She shook her head, as if she hoped to shake loose the dream cobwebs inside.
She had almost convinced herself that she had dreamed the whole thing when she saw the glass knob of her door begin to turn.
Someone was trying to get in.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nic frowned, feeling the tug of the rope again, as if the sheriff might be returning, but then it stopped. What was happening on the other side? “Here, take these ropes,” he told Mr. McManus, pulling at the knot with fingers trembling with cold. At last it gave way and he yanked it off, wrapping it around the other man’s waist. “Something’s wrong out there. I have to get to Sabine.”
The surveyor broke the surface from the other tunnel, and the men on the bank of the pool shouted in celebration. But Nic’s attention was ahead of him. He took a deep breath and went under, stroking hard, and growing alarmed when the rope grew slack in the darkness. He prayed that somehow, some way, the rest would make it out. But something had happened to Sabine and Everett. He could feel it. Please, Lord …
At the end of the tunnel, his lungs burned, bursting to escape, but as he was rising to the blessed blue-tinged light of the pool above, strong arms reached out and encircled him, pulling him up and backward into the tunnel.
Nic came out of the water and gasped for air. “What are you doing?” They were in a dimly lit cavern, with just enough air space for their heads, both treading water now.
“Shush,” Sheriff Nelson demanded in a harsh whisper. “There’s a man outside who just tried to kill me. Would’ve shot you too.”
“Probably the same people who tried to kill us inside the Vaughn mine,” Nic guessed.
The sheriff nodded, adding, “He likely has Sabine and Everett too.”
Nic’s brow furrowed in fear. There was nothing but a fight to the death ahead of them. No mercy.
He groaned. “How would they know we’re here? Trying to escape?”
“I’d wager those Dolly Mae surveyors knew there was an underground lake and figured it extended through a cavern system underneath Sabine’s property too.”
Nic blinked. How could he have been so stupid?
The sheriff let out a sound of surprise and then took a deep breath and went down, coming up with Mr. McManus. Briefly, they told him what had transpired.
“Well, what are we to do now?” sputtered the man. “We can’t survive in here much longer. Either the cold or the lack of oxygen will kill us all.”
“We have no choice but to go out, all together,” Nic said. “You have a gun?”
“It’s pretty waterlogged,” he said. “Not sure it’ll fire.”
“Let’s hope it will,” Nic returned. “I say we all three move out at once, each heading in a different direction. He can’t kill us all. With luck, he won’t hit any of us, if we stay deep.”
“Somebody has to stay here and warn the others,” Mr. McManus said.
“That’s true,” the sheriff said.
“All right,” Nic said to the older man. “You stay here and warn the others. Tell ’em to come out in twos, swimming away from each other when they get to the outside.”
“They should swim toward the edge,” the sheriff said. “There are banks full of reeds. It’ll give ’em some cover as they come out of the water.”
“I will. Good luck, gentlemen,” Mr. McManus said.
“I’ll go left, you go right,” Nic said to Sheriff Nelson. Then he took a few deep breaths and dived in.
He steeled himself for what was ahead. Years in the ring had prepared him for this moment, when he would do whatever he had to in order to save the woman and boy he was coming to love. My family, he thought. Lord, help me make it through this, and I’ll make them my family for good.
He reached the tunnel’s mouth and slowly edged out and to the left, aware the sheriff was right behind him. He grimaced at the power of the current that pushed him faster than he wished to emerge. With any luck, his brown shirt and dark trousers would blend in with the rock. He kicked, leaving the current, and held on to the rock for a moment. He exhaled some of his precious air, trying to stay down a few moments longer. He heard no firearm blasting, even through water-filled ears, and his heart pounded with encouragement.
Please, Lord, please hide me. He pulled himself along the slippery, slimy rocks toward the bank of reeds and then let his body rise gradually among the outer portion of reeds. His eyes and nose were above the water, and his nostrils flared, sucking in the oxygen, while he blinked and looked about, careful not to splash. The pond appeared to be empty. Slowly, he turned and looked to the other side.
Nothing.
There. The sheriff had just come to the surface too and was looking around. After a moment, he spotted Nic. He gave him a little shake of the head, indicating he didn’t see anyone either.
Sheriff Nelson pulled up hands full of nutrient-rich mud and slowly spread it across his head and face. He was instantly less visible. Nic followed suit, although his darker hair and skin was less noticeable than the sheriff’s red hair and pale complexion. Sheriff Nelson motioned to head toward the other end of the pool, and Nic followed his lead. Behind him, the sheriff pulled out his gun, dropped the bullets from their chambers, blew inside with quick huffs, and put the bullets back into their chambers. Nic hoped it would work—that the gun would fire, if need be.
Nic moved down the pond slowly. The water became shallower, and soon he was pulling his way along, legs floating behind him.
“Stop where you are!”
He stilled, hearing a voice almost directly above him.
“Why, Sheriff, you really do need a bath,” said the man.
Rinaldi.
Nic prayed he wouldn’t spot him too.
“Come on out of the water now,” Rinaldi barked, pointing a gun in Drew’s direction.
Slowly, Nic swiveled his head to eye the sheriff. The man rose, as if defeated, then whipped out his gun toward Rinaldi. Shots fired above Nic’s head. Three times and he heard the sickening sound of Sheriff Nelson’s body falling among the reeds and shallow water. But he used the moment to gather his feet beneath him, then rose and roared as he surged forward, cursing the sucking power of the mud that slowed him down.
But it mattered not. Adrenaline surged through him, making him feel stronger than ever before. Rinaldi had just shaken loose of Sabine, throwing her to the ground, and was bringing his gun around to take Nic down when Nic tackled him, striking at the man’s belly with his shoulder.
Dimly, he felt the shoulder pop out of place, and for a split second his vision clouded. But then he spotted Everett, his face drained of color. Fury surged again through Nic, sharpening his focus. He rose up, still partly atop Rinaldi, and struck him twice in the face with his good arm.
The man blocked the third blow with his right and then struck Nic with a left, knocking him off.
Nic rolled and came to his feet, immediately coming after Rinaldi, pummeling him as fast as he could, knowing there were probably others on their way, if they’d heard the gunfire, if they weren’t here—
—already.
He stilled when he felt the cold ring of steel at his temple and saw Rinaldi rise and take a step back, a grin on his face. The monster was panting so hard, he put his hands on his knees and stared at Nic, then shook his head. “Lots of fire in you, for coming out of such cold water.”
Nic ignored him. His eyes shifted to the right, to the one who held a gun on him. One of Rinaldi’s cohorts.
“Don’t you move,” said the man beside him.
Nic slowly raised his hands, as if surrendering. Then, as the man took a step closer, Nic backhanded him and bent to give him a swift sidekick, knocking him to the ground. The gun went flying, but Nic’s attention returned to Rinaldi, who was once again lunging at him. The taller man struck hard, hitting Nic with a tough right that almost sent him whirling. Then he grabbed him and picked him up, ramming him into a tree.
The breath was knocked out of Nic, but before he
collapsed, he pulled his head back and rammed it into Rinaldi’s nose. The man screamed out in rage and backed off a few steps, blood pouring from his nostrils.
Nic leaned back against the tree and tried not to panic as his lungs refused to cooperate for a moment. At last he was able to take a breath. And another, even as he became a little woozy. Slowly, his vision cleared and he saw that Rinaldi had pulled his gun and had it pointed at Sabine and Everett.
Nic froze again.
Rinaldi grinned, blood dripping down his lip and through his teeth, giving him a ghoulish appearance. Sabine and Everett were clinging to each other, weeping.
“I think,” Rinaldi said, “you’re gonna pay for that, St. Clair.”
o
“Who’s there?” Moira screeched, staring in horror at the door, pulling her blanket to her chest like some sort of protective shield.
The knob reached the end of its axis.
The lock held.
“Get away!” Moira yelled, growing angry in her fear.
The interloper released the knob and it rotated back to its original position.
It did not turn again.
Moira threw the blanket aside, now furious. She would not be bullied. By anyone. She’d had enough of it with Reid. Even with Gavin’s slier methods, pushing her to do things she didn’t care for. From here on out, her life was her own. No one else’s. And this man—whoever he was—was not going to rob her of that.
She glanced around the tiny compartment, looking for a weapon of some sort. Everything was too bulky or too soft. Remembering her umbrella with its sturdy hand-carved handle, she dug to the bottom of her valise and pulled it out in victory. Holding it tightly in her right hand, she went to the door, and before she could second-guess herself, unlocked it and yanked it open.
Moira took a step back and tensed, ready to bludgeon whoever was outside. How dare he invade her privacy, prey upon her, attempt to frighten her, even try and enter her room! How dare he! She whipped her head around the corner, looking one way, then the other. Nothing but the swaying, flickering lights of the two gas lamps in the hallway.
There. At the end of the hall, a door was just closing. He was going to the dining car.
Moira turned, grabbed her key, and hurriedly locked the door, then ran after him, nearly falling once when the train car lurched over a particularly bad track connection. By the time she reached the door, she felt her first moment of hesitation.
“You will not be bullied, Moira St. Clair. See this through,” she ground out in a whisper.
She hauled open the connecting door, pausing when the night air rushed through the compartment, and clenched her teeth against the jarring noise of train tracks, wheels, and metal fittings. She stepped in, relieved as the racket behind her eased.
But she stilled and felt her heart pound painfully.
The dining car was completely dark.
o
Three others on horseback arrived at the LaCrosse property, each carrying a lantern, and took a look around the group before dismounting.
“Everything all right, boss?” asked one.
“Right as a straight flush and a pile of money on the center of the table,” Rinaldi grinned. “But we’re not alone. There are some serious gamblers still in play.” He nodded at Nic, Sabine, and Everett. “They came out of the tunnel, and up and out of the spring. Two of you head to the pond to keep watch. You should find the sheriff’s body in the reeds across the pond. Bring him.”
“The sheriff?” asked one blankly.
“Go,” Rinaldi answered in irritation, waving him off.
He looked back to Nic and slowly pulled his own gun from its holster and approached. Nic tensed, and the pain in his shoulder screamed, though he did his best to hide it. Rinaldi circled Nic, looking him over. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
Nic ignored him. Rinaldi halted behind him, then punched his dislocated shoulder.
Nic gasped and fell to his knees, holding his arm in front of him. He fought to stay conscious. The pain, miraculously absent during the fight, was now upon him, worse than ever before. He blinked and looked over at Sabine and Everett, still weeping and holding each other, refusing to look his way. Why was that? Were they afraid they’d see him die? He had to stay conscious, for them if not for himself. There still might be a way out.
Two more horses approached.
Mr. Kazin and Mr. Dell. They looked about with alarm on their faces, from Sabine and Everett to Nic, then over to the two men who dragged the sheriff’s body into the clearing and dumped him.
Mr. Dell took off his hat and wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand. “This is not quite what we discussed, Richard.”
Rinaldi grimaced and glanced his way. “It’s not quite what any of us thought could happen, Mr. Dell. Who would have guessed that these river rats could make it through the caverns? We’re only lucky that I thought to come over and check it out.”
“And now what are we to do?” Mr. Kazin said, imperious as ever. “Kill them all?”
“You were more than happy to see them die inside the mountain,” Rinaldi responded, eyes back on Nic.
“It is one thing to fake a cave-in, another to shoot at close range,” Mr. Kazin retorted. “They took a chance going into that mine. We only hastened what could have happened naturally.”
“Hastened?” Nic said with a hollow laugh. “You tried to murder us.”
“Yes, well,” Mr. Kazin said, sniffing, “regardless of how you put it, you are very much alive now, aren’t you, Mr. St. Clair? And you, Mrs. LaCrosse.”
“Very much,” Nic responded drily.
Mr. Kazin dismounted, and Mr. Dell followed suit. “Bring her,” Mr. Kazin said to a man beside the sheriff’s body, gesturing toward Sabine, then walking over to Nic. Behind him, the man grabbed Sabine’s arm and yanked her to her feet. Nic had to force himself to remain where he was, well aware that neither Rinaldi’s eyes nor his gun ever left him.
Mr. Kazin reached inside his coat pocket. He looked over his shoulder to Mr. Dell. “Bring the pen and ink, please.”
“These,” he said, holding out two sheets of paper in front of Nic’s face, “are the deeds to both your mine and Mrs. LaCrosse’s. You shall sign them over to us now.”
Nic scoffed. “For what reason would I do that? As soon as we sign them, you’ll kill us.”
“This is true,” Mr. Kazin said, raising a brow. “One way or another, you have seen the end of your living days. We can kill you and lay claim to the properties before anyone else even knows you’re gone. But it’ll be much cleaner if we have your signatures.”
“I’m sorry,” Nic said. “But I missed why we would want to make anything easier for you.”
Mr. Kazin stared at him for a moment, then at Sabine, and then slowly looked over at Everett and back. His inference was clear.
“Sign the documents,” Kazin said lowly, “and I’ll see the child to the orphanage in Buena Vista. If you refuse—” he paused, letting his words sink in—“he’ll die alongside you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Nic moved to strike Mr. Kazin, and Rinaldi instantly rammed him in the shoulder again. Sabine winced and turned away, well aware of how such a blow would affect him. She heard him moan and fall back against the tree. Tears streamed down her face. The violence, the blows. Too much, Lord. I cannot take it. Her mind cascaded back to Henri, her husband, how he had become expert at bruising her where no one else could see. Until that final day when he broke her arm and battered her face. It was then that Sinopa returned to her, cared for her. And Henri disappeared forever …
She was trembling, shaking as hard as she once did when she feared Henri’s approach. But then her eyes met Everett’s. He was twenty paces away, arms wrapped around his knees, peering over at her, his forehead a wrinkled mass. He was afraid, so afraid.
Immediately, Sabine’s waves of fear turned into white-hot anger. Never before had she been so angry. With a cry of rage she grabbed the p
en from Mr. Dell’s fat hand and rammed the tip into Mr. Kazin’s cheek. “Run, Ev!” she screamed, even as she lifted Rinaldi’s arm and ducked. He fired at the same time, but the bullet went high.
Nic plunged back into the fight, incapacitated as he was, and Sabine joined in his attack on their tormentor. A gun went off, and then another. She waited, thinking that at any moment a bullet might pierce her chest or head as Rinaldi’s men gathered themselves to take better aim, but then there were other men about them, entering the fray, exchanging blows. The others! The others had made it out of the tunnel. The tide is turning. There is hope, she thought, slapping away a tiny pistol in portly Mr. Dell’s hand.
She looked to the side, searching for Everett, hoping he was gone, but then he was flying at Mr. Kazin, who was hunched over, gingerly trying to pull the stuck pen from his cheek. The boy hopped on the tall man’s back and pulled backward on his neck, as if he meant to strangle him. The man grabbed hold of him and savagely tossed him to the ground. But Everett came skidding to a stop six feet away and rounded, as if to come at him again.
Another two guns fired in rapid succession.
Beside her, Nic and Rinaldi crumpled to the ground. Sabine’s gaze flew to them. Who was hit?
Before her, Mr. Dell, hovering over his pistol, as if he had been about to reach for it, clutched his chest and then fell on his face, into the dirt.
Then she saw Mr. Kazin raise his hands, his face grim in defeat. He was giving up. They had won.
Her eyes went to Nic and Rinaldi.
Rinaldi, too, had his hands up and was rising.
But Nic was motionless on the ground before him.
o
Moira opened her eyes as wide as possible, as if she might be able to suddenly see in the dark. Was he here? Could he possibly see her?
Her pulse thundered in her ears, a dull, muffled whoosh audible even over the clickety-clack of the train tracks beneath her feet. She felt behind her for the wood-paneled wall, and then edged to the right, where she knew the piano was. She wanted to know no one was beside her or behind her.
Claim: A Novel of Colorado (The Homeward Trilogy) Page 20