“I’ll not be going anywhere with ye,” she said, shuffling backwards.
He instinctively took a step forward, intent on going after her, but the porter raised a bony hand as if to halt him.
“Now just stop right there, young man.”
“Listen,” Sam said between clenched teeth. “I’m not here to make trouble, so just step aside and let me do my business.”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot do that. The lady has made a formal complaint and feels her safety is at risk. It is my duty to ensure all passengers are not only comfortable, but also safe. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“Too damn well,” he growled, wondering what the old man would think if he knew exactly who he thought he was protecting. But for the porter’s safety and those of the other passengers, it was best he did not. The way things were unravelling though, Sam wondered how much longer he could keep her identity under wraps. The train gave an unexpected lurch, indicating it had just pulled out of the station.
Sam swore. Apparently, not too long.
“Then you will appreciate her concern and leave her be.” The old porter gestured toward the back of the car. “Now, if you could please return to your seat.”
Sam took a quick glance outside the window and groaned inwardly as the station slowly slipped out of view. Hardening his tone of voice, he told him, “I ain’t going nowhere except off this train with my—”
“I’ve asked you nicely, sir.” The man’s own voice grew stern and the frown on his face had turned into a scowl the same moment he reached for something behind him.
Sam had his gun out of his holster and pointed directly at the old man long before he was able to lift a single bony finger. Elbow straight, Sam aimed it squarely at the man’s chest. A frown drew the porter’s large wrinkled forehead out from beneath his cap, but otherwise did not move.
Christ, Sam hated bystanders.
From the corner of his eye, he could see the copper-haired woman take another step. “Ma’am, I suggest you don’t make another move.”
She froze.
“Now, if you could kindly move this way,” he told her while keeping the gun strained on the porter. With his peripheral vision, he kept a watchful eye on the small audience they had begun to grow. He hadn’t wanted this. He preferred apprehending his criminal quietly and with no fuss.
“Who are you?” the porter asked, clearly alarmed now. “What are you after? A ransom?”
“You could say that.” Sam glanced out the window and noticed the train picking up speed. No time for small talk or explanations.
Moving his attention to the copper-haired woman, he said, “Ma’am? I’d like for us to get off this train nice and calmly. When we reach our destination, you can relish in the spotlight all you like. But for now, you will come willingly and quietly. However, if you insist on creating a production, be well warned, I will resort to physical force if needed.”
To his surprise, her eyes rounded not in fear as he would have suspected, but pure unadulterated rage. “How dare ye threaten me?”
“Easily. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, move that sweet little rump over here so we can disembark from this bloody train.”
“Just hold on now,” the porter said, still not willing to surrender Ivy so easily. “Let’s try and talk this over. Can we not come to some type of understanding? I’m sure we can agree on some form of negotiation.”
Sam could feel the train pick up speed. Ah, hell. Narrowing his gaze to appear more threatening, he said, “Stop the damn train.”
“Please, sir, try and be reasonable.”
“Listen, Gramps” Sam barked, “I would love nothing more than to sit over a cup of coffee discussing the matter with you, but quite frankly, I don’t have the damn time. So could you so kindly stop this goddamn train? Now.”
To Sam’s surprise, the man unexpectedly straightened, looking younger than his ninety something years, looked Sam in the eye and informed him, “I cannot do that. I cannot allow you to take this woman unwillingly from the train.”
Christ, Sam hated damn heroes. Now he’d have to get nasty.
Raising the barrel end of his gun, he aimed it directly between the man’s eyes and snarled, “Stop this train, or I’ll blow a hole straight through your brain.”
Allison Radford let out a cry, then collapsed at her husband’s feet, while another passenger made a hasty exit out of the car.
The porter continued to stand there maintaining eye contact with Sam. Then when Sam thought he would not relent, he finally buckled under Sam’s hard gaze and stepped aside. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I have a wife and grandchildren to consider.”
Then to Sam, “You’re going to regret this young man.”
“Hell, I already am,” Sam muttered, recalling how simple he had thought this capture would be.
His attention shot to the copper-haired woman and noticed the anger in her eyes was swiftly replaced by fear. Immediately, he went on edge. She was going to flee. He could feel it. Even from a moving train. Damn.
Sure enough, she turned and bolted for the vestibule. Without hesitation, Sam dived for her. But to his surprise, the porter intervened, throwing his brittle frame in front of Sam and blocking his way.
“Ah damnation,” Sam grumbled, before releasing a low growl and bringing the butt end of his gun down hard against the man’s temple. The old man went down in a heap in the middle of the aisle. Some females began screaming, but Sam ignored them and charged after his suspect.
She had just passed through the vestibule when he intervened her escape into the next car. “Not so fast, Freckles. You aren’t going anywhere just yet.”
With practiced ease, he reached for her, but was startled when she easily sidestepped him. He only allowed the shock to register briefly. Apparently the woman was more of a professional criminal than he expected. Escaping the clutches of the law, it seemed, came far too easily.
No matter how fast she was, however, Sam was quicker and was successful in snatching her arm in his hand the second time around. He was briefly taken aback by the mere flesh his fingers encircled.
Not surprisingly, she automatically tried to wrench her arm free. “Let go of me!”
“‘Fraid I can’t do that.”
Ignoring the fact it felt as if he may snap her tiny arm in half, he pulled her roughly back into the car. Hell, he couldn’t believe something so tiny could be so tough. And soft.
He frowned at this last thought. He hadn’t wanted to notice the fact her slender arm felt so delicate, so warm. So fragile. It made him coil in anger.
With his mind momentarily distracted, he realized too late, she had gone still. Then, before he could even glance back, a set of very sharp teeth sank deep into his hand.
“Jesus!” he bellowed, yanking his hand free and unconsciously releasing her.
She turned and bolted.
Cursing profusely, he went after her and easily hauled her back to his side. “That does it.”
In a move long since honed, he reached behind and retrieved his handcuffs. With one swift flick, he had them secured around her wrists. Her frosty eyes rounded in outrage.
Before she could utter so much as a gasp, Allison Radford, who had since revived herself from the previous faint, released a loud and horrified wail before falling to the floor once more. Harold Radford and a few other men went immediately to her aide.
“Air—I need air!” Allison moaned.
“Hell, lady, so do I,” Sam muttered.
Glancing down, he grimaced at the unconscious porter before stepping over his dormant figure and dragging his prisoner behind him.
She looked down at the crumpled form of the old man and declared, “Ye killed ‘em.”
“Sorry, Freckles, but your innocent act won’t fly with me, so don’t bother wasting your time.” Sam muttered to her with a fierce grimace.
“Ye uncaring bastard.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I’ve got a welt the size of my fist here on my head to prove
you don’t give a rat’s ass either, sweetheart.” He pointed an angry finger to his temple where the blood was beginning to dry beneath his Stetson.
She stiffened. “I’m not yer sweetheart.”
“That’s for damn sure!” he barked, then swung away more irritated than angry. With his free hand, he shoved his fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. Sam hated losing his cool. Particularly with a criminal. It was never a good thing to reveal any weaknesses to a prisoner. He knew better than that.
Shooting a brief offering glance toward the dormant porter, he stated in a more controlled tone of voice, “Besides, he ain’t dead.”
Then turning and addressing the small cluster of onlookers they had gained, he asked, “Is there a doc amongst you folks?”
A brief hesitation, then a neatly dressed man with a thick head of dark hair brushed heavily to one side, raised a trembling hand. Sam arched a brow, but only gave a nod and the man rushed quickly to the porter’s side.
“Now everyone else just remain calm.” When they continued to stand in unison, looking up at him with matching sets of terrified expressions, Sam sighed and gave his gun a wave. “Mind moving aside there, folks?”
Harold Radford stepped forward, surprisingly abandoning his wife’s side to put on a false show of bravery. “I demand you unhand our servant this very moment.”
Sam grumbled low. “Another damn hero. Listen mister, you’ll do us both a favor if you just step back.”
“What is it you want?” Another man in the crowd demanded.
“At the moment, I’d really appreciate you kind folks clearing a path and letting us through,” Sam said and tightened his grip on the woman for good measure. This only made her struggle harder.
“Hold still now.” He snapped at her, but offered, “I don’t want to break you.”
“Who do you think you are anyway?” Someone from the gathering queried.
Sam glanced back to the spectators and realized they had gotten over their initial fear and were rallying behind Harold Radford. The passenger car was definitely starting to buzz with excitement. And not the good kind. The onlookers had now become a very excited and very irate group. He knew he had to get her off the train now before the situation got out of hand. A heroic old man was one thing. A car load of them was another.
Sam pushed past the spectators toward the next vestibule, dragging his cuffed prisoner behind him.
Harold Radford, however, did not give up so easily. “Who exactly are you? And what on earth would you want with Ms. James? She is worth absolutely nothing.”
“On the contrary, sir. She is worth a hell of a lot.”
“Ye lyin’ fiend. That I am not.”
“For pity’s sake, hold still.” For some stupid reason, Sam was impressed with the look of determination in her eyes. And surprisingly, considering how many crusaders she had at her disposal, she refrained from asking for help.
“Are you robbing the train?” someone cried out.
Sam actually chuckled. “Folks, you need to relax. I’m not here to rob or cause a threat to any of you. So please, once and for all, return to your seats.”
Ivy McGregor jerked painfully on his arm socket and drew his attention away from their audience. “Dammit, woman.”
“I demand ye release me at once,” she said in her sweet little Irish accent. However, sweet she was anything but, he was apt to remember that. He glared down at her and noticed her eyes fully ablaze as well. Their chilly depths remarkably aflame. “Why are ye doing this?”
There was a tiny catch to her voice, small and barely noticeable, but to Sam’s disconcertment he found himself pausing. Found himself looking into her eyes.
They were so pale and lifeless.
Then to his confusion, he felt a jolt at what he thought was a sudden but brief appearance of emotion lurking just beneath the surface of her aloof gaze. Reminded him suddenly of a time he had tracked a wanted but highly skilled mountain man, into the cold and harsh hills of Montana. He had just crossed a frozen lake when it suddenly broke and he had found himself clinging to a chunk of floating ice. By some miracle, he had dragged his nearly hypothermic self out of those frigid waters.
Then, because it was so damn cold, the water had iced over immediately once again, enabling him to latch onto something concrete to drag himself free. It was while he sat staring at what should have been his frozen tomb that he noticed a few lone bubbles drifting up from the chilly bottom, unable to break free.
“Are you with the Mountie police then?” Harold Radford inquired, looking hopeful.
“That I am not, sir.” Sam found his wrist wrenched backwards as his prisoner twisted in his grip, trying to free herself. “I have reason to believe this woman is Ivy McGregor and am here to ensure she is returned to Chicago.”
She stilled then, if only momentarily. “I won’t be going back there.” This was said in such a low voice, only Sam could have heard as the outraged gathering had grown quite loud.
“Who the devil is Ivy McGregor and if you’re not the police, then who precisely are you?” Harold pushed his face into Sam’s space, his eyes rounding suddenly when he spotted the cuffs. “Remove those from her immediately.”
“Sorry, mister, I can’t do that,” he said. “It is for the safety of yourself and the other passengers that I apprehend Ms. McGregor.”
He started moving, making his way out of the car and back toward the dining car, dragging her with him. He came to a stop in one of the enclosed vestibules to notice the change in scenery outside. They had long left the station and had now entered into the Canadian Shield. The rugged landscape which now appeared outside the train was harsh and formidable. Soaring coniferous trees dotted century old granite which covered most of the earth. Not a sign of life to be found.
There was no getting off now.
“You have made a huge mistake, Mr. Michalski,” Harold Radford continued to follow him. “I’ve already told you, this woman is Moira James and has been under our employ for the past three months since arriving in Canada from Ireland.”
“I’m afraid I have reason to question that,” he said, still trying to control the struggling woman.
“Ye got no right to do this.” Ivy McGregor turned blazing eyes up to him. It made the blueness in their depths nearly transparent. As if he were looking at two cubes of ice instead.
“Actually, ma’am, I do.” This made her pause.
“Excuse me, sir.” A young porter suddenly appeared. Another damn porter. His youthful face was a mask of confusion and boyish duty. Noting the handcuffs on Ivy McGregor, his chin dropped momentarily before he pulled himself together and tried to appear brave. “I demand you explain yourself, sir.”
“In due time,” he snarled beginning to lose what little patience he had left. Raising his gun, he pointed it at him and said, “Take us to the closest isolated car you’ve got.”
The boy blinked, then moved backwards. Sam was directly on his heel.
“T-that would be baggage car, sir.”
“Great, let’s go.” Keeping the gun on the kid, Sam moved quickly through the dining car into the next one until they eventually reached the last closed door.
Sam had to literally drag his prisoner. She may not be the fastest moving hostage he’d endured, but she sure as hell was one spitfire in his hands. “How does it open?”
“You have to release the lever.” He pointed to the handle. “But it’s only meant for employees,” he said before his eyes grew round as comprehension struck. “You can’t go in there, sir!”
Hauling Ivy McGregor in front of him, he shot an impertinent glance to the boy. “Try stopping me.”
The corridor was narrow, hardly wide enough for two people to stand side by side. Sam had no alternative but to reach around Ivy and pull the lever. In doing so, his arm accidentally brushed her blouse where her breasts lay just beneath. He fleetingly noticed how surprisingly full they felt. The baggy blouse she wore was very fooling. There was more woman
beneath the grays and blacks than he would have ever guessed.
Feeling irritated at this sudden train of thought, he yanked on the baggage car’s door and slid it open, pushing her inside probably a bit too hard. Her small frame tumbled backwards into the darkness.
“Now, wait just one second!” Harold Radford exclaimed, and Sam had to concede the man was certainly relentless. A quick glance over his shoulder and he noticed he wasn’t alone either. A few other male passengers had joined him. Someone shouted for the conductor to be summoned at which point Sam gave a weary sigh before turning back to his prisoner.
She had spun around and was taking a quick survey of her surroundings. It was a narrow but long box lined with travelling chests and crates. But no windows. Sam reached for the door and began to slide it shut, hardly noticing the look of alarm lighting up her face.
“Wait please,” she lunged for the door. “I beg of ye, don’t leave me in here!”
But with a resounding slam, he shut the door and sealed her inside. And, at last, successfully apprehended his suspect.
Behind him, numerous voices rushed him at once. He was barely able to register any one question, though, oddly, he had heard Ivy McGregor’s plea and the panic in her voice, right before he closed the door. Kind of odd considering how fierce and determined she had been up to that point.
Now, for the others. Releasing a deep guttural sigh, he turned and faced the crowd of angry faces.
“Listen,” he started, then paused to steady his breath. He hated this part. “My name is Sam Michalski and I’m a bounty hunter for the United States of America. For your own safety, it was necessary I confine my prisoner immediately.”
Allison Radford’s hand shot to her chest. “Prisoner?”
He sighed. “The woman I have just apprehended is Ivy McGregor. There is a warrant for her arrest for the murder of a prominent gentleman in Chicago.”
The rush of exclamations which swept over the gathering quieted the train some enabling Sam to finally have his voice heard above the excitement.
“I’ve been tracking Ms. McGregor for three months.” He glanced at Allison Radford. “The same amount of time she has been under your employ. I believe she came to Canada through the United States from where she was employed under the Hendrickson household.”
The Color of Ivy Page 4