by Nancy Bush
Kelsey kept her gaze trained on his drooping eye. She didn’t believe him, but her heart leapt in fear nonetheless.
Montana’s chair creaked as he shifted his bulk to his feet. He stood right in front of Kelsey. She could smell garlic on his breath. “I stuck a knife in his throat right here.” He touched the hollow of her neck. “And I waited till he stopped breathing. Then I threw him in the Willamette, where he should have stayed five years ago.”
“You’re lying.”
He slowly wagged his head from side to side, watching her.
The edges of the room seemed to recede. For a moment Kelsey almost believed him. It’s not true, Jesse. It’s not true! I love you. You’re all right. I know you are, and when I get out of here. I’m going to tell you how I feel, I promise.
“And now I need something from you,” Montana went on. “A piece of evidence your husband threatened me with. He followed me to San Francisco just to make certain I knew it existed. I think you know where it is, or even if it is…”
She was quaking inside. Don’t show it. Don’t show it. Keep calm. For Jesse. She didn’t believe him. She didn’t believe him.
Montana’s burly hand cupped her swollen cheek. Revolted, Kelsey maintained a costly outer calm. “Turnabout’s fair play. He’s bedded my wife. I’ll bed his. I owe him that.”
“I would rather be dead than have you lay one dirty finger on me,” Kelsey said in a surprisingly strong voice.
“Looks like I’m going to have a fight on my hands,” Montana said on a chuckle. He jerked his head, motioning his thugs to leave. They disappeared reluctantly, hovering by the door, enthralled with Montana’s cat-and-mouse game. He shot them a furious look and they were gone.
Kelsey measured the distance to the door. She looked past her captor to every shadowed corner and dim recess of the room. Montana was strong. Too strong for her to overpower, but she’d been in tough situations before, and she’d be damned if she’d give in easily. He might win, but he’d sure as hell remember the battle. With a longing nearing physical pain, she wished for her derringer.
“Where’s your husband’s evidence, Mrs. Danner?”
“There is no evidence,” Kelsey said truthfully, never changing expression.
“You’re as foolhardy as he is. If I have to break your arms to get the truth, I will.” So saying, he clamped his meaty fists around her upper arms, squeezing until she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. “Tell me where it is. Tell me!” He ground his mouth down on hers. Kelsey’s head swam, and she broke into a sweat of revulsion.
She was like a wooden doll in his arms. Montana’s eyes narrowed. She could almost hear the churning of his brain. “Your husband didn’t cry for mercy either,” he said. “He fought. He was tough.”
Her lashes swept her cheek, regret tearing through her. She didn’t believe him!
“A hero to the end,” Montana whispered nastily. “His last words were, ‘I love you, Kelsey.’”
“Mr. Gray,” she said through colorless lips, her eyes opening to gaze into his with a cold hate that even brought Montana up short. “My husband isn’t dead. You just told me so yourself.”
¤ ¤ ¤
Gardner and Al liked to talk a lot more when they weren’t looking down the barrel of a gun, Jesse discovered as he stretched the arms of first one, then the other, and lashed them to the same beams used when he was their captive five years earlier. Tightening the ropes, he bound them face-to-face, about five feet apart. Jesse then sat on a chunk of fir used for a chopping block and leaned his chin on his hand, curbing his own mounting impatience and dread.
“You know, there was a time when I looked different,” Jesse said reflectively. “My nose was different. And my cheekbones. Even my jaw.”
Gardner and Al didn’t speak. Jesse could see the way their muscles strained against the ropes. He gave them thirty minutes to crack. He prayed Kelsey had thirty minutes left.
“Then I ran into some trouble. It’s a habit of mine,” he confided. “I got in trouble with a lady’s husband, and he told his friends to take care of me. Which they did.” Jesse climbed to his feet. Kelsey’s derringer hung slackly from his right hand, as if he’d somehow forgotten it. Gardner and Al hadn’t, however; their eyes kept darting nervously back and forth to the gun that swung negligently by Jesse’s side.
“They thrashed the living tar out of me,” Jesse said. “Threw me in the river and left me for dead. Don’t that beat all?”
“You won’t get away with this, Danner,” Gardner said in a thin, scratchy voice. His scar was purple against his white cheek. “Lila’s gone for help.”
“Lila is tied to her bed. A favorite position of hers,” Jesse added with a measure of irony. “And she forgot to tell the maid it was her day off. In fact, the entire household staff is now gone.” He tucked the barrel of the gun under Al’s chin. “You know, you look a lot like the fellow who broke my jaw and my nose.” He pulled back the hammer, easing his thumb in the space between.
Al was sweating like a pig and smelling just as bad. “They’re at a bar downtown,” he burst out. “Near Chinatown. You know where.”
“Al!” Gardner blurted out in fright.
“The name of this establishment?” Jesse asked, wiggling his thumb just the tiniest bit.
“Jesus Christ!” Al was gasping so hard he could scarcely summon air into his lungs to breathe. “The—the—the—”
“Come on, Al.” Jesse was a model of patience.
“The Silver Nickel!”
Jesse jerked his thumb free. The hammer clicked harmlessly against the chamber. Al sank to his knees, hanging from his wrists, blubbering like a baby. An acrid stench filled the room. Gardner had passed out, a puddle of urine forming on the dirt floor below him.
Jesse exchanged Al’s dirty black hat for his Stetson, a meager disguise but all he had time for. Harrison was going to have to stop giving him gifts, he determined regretfully as he propped his Stetson on Al’s head.
“You’d better hope she’s still alive,” Jesse told them in a dire voice. “If she’s not…”
He left the thought unfinished.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Silver Nickel was on a desolate corner, mixed in among Chinese laundries and outdoor produce vendors. The dregs of both societies, whites and Asians, collected there, and the thought that Kelsey was somewhere behind those mean-looking walls made Jesse’s blood run cold.
It was a prime location for nefarious deeds. The front doors were at an angle to the street. The side door, to the back rooms, was certain death for the hapless victim who might wander there. Young girls were shanghaied and sold to the highest bidder. Men and boys were kidnapped and sent to men like Captain Randolph for forced servitude. Unlike Briny’s, the Silver Nickel reeked of desolation, and despair, and hopelessness.
If it were one of Montana’s Gray’s establishments, he’d carefully kept it off the books.
Jesse drew a long, steadying breath. If he entered by the front doors, he would alert all and sundry that he was there. If he went in by the side, he’d be jumped, possibly killed.
Fog had crept in unexpectedly, thick enough to send vapory trails traveling along the streets like roaming ghosts, thin enough to allow Jesse’s vision of the Silver Nickel to remain sharp and clear even though he stood in the misty shadow of a streetlamp on the opposite corner. He loaded the derringer, something he’d neglected to do earlier mostly because, unlike his renegade bride, he didn’t much care for firearms.
The fact that Kelsey had left without her gun filled him anew with mind-numbing fear. Spying the derringer on her oak dresser had nearly sent him to his knees. He’d picked it up along with a handful of bullets when he’d been in her bedroom, filled with fear upon realizing she didn’t have her usual means of defense with her. In truth, she was much too handy with a pistol for him to worry unduly about her safety most of the time. But why had she forgotten to take the derringer with her this time? Why?
Th
e tattered remains of the divorce papers swam before his vision. Emotions swamped him. Kelsey, Kelsey, Kelsey. “God damn you,” he muttered, uncertain just whom he was committing to hell.
¤ ¤ ¤
The side door wasn’t locked and it swung inward on well-oiled hinges. The passageway beyond was dark as pitch, the air dense as the fog that crept in around him like an uninvited guest.
Jesse eased his back against the wall, the derringer aimed blindly into the thick air ahead of him. He couldn’t see, but he could hear, and though there was a certain expectancy pervading the space beyond. Jesse waited the space of six heartbeats until he was fairly certain he was alone.
The door swung shut behind him, and he caught it before its latch clicked. Gently, he pulled it completely closed. He waited, counting his breaths. Faintly, he discerned a light glowing ahead. There was a corner. A softer blackness against the darkness of the corridor.
Jesse moved quietly. Sweat stood on his back. He half expected one of the other doors of the passageway to suddenly open and someone to overpower him.
He could hear the noise from the saloon at the front of the building. He waited on the edge of the corner, his heart beating so fast it felt like one continuous motion. He was afraid for Kelsey. Afraid because he knew there was a tremendous chance that he was too late, and if he were too late again, if her body was found like Nell’s, stiff and swollen, then he didn’t want to live.
This revelation barely made an emotional dent. Jesse had known it for some time. He just hadn’t faced it. Not even today, when Samuel had accused him of being in love with her. It had been impossible to face. But it was the truth.
He loved her. And he didn’t want to live if Kelsey were already dead.
The sounds from the saloon grew louder. The passageway veered southward, tunneling beneath the surrounding buildings, connecting them together. Jesse took a step to the right.
And then he heard a woman’s voice.
Kelsey’s voice. Cool, calm, and deadly, though he couldn’t make out the words. Coming from behind the nearest door at the end of the main passageway. Holding his breath, Jesse pressed his ear to the panels. He cocked the pistol, slowly, silently, then reached out a hand to the knob. Montana Gray’s voice came in fits and starts: “… wasted more than enough time… or I’ll rip the damn things off myself. Start with the top button…”
Something crashed over. A glass shattered. Jesse frantically twisted the knob but the door was locked tight. He slammed his shoulder against the panels. Harsh, heavy gasps sounded from beyond. Kelsey’s aborted scream. Montana’s pungent swearing. Jesse’s imagination went wild. He saw them struggling on the floor, or couch, or bed.
He took two steps back and fired at the lock. Kelsey shrieked as pieces of wood flew like shrapnel. Jesse burst into the room, dropping on one knee, the derringer held between his hands with deadly intent.
The sight that met his eyes made him go weak with relief. His wife, her hair wild to her waist, her gray eyes measuring Montana like cold steel, her blouse torn and one cheek swollen and faintly blue as if she’d been struck, was sighting down the barrel of a rifle aimed point-blank at Montana, who was lying on his back amid shattered glass and an overturned table.
“I will kill you if you twitch a muscle,” she told him, hazarding Jesse only one small glance. “Mister, you’d better leave by the count of ten,” she said through her teeth to Jesse. “Or you’re next.”
“Al! Al!” Montana gasped out. “Get her! Hit her!”
Very carefully Jesse tilted back the black hat that had shadowed his face. Montana’s already chalky face turned alabaster. Kelsey darted a sideways glance at him, which turned to a double take, the expression on her face one of relief and shining love.
“Jesse,” she choked out, pressing the barrel of the gun tight to Montana’s chest when he suddenly moved. Montana lay still, his arms and legs spread-eagled, his gaze riveted on the rifle.
Kelsey’s hands started to shake, as did her knees. Reaction hit with such overwhelming force she felt dizzy. Jesse was alive and well and here to help! She wanted to tell him she loved him. Now, before it was too late. But she couldn’t find her voice.
“You’re right where I want you,” Jesse told Montana softly.
“She won’t pull the trigger,” Montana sneered.
“I wouldn’t be so certain. I’ve seen what she’s capable of.”
“He left the rifle against the wall,” Kelsey said, feeling as if she were in a trance. “I don’t think he believed I would grab for it.”
“A costly mistake,” observed Jesse with some degree of humor.
“Her hands are shaking,” Montana said through dry lips. “She’s shaking. She won’t do it.”
Jesse smiled coldly. “Go ahead and pull the trigger, Kelsey. It’ll be self-defense. I’ll see to it.”
Montana choked unintelligibly.
Kelsey could scarcely think straight. “Jesse …?”
“No!” Montana shrieked, his eyes bulging as her finger tightened on the trigger. “No, for God’s sake! No!”
“Hold it,” Jesse ordered Kelsey tautly, realizing Montana’s nerve had finally broken. So had his daring wife’s, he deduced with a pang of regret. “Relax, my love. Hand me the rifle.” Tucking the derringer in his belt, he added in a snarl to Montana, “Get on your feet and lead the way out of here. Do it now, before I change my mind.”
Montana stumbled onto his knees, staggering to his trembling legs. He stared in shock at the two of them.
A commotion sounded outside. Jesse pinned Montana against the wall as the door suddenly flew open and Samuel burst inside, his gaze slicing from Kelsey to Jesse to Montana and back again.
“Okay,” he said to the group of men rushing in behind him. “Looks like it’s over already.”
¤ ¤ ¤
Two hours later Kelsey sat on the settee in the drawing room of her home, a cold compress held to her throbbing cheek. Jesse had explained about Lila, and the men he’d left tied up in her cellar, and how Samuel had followed his tracks after learning Kelsey hadn’t been to the Chamberlains, stopping only long enough to ask Cedric McKechnie and a band of his friends to join the fight. Samuel and Jesse had then delivered Montana to the authorities, and had listed complaints that ranged from murder to kidnapping to attempted rape. Montana’s paid “friends” might be among those Samuel and Jesse had talked to, but his fate was in the hands of the law now, and Jesse felt confident that one way or another, Montana’s stranglehold on Portland business would be broken. Nell’s death, Zeke’s death, and Jesse’s near death would be hard to put down to a series of unfortunate accidents by even the most gullible, or grafting, on the police force, and when Samuel suggested Judge Barlowe be excluded from Montana’s case, owing to the fact that they were friends and had been seen together numerous times at numerous parties and benefits, the chance for Montana to win in the courts was greatly lessened.
“Personally, I’d rather see him lynched,” Jesse finished as Irma came in with a silver teapot and several china cups. Jasmine tea, Kelsey noted. A gift from Agatha after her first brush with death.
“And Lila? What will happen to her?”
“The balance of Montana’s money has been seized pending this investigation.” Jesse shrugged. “She’s facing poverty. Knowing Lila, she’ll find some way to keep herself in jewels and furs.”
“You’re very cynical about women.” Kelsey lay back on the couch, cushioning her head.
“Not all women.”
Closing her eyes, Kelsey let the warmth of his voice wash over her in welcome waves. “He told me you were dead. That he’d killed you. I didn’t want to believe him, but a part of me did.” Her voice lowered to a strangled whisper. “I couldn’t help it and then I thought—I thought what it would be like if it were true, and I didn’t want to think about it. I couldn’t. I was afraid—”
“I’m not dead.”
“I know. I know.” She nodded quickly, fighting to cover up
her emotion. “Montana told me you weren’t.”
“He told you I wasn’t?” Jesse’s brows blunted in surprise.
“He told me that your last words were, ‘I love you, Kelsey,’ and I knew then that it was a lie.”
Silence fell like a curtain. Kelsey’s emotions were so raw she couldn’t look at him. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. That wasn’t what she’d meant.
“Kelsey…” Jesse reached for her hand, his tone tender.
“Oh, Jesse.” The tears she’d fought back most of her life seemed destined to fall regardless of how desperately she wished them away. This was the worst moment. A time when she need to be strong and in control. A time to state her feelings, but without the drama she knew would send him away from her.
One sparkling tear slid over the hill of her cheek. Jesse’s blue eyes tracked its progress, then he gently smoothed it aside with his thumb, gazing down at her through emotion-filled eyes.
“I love you, Jesse,” she managed to choke out. “I promised myself I’d tell you the truth. I love you. I always have.”
“You always have?” he asked with an amused lift of his brow.
“Don’t tease me now. I can’t bear it.”
His expression changed and he looked regretful. Kelsey panicked. She closed her eyes against the rejection she knew was coming.
“I was wrong about not being able to love,” he said. “I’ve spent a hell of a day getting accustomed to the idea. It’s an entirely new experience, and not a very comfortable one.”
She opened one eye, gazing up at him in puzzlement and distrust.
A rueful smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I love you, Kelsey,” he said soberly, truthfully. “I don’t want a divorce.”
“Jesse…” Kelsey couldn’t believe her ears.
“I’ve never met another woman like you,” he went on. “One whose interest in firearms surpasses her interest in needlepoint, or gossip, or childbearing. Yet, you’re not interested in vengeance.”
His gaze lowered tenderly to her inviting lips. “You’re what I want. What I’ve always wanted. No woman has ever treated me with less respect and with more honesty. You’re not a society lady, yet you have more grace than the lot of them. You’re a renegade.” Burying his face in her fragrant hair, he muttered hoarsely, “And I love you.”