Brand 4

by Neil Hunter

  He stood up and walked through the Pullman until he reached Sarah’s compartment. He tapped on the door.

  “It’s Jason.”

  “The door isn’t locked you know.”

  He went in. She was standing at the window, watching the scenery flash by. The black dress she’d been wearing was draped over a chair along with the rest of her clothing. Now she was wearing a thin cotton robe.

  “He’s on the train?”

  “I think so, Sarah.”

  She turned away from the window, looking directly at him. “He’ll try to kill us won’t he?”

  Brand hesitated for a moment. “He’ll try.”

  “Tell me what to do,” she said suddenly. “Jason, I’m frightened.” She came to him and threw her arms around his body.

  He held her to him. Sarah was trembling violently.

  “Easy now,” he said. “I don’t aim to stand by and let him do anything.”

  “Everything’s falling apart, Jason. I feel lost. First my father. Now this man Raven.” She pulled away and returned to stare out of the compartment window. When she spoke her voice was soft and lacked the conviction she had always shown before. “Where do I go now? What do I do?”

  “Carry on. You have your life. Use it. Hell, Sarah, you don’t need me to tell you.”

  She caught his reflection in the window. “Perhaps I do.” A smile creased her soft mouth. “I think you could be good for me, Jason.”

  “Don’t take odds on that,” Brand said. He knew he would have to be careful. It would be easy to become involved with Sarah. Too damned easy. He wasn’t sure he could handle the responsibility. His involvement with women now were little more than fleeting diversions during moments of calm. His life, his job, was too demanding. Often uncertain. He would never deny his being attracted to women. To needing them. But he was wary of committing himself.

  “I have to have someone,” Sarah said. “I know I can’t expect it to last. You’re not the kind to be tied down, and I wouldn’t even try. All I ask is that you let it happen. No strings, Jason. No ties.”

  “Sarah,” he said gently, touching her shoulder and pulling her round to face him. He was acutely aware that her robe was open, her body naked and softly warm beneath. “The minute I reach Washington McCord is likely to send me right out on another assignment. What do you figure to do? Sit around and wait for me to come back? For weeks — maybe months? You’re not the waiting kind, Sarah.”

  “I can be very patient when I set my mind.”

  Her face had turned up to his, her soft mouth moist. Brand felt her lips touch his. He pulled her close . . . tasted her pliant mouth . . . and heard the muffled crash of sound from the outer compartment . . .

  He spun away from Sarah, clawing the Colt from its holster, his thumb dogging back the hammer as he jerked open the compartment door.

  A gun blasted close by. The doorframe exploded in a shower of jagged splinters that slashed at the side of his face. Brand threw himself forward and down. He let himself roll as he hit the carpet, frantically sleeving blood out of his eyes. He caught a glimpse of a dark-clad figure moving down the centre of the Pullman in his direction. And he recognized the face — unchanged since the last time he’d seen it. A memory from his past. Dark hair brushed back from the high forehead. Slitted pale eyes that glittered with animal ferocity. Hollow cheeks giving the face a gaunt and hungry look.

  Raven!

  The hired gun. The assassin.

  And he was out to kill Brand and then Sarah.

  The moment he hit the floor Brand shoved his Colt out at arm’s length. He eased back on the trigger, the Colt roaring loudly in the confines of the coach. Brand knew he’d missed as Raven twisted his lean body to one side. Thrusting up off the floor Brand moved on, closing the gap. He saw Raven’s gun sweep round and for a moment he found himself staring down the black muzzle. Then his own weapon was up and firing again. This time he saw the bullet punch a bloody hole in Raven’s left side, a fraction of a second before Raven’s own gun fired. Brand grunted as the bullet burned deep into his body. His momentum carried him on and he slammed bodily into Raven, clubbing at the gaunt face with the barrel of the heavy Colt. The blow opened a deep gash down one side of Raven’s face. Blood began to dribble from the wound.

  As they struggled together, each trying to gain the upper hand, the Express hit a curve. The Pullman rocked and pitched them across the floor. Still locked together they crashed against the side of the coach. Window glass shattered and the upper half of Raven’s body went through. Brand realized he had lost his gun somewhere, though Raven was still hanging on to his. Brand grabbed Raven’s wrist, fingers clamping tightly. He fought against the burning pain that was growing around the bullet lodged in his flesh. He could feel the sodden cling of his bloody clothing.

  Raven fought back wildly. His lean body contained a great deal of strength, and he used every ounce as he resisted Brand’s attack. His free hand drove hard, telling punches to Brand’s face and body. A hard knee slammed up at Brand’s groin. The blow was off-centre but still made Brand snarl with pain. He reached out and grabbed hold of Raven’s hair, yanking the killer’s head back. He heard the strangled sound that burst from Raven’s throat.

  He lost his grip on Raven’s wrist. Glimpsed the cocked gun arcing towards him and made a frantic attempt to regain his hold. The gun fired, discharging only inches to the side. Brand felt the heat of the burning powder searing his flesh and peppering it with a thousand needlepoints of agony. Brand fell back a step. It was all the leverage Raven needed. He thrust his full body weight against Brand, pushing away from the side of the coach.

  As he stumbled across the carpeted floor Brand realized that Raven would have his gun cocked and ready to fire in seconds. His mind raced as he tried to figure his next move. He had no gun. His own weapon lay yards away. And there was no cover in the cramped closeness of the coach.

  He had nowhere to go.

  Or had he!

  In the scant moments of time left to him as Raven leveled his gun, Brand realized he had one, albeit slim, chance. It was risky but he would be dead anyway if he didn’t make the attempt.

  Brand acted even as he considered his options. Ignoring the pain from his wound he lunged forward, towards Raven instead of trying to avoid the man. He aimed low, and Raven’s shot only clipped his arm. Brand’s shoulder caught Raven in the chest, knocking him back against the compartment side. The impact drove the breath from Raven’s lungs. As Raven struck the side Brand turned, reaching out for something he’d spotted on the floor.

  It was a long, glittering sliver of glass from the shattered window. Brand snatched it up, closing his mind to the sharp edges that sliced his flesh. In the same movement he kicked out with his right foot, catching Raven behind the knee. Raven stumbled as his leg buckled, off balance. He turned in Brand’s direction in time to see the long dagger of glass as it slashed forward and up. A point of light ran its length as Brand thrust it at Raven’s throat. The keen tip cut into Raven’s flesh just beneath the jaw line. A scream of despair had just started to form in Raven’s throat. It was cut off abruptly as Raven fell against the length of glass, impaling himself on the glittering shard. Raven’s body arched in pain, shuddering strongly, and Brand let go of the glass sliver as he felt warm blood gushing over his flesh.

  Raven crashed to the floor. He had dropped his gun and both hands were clutched against his throat as he tried to stem the flow of blood. His eyes were wide open, staring vacantly. He made small, frantic movements, his breathing becoming harsher with every breath. Blood frothed from his lips. Gradually his movements became less and then they ceased altogether.

  Brand had slumped to the floor. He was feeling very tired. He became aware of someone close by and when he turned his heavy head he saw it was Sarah. She was on her knees beside him. He saw tears in her eyes.

  “Hey, no crying,” he said. “I’m still alive, damnit.”

  She cradled his head in her lap. Brand could
smell her perfume, and it was almost worth getting shot to be able to rest his head against those long, sleek thighs.

  “McCord?” he asked. He was getting sleepy now. His side was drenched in blood and the pain from the bullet was becoming stronger. Sweat beaded his face and he suddenly felt cold. “Where’s McCord?”

  “I’m here.”

  McCord’s face slid into view. He had a nasty gash above his left eye and there was blood streaking his face.

  “Bastard caught me off-guard.”

  Brand would have smiled if he hadn’t been hurting so bad.

  “Raven?”

  “He’s dead,” McCord said. “You stopped him for good this time.”

  “Mister McCord, we have to do something,” Sarah interrupted. “Can’t you see how much blood he’s losing.”

  “I’ll see if I can find someone,” McCord said. He thrust a thick towel in Sarah’s hand. “Keep this over the wound.”

  Sarah pressed the towel in place, flinching when Brand gasped.

  “Just lie still, Jason,” she whispered.

  Brand stared up at her. There wasn’t much else he could do except lie there.

  “I’ll look after you,” Sarah promised. “McCord won’t be sending you anywhere for a while. Not until you’re well. I’ll make sure you get plenty of rest. You see if I don’t.”

  She had got her way after all, Brand realized. And she knew it. He saw her smile down at him. It was an odd, mysterious smile. The kind a woman shows when her mind is busy with intimate schemes.

  He wanted to speak. Instead he lay still and let the warmth flow over him. He was tired. Exhausted. It wouldn’t be all that bad. Being looked after by someone like Sarah. A damned sight better than having to listen to the shrill tones of some old harridan sent along by McCord. Looking on the bright side he wasn’t going to be totally helpless all of the time, and there were still a lot of things possible even when a body was forced to stay lying down.

  He clenched his teeth against the jolting motion of the train. Every time it hit a rough stretch of track it added to his discomfort. The weariness became stronger, taking over, and he didn’t bother to fight it any longer. He let it spread. The feeling was good. Brand let go and drifted, closing out the sights and the sounds, and that was the way McCord and the doctor he’d located, found him when they reached the compartment . . .

  Jason Brand will return in

  DAY OF THE GUN

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