by ML Guida
Cars rolled down the street, but there was no sign of the red sports car or Theo. Maybe he’d found the car and given the driver a ticket. She scooped up her black beans with a tortilla chip and then a dabbed it with guacamole–the perfect bite.
After a few minutes, she realized half her plate was gone and Grace hadn’t returned. Maybe she’d gotten sick. Mexican food was much spicer than the bland food she’d be used to eating in the seventeenth century. She should have taken her sister some place less spicy.
She reluctantly pushed her chair away from the table.
Juan hurried over. “Is everything all right, no?” His eyes were filled with worry.
“Aye, the food is delicious. I just need to check on my sister. Donna take the dishes.”
He smiled. “Sì, Señora.”
Gwen hurried to the restroom and opened the wooden door. Her sandals clicked across the redish-brown toccata tile. The granite counter had a box of tissue and a soap dispenser in the shape of a cactus. Soft lights glowed and Gwen could see her worried face in the mirror. She looked so different in the yellow dress. She was much more comfortable in jeans and cowboy boots.
“Grace? Are you ill?” Three stalls were in the small bathroom. She checked for Grace’s sandals, but quickly realized Grace wasn’t in the bathroom. A chill wavered down her spine. How could she have missed her? The restaurant wasn’t that big and not many people were in the bar. Most people were sitting outside on the patio.
She hurried back to their table, but Grace wasn’t there. She motioned to Juan. “Did you see where my sister went?”
He shook his dark head. “No, I did not. I’m sorry.”
The hairs on the back of Gwen’s neck rose and goosebumps broke out on her arms. Something was wrong. This wasn’t like Grace. She’d never leave without telling her.
Gwen hurried to the front of the restaurant. The hostess, a young woman with her hair pulled up into a bun, stood behind a podium that faced the double doors.
“Excuse me?”
The woman smiled. “What can I do for you?”
“Did you see a woman dressed like me leave here?”
The hostess smiled. “Yes. She left with her husband and his friend. Her husband said she wasn’t feeling well.”
Gwen’s legs shook and her heartbeat spiked. “My sister doesna have a husband. Where did they go?”
“They just left a few minutes ago.”
Gwen bolted out the double doors. “Grace?” She looked down the street, but didn’t see her sister. Across the street, Jonah and Joseph were in the park, chasing each other round the swing sets. She raced over toward them. “Jonah, Joseph, did you see my sister?” Her frantic voice stopped them in their tracks.
Larry peeked from underneath Jospeh’s hat. Joseph pointed down the road. “You didn’t tell us she was married like you.”
“Yeah, she went with her husband. She didn’t look good. Her face was really pale. What she’d eat in there that made her so sick?”
“Grace isn’t married. Did she walk down the street?”
“No.” Jonah shook his head. “They got into a huge silver truck and took off.”
Joseph’s eyes widened. “You mean your sister’s been kidnapped?”
“Aye. Go get Topper. I’ve got to call Theo.” She raced back into the restaurant to snatch her phone.
Once again, he answered. “Gwen…”
Gwen ran her shaking hand through her hair. “Theo, Grace has been kidnapped! Two men forced her out of the bar. I didna see it happened, but Jonah and Joseph saw her leave. They said the men and Grace left in a silver truck.”
“Damn it, I knew there would be trouble.” His voice rippled with frustration.
Her belly twisted into a knot. “What do you mean?”
“Earlier I pulled over the man driving the red Ferrari. His name was Donald Elliott. He was speeding like a bat out of hell. I followed him to the Sleepy Inn where there was a yellow Camaro and a silver pick-up. I ran the plates on both of them.”
Gwen gripped her phone tighter. “Who were they?”
“Rick Mason and Shawn Whitehead. Two ex-cons. They served together in Canon City outside of Denver.”
“Why didna you arrest them?” Her voice was so loud people at the restaurant were staring at her, but she didn’t care. If she was in the seventeenth century, Leif would have cut down the two convicts––no questions asked.
“On what charges Gwen? I couldn’t do anything until they committed a crime.” His scolding tone sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up.
Tears formed on the back of her eyelids. Her stomach quivered and she didn’t know if it were her being upset or the baby moving. “Well, they just did. They kidnapped my sister. And ’tis all your fault.”
He sighed heavily. She paced back and forth on the street, images of what those men could be doing to her sweet sister. Grace wasn’t a fighter. She was a gentle soul.
“Gwen, I’m sorry. Don’t move. I’m on my way. Don’t go anywhere near Mason or Whitehead.”
“Fine.” She clicked off her phone, not having any intention of staying put. How could Theo have done this? He was the sheriff and should have been protecting the town from ruffians. This wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with men like them who had threatened her sister. She’d been protecting her sister all of her life. Her brother Leif let her down to go off pirating, forcing her to be the protector of the family. And now her darling husband had just put her back in the same situation.
She narrowed her eyes. No problem, she was ready. She was a pirate and would make mincemeat of those bastards if they harmed one hair on her sister’s head.
Chapter Five
Donald drummed his fingers on the table and stared at the unconscious woman across from him. Not wanting the good sheriff to find them, he’d rented a three room cabin up in the hills. He’d preferred the little inn, but not with the nosy sheriff poking around.
Luckily, Madame Mthunzi had given him hex bags. He’d put them in all the corners of the house like she’d instructed and when he did, the house turned invisible. Let the damn sheriff try and find them now.
A potbelly stove flickered in the corner. He’d laid out all the tools he needed on the kitchen counter to kill this poor woman–a narrow five inch bone knife, a butcher knife, a meat cleaver, a twenty-five inch bone saw and a heavy duty meat cleaver. When he was a kid, his dad had taken him hunting and taught him how to butcher a deer. He never thought he would end up butchering a beautiful woman, but he didn’t have a choice. She was his last hope to not die a lingering, painful death.
Her dark head was slumped over to the side. His two goons, Rick Mason and Shawn Whitehead, had forced her out of the restaurant at gunpoint, then used chloroform to knock her out.
He rubbed the bridge between his nose. Maybe he was losing his mind. So far, since he’d been in this small backward town, he hadn’t seen anything that made him suspect the residents were anything but the local yahoos.
He broke out in a loud cough that squeezed his lungs and made his eyes tear up.
When he stopped the woman was staring at him, not with golden eyes, but brown.
“I’m surrounded by idiots,” he mumbled.
She frowned and pulled on her restraints. “Who are you?”
He slammed his fist down on the table hard. “Mason!”
The woman jumped.
A burly red bearded man hurried over from another room. “Yes, boss?”
Donald narrowed his eyes. “What color did I say her eyes should be?”
Mason scratched his beard, then shrugged. “Gold, but in the light, it was hard to tell.”
Donald motioned. “Look.”
He took a step closer.
“Stay away from me!” The woman leaned back into her chair as if trying to disappear.
He hung his head. “Crap, they’re brown.”
“Yes, I know, genius.”
The woman struggled in the chair and bit he
r lip. “What do you want with Gwendolyn?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Donald said.
She sat stiffly. “I’m afraid it does, sir. She’s my sister.”
“See, boss?” Mason flicked his hand over his bald head. “They’re twins. Anybody could make a mistake.”
Donald rolled his eyes. “You mean any moron. Now, you’re going to correct this, aren’t you?”
“You want to exchange her for the other one?”
He smiled, revealing all of his teeth. “No, but we’re going to have her come to us.”
The woman glared. “Please, sir, leave her alone! She’s in the family way.”
He walked over to her. Her eyes grew larger, and she pulled on her restraints.
“Get away from me.”
“What is your name?” He put his hand on the back of her head, then stroked her hair.
“I must insist that you release me this minute.”
He wrapped his fingers in her thick hair and yanked hard. “I asked you a question.”
She gasped, her lower lip trembled. “Grace.”
He loosened his grip. “Now, Grace, this is what you’re going to do. I’m going to call your sister and you’re going to say exactly what I want you to say.”
“And if I donna?”
He snapped his fingers.
Mason ripped out a knife from his belt and immediately put it under Grace’s throat, forcing her to tilt her head back.
Donald whispered into her ear. “Then, my associate will slice your pretty little neck. Do you understand me?”
“Aye.” Her voice was so low he could barely hear her.
He tilted his head at Mason who slowly lowered his knife. He released her hair and waited for her to go into hysterics and plead for hers and her sister’s life, but she disappointed him. She gave him an intense, fevered stare. Her face was tight and her skin stretched into a snarl. If she were a cat, she would have leaped at him and scratched his eyes out with her claws.
His scalp prickled and for one moment, he regretted kidnapping her. His lungs tightened and he gasped to breathe. He broke out into another fit of coughing and he gripped the back of her chair to steady himself. Tears blurred his vision and his body shook.
The attack lessened and he could breathe slowly, but his chest hurt as if someone had turned a tourniquet on his lungs. He was running out of time–back to the plan.
In a low voice, he asked, “Now, what’s your sister’s phone number?”
“I donna know, Sir.”
His pulse elevated. “Wrong answer.” He slapped her hard across the face.
Her head swung to the side, her hair flying all around.
“Now, I am going to ask you again. What’s your sister’s number?”
She raised her head, her hair shielding her face. “I donna know.”
He gritted his teeth. “Bitch!” He back handed her again.
She cried out. Her head swung to the other side.
“I donna know.”
He grabbed her hair and yanked. “I could do this all day. I’m going to ask you one more time. What is your sister’s phone number?”
“I…I donna know. I donna know what a phone number is. Please…please stop.”
He twisted his fingers tighter. “What the hell do you mean?”
“I came…I came from the seventeenth century.”
He released her. “Liar!” He scraped his hand over his face. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll let Mason and Whitehead have their way with you.”
“No, please!” Her voice shook and she lost her defiance. “Topper–a witch–came and brought me back through time. I swear ’tis true.”
“Then, tell me what I want to know.” He grabbed her trembling shoulders and dug his fingers into her flesh.
“I donna know.” She hung her head and sobbed.
He dropped his hands. “You’re not giving me much of a choice.”
Mason licked his lips and flashed his gaze over Grace. Donald’s stomach tightened. Usually he wouldn’t have anything to do with scum like Mason and Whitehead, but he was a desperate man and desperation made him do things he’d never do.
But he wanted to live.
Mason ripped the top of Grace’s dress. She screamed and threw her head back.
Donald blinked his eyes. She wore an old fashioned corset. He’d seen corsets before, but this was one was faded and the material was different. Really old fashioned like seventeenth century old fashioned. Mason slipped his hand down her corset and she spat into his face. He punched her in the face, snapping her head back. “You be nice. Or you’ll not like what we’ll do to you.”
Tears streaked down her face. Her lip was cut and swelled up. Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth.
Maybe she was telling the truth and was from the seventeenth century. He hadn’t believed dragons existed until he met Madame Mthunzi. Donald held up his hand. “Wait.”
Mason groaned but withdrew his hand from inside the corset. His fingernails were longer than a man should have and Donald bet Grace had scratches down her breast, but she brought this on to her self. She should have been more cooperative.
He wedged himself in between Mason and Grace. He knelt and put his hands on her trembling knees. “Do you know where she lives?”
She looked warily at Mason, then sniffed. “I donna know the address, but they live on top of a plateau that looks down on Magic. Gwen said ’tis the only house with pink bougainvillea in full bloom that grows over their door way.”
Donald stood. He glared at Mason. “Now, can you two idiots find this house on the plateau?”
Whitehead shrugged his shoulders. “What’s a bougnaveila?”
“It’s pronounced bougainvillea, you moron. It’s a flower.” Donald took out his phone and found a picture of the pink flowered plant. “This is what it looks like.”
Whitehead looked at the screen. “Oh. I know them flowers. Just never knew what theys was called.”
Donald flicked his hand. “Now, go both of you. Don’t come back until you have the bitch. And this time, she’d better have gold-colored eyes.”
Mason googled at Grace, but reluctantly followed Whitehead out the door.
Donald sat in a chair across from Grace. “You better not be lying. Next time, I won’t stop them. Do you understand me?”
She nodded silently. Her dark hair hung in her face. Unlike the other women in town, she didn’t have any make-up on, since her tears hadn’t smeared her mascara and eye-shadow. She could have been wearing waterproof make-up, but he didn’t think so. Her lips were cracked as if they hadn’t been moisturized. Still she was beautiful. Too bad he had to kill her since he couldn’t afford any loose-ends.
Chapter Six
Gwen changed into her shirt, jeans, and boots, her hands shaking. Her muscles and veins strained against her skin. Damn, Theo! Why did he have to follow the rules? Magic was supposed to be a safe place. ’Twas his job to make sure everyone was safe–including her sister.
If anything happened to her, she’d never forgive them. He should have had both of those two men followed, especially if he smelled trouble.
Her stomach flipped-flopped angrily and she rushed to the bathroom, emptying lunch. She wiped off her mouth with a towel. She took a swig of water and swooshed it around in her mouth. She spat it out into the sink.
“Now, little…one,” she panted. “We’ve got a job to do. Your aunt’s in trouble. We have to save her. So, work with me on this, will you?”
She put her hand over her fluttering stomach and prayed she wouldn’t get sick again. She waited before she headed into the living room.
She yanked the sword off the fireplace, then went to the gun cabinet to get her sheath and Colt single action revolvers. Theo’s weapons were superior to hers, but she wasn’t comfortable with them. The Colts felt more like her flintlocks, but obviously with better accuracy. She quickly loaded each of them and slid them into her holster.
&n
bsp; She caught her reflection in their dresser mirror, but instead of looking like a seventeenth century pirate, she looked like a biker pirate with her leather jacket. She wished she had powers like Topper so she could really kick some ass, but she was only human.
She learned to fight on the mean streets of London back in the seventeenth century, so she wasn’t a pansy-ass, either. “Donna worry, Grace. I’m coming.”
If they made her sister cry, she’d blow a hole right in the middle of their forehead.
She opened the door to two burly bearded men standing on her porch. Behind them was a silver truck. Her stomach fluttered as if a million butterflies were ramming to get out.
The tall red-bearded man cast his gaze over her. “See, Whitehead, this one’s got gold eyes.”
Gwen froze. They were the two convicts–Rick Manson and Shawn Whitehead–Theo had told her about and they were standing on her porch. She slowly moved her hand over her Colt. “Who are you?”
“You need to come with us.” Whitehead–the shorter blond man–reached for her.
But she was faster. Gwen knocked his hand away from her. His eyes widened in surprise. She unleashed her sword and pulled out her revolver.
They reached for their guns, but she shook her head. “I wouldna if I were you. I really wouldna. I’m a crack a shot and you’d both be dead.”
They glared, but did as she asked. The convicts were twice as tall as she was and could easily overpower her if given half a chance. She wished Theo would drive up, but she was on her own.
“Now, I’m going to ask again.” She pushed the tip of the sword underneath Manson’s chin. “I’m not going to ask a third time.”
His green eyes bulged.
Whitehead stared at her Colt. “She ain’t like the other one.”
Gwen smirked. “No, I’m not. What did you two bastards do with my sister?”
Whitehead glared. “If ya dudden come with us, he’s fixin’ to kill her.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who?”
The two men glanced at each other.
She pressed the tip of the sword deeper into Mason’s hairy neck. “I said who?”