"Your glove, your stocking, your hairbrush..."
Her knees went weak. He'd been in her house touching her things. All those things she'd thought she'd misplaced, it had been Mitch all along.
"...even a camisole from that day I left the note for you. I knew you'd need it when we left together. It was so beautiful, I dreamed about seeing you in it."
She pressed her lips together to keep from getting sick.
"Let her go, Lodray." Jesse's voice came from the darkness behind them. Relief tore through her. She recognized the controlled rage behind his quiet command.
Mitch spun around, his pistol aimed at Jesse.
"Ah, it's Jesse Winslow, here at last to save his damsel in distress. Your armor's looking a little tarnished,
Winslow."
"Let her go. Now," Jesse ordered.
Mitch laughed. "Or what?" He lifted her chin with his forearm. "You'll shoot me? How? Through her?"
"Jesse—" Andrea choked out. "Don't."
"You see?" Mitch said. "She wants to come with me. Isn't that right, Andrea?"
Andrea slid her eyes shut while Mitch nodded her head with an up-and-down motion of his arm.
"I think you'd better drop your gun," Mitch suggested through gritted teeth as he settled the gun against her temple. "Unless you want to lose her to a bullet instead of to me."
Jesse's forehead glistened in the pale moonlight. He hesitated, torn. "Let her go!"
"Drop the gun, Winslow!"
"You sonofabitch—"
"Drop it now!"
Jesse uncocked the hammer, and tossed the rifle on the ground. "There! It's down. It's dropped!" He did the same with the pistol strapped to his hip.
Silence, sudden and stark stretched between them. The shooting had stopped in the distance. Andrea's head pounded from the choking pressure of Mitch Lodray's steely arm.
"You won't get away with this, Lodray," Jesse told him. "I'll find you wherever you go. I swear to God."
"I don't think so," Mitch replied, taking casual aim at Jesse who stood defenseless before him.
"No-o-oo!" Andrea's scream coincided with the explosion of Mitch's gun. Jesse tried to dive out of the way, but too late. With a groan, he twisted and dropped to the ground with the impact of the bullet.
Rage, hot and mindless bubbled up inside her. Jesse! Dear God help him! Face down on the ground, Jesse drew himself up on his knees, clutching the small, crimson stain spreading across his upper shoulder. His pain-filled eyes met hers with regret.
Mitch dragged her toward Jesse. He pulled the hammer back again. The noise seemed unreasonably loud. "You won't be looking for anyone, Winslow. Because I'm gonna kill you."
Unconsciously, he loosened his arm around her throat and took aim again. Rage welled in her throat as Andrea twisted and grabbed his shooting arm, yanking it down. The pistol went off harmlessly into the ground as Andrea brought her knee up hard into Mitch's unprotected crotch.
Renegade's Kiss Page 31