by Beth Ciotta
“A person would have to be blind,” Paris said, “not to see that you don’t harbor warm regards for Miss Adams, London. I would think--”
“About that,” London said.
“--that you would want Brady squashed like a bug as soon as possible.”
“Calm down,” Josh said, squeezing her shoulder. “Fretting isn’t good for you or the baby.”
“Did you hear that?” Paris asked her brother. “I’d fret a whole lot less if you were out there doing what you usually do, London. Why aren’t you out there lecturing the devil out of Rome and Boston? Knocking their stubborn, self-destructive heads together?”
“I told her things are under control,” Josh said with a cryptic glance at London.
“I’d like to believe that,” Paris said, with a sympathetic glance to Victoria, “but I don’t. I have a bad feeling. Even Athens is acting squirrelly. He’s head over heels in love with Kaila, but he’s dragging his heels walking her down the aisle. He’s obsessed with work again, only instead of politics he’s stuck on hunting down murderers like Bulls-Eye.” Another chill. Another vision.
“Thank you kindly for your money, miss. I’ll take that pretty necklace, too. “
“No. Please. It’s the only thing I have of my mother’s. “
“I’m telling you,” Paris said, “when Athens heard that a woman had been killed in that train robbery, it reminded him of how Jocelyn died and pushed him into a vengeful state.”
The grey-eyed devil cocked his gun. “That locket worth dying for?”
Tori struck out in Victoria’s defense, and the outlaw struck hack. Hard.
“My fault,” Victoria whispered, wiping her hands down her dress. The blood. So much blood.
“Mercy!” Paris exclaimed, pushing to her feet. “Are you all right, Miss Adams?”
“Maybe we should change the subject,” Emily said.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up,” Josh grumbled.
“Victoria,” London said softly, stilling her hands.
Tears blurred her vision, her head spun. “If only I’d given him my locket,” she cried. The guilt was crushing, unbearable. She felt London catch her as her knees gave way. “Tori would still be alive.”
CHAPTER 31
Pima County
Kat’s muscles screamed. She hadn’t ridden this hard for so long . . . ever. But she didn’t complain. She’d walk through a hail of bullets to secure Frankie’s safety. Whatever it takes.
The miles and scenery blurred as they rode north, leaving the perennial green valley and the rugged Rincons in the dust. The bold Santa Catalina mountain range had looked daunting, but the well-traveled stage road proved an expedient route. Superior horsemen, the men pushed their mounts hard, but as promised, Kat didn’t slow them down. No one spoke, but every now and then, Rome spared her a look and his gaze spoke volumes. He cares. Even though she’d shocked and disappointed him, he was concerned for her well-being and state of mind. She continually broke eye contact, not wanting to succumb to the tender feelings he inspired. If she softened, she’d fall apart.
Her imagination proved cruel over the hours, torturing her with scenes of Brady killing Boston and stealing Frankie. She didn’t want to think he would harm a little girl, but she had no reason to believe him incapable. His treachery had progressed over the years. He’d started off cheating fellow gamblers of their funds, something Kat hadn’t realized at first. Something she couldn’t stomach when she found out. Sure, she was a gambler, born and raised. But skilled, not dishonest. Her father had never indulged in shifty tricks of the trade, confidence games, and gaffed equipment, so she’d been appalled when Brady suggested they work the circuit as a couple utilizing disreputable tactics. Between that and his mounting possessiveness, she’d known within days that she’d made a dire mistake in letting him whisk her away from San Francisco. Brady continued to shower her with practiced charm, but she no longer wanted his attention. His touch left her cold, and she managed to avoid his bed for multiple, concocted reasons. Only after a while he mistook her refusal as playing coy, playing games. The more she resisted, the more he rallied. He even offered to marry her, then he insisted. His persistence only heightened her desire to flee.
Then she’d witnessed his first killing and fleeing had become time sensitive.
Kat shoved away the memory. It inspired guilt and regret. She didn’t want to feel. Anything. Good or bad. She focused on the horizon beyond the rocky pass, on the rhythmic pounding of hooves. She kneed her mount faster and leaned into the wind. If only it could blow away her many mistakes.
A gunshot rang out, echoing between the narrow canyon walls. Then another. Seth’s horse went down, and Kat felt herself being plucked from the saddle. A blurred moment later she hit the ground hard, pinned beneath Rome.
“Don’t move,” he said. “I mean it, Kat. Don’t even twitch.”
Twitch? She could barely breathe. But her thoughts churned plenty. Brady.
“Seth,” Rome barked.
“I’m alive.”
“He’s hit!” Athens called. “It’s bad!”
“Not that bad,” Seth snapped. “Get the hell off of me, Garrett.”
Another shot rang and pinged off of a nearby rock.
Squashed to the ground, Kat couldn’t see, but she could hear.
“Goddammit, Garrett. Keep your head down,” Seth ordered. “Roll behind that boulder and stay there.”
“Your shoulder--”
“Leave him be, Athens,” Rome called, “and do as he said.”
“But he’s hurt,” Kat whispered.” Wright’s a tough son of a bitch,” Rome said close to her ear. “Don’t fret.”
Tall order.
“Rome,” Seth called low.
“Yeah.”
“Straight across. Northeast ridge. Formation shaped like a teakettle.”
“Yup.”
“Watch.”
Kat tried to look, but Rome forced her head down. “Got it,” he said to Seth.
“I see it, too,” said Athens.
Kat vibrated with frustration.
Rome slid off of her. Belly to ground, he offered her a single-action revolver. “Know how to use this?”
She nodded and took the gun.
“It’s loaded with five cartridges.” He dumped a handful of ammunition into a kerchief and passed her that, too. Then he shifted her slightly and pointed out the teakettle formation. “Whoever’s shooting at us is behind that rock.”
“You’re talking like it’s one person.”
“It is.”
“How can you know?”
He grinned. “It’s what I do.”
If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect he was enjoying this. Maybe he was. The danger. The action. The act of protecting--her--and avenging--Seth. The act of felling a miscreant. “But Brady always travels with his gang.”
“If it was Brady, I would have taken that bullet,” he said. “Not Seth.”
“Then who?”
“I aim to find out.” He looked to his left.
She looked, too, but she couldn’t see anything aside from cacti and boulders.
“Seth. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably. But I’m going to need a rifle.”
“Noted. Wait for my mark.”
“Don’t do anything reckless, Rome,” Athens gritted out.
“Only way I know, brother.” He looked to Kat. “On my word, fire at that rock. Two rounds only, spaced a breath apart.”
Sweat beaded her brow. “I’ll never hit him at this range.”
“Just looking for a distraction, sugar.” He slid a .45 from his holster. “Ready, boys?”
They affirmed and Kat aimed.
“Now.”
She squeezed the trigger. Cocked, breathed, and fired again. She heard simultaneous shots--Seth and Athens-- and returned fire from the ridge. She glanced over and saw Rome dodging bullets as he hotfooted it to the felled horse and his own horse, liberati
ng Winchesters from their scabbards. Her mouth went dry with fear, her pent-up breath whooshing out when he tossed a rifle to Seth, then rolled out of sight.
She heard Rome plotting with his brother and Seth, though she couldn’t make out their words. The anticipation was unbearable. Fingers trembling, she reloaded. She wasn’t convinced the assailant wasn’t Brady. Maybe his men lay in waiting.
“That rifle won’t do you any good, Garrett,” the shooter called, breaking his silence and sending a chill through Kat. Not Brady. But a gang member, maybe? Obviously someone who knew Rome and held a grudge against Seth. “I’ve got the advantage all the way around, Wells Fargo man.”
“That you, McCree?” Rome bellowed.
“You should have dealt with me last night face to face when you had the chance, you son of a bitch!”
Kat’s skin prickled with dread. She didn’t know any McCree, but she knew this wasn’t good.
“Why’d you shoot my associate, instead of me?” Rome asked. “Like you said, you have the advantage.”
“‘Cuz he broke my fuckin’ nose!”
“Guess I should’ve done worse,” Seth grumbled.
“Hell’s fire, Wright,” Rome said in a teasing tone. ”Didn’t you know Butch is fussy about his pretty face?”
Kat’s temper rivaled her fear. How could they joke? Seth could be bleeding to death. Any one of them could be next.
“You hangin’ in over there, sugar?” Rome called from his position.
The endearment at this particular time was not appreciated. On the other hand, his casual manner smacked of confidence, and she surely took solace in that. “Happy as a flea in a doghouse,” she grumbled.
Someone laughed. Someone closer to her than Rome. Seth, she thought. “Just listen for my cue, Kat, then empty your bullets into that rock.” Definitely Seth.
She wished she could see him, any of them, but she was hunkered down behind a small boulder with cacti, brush, and rocks obscuring all but the road they’d traveled and the opposing higher ground. One wrong move and she risked getting shot by that maniac, Butch McCree.
“I suffered unspeakable injustice in that prison, Garrett. Swore if I ever met up with you and your brother, I’d settle the score!”
“Probably noticed, Boston isn’t with me, McCree. Why don’t we postpone this party until he can face the music with me?”
Kat noticed a slight difference in Rome’s voice. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Was he nervous? She’d never heard him rattled, so maybe that would account for the picayune variance. At the same time she noted movement behind her. A blur. She thought she caught a glimpse of a brown frock coat. Athens? What the devil was he doing?
McCree noticed, too. Bullets ricocheted off the rocky wall to her back. She heard a yip, and her gut roiled thinking he’d winged Athens or worse. She turned, but the gentler Garrett brother was nowhere to be seen.
“Your friend’s a damned coward, Garrett. Ran off and left you with a wounded man and a useless woman!”
“Only half-right, you bastard,” Kat said to herself. She cocked her gun and aimed. If she saw a clean shot, maybe she could at least nick him.
Rome yelled out a disparaging remark about McCree’s mother, instigating a verbal row.
Kat was no prude. She was used to Rome’s foul language, but he stunned her with a string of lewd insults. Had he gone loco? Seth was wounded. Maybe his brother, too. She pondered taking action herself and squirming over to help Seth. Did Rome plan to talk McCree to death?
Just then Seth said, “Now,” and she did as directed and let loose. She fired shot after shot, and when the chambers emptied, she reloaded. Her ears rang from the exchange of fire. She wasn’t sure if she was hitting anything, but apparently Seth and Rome were making good use of those long-range rifles. Rock shattered and rained down on Butch McCree.
She prayed with all her might for one of their bullets to hit home. She ran out of ammunition and noticed suddenly the absence of gunfire. She heard a shrill whistle, saw a hat waving in surrender. Saw a man--Athens?--haul a limp McCree from his hiding place. She couldn’t believe it. “Athens?”
She felt a hand on her shoulder. She whipped around, gun pointed.
“Whoa.” Athens held up his hands. “Just wanted to make sure you’re all right, Kat.”
She blinked. “How did you ... Weren’t you . .She looked at the teakettle ridge and back. Athens was wearing Rome’s duster and Stetson. So that meant Rome . . . “But I heard Rome shouting at McCree.”
“That was me.”
“But you sounded like him.” Almost like him. “And talked like him.” Exactly like him.
“Inherited a gift for acting, remember?”
“But I’ve never heard you talk like that before. So ...”
“Earthy?” He sleeved sweat from his brow. “Doesn’t mean I don’t have earthy thoughts.”
Kat was stunned.
“Seth’s hurt bad,” he said. That got her moving. She scrambled alongside him, her heart lodging in her throat when she saw the lawman propped against a boulder, the rifle at his side, his shirt soaked through with blood. “Jesus.”
“Looks worse than it is,” he said, head lulling.
“You’ve gone sheet white, Seth.” She pointed to his poor dead horse, fearing the owner was close on his steed’s heaven-bound hooves. “See what you can find in those saddlebags, Athens. Something we can use to bandage the wound. We need to stop the bleeding.”
She ripped Seth’s shirt to get a better look. So much blood. She heard the sound of an approaching horse, Rome’s voice. “I should’ve killed the bastard, but considering McCree’s view on jail, knocking him out instead seemed the sweeter payback. He’s gonna be pissed as hell when he comes to behind bars.”
Kat looked over her shoulder and saw Rome dismounting, leaving an unconscious McCree draped over the saddle. “Seth’s in a bad way, Rome.”
“The hell you say.” He neared and crouched next to the pale, sweating man. “Damn, Wright.”
Seth licked dry lips. “Did it go through?”
Rome shifted him slightly, inspected his back. “No.” He glanced at Kat, then Athens, who passed over one folded shirt, then ripped another into strips. “This bullet’s got to come out.”
Kat felt ill. “How do we--”
“Best to get professional help.” Rome applied pressure while Kat wrapped and tied off the bandage. “There’s a town, Fulton, just through this pass and an hour east. Can you make it that far, Seth?”
The man grunted. “Screw you, Golden Boy.”
Rome’s lip twitched. “Right. You’re a tough son of a bitch.”
“Got something worth living for.”
Emily, Kat thought, heart sinking.
“How did McCree get the jump on us?” Seth asked. “Don’t know,” Rome said. “Didn’t ask.”
The miscreant groaned, and Athens glanced over at the bound man. “What are we going to do with that piece of dung?”
“Leave the goddamned horse killer for the coyotes,” Seth said though clenched teeth.
Fond of his own horse, Rome commiserated, only he didn’t want to risk the chance of McCree somehow escaping. He looked to Athens. “Or you turn him into the authorities in Fulton.”
“You mean we.”
Rome shook his head. “Kat and I need to press on to Phoenix. Boston and Frankie should be there by now.”
“Unless Brady caught up to them first,” Kat said, throat tight.
“He didn’t,” Rome said in a tone that brooked no argument. “But there’s a chance he’s hot on their tail.”
“He’s right,” said Seth to Athens. “Time’s ticking.”
In more ways than one, Kat thought, hoping Seth was as tough as he professed.
“Dammit, Rome.”
“I didn’t plan this, Athens.”
“Fate,” the PMA director griped, “is not my friend.” Kat didn’t know what he was talking about. She didn’t ask. She was too busy helping Rome
haul Seth to his feet.
“You’ll have to double with me for a spell, Kat,” Rome said as they maneuvered the weakening lawman onto her mount.
She didn’t comment. She didn’t care. What mattered was that Athens got Seth to a doctor and that she and Rome rode hell-bent for Phoenix.
“Not a word to Emily,” Seth grit out as the others saddled up. “If either of you wire London, leave off mention of me. I don’t want her to worry.”
“Just get yourself stitched up,” Rome said, hauling Kat up behind him, “and get your asses home.” He reined in close to his brother. “Never thought I’d feel comfortable partnering with anyone aside from Boston. You just shot that notion to hell. My brother, the Peacemaker.”
Kat swallowed hard as the two brother gripped hands.
“We’ll catch up soon as we can,” said Athens. “Do whatever you have to do to keep Frankie and the family safe, Rome.”
He tugged down the brim of his hat. “Whatever it takes.”
Kat held tight to Rome as he spurred his mustang north. The last time she’d ridden double with him, they’d been young and selfish and in love with the idea of one another. Now there were no more illusions. And without Athens and Seth, no backup. Just the two of them against a man they both hated. Just the two of them fighting to keep the Garrett family and a little girl safe. Question was, when the smoke cleared, would Rome embrace the future Kat had her heart set on? Would he embrace Frankie?
Overwhelmed, she rested her forehead against his shoulder. So much for not feeling.
CHAPTER 32
Phoenix
“You go now,” whispered Mrs. Chen. “She sleep. I watch.” London had spent the morning holding his wife in his arms, assuring her that she was not to blame for Tori Adams’s death. A sensitive soul, Victoria blamed herself for what she perceived as a moment within her control. London argued otherwise. Sensing his wife was logical and grounded, he had faith she’d come to terms. Acknowledging and accepting the tragedy was the only way she could move on.
It took him a while, but he finally convinced her to take the medicine the doctor had prescribed two days prior. Something to calm her. She’d barely recovered from the influenza. She hadn’t slept the night before. She’d experienced a life-altering morning. No wonder she was exceptionally fragile.