Ransacker

by Emmy Laybourne

  Now he held the knife to the little cleft between James’s ear and his skull.

  “Clements will take his hand away from your mouth. If you scream or call out, I’ll slide this little knife in here and end James’s life. I won’t feel too bad about it. In the end, he turned out to be a piss-poor detective.

  “Shall we talk? Blink if you get me,” Mr. Peavy said.

  Sissel blinked.

  The thug Clements took his hand away, and she drew in a shaky breath. A foul unwashed smell from the man’s fingers was on her lips, and she wanted to spit.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Oh ho!” Mr. Peavy laughed. “No questions for me first about how we did it or who we are or when the Baron’s coming?”

  Sissel took her time answering. She needed to think.

  Peavy had a knife … Could she take it from him?

  “You figured it out all on your own, have you?” he said.

  “You three were hired by the Baron to take us prisoners,” she said.

  “Not exactly, sis. We were hired to protect you. Why do you think no one’s come after your big brute of a brother? That’s ’cause we’ve had our agents going to every small-town sheriff in a two-hundred-mile radius, finding those old wanted posters, and taking possession of them. Warrant like that, with a nice big payout, takes a good long while to go away. Didn’t it ever seem a bit easy to you all?”

  Sissel didn’t answer. Tears began to pool at the corners of her eyes.

  “You had such a nice little setup. Paid-for protection services! And you all were never the wiser.”

  He walked forward until he was standing close. The knife was in his fist.

  “But then James finally got you to spill your secret. Now the Baron himself is coming to meet you. Of course, it’ll take about a week. So in the meantime, you and me and a good number of my Pinkerton associates are going to hole up until he gets here.”

  Sissel took a long slow breath in, preparing.

  “The Baron wants it done with as little bloodshed as possible. That’s why we’re having this nice, civil conversation.”

  Sissel threw open her Nytte and reached, as hard as she could, for the blade in Peavy’s hand. It had a grip made of stag horn she couldn’t control and a steel blade, the metal sickeningly cold and oily. It made her nearly gag just to touch it with her mind, but she gripped it hard.

  Peavy’s eyes went wide as she tried to pry the knife from his grip.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  Then his eyes flashed to her.

  “Ha!” he said. “It’s true!”

  She pulled at the blade with her mind.

  Peavy struggled with the knife. His arms jerked up and down as she tried to wrench it from him. She seized the brass lamp with her mind and pulled it to herself, smashing Peavy in the back on the way.

  “Punch her!” Peavy shouted, his voice coming from far away.

  “What?” She felt Clements’s deep voice resonate behind her chest.

  She desperately sought other metals in the room. The fittings on the bed, the brass rivets on the easy chair, she started to shake it all. If she made a loud sound someone would come—

  Peavy’s lips moved. “Hit the girl!”

  Clements whacked her on the side of the head. The blow was awkward, coming as it did from behind and around, but the pain was intense. Her brain rattled in her skull. Black blotches spattered over her field of vision. Her legs gave out suddenly, and her Nytte was gone.

  Sissel’s body collapsed onto the carpet, but Clements hauled her up again.

  Peavy put the knife under her throat.

  He said something to her. He brushed a tendril of Sissel’s hair off her forehead. His touch made her skin crawl.

  He spoke again, waited for an answer. He grabbed her and shook her.

  “I can’t hear!” she cried. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Peavy cussed. He didn’t seem to believe her.

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be able to hear again,” she said miserably.

  Peavy turned from her and stood at the window for a moment.

  Sissel used the moment to think. What could she do? Was there some way to leave a sign for Stieg?

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Seventy-eight miles away, Hanne gasped. She was punching down the dough for the evening’s bread.

  “What is it, sunshine?” Witri asked her. “You daydreaming about that ranch of yours?”

  She had told Witri about Owen’s sad news, and the providence it bore them. He made the appropriate offers of condolence, but he’d also been to the Double B, and he’d spent a good amount of time telling her about the well-appointed ranch house, the large barns, and the many, many acres of good pasture.

  An image gripped her. Sissel! Sissel cuffed on the side of the head. The feeling of it possessed her. Pain. A terrible shock. Danger.

  “Oh!” Hanne said. She stepped back from the table, and the dough clung to her hands, sliding to the ground.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She bent and retrieved the dough. Witri reached over and plucked it from her hands. He brushed the dirt off.

  “I’m so sorry,” Hanne said.

  “Oh, they won’t notice,” Witri said.

  “No,” she said. “I have to go.”

  “What?”

  “Something’s wrong,” she said. “I can’t explain.”

  Witri put a plump hand over her wrist.

  “Take a breath, child.”

  “Something is wrong at home, Witri. I have to go.”

  She went up to the front of the chuck wagon, where the personal gear of the cowboys was stored, next to the jockey box. She climbed halfway up, tugging and pulling at her saddle for Jigsaw. It was the only saddle stored there, as all the other rigs were in constant use.

  She hauled it out and lugged it toward the remuda, where Jigsaw was kept with the other horses.

  “What do you mean, go?” Witri called after her. He hustled, trailing her. “I need your help here, missy.”

  “You got along fine without me before,” she said, straining to carry the heavy rig.

  “Hanne Bennett! You quit this playing! It ain’t funny!”

  She didn’t stop.

  “Now I ain’t gonna pay you for just a couple weeks’ work, you know,” he called, hustling after her. “You gotta see the drive through before you get paid.”

  “Mr. Lester,” she called to the horse master. “I need Jigsaw saddled.”

  Witri put a firm hand on her shoulder.

  “Hanne Bennett, we’ve gotten to be friends, you and I. You know we have. Tell me what’s going on or I won’t sleep at night!”

  There was genuine concern on his face.

  Hanne felt another wave coming from Sissel. Hanne could feel Sissel’s heart pounding; her sister was afraid for her life. Hanne pressed her hands over her heart. Her breath caught in her throat.

  She put her own hand on Witri’s shoulder, mirroring him.

  “Listen,” she said. “I’ll tell you the truth. When people I love are in danger, I can sense it. That’s a secret, between the two of us. And right now my sister’s in trouble. I have to go.”

  “Dang it,” he said. “I believe you.”

  He kicked a clod of dirt.

  “Swing back by the chuck wagon and I’ll send you with supper.”

  He tramped away sullenly.

  Lester came leading Jigsaw on his rope line.

  Hanne’s frantic hands fumbled with her saddle, but the seasoned horse man helped her. He had Jigsaw saddled quickly. He even cupped his hands to help her mount.

  She raced the horse toward Owen.

  “It’s Sissel,” she called as she rode up.

  Daisy was wagging her tail, happy to see Hanne and Jigsaw.

  “I have to go,” she said. “Right now. You can stay. It’s fine if you want to stay but I have to go.”

  “What did you feel?”

  “She was struck,�
�� Hanne said. “And she was scared.”

  “Well, that could be a lot of things…,” Owen said.

  Hanne wheeled Jigsaw around.

  “Catch up if you want to come,” she called over her shoulder. “Or I’ll come back and find you when I’m sure she’s all right.”

  She kicked Jigsaw, and the horse jumped to a gallop.

  “I’m coming!” Owen shouted. She heard him kick his horse into a gallop. “But I have to trade my horse for Brandy … And I have to tell Tincher!”

  “I can’t wait!” she yelled. The sensation of danger was so strong she felt she could follow her sense of Sissel all the way back to Carter.

  There was a whistling sound, and then a rope landed neatly around her shoulders, pinning her arms down. Owen had lassoed her! The shock of it made her lean back, and Jigsaw slowed her pace.

  “Goddamn it, Hanne!” Owen cussed. “It’s three-day ride to Carter. Fifteen minutes won’t make a difference.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Clements asked a question; Sissel felt it in the resonance of his chest behind her back.

  Peavy began to answer. He talked on and on, and her hearing came back midway through. “They’re on the way in number. I told them I could handle it, but with the client in transit they wanted lots of manpower here. Oh, you’ll meet the big boys. Jasper O’Brien, out of Denver. Tyrone Baker, he’s practically famous.”

  Sissel’s expression must have registered she’d heard him because Peavy came close and peered into her eyes.

  “So you really have magic powers! Now it all makes sense, why McKray was courting you, why the Baron wants you so bad.”

  Sissel shrugged.

  “Try it again and I’ll start carving up your beau, got it? Say, ‘Yes, sir.’”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Listen to me, young miss, I’ve been a Pinkerton for thirty-four years. I’ve tracked and captured some terrible men in my life. Terrible men who did bloody, awful things I can’t even mention in your company. It’s made me a bit hard-hearted.

  “But I don’t need to be rough with you, or with your brother Stieg, who is currently on his way to get Knut. Or Hanne and Owen, now working the Bar S cattle drive somewhere around Auburn.

  “No, I want you all to live long, healthy lives! I want to deliver you to the Baron in the best of health. Hell, I’ll get a bonus if I do! Look at this.”

  He held out a telegram. Sissel read it.

  “See, you’re the item. And the other items are your sister and your brothers. Forfeit, in this application, means kill. You understand? This means my Pinkerton pals will kill them unless you do just as I say. If you understand say, ‘Yes, sir.’”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sissel’s skull was pounding, and her arms hurt from how tight Clements was holding them.

  “Good.”

  Peavy crossed back over to James, who was still unconscious.

  “Wake up.” Peavy said. He jabbed James’s shoulder with the tip of the knife. James jerked awake.

  “Time to go, James,” Peavy said loudly. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. We four are going to walk out of here. Easy. Relaxed. Like we’re all good friends. Anyone asks what happened to you, James, you say you got in a fistfight last night. You’ll look ashamed. Sissel will look disapproving. I’ll look like a steamed-off father. I’ll explain we’re taking you to the doctor to get your lip sewed up.

  “There’s a nice coach waiting outside. We’ll all slip right in and be on our way. Sound good?”

  Peavy slid his fingers under the rope holding James’s gag and slit it with the knife.

  “That sound good to you, James?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, his voice sounding dry and constrained. James worked his jaw tenderly. “Not so sure I can walk.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll have my arm under you, James, looking right supportive. And if you try anything I’ll stab you in the ribs. It’ll all work great.”

  Peavy set to untying James.

  Clements released Sissel, and she rubbed at her sore shoulders.

  “Up we go,” Peavy said, heaving James to his feet.

  “Clements, you go on ahead. Go out the back door and around the front. Loiter on the porch like you got business with Mr. McKray. Nearly everyone does in town these days. Go on.”

  Clements edged out the door.

  Peavy sighed as he looked at Sissel.

  “Poor star-crossed lovers. I’m sorry it’s got to end this way.” He poked James with the knife. “Give the girl an apology.”

  James squinted at her through his one good eye. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried to warn you. I came here to—”

  “No chatter, Romeo,” Peavy cut him off. “It’s time for our little show. Sissel, you go first. And just think about your sister and your brother and your other brother, and how happy you are they have their eyes, their livers, and their kidneys, that kind of stuff.”

  It was so strange to walk down the hallway she had walked down so many times in a natural, normal state, only this time being kidnapped.

  They came toward a wealthy couple who, seeing James in the hall, gasped and murmured.

  “I know, I know,” Peavy said in a genial tone. “My son looks worse than he feels! Gonna get him to the doctor.”

  They took their time down the stairs. James moaned at each step.

  Collier was not at the front desk. It was one of the young porters, looking nervous to be holding down the post and trying to placate a ticked-off prospector. Sissel couldn’t think of any way to signal them or to do much of anything, and then they were out in the street.

  A large black passenger carriage stood at the ready, drawn by four horses. The shades were down.

  A lean-faced man with gray hair and gray eyes stood next to the carriage. He held the door open and took Sissel by the arm.

  “Miss,” he said politely.

  Sissel took one look back over her shoulder, lingering, hoping to see McKray or Bridget or someone she knew. Without a word, the man stepped close behind her, blocking the view of her from passersby. He put his hands on her waist and hoisted her easily into the carriage. Someone else grabbed her arms from inside and hauled her in. She strained in the seat, looking out the window.

  James, coming out of the hotel, started to drag his feet. “Wait!” he said. “Help!”

  Peavy seemed to rejigger his hold on the young man, as if to keep him from slipping, but Sissel saw the knife flash at James’s hip.

  James moaned, sagged to the side.

  “All right, son, don’t worry. I’ve got a stage right here.” Peavy seemed terribly worried. “Make way, please.”

  Peavy half dragged James to the carriage door. Blood was trailing them from James’s left leg.

  “Come on, son,” Peavy said.

  The gray-eyed man helped Peavy hoist James into the carriage. Sissel tried to touch him, to move to him, but there was a man holding her fast in the dim cabin. He was a lanky black man who had a hand over her mouth. He was so strong she could barely move at all.

  “To the doctor,” Peavy cried for the benefit of the men watching outside. The man with the gray eyes tapped on the roof.

  The carriage lurched forward. James slid off the seat, so he was sitting on the floor of the coach. He gasped. Gasped again.

  Sissel could see blood pooling on the floor of the carriage.

  “Jesus!” Peavy swore.

  “Making a mess of the carriage,” the man with gray eyes said.

  “Hello, O’Brien,” Peavy said. He nodded to the man who held Sissel. “Baker.”

  Peavy kicked James in the side. “I didn’t hire this son of a bitch. I got stuck with him, so don’t blame me.”

  “Where will we pitch him?” Baker asked.

  James’s eyes were open, staring straight up.

  Sissel realized he was dead. She began to scream—she could not stop herself. The horror of the boy she knew shifting around on the floor as the carriage jostled. S
he screamed and sobbed, biting the hand over her mouth.

  “She’s biting me,” the man named Baker said calmly.

  “Put her out,” O’Brien said.

  Then a cloth soaked with a foul-smelling chemical was pressed over her nose and mouth. She gagged, nearly retched.

  Everything went calm and quiet.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Sissel woke to a kind touch on her forehead. A cool cloth, dabbing her temple, the area bruised and sensitive.

  Then it came rushing back—the carriage, Peavy, James yelling for help, James dead on the floor.

  She was outside, on a hillside, lying on a cot. A wool blanket was tucked in around her, and there was a gag in her mouth, a piece of linen, slick with her saliva.

  She struggled for a second, found her hands and ankles were bound.

  “Shhh,” a male voice said. “You’re safe, little miss.”

  A man with a face out of a nightmare was smiling down at her, kneeling at her hip. A scar ran from the inside corner of his left eyebrow down through the cheek and to his mouth. It was a messy scar, puckered and white against his tan face.

  A whimper escaped Sissel.

  “There, there,” he said. “I know I present a frightening facade, but I promise you, I am the soul of gentleness. My name is Dr. Oakman. The Pinkertons hired me to make sure you are hale and healthy when the Baron arrives.”

  Sissel’s eyes darted around, taking in the camp. The sun was just going down, the sparse woods and boulders around them tinted orange. There was already a campfire. Three men were seated around it. Two other men were cooking at the fire.

  Several others busied themselves near a large wagon, loaded with supplies, distributing bedrolls. She heard the sounds of horses nearby.

  How many of them were there? She counted eight she could see, plus the doctor.

  Dr. Oakman moved his hand toward her face, and Sissel jerked away.

  “There, there, little one, no need to fear.”

  He dabbed again at the bruise on her temple, from where Clements had socked her.

  Sissel’s heart was pounding in her rib cage. She was afraid, for certain.