Captured (12 page)

A train. The path ahead of them opened up to a low, empty field. A hundred yards ahead, a train wheezed to a stop. Cole swore silently as Rebel soldiers poured out of the forward coach, swarming over the open field like a plague of locusts. Straining his eyes, he saw bright glints of metal where the rails had been twisted off the track, most likely the work of roving Union scouts. Until the damage was repaired, the train was going nowhere. And neither were they.

Cursing his luck, he dismounted, motioning for his men to do the same. He reached for Devon. “Not one word,” he growled as he pulled her from her mount.

She simply glared at him in response, then shifted her eyes to look beyond him, her gaze resting on the train and the field of fifty or so well-equipped Rebs. When she turned back to Cole, a look of mocking challenge danced in her eyes.

He stepped closer. “Do one thing to endanger my men and I swear you’ll be dead before we will.”

The amusement he’d seen drained from her delicate features. For an instant, burning hatred flashed in her soft green eyes, then her countenance resumed its normal expression of cool disdain. “I understand,” she answered.

Cole’s eyes narrowed. That had been altogether too easy. His prisoner wasn’t a woman easily intimidated by threats, even if the threats were against her very life. “I mean it.”

“No doubt you do.”

He studied her a second longer, then abruptly released her. She turned away from him, moving with the stiff, awkward gait of one entirely unused to spending days in the saddle. She sat a few feet away from the rest of the men, her back to both Cole and the train. He frowned. Devon Blake was not one to be submissive. She had to be planning something.

After a few minutes of watching her, however, he changed his mind, vaguely surprised that she was finally heeding his threats. Devon sat silently by herself, plucking absently at the thick grass surrounding her. When she became bored with that, she dragged her fingers through her hair and began arranging it in a loose braid. Cole surveyed the rest of the scene. The horses were slackly tethered and remained saddled, ready to go. His men were alert, their guns cocked and ready as they watched the Rebs.

Everything seemed all right, but it didn’t feel that way. Cole glanced back at Devon. Apparently she’d finished her meager attempts at grooming, for now she was curled up in the grass, as though ready for a nap. He let her be, keeping a watchful eye on both her and the Rebs as they repaired the damage to the tracks.

It wasn’t until the shrill whistle blew, signaling completion of the work, that he was able to relax. The enemy soldiers boarded; steam poured from the stacks as the engines were stoked with coal and fired up. The train began to slowly rumble forward. His captive stood and stretched, looking sleepy-eyed and thoroughly mussed from her nap. Cole turned from her to address his men.

That was all the time Devon needed. Before he could guess what she was about, his captive flew past him and toward the horses, leaping into the saddle with an ease that left him temporarily stunned. He grabbed for the reins, but Devon was there first, jerking them free as she drove her heels into the animal’s flanks and spurred her mount forward. She burst through the thick underbrush, racing at breakneck speed after the train.

Cole let loose a furious oath as he grabbed his horse, leaped into the saddle, and tore out after her. Devon had about a twenty-yard head start and was making the most of it. She moved at a reckless gallop, leaning over her mount’s neck, pushing the animal even faster. The wind whipped through her hair, sending it billowing down her back like a dark cloud.

Cole grit his teeth. The woman could ride. Dammit to hell, she’d been able to ride all along.

Even so, he was better‌—‌not by much, he admitted grimly, but enough. He was able to close the gap between them, thundering up behind her as she rode level beside a freight car. It was a moot point now in any case. The train was moving at full speed, the steel wheels grinding against the rails, chewing up and spitting out anything that fell between them. Any attempt to jump aboard now would be pure suicide. He knew it, and surely she did too. Cole strained forward to pull her away from the speeding train.

He realized his mistake too late. He couldn’t reach her, nor could he stop her. Instead he’d moved in just close enough to panic her. Had he backed off, left a little more space between them, she would have seen the danger and moved away from the train on her own accord. But he’d left her no choice.

She stood in her stirrups and reached for the boxcar. Cole’s heart slammed against his chest. “No!” he roared.

He was too late.

Devon jumped.

Cole watched in horror as Devon threw herself out of her saddle, her small body poised in midair above the grinding steel wheels for what seemed an eternity before she slammed against the heavy freight door. She grabbed for the iron beam that bolted the door, but was unable to grasp it securely. Her right hand slipped away, leaving only her left holding the beam, and her body dangling precariously above the churning tracks.

Cole didn’t hesitate. He leapt from his saddle, hurling himself toward the speeding train. He crashed against the boxcar and grabbed hold of a thin metal ladder that was bolted to the side. Finding the deep grooves that ran the length of the car, he dug his boots in, gaining a foothold as he stretched his body forward and reached for Devon. The wind whipped over him, roaring in his ears as he shouted her name.

She couldn’t hear him, or couldn’t turn if she did. He watched as she strained upward, trying to get a grip on the thick metal beam. It didn’t work. Her right hand slipped away once again, and this time her left slipped with it. She gave a cry of stark terror as her body plummeted.

Cole lunged for her, catching her as she fell. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him as Devon threw her arms around his neck. Their bodies locked together, hugging the freight door as the ground sped away beneath them. Their moment’s relief at having narrowly escaped with their lives dissolved instantly as the thin ladder to which Cole clung suddenly bent under their weight, jarring them both.

“Reach for the door,” he shouted in her ear. His own hands were occupied holding both her and the ladder, and he wasn’t about to let go of either one.

She shook her head in mindless terror, her small hands digging into his shoulders. “No, I can’t!” she cried.

“It’s all right, I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall.”

“No!”

The ladder cracked again. A bolt sprang free from above their heads, releasing the upper portion of the ladder and sending them hovering out over the tracks before they crashed back against the boxcar.

“Dammit, Blake, do it! Open that door!”

This time Devon obeyed. She stretched away from Cole, her hands shaking as she reached for the heavy metal bar. Cole held his breath. If the door was locked…

It wasn’t. Devon reached it and pulled back, slowly sliding it open. Cole felt another bolt give way, and didn’t wait for her to finish. They had one chance, and one chance only. He hung on to the ladder as he used his feet to shove away from the boxcar, propelling them in a wide arc over the churning tracks, then back toward the train. As they hurled toward the boxcar, Cole released the ladder, praying the momentum of the wide, swinging arc would send them through the open door, rather than crashing against the side of the car.

They weren’t going to make it. Cole realized that in a split second of awareness as they soared back toward the train. The opening wasn’t wide enough, he hadn’t pushed hard enough. Just as he braced himself for the inevitable, the train lunged uphill, and gravity completed what Devon had begun. The freight door slid wide open as they flew past and into the dark interior of the car.

They skidded across the hard wooden planks, their fall finally checked as their bodies slammed into a stack of rough crates. Cole shoved Devon beneath him as he braced his body for the impact. The crates teetered, then came crashing down on top of them, splitting open as they bounced off his back and tumbled across the floor. He felt Devon tense beneath him but didn’t move, not until he was sure the worst was over.

When the last crate had fallen, and the only thing filling the silence was the steady hum of the train’s steel wheels whirling beneath them, Cole groaned and rolled over. His back hurt like hell, which he supposed was a good sign. He was still alive.

Devon moved out from under him and slowly sat up, her face deathly pale, her eyes wide and glazed as she stared at the interior of the car, then at Cole. “We made it,” she whispered hoarsely, her tone one of awed incredulity.

“Barely.” He grunted and stared up at the ceiling, not yet ready to move.

She leaned over him, her brows knit with concern as she placed a delicate hand on his chest. “Are you hurt?”

Cole stared up into her soft green eyes and fought back the urge to shake her senseless. “Of all the stupid, reckless—” he began as Devon scrambled to her feet, glancing anxiously around for a way out.

Cole shot up, ignoring the pain in his back as he placed himself between her and the open door. “Don’t even think about it,” he snapped.

“Don’t be absurd,” she said. “I’m not about to leap from a speeding train.”

“What the hell do you think you just did?!” he roared. “You damned near got us both killed.”

Devon’s mouth turned down in disapproval as her small, stubborn chin came up. “If you hadn’t been chasing me—”

“You would have been crushed beneath the train’s wheels,” he finished for her.

She stared at him in horrified disbelief. “Do you actually expect me to be grateful?”

“For saving your life, you’re damned right I do.”

“Oh, please,” she answered contemptuously. “You didn’t save me, you rescued your precious duty and honor. How embarrassing it would have been for you if your prisoner had been killed while trying to escape.” She paced back and forth, working herself into a fury that matched his own. “That would have spoiled all the fun, wouldn’t it? How inconsiderate of me to risk dying now, rather than waiting to rot away in prison. Forgive me for forgetting how important that is to you.”

“Blake—”

“No one’s ever going to lock me up again. Do you understand me? Never again.”

Cole stared at her. So she’d been in prison before. While that certainly didn’t surprise him, neither did he relish the thought of her in a dark, dank cell. Nor could he completely harden his heart against the fear and panic he read in those expressive eyes of hers as she stared up at him, struggling in vain to maintain her brave facade. Irritated by the turn the conversation had taken, he found that his next word came out sharper than he’d intended. “Move.”

Devon made a face at his rudeness, but moved nonetheless. He turned his attention from her to the crates that filled the boxcar. Given that no soldiers had been posted to guard them, Cole doubted he’d find much of value. He broke them open and began pillaging anyway, confirming his suspicions. The items the crates contained, though luxurious, were worthless to a nation at war. Lace corsets, bottles of scent, boxes of hand-rolled cigars. Obviously the shipment was intended for the black market.

Cole shook his head in disgust, sickened by the greed. While men died on the battlefield for want of rifles and ammunition, blockade runners still put profit ahead of their supposedly glorious cause of liberating the South. Well, that was Jeff Davis’s problem, not his.

“What are these?” Devon asked, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced behind him to see that she’d begun digging through the crates as well. Spread out before her was a group of lithographs depicting a big man with dark hair and muttonchop whiskers in a variety of ridiculous poses. In one he was shown in full battle gear, sitting astride a pig, in another he was dressed in a frilly smock, clutching a bouquet of daisies.

“Butler. General Benjamin Butler,” Cole answered. Then, seeing her frown, he clarified in profound understatement, “Union general. Not very popular in the South.”

Devon nodded and stacked the prints back inside the crates. “These seem like silly things to be transporting,” she said. “I would have thought the crates should be full of food and clothing.”

Cole’s eyes darkened. That was exactly the sort of thing he needed to hear to put this all back in perspective. Thus far, Jonas Sharpe was one of the few blockade runners who, in addition to ruthlessly attacking Federal ships, was also dedicated to supplying the South with badly needed munitions. That was just one of the reasons the man had to be stopped. And the instincts he’d relied upon all his life told him that Devon Blake was the key to stopping him. “Fortunately for the North,” he answered curtly “most blockade runners are not as dedicated as your good friend, Sharpe.”

Her hands paused in mid-air, then she shrugged and continued packing away the crates. “As I’ve already told you, he’s no friend of mine.”

Cole refused to be drawn back into the same tired argument. Instead he flipped over a crate and sat down, calmly studying her. “You should have just yelled when you had the chance, rather than try something so stupid as leaping onto a speeding train,” he said at last. “You nearly cost us both our lives.”

She turned toward him at that, her brows arched in cool, mocking challenge. “As I recall,” she said, “you threatened to kill me if I did.”

Cole frowned, wondering if she believed he was actually capable of doing such a thing, then wondering why it bothered him that she obviously did believe it. “Is that why you didn’t scream?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then why?”

Her lips curled into a small smile. “Are you offering me suggestions for how to escape, McRae?” He waited, refusing to rise to the bait. Devon shrugged and settled herself atop one of the wooden crates. “I thought about it, of course,” she said, finally addressing his question, “but I figured there must be at least two hundred men on this train. Compared to your six, that hardly seemed a fair fight.”

She hadn’t screamed because she didn’t want him or his men hurt? It took Cole no more than two seconds to dismiss that as the lie it surely was. “Do you actually expect me to believe that?”