Susan Amarillas (15 page)

He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her, to tell her that he would bring her son home. She could trust him. She could believe in him. Sadly, he knew now that he’d destroyed her trust once before. But times had changed, and so had he. He was going to regain her trust, and then her love.

First, he was going to get that boy back.

Ruth was hot on Rebecca’s heels. “Now be careful. Don’t take any chances.” She shook her finger in admonition.

“I won’t.” Rebecca pulled on her black kid gloves.

Ruth was still talking as they joined Luke near the door.

He picked up the shotgun he had propped beside the mirrored hall tree.

“Get Andrew and get the blazes out of there.”

“I will,” Rebecca said.

She raked Luke with an appraising stare that focused mostly on the arsenal he had with him. “Is that necessary?”

“Yes, and
this
isn’t up for discussion.”

She shook her head and gave Ruth a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Rebecca,” Ruth said as they started out the door, “bring our boy back. I—” She broke off and swiped briskly at the tears in her eyes. “When you see him, tell him I love him.”

They hugged again. Then, abruptly, Rebecca pulled back. “I know, Ruth. I’ll tell him. No one is going to take your grandson away from you.” She turned and went out the front door.

Luke followed and motioned toward the waiting horses. “More manageable, less conspicuous,” he said at her questioning glance.

“All right.”

He gave her a leg up.

“Sidesaddles.” He said it like a curse, then swung up onto his horse. The gelding pawed and pranced sideways, seeming to sense the tensions of his rider.

The night was oddly still and empty. No traffic, no pedestrians. A quiet residential neighborhood.

On the Barbary Coast, however, it was the shank of the evening, and things were just heating up, so to speak.

Rebecca stared in obvious amazement at the gaudy buildings that lined both sides of Pacific Street. Men gathered on street corners to drink openly, leer, and make comments that were lewd enough to make her blush.

Half-naked women leaned out of second-story windows, yoo-hooing to Luke and any other man who’d give them notice. In the bay beyond, two dozen ships, sails rolled and tied, bobbed in the harbor, while moonlight glistened on the moving water, making it look silver-bright.

The distinct smell of salt water and cheap whiskey irritated her nostrils. Somewhere close, there was an alley where she’d hand over money and ride home with her son.

She tried to focus on the street ahead, though she watched Luke out of the corner of her eye. He looked dark and powerful and more like an outlaw than a marshal. She saw a muscle flex in his jaw and knew he was tense, nervous about this exchange.

But she was confident. Yes, she understood there was the potential for danger. After all, those involved were ruthless enough to take her child. Still, they had asked for money, which she’d brought. They wanted the money, and she wanted her child.

It’ll be fine.
She said the words over and over in her mind, like a litany. Needing to hold on to the thought and the promise.

“We’re almost there,” Luke’s voice startled her, and she jumped, instinctively tightening her grip on the reins. The horse sidestepped in response, and she steadied the mare with a pat.

A drunk staggered into their path and, frightened, she reined in sharply. The cowboy wandered away, seemingly not even realizing they were there.

It was with a shaky smile of relief that she cut a glance in Luke’s direction. But he wasn’t looking at her. His expression was cold, harder than granite, and his hand rested conspicuously on his gun.

Just as quickly, she saw him relax, saw his hand move down to rest lightly on his wool-clad thigh.

“Here.” He gestured with his head, never looking at her.

Luke nudged his horse in front of her, and both horses stopped at the gnarled hitching rail in front of the So Different gambling hall. Men milled around on the boardwalk, and the sound of distinctly feminine laughter carried outside over the sound of a reed organ.

Tying his horse, he came around to help Rebecca. His hands closed around her waist, and he felt the stiff bone stays of her corset beneath her blouse. As he lifted her down, her hands naturally rested on the tops of his shoulders, and he could feel the tightening of her fingers for that instant she was suspended in the air.

Instinctively their gazes sought each other. Black eyes locked with royal blue as she slid down the front of him. It was a simple motion, not uncommon, yet for them it was highly provocative, and each of them tensed with sudden awareness.

Lost in the sensation, the closeness, Luke hesitated, his hands tightening perceptibly at the longing that surged through him.

As though she sensed his awareness, her lips parted, the words she’d meant to say unspoken as she lost herself in the depths of his bottomless black eyes. Her breath came in shallow gulps, and she thought she saw his head dip when—

“Hey, lady!”

That quickly, the spell was broken, and Luke released her, stepping back. Rebecca fussed with straightening her blouse.

“Hey, lady!” a young sailor carefully enunciated from his place near the batwing saloon doors. His face mottled red, his blond hair sticking out in haphazard directions, he staggered toward them, catching himself on the porch post with an elbow. “You wanna dwink?” He waved a half-full bottle of Kendall’s whiskey in her direction.

Luke was making a show of tying up the horses. Not because they needed to be tied, but because he was trying to get his breathing back to something close to normal. So he only spared the man a quick appraisal. “Drunk and working on being disorderly,” he told Rebecca, then told the sailor, “No, she doesn’t.”

Rebecca didn’t feel quite as confident as Luke about dealing with an inebriated man and, though he did seem frightfully young and was unarmed, she edged a little closer to Luke.

Luke wasn’t worried about the sailor as much as what was waiting for them in that alley about twenty feet away. “He’s just feeling his oats.”

Luke took the money from the saddlebags, where he’d put it earlier. It was hard to believe that ten thousand dollars could make such a small package. Men worked their whole lives for this much money, and here it was all tied up in a nice little parcel.

“Let’s go. The alley is over here.” He remembered the locale from his trip earlier today, and was glad now that he’d done a little scouting around, even if it had cost him yet another argument with Becky.

Giving the sailor a wide berth, he escorted Rebecca onto the walkway. But the sailor was evidently determined not to take no for an answer. He cut across their path, waving the bottle under Rebecca’s nose this time.

“Come on, ‘oney,” he slurred, taking a long swallow of the caramel-colored liquid, a small trickle dribbling down his chin. He grinned, then wiped the top of the bottle on his blue woolen sleeve with an unsteady flourish.

“‘ave a taste.” He shoved the bottle in her direction, his hand slamming into her breast.

“No!” she screamed, more disgusted than fearful.

Faster than she could blink, Luke grabbed two fistfuls of the man’s shirt and, in one motion, slammed him up against the wall. The bottle crashed to the ground, the glass breaking with a sharp clink and the remaining liquid running between the cracks in the walkway.

That was when she realized Luke’s gun was jammed tight under the sailor’s chin. Good Lord, she hadn’t even seen him draw. The look on his face was hangman-cold, and sent an icy shiver up her spine.

“‘ey,” the sailor mumbled, trying to move and seeming confused about why he couldn’t.

When the man touched Becky, rage had exploded red-hot in Luke’s brain, and he took it out on this unwary victim.

“The lady is with me.” Luke shook the man, whose reddened eyes widened in surprise. “Don’t touch her. No one touches her.”

The sailor’s head bobbed up and down like a rag doll’s.

“Luke,” Rebecca begged, pulling uselessly on his arm, “don’t hurt him. He didn’t mean anything. He just scared me.”

Luke’s eyes were sharp with fury. “Don’t you think I know he scared you?” He shook the man again. “Did he hurt you?” He slammed the squirming sailor against the wall with a head-banging thud that made him groan.

A crowd had gathered. Miners, cowboys, saloon girls, all staring at her, at them. Embarrassment replaced fear in Rebecca.

Someone offered three-to-one odds on the “cowboy”—Luke, she supposed. Oh, God, this was awful.

“Luke.” She tugged on his elbow, harder this time. “I’m fine.”

Brows knitted in anger, he glared at the sailor, then back to her again. He studied her through narrowed eyes, seemingly unaware of the crowd. Then, without a word and in one motion, he released the sailor, turned, took her by the arm and escorted her away, as though he hadn’t nearly killed the man.

A chill ran down her spine as she stepped out to keep pace with him. Her boot heels scraped on the uneven boardwalk.

“Luke, you almost killed him.”

“If he hurt you—if anyone hurt you—I
would
kill them.” This close she could see that his breathing was rapid and his eyes were hard as obsidian, and she knew, without a doubt, that he meant every word he said.

Luke Scanlin was a man capable of great tenderness, and now she knew he was a man capable of equally great rage. A man capable of making his own law. Scanlin’s law.

That frightened her more than anything, for what would he do if he knew the whole truth?

Taking a step, freeing herself from his grasp, she forced herself to be calm, as calm as possible when everything and everyone she cared about was at stake.

When he halted, she said, “Is this the alley?”

“Yes.” He eyed her sternly. “I wish you’d change your mind and let me do this. It’s not too late to—”

She shook her head. “I’m going.”

He thumbed back his hat. “Okay.” Luke glanced around. Satisfied that no one was paying them any mind, he said, “I want you to do everything I say.” He pulled her out of the way of a group of cowboys who were strolling by.

“Agreed,” she said firmly, determined to get on with this, determined not to let the terror that was fast pushing her heart rate to something equal to a stampede, get the best of her.

“Stay close and stay behind me. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“If there’s any trouble—” he bent to look her straight in the eye “—any trouble,” he repeated, as though to force the words into her mind, “then I want you to run like hell. Don’t worry about me. Don’t worry about Andrew. Just run. Do you understand me?”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” She shook her head in denial. “I’ve done as they demanded. They’ll be satisfied to take the money and leave, won’t they?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced toward the alley, which resembled the opening of some monster’s mouth in a yawn. “I’m going to do my best to get him back, but you’ve got to know that anyone who would take a child isn’t...well... It’s not like we’re dealing with honorable men here.”

Her stomach drew in tight. She didn’t like the direction of his thoughts. “But they said—”

He cut in, obviously annoyed. “I know what they said. I’m telling you to let me handle this. Do everything I say, when I say—and not before—and maybe we’ll all get out of this alive.”

“This has to work.” Rebecca’s voice cracked. “I have to get Andrew back. He’s so small, and he’ll be so afraid without me.”

This time Luke didn’t hesitate to pull her into his comforting embrace, and he was pleased when she let him. He felt her body tremble, and he rubbed his hand up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. Then, putting her away from him slightly, he gave her a little smile. “It’ll probably go fine. I tend to worry too much,” he lied, smoothly trying to calm her, and praying that she’d remember his instructions.

She looked so forlorn, so vulnerable, that he couldn’t help brushing her cheek with his knuckles. He lightly kissed her forehead, some small part of him thinking it might be for the last time. “You ready?”

She nodded and said a silent prayer.
Please, God, help us save Andrew.

“Remember what I said.” It was an order, gently given.

They stepped off the walk and turned into the alley.

R
ebecca squinted, trying to make her eyes focus in the sudden darkness. Shapes and shadows mingled and merged, making all indiscernible. The only light was the moon, partially obscured by the rooftops.

Anxiety sent her heart pounding in her chest, so loud she was certain Luke could hear it. Her breath came in shallow gulps.

Andrew was out there somewhere. Desperately she scanned the long, narrow confines of the alley, searching for the familiar silhouette of a small boy—her boy. Wishing, hoping, that she’d see him, hold him in her arms again as she silently pledged to ask his forgiveness for somehow failing to keep him safe, and promised that she’d never ever let go of him again.

But she didn’t see Andrew, or anyone else, and dread coiled inside, snaking up her spine. Instinctively her hand sought Luke’s, touching his back, feeling the smooth cotton of his shirt. He seemed to know what she needed, and he reached back without a word, his work-roughened fingers closing around hers in a blessedly reassuring gesture.

Behind his back, Luke transferred her hand to his other one, freeing his gun hand. He was prepared for trouble.

He moved ahead slowly, each step carefully measured, testing the trash-littered ground before putting his weight fully on his foot.

They
were out there somewhere. Waiting. He could feel it, prickling over his skin like electricity before a storm. One sound, one misplaced step, could reveal his position—and Rebecca’s.

No matter what happened, he’d protect her—with his life, if necessary. Muscles tensed along the tops of his shoulders and down his back. His eyes strained to peer into the shifting shadows created by the buildings and the debris stacked along the raw wood walls. He listened for every sound. Eight years of survival had taught him well. He hoped like hell it was enough.

The alley was still. This guy, whoever he was, had known exactly which one to choose. The muffled sound of a piano carried through the plank walls of the Boar’s Head.

Rebecca stumbled slightly, and he tightened his grip on her hand. She responded in kind, as a way of letting him know that she was all right. He felt her close, felt the heels of his boots brush against the hem of her skirt. That was fine. The closer the better. Less chance of someone singling her out.

One step. Then another. Then another. He walked Indian-soft on the hard-packed earth, feeling it slippery beneath his feet, though from what he didn’t want to know. The smell was stale whiskey and rotting garbage and the acrid scent of an outhouse.

Just the kind of place vermin like this would choose. He stayed shoulder-rubbing close to the wall, inching along. His free hand slid on the raw wood. Splinters caught and plowed into his finger tips.

He ignored them. Every fiber of his being was focused on the job, the task at hand. His heart pounded erratically in his chest. It was a new sensation for him. Lord knew this wasn’t the first time he’d walked into some trap or ambush. Somewhere along the way he’d made peace with the inevitable realization that one of these times he wouldn’t make it out. What did it matter?

But this time it mattered a great deal, because
this
time he wasn’t alone.

Without turning, he laced his fingers through Rebecca’s.

Rebecca was glad for the tightening of Luke’s hand on hers. She was glad he was here. No matter what had happened before, she was very glad he was here now. For reasons she didn’t fully understand, she trusted him to get Andrew back, to get them both safely out of here and home.

Something small and fast brushed across Rebecca’s feet. “Oh!”

“Rats,” Luke whispered through clenched teeth.

She gulped down a sudden rise of bile and steeled herself to continue.

Another small, cautious step, and then another. It was like walking on eggshells, she felt the need to be so quiet, so cautious.

Where was Andrew? Why didn’t they show themselves? They hadn’t changed their minds, had they? No!

“Luke, I—”

“Shh...”

Luke stopped abruptly, making her come up short. Her hand slammed into his back, and she felt the muscles wire-tight there. He nudged her behind him, trapping her against the rough wood surface of the saloon wall.

“What?” she whispered, pushing lightly on the hard plane of his back. Heart racing furiously, she peered around his shoulder into the blue-black darkness.

Luke didn’t answer.

“Is it Andrew?” she said softly, remembering his admonition to be careful and do as he said.

He didn’t answer her, didn’t even glance her way. She could see that he was staring hard into the blackness near a stack of wooden crates. Packing straw spilled over the top and onto the dirt.

When Luke finally spoke, his voice was so hard, so cold, it didn’t seem to come from him at all.

“You gonna stand in those shadows all night, or are you coming out?”

Her heart pounding like a runaway locomotive, she lifted herself on tiptoe and tried to peer around him again. This time he purposely inched in front of her, blocking her view. She sank back, annoyed. “Let me see.”

He didn’t.

For a full ten seconds, nothing moved. Just when she was about to ask him who he was talking to, a scratchy male voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere said, “Hey, mister, you got the money?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” Luke sounded as though he were negotiating a deal for a two-dollar saddle instead of paying a ransom.

How could he be so calm? Rebecca wondered briefly. This time she did inch free of him. “It’s Andrew, isn’t it? Can you see him? Move so I can see him!” She pushed at Luke. She might as well have been pushing on a slab of granite, for all the good it did her.

About that time, Luke pulled his hand free of hers. She felt his elbow brush against her ribs as his hand moved closer to the gun tied to his thigh.

Her earlier joy was instantly replaced by alarm. “Please, Luke, tell me—is it Andrew?” she begged him, desperate to see her son.

Fear tied a knot in her stomach as large as a hangman’s noose. “Luke, give him the money.” She shoved the small cloth bag into his hand.

He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he’d felt the bag in his hand.

That was when she heard the scratchy voice again. The man was still unseen, at least by her. “Who you got with you, mister?”

“Where’s the boy?” Luke said flatly, ignoring the question.

“Like I said. Money first.”

A shadow moved in the darkness and slowly emerged enough that Luke could make out the distinct outline of a man. One man.

His first thought was for Becky and her safety, and, for a second, he cursed himself for allowing himself to be bullied into bringing her. But there was no time for self-recriminations now.

He shifted, bracing his feet, making certain that Becky was behind him and hoping she remembered his instructions to run if things went wrong.

“Gimme the money,” the man said harshly.

“Boy first,” Luke replied. Son of a bitch, there was no kid, and the odds were the boy was already dead, he thought with heart-sinking sadness. But if there was even one chance in a million, he’d play out the hand.

“You do what I’m tellin’ you or we’ll kill that kid,” the man threatened. “Now gimme the goddamn money.”

The odds had just gotten a little better. Maybe they really did have the boy as insurance and were planning to do away with him later. “How do I know you’ve got the boy? How do I know you’re the ones?”

He felt Rebecca’s fingers curl and dig into the muscles of his upper arm, and knew what she was thinking. It was the same thing he was thinking. This would tell it all.

“Little kid, about eight, black hair, black eyes, wearing brown pants and a white shirt.”

“Yes,” Rebecca said, softly enough that only Luke heard. He also heard the terror in her voice.

“So where is he?” Luke pressed, convinced now that the boy was alive. And there was no way he was turning over the money without the boy.

“The kid’s safe. That’s all you have to know.”

“When do we get to see him?”

“After we get the money, dammit.”

Luke felt Rebecca’s hand on his back. “Luke, give him the money.” She slid out from behind him before he realized what she was doing.

“Here,” she announced, waving the parcel in front of her. “Here’s the money.”

“Becky!” Luke grabbed her arm and jerked her hard against the wall. The packet fell to the ground at his feet. “Stay put,” he growled, in a fierce voice that made her hesitate long enough for him to say, “Okay, mister. You want the money, here it is.” With the toe of his boot, he nudged it forward into a small spot of yellow moonlight.

“Luke,” Rebecca said, and squirmed behind him, making it difficult for him to concentrate. “Where’s Andrew?” She squirmed again. “Did he take the money? Where’s Andrew?”

Luke spared her a glance. “Wait,” he growled quietly.

“But—”

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw the man inch forward, like a rat going for the bait. Come on, he silently coaxed. Come on. If he could get this guy, then he could make him talk.

The man, clad in dark clothes, crept into the light. Recognition hit Luke about five seconds before the man looked up.

“You,” the man snarled, staring at Luke with ferret eyes.

“Small world,” Luke answered. “You still beating up women?” Dread was moving fast through him, tensing his muscles, turning his blood to ice. This was the same man he’d had the run-in with at the saloon. He should have known any man who’d beat a woman wouldn’t be above stealing a child. Trouble was, this kind wouldn’t mind killing one, either.

“Mister, you know a man could get hisself killed, poking around where he ain’t got no concern.”

“Now, you know, I agree, except I do have a concern here. I want that boy. It’s that simple. Turn him over and you can have the money...all ten thousand—”

The man’s head came up with a start at the mention of the amount. It was almost as though he hadn’t known how much was there, which was odd, unless...unless someone else had sent the note. A boss perhaps?

The man inched farther into the light and, bending, reached for the money.

“Don’t,” Luke said, and edged his hand closer to his gun. The unmistakable click of a gun’s hammer being pulled back stopped him cold. Another man, one Luke also recognized from before, stepped out of the shadows. Damn. He should have known.

The first man picked up the money and regarded Luke smugly. “I sure do appreciate you comin’ all the way down here to bring us this—” he tossed the packet in the air once and caught it “—money.”

The kidnapper drew his gun as his cohort joined him.

This was going from bad to worse. Luke knew exactly what was about to happen, and he wasn’t going to let it. They were both silhouetted by the light, and Luke was at least partially concealed in the shadows. He figured he could get one for sure, and maybe the other. Anyway, he’d keep them busy long enough for Becky to get away.

In a hushed tone, he said, “When I tell you, make a run for it.” Discreetly he moved his hand toward the .32 concealed under his jacket.

“No!” she shouted, and bolted out in front of him. “Where’s my son?”

Panicked, Luke grabbed for her. “Becky, no!”

“My son!” Becky shouted, and lunged at the two men. It was all the distraction Luke needed. In one motion, he shoved Becky hard away from him, drew his gun and fired twice.

He heard her groan as she slammed into a stack of wooden crates. He’d ask her forgiveness later. Right now, he was trying to keep them both alive.

One man doubled over and crumpled to the ground, dead in a pool of his own blood. The other man took off, firing as he ran. Luke dodged for cover. “Stay down!” he ordered Becky as he scrambled to his feet.

“Luke!” Becky’s scream echoed through the alley.

“Stay down!” he ordered again. Gun drawn, he ran flat out after the other man. Down the alley, he saw the man duck into the back door of a saloon. If the boy was alive, he wouldn’t be for long—not if that guy got to him first.

Luke hated leaving Becky in the alley, but he didn’t have any choice. He kept going, and momentum propelled him into the closed door with a force that rattled his teeth. He hammered on the door with his fist. The knob turned when he tried it, but the door refused to open.

“Son of a bitch! Open the damned door!”

Heart racing, he hurled his shoulder into the door. Once. The wood creaked. The vibration ricocheted through him with bone-jarring force. Twice. The distinct sound of wood tearing spurred him on.

“Dammit, come on! Give!” he ordered the solid door, slamming into the pine with all his strength.

The wood shattered and split. Half stumbling, he fell through the door into a small, cramped storeroom.

He was scrambling to his feet when he heard Rebecca calling his name. Seconds later, she grabbed his arm. Her skin was deathly pale in the dim light of the storeroom, her eyes were bright with terror, and her clothes were covered with dirt. “I’m coming with you,” she said, clutching the money in her left hand.

“No,” he snapped, in a tone that brooked no argument. “This time we do it my way.” In one quick motion, he concealed her in an alcove of boxes. He shoved the gun from his shoulder holster into her hand. “Don’t move. Do you understand me? Don’t move from this spot. If anyone tries anything, comes near you, kill ‘em.”

She stared blankly at the gun in her hand. “I can’t. I—”

He shook her—hard. “Do it.” A little softer, he said, “Stay put, and trust me.”

Luke didn’t have time to argue with her. That bastard had a head start, and it only took a second to pull a trigger. Luke spun on his heel and disappeared out the other door.

Rebecca stood in the cramped storage room, surrounded by crates labeled Whiskey and Beer. She stared down at the gun Luke had shoved in her hand, feeling the smooth wood of the handle against her palm and the cold metal against her finger, where it curled naturally around the trigger.

It had all gone so wrong. How? How had it happened? Luke had been right—all along he’d been right about tonight. If he hadn’t been here, they would surely have killed her and taken the money.