Tough Prospect

by Laura Strickland

  Until he found her, and expressed the most secret sentiments of a very private heart.

  Suddenly she knew she wanted to live not only for herself but for him. She wanted the chance to see him again, touch him, and gaze into his eyes. To tell him she regretted her words and wanted to make all the past hurt up to him.

  If he’d only give her that chance.

  Did she love her husband? Could such a thing be true? Had she fallen for him after all, without knowing? She couldn’t say, but her fixation on Richard now seemed like a child’s game.

  She didn’t care if she never saw Richard Trask again. But her very being tottered on the need to see Mitch one more time.

  Suddenly she realized the rain had tapered off outside. Oh, God, no, not that. How long did she have left to live?

  ****

  “You have my wife.” Mitch stood on a bleak, near-deserted stretch of the waterfront at the canal side, staring down Danny Dwyer. The rain had at last begun to ease; out over the lake the clouds cleared, admitting shafts of late afternoon light. He fought to master his anger, a vicious, violent commodity he’d determined to use like a weapon when he needed it. Long ago, in his youth, he’d learned to harness his emotions. He expected the ability to serve him well now, but he balanced on the brink of turning into a madman.

  Danny Dwyer grinned at him. “So I do. What will you give, great King o’ Prospect Avenue, to get her back?”

  Anything. But it wouldn’t do to let Dwyer know that.

  “Is she here? Which building?” This area, at the foot of Commercial Street, lay crowded with buildings both great and small—grain elevators and any number of shack-like storage sheds, all with the lake freighters moored beyond. Not his patch, clearly out of his ken, though Dwyer appeared all too much at ease here. In a voice like stone, he added, “And what do you want for her?”

  “Now, there’s an interesting question.”

  Mitch’s clenched fists twitched. He longed to swipe the self-satisfied smile off the man’s face, but that would do Tessa little good.

  His heart yearned toward her. In which of these buildings might she be shut away? He saw a thousand possibilities.

  “You and I, Carter, share many of the same desires. We both came up from nothing. Did you know I used to work at this place? Me dad did also, for years, till the hard work of it killed him. I followed in his footsteps for a little while, shoveling the grain, till I felt it starting to kill me, too. I stood here one day and swore to meself I’d do anything—anything—to get a better life. Lie, cheat, steal, intimidate—sure, what’s abduction compared to all that?”

  “Spare me the sad stories. I’ve plenty of my own.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Only, see, there’s a wee problem. You decided to break that deal with me. And because we both want the same things, that puts us at loggerheads. Two big bucks contesting for the same territory, right? One of us has to back down. And now I have your wife, it ain’t going to be me.”

  “Just tell me what you want. We can deal. But, Dwyer, if you’ve hurt her in any way, I’ll hunt you down. And I won’t stop till I make you pay.”

  “Hurt her? Sure, do I look like that sort of man? She’s tucked away all safe and sound. Tell me, Carter, would you trade your life for hers?”

  That was an easy one. But Mitch said, “Is that what you want? You want me dead?”

  “’Twould certainly make my days easier, wouldn’t it, having you out of the game. Then I’d only have to compete with fecking Kelly and his metal crew, and I daresay since he’s had a taste of how I operate, he may show a wee bit of respect. He won’t want to endanger his wife again.”

  “You think so? But it wouldn’t be wise to underestimate him. Or me.”

  The rain abruptly ceased. Above their heads the clouds parted and a shaft of sunlight pierced the air, bathing both men in radiance.

  “Ah now,” Dwyer crooned, “you’ll see this place spring to life. The men will work all night if they have to, to get those freighters unloaded. Tell me, Carter, do you know what those big buildings out there are for?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You should care, bucko—you really should.”

  Mitch gave the huge structures an impatient glance. “They hold grain.”

  “You’re right. But, you know, that may not be all they hold.”

  Mitch’s eyes flicked once more over the many structures. “You’ve put her in one of them.” But was she safe?

  “I have. But which one? It’s like that old game, isn’t it? Eeny-meany-miney-mo.”

  Here. Nearly within Mitch’s reach. The breath came a touch more easily in his lungs.

  “Enough of the games, Dwyer.” He spread his arms. “You want to attack me, do it. Let’s finish this.”

  Out along the shore, men appeared and began hurrying about their business, much the way birds emerge after a storm. At some distance, a steam engine fired up and then another, making a din.

  Dwyer had to raise his voice when he said, “You offering to fight me for her, Carter?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  “That’s an old-fashioned kind of chivalry. And on a certain level it appeals to me, I must admit.”

  Mitch shrugged out of his coat. “Let’s have at it, then.” He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the man.

  “But if you knock me for six, lad, how will you find your wife? You see, she’s in danger. Safe for the moment, but once those conveyors start transferring the grain, it’ll be the worse for her.”

  In one of the grain elevators that would soon fill. Mitch’s heart leaped sickeningly. But which one?

  “Damn it all, Dwyer, stop playing the fool. You want to be responsible for the death of an innocent woman?”

  “As if you’ve never done the same, to get what you want.”

  Mitch hadn’t, actually, though he’d come close a few times. He wasn’t proud of the things he’d done in the past, but survival, as he’d learned early, was survival.

  Trouble was, he was no longer sure he could survive without Tessa.

  “Spit it out,” he barked. “What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing less than your fortune.” Dwyer smiled like the devil. “I want you to work for me.”

  Chapter Forty

  Tessa, half sunken into a stupor caused by exhaustion and lack of air, jumped violently when a steam engine suddenly burst into life close at hand. The sound of it echoed fearfully in the empty grain bin, making such a racket it set her heart racing full bore.

  What was happening? How long had she been here, shivering in the near darkness?

  Where was Mitch?

  Once again, her longing for him rose up like a tiger, filling her inside—a strong, transformative emotion. She struggled against the gag in her mouth, her entire being at last acknowledging the truth.

  She loved him. She loved Mitch Carter the way she’d never imagined loving any man. Somehow, amid the anger and the dismay, the distress at being forced to marry him, he’d wound up becoming a part of her—bone of her bone and heart of her heart. She wanted to be the one to ease the great loneliness inside him, wanted to live the rest of her days as his wife.

  But she might have no more days.

  Oh, Mitch, I’m sorry. Sorry I wasted our time together thinking I wanted something else. I didn’t, I didn’t. What I imagined I felt for Richard was just that, a silly girl’s imagining. I wish I had the chance to tell you so.

  A second steam engine roared to life. Tessa’s ears fairly rang. How long did she have before grain started filtering down from the chute above? Surely only a miracle could bring Mitch to her in time.

  ****

  “Actually,” Dwyer drawled, “I’m in the mood to be generous. I have to respect a man willing to do anything to save his missus. So I’ll require only half your properties signed over to me. Everything south of Chippewa Street. I figure if I get that bastard Kelly surrounded, he’ll have to yield to me.”

  “Everything s
outh of Chippewa?” Despite himself, Mitch hesitated. “That’s more than half my properties.”

  It had taken him ten years to build all that up, and the rents represented most of his wealth. Without those properties, he’d be lucky to keep his house.

  A tough prospect.

  “Or,” Dwyer tossed at him, “you can let her die.”

  Mitch growled deep in his throat, like the animal to which he’d sometimes been reduced back at Carter’s, while locked in the black room. There, he’d learned the only thing gained by throwing himself at the door and beating on the walls were bloody fists.

  But Danny Dwyer was no wall.

  Abruptly, the restraints he’d kept imposed on himself for so long broke. He leapt at Dwyer, fists swinging.

  The world that was Buffalo might well underestimate him—Dwyer might. He wore good suits and kept the fine house and steamcar. Mitch knew the truth though; under it all he remained the scrapper who’d fought his way out of the gutter and on up through sheer determination.

  Dwyer never stood a chance. He went over backward under Mitch’s assault, and Mitch battered him relentlessly. Dimly, he heard voices exclaim at a distance, but he saw only Dwyer’s face in front of him, increasingly bloodied.

  “Here now, what’s this?”

  The voice of authority broke through, or made it half way through. Mitch, seized and hauled backward, flew up as if he weighed nothing. He found his feet and tried to leap at Dwyer again.

  “No, sir, I think not. Do you want to kill him?”

  “Yes.”

  Breathless, his lungs working like bellows, Mitch continued to stare Dwyer down. “He has my wife.”

  The hands gripping his arms eased just a titch. “So I understand.”

  Turning his head, Mitch caught a glimpse of blue—a dark blue uniform. A policeman. A second, incredulous look informed him he stood in the grasp of the hybrid automaton, Patrick Kelly. Behind Kelly stood other…men?…none of them in uniform. Behind them stood Mitch’s own boys, who’d crept out from hiding.

  Kelly’s green eyes engaged Mitch’s. “Despite that, Mr. Carter, I’m afraid I can’t let you kill him.”

  Mitch looked at Dwyer again. The Irishman lay sprawled on the ground; though his eyes remained open, he appeared to see nothing. Beyond him, a crowd of what might be dockworkers—mingled with Dwyer’s men—began to gather, staring.

  Mitch kicked Dwyer’s leg. “This bastard’s hidden my wife in one of those elevators—he wouldn’t tell me which.” He switched his gaze to Kelly. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “My wife, Rose, sent for me and explained your predicament. She didn’t want another woman to endure what she had. I got a few of the lads and, since we’ve determined Rose was held hereabouts, I thought this the logical place to begin looking.”

  “He says she’s in an empty elevator but when the grain starts loading in, she’ll die.”

  Kelly released Mitch, bent down, and hauled Dwyer up with ridiculous ease. Dwyer, no small man, dangled from the automaton’s fist like a rag doll.

  “Mr. Dwyer?” Kelly inquired in a polite tone, as if making a routine inquiry from a suspect, “where is Mrs. Carter?”

  Dwyer’s bloodied lips stretched in an ugly grin. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out.

  “Damn it,” Mitch said as hard regret swamped him. How many years had he kept his discipline and his temper? The first time he let himself off leash, and it cost him.

  No, it cost Tessa.

  “Here, take charge of him, Terry,” Kelly called to one of the other hybrids. “The rest of you, gather ’round. You too,” he gestured to the staring dockworkers. He raised his voice to be heard above the increasing number of steam engines firing up.

  “There’s a woman being held here, quite likely in one of the elevators,” he called. “I ask you to spread out and search. The more of us the better—look every place you can.”

  Controlled chaos broke out even as the breath whooshed from Mitch’s lungs. Kelly meant to help, even though he had no reason to trust him. And a dozen or more searchers beat one.

  The squad of hybrids, along with Mitch’s boys, moved away, mostly in pairs. The dockworkers began asking questions, and Kelly waved them off. Then the automaton stood motionless for an instant, surveying the scene like—well, the way a machine might.

  Many of the workers, not close enough to pick up on the commotion, continued to go about their work. At a distance, another steam engine fired up, fueling Mitch’s panic. Out over the lake the sky continued to clear; beautiful light shone down, illuminating the scene.

  A sudden sweat broke out all over Mitch’s body. “She’s going to die,” he groaned. “I know it.” Why had he thought differently? How had he supposed he could have in his life a lovely creature like Tessa Verdun—the one desire of his heart? Especially considering the fact that he’d forced her into the marriage and she said she—

  Hated him.

  Patrick Kelly looked at him with calm green eyes. “There is no reason to think so, Mr. Carter—not yet. Come with me.”

  ****

  Tessa’s entire body tensed when, with a loud scraping sound, the grate far overhead opened. Bright sunlight flooded in, giving her another good look at the place where she lay. A bin, indeed a huge one, and she rested at the very bottom like a roach in an empty kettle.

  She began struggling then, straining every muscle in an effort to inch her way toward the door where her captor had entered and exited. A fine dust rose around her when she moved, and it stung her eyes. Her efforts made her gasp against the fabric covering her mouth; her senses swam.

  She collapsed with a sob; even if she reached the opening she wouldn’t be able to open the door, with her hands bound. She would die here after all, and Mitch’s child with her.

  Oh, Mitch!

  She closed her eyes on an intensity of longing and felt something touch her cheek. It felt like rain, only softer. Opening her eyes, she saw it was raining.

  Raining grain.

  It appeared almost beautiful at first, fluttering down to land all around her, swirling through the light. Then it began coming faster and faster, and it hurt, pelting against her like hail, striking her exposed skin. And the racket of it, combined with the throb of the engines outside, stopped her ears to any other sound.

  Except her own inner screams.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Here, Pat—over here!”

  One of the hybrid automatons gestured to Patrick Kelly as Mitch and he jogged by in tandem, on their way to examine yet another of the elevators. The automaton, in company with another like himself, stood in front of one of the huge structures, facing a door. Above it—high above—a conveyor steadily lifted grain from one of the moored freighters to the roof of the structure.

  “It’s locked, Pat. None of the others has been locked. Suspicious.”

  Kelly thought far more swiftly than Mitch ever could. Without hesitation, he waved a hand. “Tim, get them to shut off that engine.”

  “Why—?” The other automaton questioned.

  Kelly shot him a look. “It’s dropping grain. If Mr. Carter’s wife is in there, she’ll smother.”

  Oh, God, Tessa!

  The automaton hustled off. A small crowd of dockworkers once more began to gather.

  “Does anyone have a key to this structure?” Kelly asked.

  “Only the boss,” supplied one of the men, “and he’s at home up on Nottingham Terrace.”

  “We will need to break it down.” Kelly turned to the remaining automaton. “Terry, please assist me.”

  “Careful,” warned a second dockworker, one with a sweaty face. “We been dropping grain in there. You strike a spark, the whole place will explode.”

  “Don’t care.” Mitch muscled Kelly aside and put his shoulder to the door. “Have to get her out of there.”

  “Mr. Carter, we’re not even sure she’s in this elevator.” Kelly asked the men, “How much grain has dropped
in?”

  “Enough.”

  Mitch threw himself against the door. The stout panels resisted. He battered it a second time.

  “Hey,” shouted one of the workers, jogging up. “Whatcha doing? You beat that door in, it’ll blow. I’ve seen it before. Doesn’t take much.”

  “Mr. Carter, please allow us.”

  Kelly jostled Mitch aside in turn. He and his companion applied themselves to the door; most of the workers withdrew with haste, some hollering.

  The thick oak panel cracked beneath the automatons’ combined strength. The lock held, but the wood around it shattered. The door swung open onto darkness.

  Thick, choking darkness.

  Mitch bellowed, “Someone bring me a light!”

  “Can’t,” objected one of the workers, brave enough to remain near the building. “No sparks, understand?”

  “Mr. Carter, let us go.” Kelly imposed himself. “We see better in the dark, and we don’t need to breathe.”

  Ignoring them, and despite his unreasoning fear of dark, airless spaces, Mitch dashed in.

  He knew immediately he’d made a mistake. The interior of the bin felt cavernous, but he could see almost nothing. Grain covered the floor to the height of his knees—not too deep but enough to kill a woman lying down. Was Tessa lying down? Particles filled the air and rose with his every step, a fine, choking mist.

  Somebody hollered from outside. Mitch’s senses swam.

  “Tessa!”

  No response. She might not even be here. Yet he knew she was—instinct told him so, the same that had let him survive so long against daunting odds. That instinct had led him, always, to what he needed in order to live.

  Now he needed Tessa.

  “Mr. Carter, please exit the building,” Patrick Kelly called from behind.

  Mitch closed his eyes for an instant and listened to his heart.

  He stumbled forward.

  ****

  Mercifully, the clamor of the steam engine thundering loudest in Tessa’s ears ceased. She could no longer see anything and she could barely breathe, her lungs on fire. Her consciousness flickered in and out like the flame of a guttering candle.