Diablo

by Potter, Patricia;

  “Not without one hell of a fight.” Kane’s hand went to his six-shooter.

  “You gave your word.”

  “I made you an offer, a damn good one,” Kane said angrily. He lowered his voice then. “A few weeks in exchange for one hell of a lot of lives.”

  “On your word alone. The governor won’t take that.”

  “Make him.”

  “Goddamn it, I would if I could.” Masters raised his voice in frustration. “I can’t. You give us Sanctuary. That was the deal. That’s still the deal.”

  Kane stared at him incredulously. “I can’t.”

  “You must know enough to make some good guesses.”

  “If you want to hunt in a hundred-mile radius with hostile Indians,” Kane said defiantly. “That’s the best I can do.”

  “Then you have to go back to Sanctuary.”

  “There’s not enough time.”

  Masters lowered his voice. “I might be able to get you a week or two. Nothing like months,” Masters said. “How were you supposed to get back? Meet someone? I could follow.”

  No, there’s a woman in my hotel room who knows the way. Kane felt the familiar sickness. Only now it was worse than at any other time.

  “No,” Kane said. “They take precautions.”

  There was a creak outside the door, but Kane was too preoccupied with his task to pay much attention. There were lots of creaks in the floors of these hotels. But he took care to lower his voice as he humbled himself. “Will you at least wire the governor for more time?”

  “Why do I think you know more about Sanctuary than you’re telling me? A lot more.” Masters attacked.

  “You have a suspicious mind,” Kane replied.

  “You don’t do a damn thing to help quiet it, either,” Masters said. “Damn it, O’Brien, I want to help you.”

  “You want to help yourself. Don’t get hypocritical on me.”

  “I know you don’t like me, but—”

  Kane cut him off. “That’s real intuitive of you. You can use all those brains to find Sanctuary.”

  Masters frowned. “Goddamn it, get past your dislike. Think about Carson. Yourself. Tell me everything you know about Sanctuary. I can use it as leverage for a little more time. But two or three months is—”

  Kane heard another creak outside the door, along with a muffled cry. He turned at the sound. So did the marshal. They stared at each other for a moment, then Kane took several quick strides toward the door and flung it opened. The hall was empty, but he heard boots going down the steps. He knew that cry. He knew the owner of the light steps.

  “Nicky,” he called after the retreating steps. He started out the door, but Masters put a hand on his arm, restraining him. Kane tried to shake loose, but Masters’s grip tightened.

  “You know who it was,” Masters accused.

  “Get out of my way,” Kane said with deadly intent.

  “Damn it, O’Brien, I can’t help you unless—”

  Kane tried to shrug away again, but the hand was like a vise around his left arm. Swinging around, he sunk his right fist in Masters’s gut as hard as he could. He didn’t take time for satisfaction as the lawman doubled over. He landed another punch on Masters’s cheek, and Masters landed on the floor. Kane ripped off his bandanna and jerked the man’s hands behind him, tying them before Masters could recover from the blows.

  Masters groaned, tried to struggle to his feet. “Don’t run, O’Brien.”

  But Kane was already out the door, taking the steps two at a time. Just as he pulled open the front door of the hotel, he saw someone riding hellbent down the center of town. He recognized the mare, then the slight rider in the saddle. He also recognized the gray following behind on a lead.

  “Nicky,” he yelled and darted to intercept, but she only swerved past him with a new surge of speed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nicky rode as if all the demons in hell were after her. Fierce, unbelieving fury had initially numbed the betrayal, the humiliation. But grief wasn’t long in coming. Deep, all-consuming grief that was tearing her apart.

  Tears ran and dried in the wind. Her heart dried, too, shriveling up in the hot windstorm of treachery.

  I made you an offer, a damn good one. Kane’s voice.

  Then a stranger’s: You give us Sanctuary. That was the deal.

  Those were the only words she was able to hear. The others were muffled by the door. They were all she’d needed, though she tried to hear more.

  The truth was obvious. Kane had made a deal with the law. He had been playing a part: spy, traitor, betrayer. Nicky couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been to believe he really liked her. He was trying to save his own skin by sacrificing her uncle, Robin, herself. No wonder he’d asked so many questions about Sanctuary. Why hadn’t she guessed?

  She’d heard his voice in the hallway and realized he’d heard that barely muffled sob. She knew she had to get away, had to reach Sanctuary and warn her uncle. Keeping her hand on her derringer, she had raced for the stable, intent on escaping Kane O’Brien and his lies. Praying for a few extra moments, she’d saddled Molly in record time and had bridled Kane’s gray; the gray would go with her, so he couldn’t follow. She’d used the derringer when the liveryman had protested, forcing him into the tack room and locking him there after taking his keys. Kane wouldn’t easily get another horse unless he stole one, and then a new posse would be after him. After leading out the two horses, she’d locked the livery door, then mounted and raced out of town, barely missing Kane.…

  She doubted it would take him long to find a new mount, but long enough for her to escape, for her tracks to be lost with so many others.

  With every mile, her heart hardened, became more brittle, her sense of betrayal stronger, her grief deeper, her belief in herself smaller. If she stopped, she would die. She couldn’t stand the pain. It would shatter her. Give us Sanctuary. Give us Sanctuary. Give us Sanctuary. The words kept echoing in her mind over and over again.

  She had to warn her uncle. Kane still didn’t know the exact location. He would have been blindfolded that first day out. But he could make some good guesses now, narrow the area for a posse, and eventually Sanctuary would be found. At least, some small measure of caution had kept her from giving him the map.

  Diablo. She had tried not to think of him that way. But that was exactly what he was. A devil. The worst kind of devil. Cain, who had killed his brother. He was killing her now. The tears came faster as she thought of his touch, his gentleness, his lying, betraying gentleness.

  She could barely see the road for the tears. She angrily wiped them away, and when she put her hand back down on Molly’s mane she felt the horse heave. Dear God, what was she doing? She would kill Molly if she kept going like this. She leaned down, burying her head in the mare’s mane, feeling the sweat on the horse’s body. “I’m sorry, Molly,” she said with anguish. “I’m sorry.”

  She guided the horse off the road at a walk, moving toward a series of gulches. She dismounted after a distance and stood there in the dark, shattered and alone.

  Molly whinnied, nudging her as if understanding. But she couldn’t possibly understand. Through the leaden grief, the hopelessness of feeling so betrayed, she tried to think. She would change horses, ride the gray bareback and lead Molly for a while.

  Kane would come after her. He had money, and once he got into the livery, he could purchase another horse. It would take time, but not much. Therefore, she had to avoid the exact route she had taken here. She had to get home. She had to warn her uncle. And, ill or not, he would put his own reward on Kane O’Brien. Every cutthroat in the territory would be gunning for him. The thought made her sick. She sank to the ground and emptied what little contents were in her stomach. Aching despair immobilized her. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think.

  Molly nudged her again as if asking a question. But Nicky had no answers. None at all as she bent her head and wept until there weren’t any tears left.


  Anguished and desperate, Kane ran to the livery, found it locked, and broke open the door. It took him only a few minutes to break a second lock on the tack room door, negotiate for a new horse, and saddle it. The new mount didn’t look as fast or as sturdy as his gray, and Nicky’s mare, for all its small size, was swift.

  God help him, what had he done?

  Kane should have known Nicky wouldn’t have waited in her room. She had been tense, uncertain, and he had done and said nothing to change that, except coldly leave her. And now she was running for her life, and probably for her uncle’s without food or clothes or money.

  And she was the only one who could help him save Davy. He should have told her everything. He could only imagine what she thought now. What in the hell had she heard?

  Perhaps he could catch her. At least, he had to try. He knew a day and a half of the route now. If only he could catch up with her before reaching that rock formation that signaled the end of his knowledge.

  Self-loathing poured though his veins as he thought of her out there, thinking he had lied to her, used her. He had to convince her it wasn’t true. He didn’t know how in the hell he could do that. Not now. “Nicky,” he whispered as he saddled his new horse, swung up into its seat and galloped out of town. “Christ, what have I done to you?”

  John Yancy had watched the tall, blue-eyed man leave the saloon after exchanging glances with the saloon woman. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen those intimate exchanges, and jealousy and envy ate into him. The woman had ignored every one of his own overtures, and he wasn’t used to that. What right did any saloon whore have to reject him?

  The man bothered him, too. He had an air of authority, though he was doing his best to disguise it. He also wore a gun as if he knew how to use it. Yancy would bet his last dollar that the man wasn’t an outlaw. That left one likely alternative.

  But what interested him most was the woman’s connection to Sanctuary. Yancy was tired of waiting for one of Sanctuary’s guides to appear. He had planned to follow the man back to Sanctuary, then ambush Thompson. But perhaps there was another way, a faster way. Mary May Hamilton probably knew Sanctuary’s location. She also probably knew who—and what—her lover was.

  He wanted to know the answers to both questions.

  He slipped into the seat left by the man who so interested him and started fishing. “That gent didn’t stay long,” he observed.

  “Smith?” said one of the other players. “He doesn’t play much.”

  “Smith?” Yancy grinned. “Real fashionable name.”

  “Ben Smith,” said another loquacious player.

  Yancy didn’t miss the sharp glance the woman sent him. It was a “mind your own business” warning, and the player shut up. But it was enough. Ben. Suddenly, he knew where the familiar feeling came from. Fort Smith. He’d been holding over in Fort Smith when a U.S. marshal brought in a prisoner. Yancy had only gotten a quick look at the lawman, who was dirty and bearded, but he remembered the name, Ben Masters, and the cut of him. Wouldn’t Thompson be interested in knowing someone who worked for him was whoring with a U.S. marshal?

  He won the poker hand, lost another, and called it a night. He went outside and looked around until he found what he wanted. A drunk who wouldn’t remember much. “Tell Mary May that Ben Smith is waiting for her at his hotel,” he told the man, giving him enough money for several drinks.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Yancy knew where Smith was staying. He’d watched him cross from the hotel to the saloon often enough. There was an alley, a dark path between buildings she would have to pass through. And then he would find out everything he needed to know.

  Mary May received the message with a smile. She had missed her usual afternoon drink with Ben. He had never asked her to his room before. They had always used hers, and she was pleased to be invited into his private quarters.

  She was also hungry for him. She was always hungry for him. No one had ever satisfied her as he did, perhaps because she liked him so much. No man had ever treated her as an equal before, had listened, had really seemed to care about her beyond the sensuality they shared.

  And he had been so good with Sarah Ann. She could still see him sitting in the neat bungalow, Sarah Ann giggling on his lap. The memory warmed her.

  But then she went cold as she thought once more about her problem. What to do with Sarah Ann? How to find a decent home for her? Part of her mind went to Ben, but what man would want a woman like her for more than what they already shared?

  She hurried toward his hotel. She always felt good with Ben, as if everything would work out. Even if he was a lawman, he was unlike any other she’d ever met. He hadn’t used her, he hadn’t threatened, and he had accepted her refusal to help him with equanimity.

  Mary May was thinking about his eyes—the way they had warmed when he had looked at her daughter—when she heard someone behind her. She started to turn, and she felt a knife at her throat and an arm around her waist, pulling her to the dark alley between buildings. Then pain erupted in her head, and everything went black.

  She woke to blinding agony. Her head was pounding fiercely, and when she tried to move, she couldn’t. Water splashed on her, and she felt a rough hand slapping her face. She opened her eyes.

  John Yancy’s face was inches from hers. A long, narrow candle cast just enough light for her to see the malevolence in his eyes. Fear filled her, almost suffocating her. She feared for her own life, but even more for Sarah Ann’s. What would happen to her daughter if she died?

  She tried to stay calm. What did he want? And where was she?

  She tried to look around but she was hogtied, her hands bound in front with a rope that led to another binding her ankles. Her dress was up around her hips. She was in some kind of abandoned building, lying on a dirt floor.

  “What do you want?” she said finally, forcing boldness into her voice.

  “The whereabouts of Sanctuary.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she bluffed.

  His expression grew uglier, and he backhanded her across the mouth. The blow split her lip and she tasted blood. “Let’s try that question again,” he said. “Where’s Sanctuary?”

  Mary May knew the general vicinity of Sanctuary for a variety of reasons, mostly by keeping her ears open. Calico had dropped several bits of information over the past several years, and she’d once met Nat Thompson fifty miles north of Gooden. But she didn’t know the exact location. She thought about giving Yancy directions to nowhere. But she knew she couldn’t do it too soon or he would be suspicious. “Thompson will kill you for this.”

  “So you know Thompson, do you? He one of your lovers, too? Like that lawman you’re whoring for?”

  The fear deepened, seeping through every pore of her body. She saw in that instant that he wasn’t just after Sanctuary; he was furious that she had refused his offers. “I only pass on messages,” she said.

  “You’re a liar,” Yancy said, taking a knife from his belt and touching it to her cheek, pressing it downward just enough to draw blood. “If you know Thompson, you’ve been there. He never leaves Sanctuary.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “We met at a rendezvous in Indian Territory three years ago. I’ve never been to Sanctuary.”

  “I think you’re lying,” he said, the knife pressing deeper into her skin.

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” she said, panic coloring her voice.

  “What about Smith?” he said. “Were you planning to betray Thompson?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The knife moved to her clothes and Yancy sliced away at them, uncaring when the blade cut her. She heard herself whimpering.

  “You must think I’m stupid,” he said.

  “No,” she said, her voice rising now, part of it a scream as the knife moved down to her stomach. She felt blood flow from her cheek and shuddered. What had he done to her face? “I would tell you if I knew. I don’t owe
either of them anything.”

  “I saw the way you looked at that marshal. I remembered his name, and it ain’t Smith. It’s Masters.” He watched her face. “What is he after?”

  “Could be you,” she said spitefully, and the knife bit into her abdomen.

  “Could be I’ll slice you wide open, too,” Yancy said.

  Mary May tried to think. She could scream, but then no one in Gooden paid much attention to noises like screams, or shouts, or gunfire. Where was Ben? Dear God, where was he?

  “No smart reply to that?” Yancy taunted, and the knife started tearing at the top of her dress.

  Time. She needed time. Maybe Ben would come looking for her. She already felt blood leaking from her body in a number of places, and she felt lightheaded. “Indian Territory,” she said, hearing her own voice weaken, almost break.

  “You have to do better than that, whore.”

  “I only know part of the way.”

  His knife stopped biting into her. She closed her eyes and pictured Sarah Ann, the curly red hair and bright green eyes. She heard her daughter’s deep giggle, and felt warm arms around her neck. You have to survive, she told herself. For Sarah’s sake. Ben will come. I kown he will come. She didn’t know why she was so sure of that. She hadn’t relied on a man since her husband died, but now she was bone-sure Ben would find her. The question was whether it would be too late.

  “Start talking,” Yancy said as his knife pressed deeper into her abdomen.

  “The Glass Mountains,” she lied. If she told the truth, then Thompson would come after her. “Arkansas River.”

  “Where in the Glass Mountains?”

  “Map. There’s a map in my room.”

  “If you’re lying …”

  As if to punctuate his threat, the knife pressed farther into her stomach. Mary May was feeling faint now. She had always been a fast bleeder, her small cuts producing copious amounts of blood. “Not lying …”

  “I’ll be back if it isn’t.” Yancy put the gag back in her mouth.

  Mary May watched him leave. He wouldn’t find a map. But she had some time now. A little. She fought to keep awake. She had to keep awake. For Sarah Ann. But her eyelids were so heavy and everything was going gray.