Brodie's Gamble (13 page)

“This is from the dress Maggie was wearing.”

“She probably stayed down here until nightfall. We can check the alley for tracks, but it will be hard to identify hers from the others I’d expect to find. If I were trying to get away and didn’t have a horse, the first place I’d try would be one of the riverboats. How many come and go each day?”

“We get about three a week. They stay overnight, sometimes two nights, then head back to Sacramento. Today’s Friday, so there ought to be at least one of them at the docks.” Brodie stood and looked around once more before climbing the steps.

“Did you find anything, Sheriff?”

“Aye, ma’am. You had an intruder all right.” He held up the scrap of fabric.

Her eyes grew wide. “Why, that looks like dress material.”

“Aye, it is. It happens we’re searching for a woman who escaped from the jail yesterday morning. This is from the dress she was wearing. Did you hear or see anything last night?”

She shook her head, still surprised the thief had been a woman.

“Well, she’ll not be bothering you again. We’re going to find her and get her back behind bars.” Touching the brim of his hat, he and Sam walked back to their horses.

“I believe a trip to the docks is in order.” Sam reined his horse around.

Maggie dropped the quilt from her shoulders, sliding off the lumpy straw mattress and standing to look out the small, dirty window. Everything smelled of mold and mildew, yet she was grateful she’d stumbled onto the abandoned boathouse a good hundred yards from the main docks. The mattress had been thrown into a corner, the quilt wadded up under it.

She’d intended to get as far away from Conviction as possible before dawn. Instead, she’d spotted the riverboat as it pulled into the docks, music and laughter spilling through the open doors and windows. If Maggie could sneak on and find a place to hide, she’d be able to travel all the way downriver to Sacramento.

There’d been too much activity last night, but the boat seemed quiet this morning. The captain had left a small crew when he stepped onto the dock a couple hours earlier. Suspecting he’d return soon, she worked to straighten her hair and brush the dirt from her dress, guessing the efforts were wasted. Taking another look outside, she opened the door, squared her shoulders, and stepped onto the dock.

Friday morning
, Maggie thought, continuing toward the boat. The days had run together over the past two years to the point she’d rarely wondered if it were Monday, Thursday, or Sunday. She didn’t care. Freedom and a future had been so far out of reach for so long, she’d forgotten how it felt to have choices.

Stepping onto the gangway, she tightened her hold on the war bag, glancing around. Limited crew worked around the boat, no one paying her any attention. Holding her breath, she kept her gaze fixed on a spot straight ahead, finally taking the last step onto the boat.

“May I help you, miss?”

The deep voice startled Maggie. Stumbling forward, she felt strong hands grip her upper arm, steadying her.

“Are you all right?”

Swallowing her fear and embarrassment, she nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Are you making the trip to Sacramento?” He had a kind face, wavy gray hair, and a full mustache.

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, you’re a day early, miss. We’re docked for repairs through today. You may board tomorrow after breakfast. We’ll leave late morning.”

Her heart sank, accepting she’d have to spend another night in the dirty, dank boathouse. “Oh. I must have gotten my days mixed up.”

“No problem, miss. It happens all the time.”

Turning, she stepped back onto the gangway, her mind racing. She still had half a jar of beans and less than that of peaches, enough to last her until tomorrow. Forgetting where she was, Maggie almost fell off the end of the gangway at the same time she heard a shout from down the street.

“Maggie! Maggie King! Stop right there.”

Her chest tightened at the familiar voice. Panicking, she glanced around, her gaze landing on Brodie riding toward her, another man alongside him. Picking up her skirt, she turned and ran the opposite direction, cutting across the street and turning onto another one crowded with people, buggies, and horses.

“You follow her, Sam. I’m going to ride around and cut her off at the other end of the street.”

Sam nodded once before reining his horse toward the street she had run down. Turning Hunter around, Brodie rode up the main street of Conviction, several blocks away from the jail. He’d take a shortcut through a less traveled street. If they were lucky, Sam would herd her directly to him. They’d have Maggie back in her cell before she knew what had happened.

Maggie wove between people on the wide boardwalk, her eyes darting around, seeking a place to hide. She found it hard not to run, which would draw more attention to herself. Glancing over her shoulder, she felt a moment of panic seeing the man who’d been riding next to Brodie fix his gaze on her. Clutching the bag tighter, she made a quick decision, dashing into a nearby store and heading to the back.

“May I help you?” A stout woman, her hair pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, began to come around the counter.

Maggie took a breath. “I’ve never been in here before.” She shot a glance behind her, seeing the man rein his horse to a stop out front. Letting her gaze do a quick sweep of the store, she saw a back door, guessing it led to an alley. “May I just look for a moment?”

“Of course, dear. Let me know if you have questions.” The woman walked toward the front, her back to Maggie.

Not wasting a moment, she moved to the door, grasping the handle. Praying it wasn’t locked, she turned it, relief flooding her when she pushed the door open. Without stopping, she hurried down the steps to the alley and ran. She had no idea where to go or how to escape Brodie and the man with him. All she knew was they wouldn’t get her back in that cell. She’d spent her last day as a prisoner, the same as she’d been the last two years.

Reaching the end of the alley, she held back, looking one way and then the other. There was no sign of either man, but she didn’t believe they’d given up. The little she knew about Brodie MacLaren told her he wasn’t a man who gave up easily. Well, neither did she.

Loud laughter caught her attention. Turning, she saw a group of women round a corner, walking straight toward her. Before she could change her mind, she melded into the group, her eyes focused straight ahead, ignoring the curious stares from several of the women.

All wore fashionable wool dresses and heavy coats, some trimmed in fur, and hats adorned with feathers and ribbons. She glanced down, pulling the tattered coat she’d stolen from the root cellar tight around her, fingers shaking as her heart raced. Thankfully, no one said a word to her as they continued along the boardwalk.

Looking up, her heart stopped when she saw Brodie sitting atop his horse at the end of the street, his gaze locked on her. Whipping her head around, she froze at the sight of the second man coming up the street behind her.

All the fear, pain, and anger she’d experienced over the last two years roared through her. Moving so her back rested against the side of the building, her eyes darted from one side to the other. Both men were now on foot, walking toward her with slow, purposeful steps. Brodie, his face hard, came from one end of the boardwalk, the second man from the other.

“No.” The scream came unbidden, a moment before she pushed away from the wall and dashed into the street.

“Maggie, watch out!”

She heard the panic in Brodie’s voice an instant before the shouts from onlookers reached her ears. Turning, her eyes widened in horror as a horse reared above her. An ear-piercing scream ripped from her throat as the reality of what was happening flashed before her. Raising both arms, Maggie attempted to protect herself as two powerful hooves descended upon her.

Brodie paced in the waiting area of the doctor’s office, unable to rid himself of the sight of Maggie’s frightened face as the large horse reared back then came down on top of her. If he’d been a few feet closer, he could have shoved her out of the way. Instead, he’d held back, watching to see which way she ran. His hesitation may have cost Maggie her life.

“It’s not your fault, MacLaren.” Sam’s hand rested on Brodie’s shoulder. “It was an accident. Nothing more.”

“I could’ve stopped it.”

“No, you couldn’t have. She ran right in front of the wagon. The driver did all he could, but there wasn’t any stopping the horse.” Sam dropped his hand. “It’s in the doctor’s hands now.”

It didn’t matter that Sam’s intentions were good and his logic correct. Brodie had seen the determination on her face, the resolve to fight until she had no other choices, when he’d spotted her in the group of women. His gaze met hers, and for an instant, he thought she might run to him, trust him to help her. The next moment her eyes flared in a combination of terror and panic, and she ran with no concept of the danger right before her.

She’d acted out of fear of being recaptured and imprisoned for a crime she didn’t commit. And she ran because she feared him.

“I’ll be right back.” Brodie walked outside, ripped his hat off his head, and gazed up at the late morning sky. The sun felt warm, but the chill in the air reminded him November was days away, the promise of extended rains and a drop in temperatures along with it.

Walking to a water barrel outside the clinic, he scooped up a handful of water, splashing it over his face and neck, thinking of Maggie. She’d been kidnapped and abused sexually, emotionally, and physically. When she’d had enough, she ran to Conviction for help. Instead, she gotten a cocky sheriff who performed his own version of abuse on her, even if it wasn’t intentional.

“Sheriff MacLaren.”

Brodie stuffed his hat back on his head and turned, wincing when he saw a man approaching him at a fast pace. “Harold.” Crossing his arms, Brodie waited while Harold caught his breath.

Harold Ivers, owner, editor, and chief columnist for the Conviction Guardian, grabbed a handkerchief and mopped his brow, his breath coming in gasps. It had to be close to sixty degrees, not the kind of weather that would produce sweat…unless you were considerably overweight and seldom did anything more strenuous than fretting over a news story. Slipping the cloth into his back pocket, he stared up at the sheriff, who stood at least ten inches taller than him.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Brodie prompted.

“Yes, I did. I heard you had a jailbreak yesterday.” He pulled a pencil and piece of paper out of his pocket. “Now, I’ve heard you recaptured the woman who murdered her husband. I need the details, Sheriff. We don’t want our readers worrying an escaped murderess is still on the loose, right?”

Brodie bit back a curse, his eyes turning to slits. “Just where did you get your information?”

Blinking, Harold took a step back. “Around, Sheriff. You hear a lot of talk when you run a newspaper. Is it true?”

“Nae, Harold. It isn’t.” Brodie turned to head back into the clinic.

“What part isn’t true?”

Brodie stopped, knowing no matter what he said, Harold would twist it to suit his needs and entertain the readers. Most people thought the opening of the Conviction Guardian a couple years before had been a welcome improvement to a growing town. For Brodie, it meant always knowing the ambitious newspaperman would use whatever means he could to add sensationalism to his stories.