Separate Roads (40 page)

“You will change all that for me,” Damon went on in a low, intense voice. “Father adores you. But I adore you, too, Jordana. All will change once you become my wife.”

“But, Damon, surely you want a wife who loves you,” Jordana said gently. “You deserve that, and I am certain you would have no trouble finding one. You are handsome and . . . well, sweet.” It was hard to make that last part sound convincing, but she hoped his own vaulted self-image would buy it.

“It is you I want.”

“But—”

“I’ll have you, Jordana. Arguing will not help. And I am sure once we have been together, you will find me to be a good mate. You really have no choice at any rate. I’ll have you tonight, or you will not see the dawn. Do you understand? I don’t like forcing you, and I truly wouldn’t, except I know once I do, you will find me a desirable lover.”

“You couldn’t, Damon. You are not capable—”

“Of murder?” He laughed, a sharp, evil bark. “I have already committed murder.”

“D-did you kill Homer Stanley?”

“Not with my own hands. I paid a gang of thugs to do it and make it look like an Indian attack. But there was another man a few years back. He stood in my way also. I strangled him with my own hands.” The fact that he seemed to be bragging sent a chill down Jordana’s spine. “No one ever suspected me. It too was made to look like Indians had done it.”

Jordana knew then that reasoning with this deranged man would be futile. Her only hope seemed to be to give the impression of yielding to his demands. Maybe then he would untie her hands, and she could fight him. Of course the chances of surviving such an unequally matched battle were minuscule, yet what other choice did she have? Besides, she’d sooner die than do what he appeared to have in mind.

“What will we do about my brother?” she asked, trying to buy time and also make it appear that she wasn’t changing her tune too quickly. “He may not give his consent.”

“Oh, he will once I have spent the night with you and tarnished your reputation.” He smiled. “But he will see how much I love you and how I can offer a secure future for you.”

She thought about mentioning her parents, but that seemed too argumentative. Instead she said sweetly, “You know, Damon, it is hard for a girl to think clearly about such things when her hands are tied. I know you must mean well, but it is difficult to believe it trussed up like this. It is not exactly the way I have dreamed of receiving a marriage proposal.”

“What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed, and Jordana feared she had changed her tack too quickly.

She held up her hands. “Won’t you untie me so that I can accept your proposal properly?”

“You will accept?”

“As you said, I have little choice. But I do see that you mean well—” She thought she should seek a stage career after this performance! “You have always been kind and genteel with me. In fact, my refusals have had less to do with you than with my own desire for independence.”

“I will never try to dominate you, Jordana, my love!” It seemed an incongruous statement, considering her present position, but she bit back a snide rebuttal.

“That’s all I want to know,” she murmured.

“It is true, then?”

“Need I say more?”

He rose now and came toward her, lifting the flap of his jacket and removing a knife from a sheath on his belt. Jordana noted that he was also wearing a pistol. Her heart sank as she realized anew how unlikely escape was.

He dropped to his knees and lifted the knife to her hands. “Jordana, I love you so. . . .”

The tenderness of his words cut through her as surely as his knife would do if she tried to escape. How wonderful it would be to have a man feel thus toward her to whom she could also return the sentiment. If she could ever find such a man, it would almost be worth considering sacrificing her independence for him. Unfortunately, Damon was not that man. Still, despite what he had done to her, and was planning to do to her, it pained her to so deceive him. He truly did love her. He was to be pitied. Instead, she might be forced to kill him to save her own life—not that she had a prayer of doing so.

Nonetheless, she sent a quick but fervent plea to God.

Then Damon’s knife sliced through the ropes binding her wrists, and her hands fell free. It took all her restraint not to run away from him that instant. But if she had any hope at all of escape, she would have to use cunning. He sheathed the knife, then wrapped his arms around her, caressing her hair and face with kisses. All the while, Jordana was thinking about how she could lift the knife or even the gun from his belt.

“I want you so badly!” he mumbled into her hair.

With trembling fingers, she reached up and tugged at his jacket.

“You do want me also, don’t you?” he breathed as he slipped the jacket off the rest of the way. He loosened his tie and collar.

She pressed close to him. “Ouch!” she said, then giggled. “You best remove that gun before someone is hurt.”

She could tell he was too besotted with her now to think clearly. He fumbled with the buckle of the holster, undid it, then tossed it aside, along with the knife. He pressed toward her with more ardor. She pretended to move into a more comfortable position. He could not see her hand slither down to the floor toward the holster. She stretched her fingers, but they were an inch shy of her target. She wiggled again.

“What is wrong, my love?” he said, an unsettling edge to his voice.

“I . . . I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what to do.”

“Follow my lead.”

He pressed her back, but she managed to twist her shoulder far enough around so that she could now reach the gun. Her fingers wrapped around the butt, and she slipped it from the holster.

“What—?” he murmured.

Then he saw what she had been up to. He responded so quickly, striking the gun from her hand, that she realized just how strong and agile he was. The gun tumbled to the floor. For one brief moment he was distracted as he twisted to gather up the pistol. Jordana knew she’d have no other chance.

She swung away from him and jumped up. But her moment of freedom was short-lived as his hand raised, now wielding the gun.

“Stop!” he cried.

She dove for the door. She only made it halfway, as far as the table, before the weapon exploded. The shot missed, and she wasn’t certain if he had intended to miss or not. But surely his next shot would find its target. Desperate, she looked around for some weapon of her own, anything! The light of the lamp caught her eye. As he raised his hand to fire again, Jordana grasped the lantern handle and flung the lamp at her adversary. It grazed his head before crashing to the floor.

Damon’s second shot went wild. Jordana sprang toward the door. Thankful the bolt did not require a key, she turned it, then grasped the latch. As she flung open the door she saw, out of the corner of her eye, flames licking along the floor and up a wall. Then, to her horror, she saw Damon raise his arm again, but this time it didn’t hold a weapon. It was, instead, encased in flame. Licks of flame were also spreading along the floor, engulfing Damon’s weapons. She didn’t waste another minute with these observations.

She bolted out the door and started running.

36

Jordana was nowhere to be found. Search parties had combed the streets of Sacramento for two hours without success. Brenton had resorted to knocking on doors to see if any residents had seen or heard anything. He was growing more and more disillusioned. If she had not been found by now . . . well, it simply did not bode well. However, he did hold some hope that if her . . . body had not been found, then it was a good sign.

At least he told himself this as he was turned away by yet another resident who knew nothing about his sister.

Suddenly a sharp blast cut through the still night air. It almost sounded like a gunshot. He wondered if one of the other searchers was trying to signal the others. But they had not prearranged any such signals. Brenton now thought that would have been a good idea. Yet firing shots in a busy city, even at night, was also risky.

Then another shot echoed.

It couldn’t have been more than a couple of blocks away. Brenton turned in that direction. It was probably nothing, but it warranted an investigation. He was turning a corner when a figure hurtled toward him. He had only a moment before it slammed into him to note that it was a female.

Then
thud!
He was nearly knocked off his feet with the force of the collision. He stumbled back several steps, and only the brick wall of a building kept him on his feet.

“Oh, goodness!” the woman panted. “I’m so—Brenton! Thank God.”

“Jordana!”

Brenton threw his arms around his sister, and she did the same around him, only her arms were shaking and she was gasping in great gulps of air.

“I’m . . . so . . . happy . . . to . . . see . . . you!” she sputtered between gulps.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you. What happened?”

But before she could answer, he saw another person racing down the walkway toward them.

“You little vixen!” yelled this person. “You won’t get away from me!”

“No, please!” Jordana cried.

Brenton had no idea what exactly was going on, but he knew immediately this man meant to harm his sister. In one swift motion, Brenton shoved Jordana behind him as he stepped into the man’s path.

“You can’t keep her from me!” shouted the man, and Brenton recognized the voice first, then the face.

“Chittenden! What on earth—?”

Damon skidded to a stop two feet from Brenton. He was panting, and oddly enough, an acrid smell of smoke and charred cloth rose from his body. One of his shirt sleeves was quite damaged.

“Don’t get in my way, Baldwin!” Damon warned.

“What do you want with my sister?”

“He kidnapped me!” Jordana answered.

But Damon had apparently had enough of talk. He dove toward Brenton, who, unable to avoid the attack because of his close proximity to Jordana, took it full force, and was slammed up against the wall. Evidently Jordana had stepped out of harm’s way.

“Get help!” Brenton gasped to her.

Damon was about to forget Brenton in light of this new threat, but of course Brenton could not let that happen. He had to give Jordana time to get away. With Damon momentarily distracted, Brenton took his advantage and aimed a solid blow at the man’s jaw. Damon staggered back, and Brenton followed this advantage with another blow to his ribs. As Damon doubled over, Brenton noted that Jordana had hurried away. Other members of the search party were nearby, and she was sure to run into them soon.

However, he momentarily lost his focus and did not see Damon recover from Brenton’s blows. He charged at Brenton, hitting him with enough force to shake Brenton’s teeth, and also knocking off his glasses. Brenton lunged for the spectacles as they fell, but he missed, and they hit the ground. The next sound he heard was a scrape as Damon’s boot kicked the spectacles far out of reach. Did Damon know how worthless Brenton’s sight was without the spectacles?

In the next instant Damon’s calculated removal of the spectacles was all too clear. A blow smashed into Brenton’s nose before he saw it coming. Blood spurted down his face, and he felt as if his head had been detached from his body. Black spots, the only clear things his blurry vision could discern, appeared before his eyes. But he must not pass out. He had to keep Damon occupied until help arrived.

Swallowing back nausea, he took another swing. Damon made the mistake of grabbing Brenton’s fist to deflect the blow. Despite his impaired vision, this physical contact aided him in finding his target. He struck with his free fist and clipped Damon on the chin. But the young banker shook this off easily and sent a fist hard into Brenton’s stomach. Apparently any injury Damon may have suffered to his arm from the fire was negligible, considering the strength of the blow, which knocked the wind out of Brenton.

This would certainly have finished the battle, but at that moment, the sound of several pounding boots reached Brenton’s ringing ears. He prayed it wasn’t his imagination. He was doubled over and half blind, so he could not be certain that help had arrived until he heard Jordana’s voice.