Crossroad (The Gunsmith Book 3)

by C. K. Crigger

  Adainette stiffened. “That’s a funny town to be from.”

  “Not if you were born there.”

  My dry comment gave her pause, though not for long. She made a low sound in her throat and started off on a new track. “The company you work for, Ms. Irons? The digital screener. What place? What name?”

  “Oh, we’re new. You may not have heard of us yet.” Sure enough. She was trying to set a trap for me. And her expression said I was about to be ensnared. “The company is Deane Digital Diorama. Didn’t I already tell you? And we are, of course, out of Nashville.”

  Following my own adage, I made these announcements with all the confidence of a preacher in the pulpit. You can, after all, tell almost any kind of lie and have it believed, so long as you sound as though you believe it yourself.

  Adainette fell silent, staring at me with her lips pursed. Oh, she wasn’t buying my story. But with nothing she could point a finger at and specifically say “that part is not true,” she didn’t want to start a donnybrook in the hotel lobby without proof I was lying. Especially in view of the fact nearly every customer in the place had gathered around us, fascinated by our back and forth, with each of them looking for one of us to falter. The outlaw or the mutant? Which of us were they rooting for?

  Although the witnesses forced her into staying her trigger finger, I knew Adainette’s preference would be to draw that stunner and snap blue lightning through my body until I was dead. The feelings were reciprocal.

  In this interim, as she pondered whether she dared let me off the hook, I tied off the bandage, squeezed my foot back into the soft red boot and stood up. Between people, I could see Petra Dill standing tensely behind the front desk. Muscles were jumping in her jaw and her dark eyes were worried, yet I’m not so sure she would have lifted a finger to save me. Not unless she judged the time to be ripe.

  I jerked my chin, an acknowledgment of sorts, and shifted my attention back to Adainette. “I have a question for you as long as we’re all being so inquisitive. Tell me, what is the best time to go outside? Dawn? Or sunset?”

  “Go outside?” she repeated. “What for?”

  I widened my eyes at her, innocence personified. “To search for locales, of course. For the retro digital screener. My company and the crew will be here soon and I need to have everything ready for them.”

  She’d forgotten my story.

  That’s the thing about lying, you see. You have always got to keep your story straight and stick to the truth as much as possible. I modestly admit I’m fairly good at it. Better than her.

  “Nashville,” she said softly, her lips barely moving. “I don’t think so. I think the Feds may be interested in you.”

  I smiled through stiff lips. “Are you going to call them?” I dared her, just as soft.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she swung about, making shooing motions at the last few bystanders who remained around us. “Go. Tend to your own affairs. This is finished.”

  My smile was more natural at the woman who’d given the tissue to stop my bloody nose, and the one hulking trucker who’d reached to catch Duncan’s arm when he raised it for a second blow. Reassured as I indicated everything was all right, they, too, turned away.

  “No more, Duncan.” Adainette pushed her forefinger into the big man’s barrel chest. “You follow my orders. Kapeesh?”

  His eyes swiveled toward me and back to her. I felt a signal had been exchanged; not one that boded well for me and I shivered. My smile faded.

  “Kapeesh,” he said, and like the hulking shadow of a storm, breezed off towards the bar.

  Pretending to ignore me, Adainette glared venomously at Diego who, too late, was trying to slink back to his post. “Who comes in and out? That is your job, not to hang here.” She suddenly sucked in breath. “Who is that?”

  Her note of surprise arrested my attention, so I glanced to see who or what put her into suspended animation. I expected Teagun, early or not. But the man who stood at the door most definitely was not Teagun Dill.

  My heart set up a frantic hammering inside my chest. My vision went kind of fuzzy.

  Caleb! Could it really be him, looking as though he’d been born into this time? He was dressed all in black, his trousers tucked into boots, and a form-fitting shirt laced across his chest. Instead of a burnoose, he wore a long, flowing duster open over the rest. The clothing was entirely suitable, right in style.

  How did he do it? I wondered dazedly. He always got the right clothes, and I always had to either borrow or steal whatever seemed appropriate. It wasn’t fair!

  He stood very still in the doorway, not quite in, not quite out. His all-seeing gaze took in these strange surroundings with one swift glance. He was as cool and assured as though he were entering the room of his next patient at the Riverside clinic.

  And then he saw me. Unsmiling, he headed my way.

  CHAPTER 19

  Dry mouthed and incapable of speech, I watched as Caleb walked toward me, his stride as lithe as that of a black panther in the wild. His jungle green eyes held me in a kind of thrall. Dear Lord, but he looked so beautiful. Joy rose up inside of me until I felt I would burst from sheer excitement. I was taking short little breaths, worse than if I’d just finished a five-mile race.

  His glance flicked to Adainette, dismissed her, and came back to center on me. Only then did I realize he was angry.

  He stopped in front of me, close enough all I needed to do was lean forward and I’d be in his arms. Dare I? I didn’t know if he wanted me there.

  “Sugar,” he drawled, “you’re a hard lady to catch up to.”

  My mouth formed the word “How?” a couple of times, but no sound came out. His lips curved up in a one-sided smile. “Are you glad to see me?”

  I put one hand up to his chest, over his heart so I could feel the power in its beat. “Oh, yes. Yes.” Silly tears tried to leak from the corners of my eyes, so I closed them and leaned.

  He caught me. Of course he did. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips nuzzling my ear, “I’m guessing you’re in a spot of trouble here. I don’t think this is the best time to go all soft and weak.”

  He was right. I lifted my head, catching a warning in his faint smile before I pushed myself erect. I’m sorry to say it had seemed I was perfectly justified in going weak.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” I said truthfully, and, because Adainette was listening and watching us with avid interest, added, “so soon.”

  How had he managed to trace me? To project himself forward? The strength of his power was awe-inspiring, bewildering, humbling. I had so little power myself, and every bit of what I did have paid for in blood. I couldn’t help the twinge of genuine pain that coursed like jealous fire through my veins. Not able to work the magic for my own benefit, I must depend on rescue by those who cared for me. Or depend on the word of my kidnapper who said he’d see me home when the adventure was over. I’d never put a lot of reliance in his promise.

  Caleb must have seen part of this in my face. He gave me a little shake. “Boothenay, we need to talk. In private. Is there any place we can go?”

  “My room.” I hesitated. Could we have a confidential talk in there? I would have to ask Petra.

  Adainette hovered, a sly manner about her that announced she was smitten with Caleb’s looks and bearing, even through what she thought was his costuming. Probably his green eyes, unusual enough in our own time and unheard of here, drew her as they did everyone else including me. But she wasn’t entirely under his spell, I found. She gestured for Diego to join her again and had him stand nearby. A bodyguard?

  Her harsh voice changed, taking on a seductive note. “Your name, Mir? Where you from?”

  I cut in before Caleb could open his mouth. “This is Deane. Of Deane Digital Diorama. He’s from Nashville, of course, same as me.” She circled around behind him. He held his ground and watched Diego instead of honoring her with his attention. Caleb didn’t know she was the more dangerous of the two,
but I did. I faced her, tensed for any sudden moves, like if she went after him with an oscillator knife.

  She pretended my caution didn’t matter.

  “You got a voice?” she asked him.

  “Who’s askin’?” He didn’t take his eyes off Diego who, in obvious threat, loosened the garrote light whip at his belt. I felt Caleb’s weight shift, getting ready.

  “Call me Adainette. Adainette Plover. That’s my name.” Her voice caressed, speaking from behind him. “I run this place. Your name is Deane. First name or last?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Her full lips curved. “No.”

  She continued her circle until she came face to face with him again. Evidently satisfied—oh, very—with her inspection, a flick of her wrist called Diego off, and sent him back to guarding the doors. So far as I’d been able to tell, his presence there was nothing more than window dressing. Mine, too, I guess, since I might as well have been invisible.

  “Come to the bar,” she told Caleb. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

  With Diego gone, Caleb had almost no choice but to look at her, his glance lazy and careless. “Later perhaps.”

  She shot a triumphant smirk at me, as though to say, “See. He’s mine.” Boy, was she ever mistaken.

  “Conquistador,” I murmured after she had drifted away, her hips swaying, and Caleb and I were alone.

  “Her?” He seemed startled.

  I grinned, relaxing suddenly. “No, you, you handsome son-of-a-gun, you.”

  After the excitement of watching me take a thumping, and at the rare sight of a pale-skinned man with green eyes, the few interested spectators remaining politely turned away. I must say that suited me fine. Petra Dill, staring at us from the desk, seemed to be the only one left to watch with undiminished curiosity.

  My purse was considerably lighter now, I noted, as I retrieved my belongings from under the lip of the waterfall basin where they had fallen. This had been a good few minutes of work. I was satisfied, even if I had gotten a bloody nose and a stiff neck out of the deal.

  I found the lip balm and pencil on a final check of the area.

  “You all right, sugar?” Caleb asked, seeing the bloodstained tissue I threw in a nearby garbage container. His hand came up, fingers running through my hair and tugging a springy curl out straight before letting it go. The familiar gesture came close to breaking my already precarious control.

  “Yes,” I said. “No. I don’t know. Better now with you here. Have you come to take me home?”

  He stared up at the dry waterfall as though admiring its grandeur. “Sure, we’ll go home. Only⏤”

  I bit my lip, getting that sinking feeling. I hadn’t liked his tone. “Only?”

  “Only not today.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why not before I figured out he might not be as infallible as he’d been letting on. Very likely he needed to recharge his batteries or recoup his strength. The power was still a mysterious thing to him; his control over it imperfect. I was very closely acquainted with the feeling.

  I shrugged, smiling into his face. “All of a sudden, going home doesn’t matter nearly as much as it did twenty minutes ago. Not with you here. Anyway, I have a job I’ve promised to finish before I can leave this place.”

  “I figured. Up to your heinie in other folks’ problems, right, sugar?” Resignation made his voice sound dry. He knew me too well.

  I wrinkled my nose at him.

  For a wonder, Petra was alone at the front desk. This would likely be the only occasion we’d have for a private word with her. I led Caleb across the lobby, slowly enough for him to soak in the hotel’s ambiance. He must’ve been seething with questions, although he bided his time in asking them. Of course he noticed my ankle right off the bat.

  “It’s all right,” I said, making light of the injury. “Non-life threatening. I’ve had lots worse.”

  “No blood?”

  I forced a smile. “Not a drop.” He knew the power wouldn’t take me without blood; that I had been trapped in this time—until he came. His arm dropped around my shoulders, warm and steadying.

  Though very self-contained, I knew Petra had been shaken by my fight with Duncan at the waterfall. Caleb she examined as if she’d like to put him under a microscope. Glancing around, she placed the dirty towel I’d given her earlier over a tiny grid in the counter top and laid an electronic device on top. At that, her speech was so quiet we almost needed to read her lips.

  “Are you from the old time?” she asked Caleb before we could say a word.

  He winked, which could have meant anything.

  “Did Teagun—did my son bring you?”

  Caleb flashed a white-toothed grin at her. “Brought myself,” he mouthed, catching on fast to the need to take care what he said. “I tracked Boothenay via an old rifle scope.”

  She gasped. “The Weatherby. Teagun said he took it to the gunsmith. Are you the gunsmith?”

  “I’m the gunsmith,” I cut in, half-insulted. “You mean Teagun didn’t tell you?”

  Her glance at me was apologetic. “We had other things to speak of.” Her hand moved, waving aside those considerations. The manacle clamped over her wrist flashed under the light over the desk, emitting a flurry of electronic movement. “Just now, did you⏤”

  “Yes.” I knew what she was asking.

  She lit up like a Christmas candle, her already firm jaw set tight with determination. “At this time tomorrow, either the Crossroad will belong to us once more or we will be dead. Whatever happens, we owe you.”

  I made a face, not approving of the choices she mentioned. “When does the party begin?” Let it be anytime, I was thinking, but not before Caleb and I could be together.

  “Daybreak,” she said, her bright, calm gaze going to the doors open to the night’s brief cool period.

  THE DOOR to my room had barely swung closed before Caleb had me pinned in his arms or I had him pinned in mine. Whatever. I know his mouth was claiming mine, hard and possessive, which was the way I wanted it. Somewhere inside I was singing. He wanted me. He was as hungry for me as I was for him.

  I loved the way his hair felt under my fingers when I spread my palms on either side of his face. I loved the soft kisses at the corner of my mouth after his first rough passion eased.

  “Damn, sweetheart,” he whispered against my lips. “This outfit you have on don’t leave much to the imagination, does it? Not that it’s not fetching, mind you, but you might as well not be wearing anything.”

  I can take a hint. The bolero came off, so did the overskirt. They both landed on the floor, shiny black pools of gauzy fabric. My fingers found the closure in the front of the jumpsuit and ran it down a few inches. Caleb took over from there.

  LATER, we lay tangled in each other’s arms, only now Caleb’s eyes flashed green fire. With his keen physician’s eye, he’d found the partially healed cut on my jaw.

  I tried to shush him. “It’s over, Caleb. Done with. Forget about it. I survived.”

  “Forget about you being cut? Not the easiest thing in the world to do, sugar. I can’t help thinking I should have gotten here sooner. Would have been here sooner, if only I’d been a little more adept. If your trail hadn’t had time to grow cold.”

  “Scott?” I asked, resigned, and sure of the answer before I opened my mouth to ask. I knew how Caleb was feeling—the utter frustration. I’d gone through the same thing a couple of months earlier. My brother hates the power, the voodoo as he invariably calls it, to the point of endangering us with his obstructionist ways. The past few weeks, he’d been acting worse than ever, his problem compounded by wedding nerves.

  “Most of the time I like your brother, Boothenay, but this time he’s gone too damn far.” He shifted, pulling me over so I lay on top of him. “I’d begun to think⏤”

  “I know what you thought. Sad to say, I’ve had to deal with his prejudices all of my life.”

  His fingers played in my hair, winding
a curl over and over. “How does he justify his actions? How did he think he’d explain to everyone if you never came back? How would he live with himself? And your dad is almost as bad. I never thought I’d ever say that.”

  I sighed, my face twisting. “They simply don’t understand. They never have. And the thing is, they really like you, but when you turned out to have this power, too, well⏤” I kissed him, trying to soothe him and take away the sting.

  He let himself be soothed, and, relaxing, had me tip my chin sideways to a better angle. “Brighter,” he said, bringing the lights up. His face lit with amusement. “I kind of like this voice activated Clapper thing.” His grin quickly faded as he examined the oscillator scar with professional intensity. “The medical staff did a beautiful job patching this up. Who’s the doc?”

  “Teagun Dill. The guy who brought me here. He had a tube of this stuff he used to glue the cut edges together. The formula includes an antibiotic and some stuff that totally prevents scarring, he told me. They use it for facial reconstructive surgery.”

  “Guess I’ll ask him to get me a tube. When I get back home I might as well try to bring it to market.” A wry grin crooked one side of his mouth. “Somebody has to.”

  “I’ll get a sample to take home,” I said. “You can do an analysis on it. Which reminds me. How did you get here? How did you find me?”

  “I got here the usual way. I fell through a hole in time.”

  In other words, power had brought him, whether under his own volition or not. “I saw you,” I said hesitantly. “I saw you a couple of times really. Once on an airplane. Where did you go? Were you looking for me?”

  My head rested on his chest, so that I felt his reply rumbling beneath my ear. “Of course I was looking for you, sugar. What else?”

  “Where?”

  “In Germany.” He made this admission with a self-deprecating snort. “It was suggested to me you might have gone there to settle a few things with August von Fassnacht’s estate.”