Authors: Connie Mason
“The jacket was red and green plaid,” the boy said with confidence. “I remember ’cause my friend has one just like it.”
At least that was something to build on, Casey thought as he formed the next question in his mind. “Was he mounted or on foot?”
“Neither. He was driving a carriage. A big one. It was black.”
“Which way out of town was it headed?”
The boy thought a minute then said, “I don’t know. I didn’t think it was important.”
Casey shot to his feet, his face grim, his eyes cold as ice. He dug in his pocket for money and pulled out a five-dollar bill. He handed it to the boy. “Here, son, you’ve been a big help.”
The boy snatched the money and darted away. His “Thanks, mister,” floated to Casey through the darkness.
“What are we going to do?” Mark asked. “Surely you’re not going to wait until Jones contacts you again, are you?”
“I failed, Mark,” Casey lamented. “I promised Belle I would protect her and Tommy. How could I let this happen? I’m going to find the bastard and kill him for daring to lay hands on my wife.”
Mark didn’t doubt him for a moment.
B
elle hovered on the edge of despair. She had searched the tiny hut thoroughly but had found nothing that would serve as a weapon. Nor had she found a way to escape. The door was barred and the windows were shuttered. She had already lit the second candle, and if Hank Jones didn’t return soon she’d be sitting in total darkness.
Had Jones contacted Casey? Belle wondered. She doubted there was anything Casey could do but wait on Jones to dictate the terms of her release.
If
Jones actually intended to release her, that is. Belle didn’t trust Jones. An evil man like him would have no qualms about taking money from Casey then killing her out of spite.
Don’t think like that
, she told herself. Tommy needed her. She couldn’t die before telling Casey she loved him. Why had she waited until now, she lamented, when she’d loved Casey for so very long? Learning that Casey had worked for T.J. McAllister made trusting him difficult. It was late in coming but Belle finally realized how much Casey cared for her and Tommy, and she prayed she’d live long
enough to tell him what a fool she’d been to reject him.
Jones returned the rented carriage to the livery, retrieved his horse, and rode back to the hut. The note had already been delivered to Casey Walker, he’d made sure of that, and he was smart enough to realize that the urchin he’d paid to deliver it would have noticed the carriage, so he’d promptly returned it. Jones was taking no chances. To his knowledge there was no way anyone could identify him or follow him to the hut.
In that he was wrong. Casey and Mark were even now searching for a large man wearing a plaid jacket. Since neither man had ever seen Hank Jones, the colorful plaid jacket was their solitary link to finding him.
Casey made the rounds of livery stables, inquiring about a man wearing a plaid jacket who had recently rented a carriage. He hit pay dirt at Stemple’s Livery.
“Have you seen a big man wearing a plaid jacket?” Casey asked. “He might have rented a large black carriage.”
“He was here, mister. What’s he done?”
“He’s a dangerous criminal. I don’t have time to explain, but I’m a private detective. Do you know where he was headed after he left here?”
Kurt Stemple scratched is stubbly chin and stared at Casey. “Private detective, you say? Wish I could help ya, mister, but Mr. Smith didn’t say where he was going after he brought back the carriage and retrieved his horse.”
“Mr. Smith? Is that what he called himself?”
“Yeah. Hank Smith. Said he wasn’t going to be in town long. Had some kind of business deal pending.”
Casey’s jaw tightened. “Do you recall in which direction he was headed when he left here?”
“Sorry, mister, I didn’t notice. Another customer came in about then and I had to go out back to the wagon yard.”
“What kind of horse was he riding?”
“A sorrel gelding. Big fella, nice lines.” He thought a minute. “Say, there is something you might be able to use. Just before Smith left I noticed that the sorrel’s left shoe was cracked. Ought to leave an easy trail to follow. I wanted to put on a new shoe but Smith said he didn’t have time.”
“Thanks, Mr. Stemple, you’ve been a big help.”
“I hope you catch your man,” Stemple called after Casey.
“I will,” Casey returned over his shoulder. “You can bet on it.”
Unfortunately Casey wasn’t as certain as he sounded of finding Jones in time to prevent him from hurting Belle. What he’d learned from Stemple wasn’t much to go on. He felt so damn helpless. He had failed Belle. Been unable to protect her like he’d promised. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to Belle or the babe she carried, and he wondered if Belle blamed him for his failure.
Casey left the livery and paused on the sidewalk, wondering what to do next, when Mark hailed him from across the street.
“Casey! Wait there for me! I saw him.”
Hope soared within Casey’s heart. He waited impatiently while Mark dodged traffic to reach him.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Mark panted.
“I saw Jones. Or a man wearing a plaid jacket who could be Jones.”
“For godsake, man, where is he?” Casey cried, grasping Mark’s shoulders in a desperate bid for information.
“I just caught a glimpse of him riding north out of town. He was astride a sorrel gelding. It’s almost too dark now to track him, we’ll have to wait till morning.”
“Damn!” Casey cursed the darkness as well as his own helplessness. “I can’t bear the thought of Belle in the hands of that bastard. What if he …”
“He won’t,” Mark said, cutting off Casey’s sentence. “You’ve got to think positively. Belle is smart. She’ll find a way to keep Jones from hurting her.”
“Granted, Belle’s resourceful,” Casey allowed, “but she’s pregnant for godsake! I swear I’ll kill him if he so much as touches her. I can’t wait till morning, Mark. I’m going to leave now, and when I can no longer follow his trail I’ll camp and wait for first light.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, someone has to stay to look out for Tommy and Greta. Wan Yo is too old to be of much protection. Besides, Jones might send another message and someone has to be here to receive it.”
“I’ll do whatever you think best,” Mark replied, clearly disappointed. Casey was capable, even deadly, when the need arose, but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone protecting his back. Perhaps he should use his own judgment in this, Mark decided.
An hour later Casey rode north out of town. It didn’t take long to find the tracks of a horse with a defective left shoe. When he came to a fork in the road, darkness prevented him from distinguishing
Jones’ tracks from others. Casey made camp a short distance from the road, and spent a miserable night worrying about Belle and making a mental list of all the things he loved about her.
Casey did not consider Belle’s limp a disfigurement. It was so much a part of her and so inconsequential that it detracted nothing from her natural beauty. To him her body was perfect. Her slight deformity made her all the more dear to him. He couldn’t believe that Belle considered herself unattractive because of her lameness. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He had thought her beautiful from the onset of their relationship and he knew other men did, too. Her feelings of inferiority were a product of her own mind.
Casey knew that Belle had been in love with her husband and despaired that she could ever feel for him in the same way. Tom had married her against his father’s wishes and given her Tommy. It saddened Casey to know that he could never compete with Belle’s dead husband, despite her enthusiam for his loving. At least she responded to him on one level, Casey reflected on a happier note.
Abruptly Casey’s thoughts took him in another direction. What if Jones hurt Belle? Would he be able to live with himself if that happened? Sleep was a long time coming but Casey finally dozed off.
The room was bare but for a rickety table. Lacking a chair, Belle sat on the floor with her back to the wall facing the door, hugging her knees to her chest. The candle was sputtering out and soon she’d be shrouded in total darkness. She shivered, wondering if Jones would return soon and praying he would not. He was a vicious man, one who attacked
women without provocation. Poor Greta had suffered his wrath and bore the scars of his unprovoked beating.
Sleep wasn’t an option. There was no way Belle intended to close her eyes this night. She had to be awake and alert when Jones returned. To keep her mind from dwelling on her hopeless predicament, she thought of Casey. Casey made her feel loved and beautiful when she knew she was far from perfect. Her misshapen ankle and limp had made her the brunt of many cruelties. Especially during her years with Naomi. Not all the girls were kind and some of them had ridiculed her clumsineses.
But Casey had thought her beautiful from the beginning, Belle remembered. Her limp meant less than nothing to him. He had massaged her lame leg many times and found nothing repulsive about it. He made love to her with consummate tenderness and the right amount of aggressiveness. Together they were wild and wonderful. She had always liked making love with Tom but with Casey loving was addictive. He made her body glow. She felt reckless and frenzied in his arms, and he made her want to feel that way again and again.
Belle’s thoughts skidded to a halt when she heard a rider approach the hut. She stiffened, her gaze on the door, waiting for Jones to barge inside. She didn’t have long to wait. A few minutes later she heard the scrape of the wooden bar and saw the door burst open. Jones stepped inside and slammed the door behind him.
He carried a gunny sack, which he set down on the rickety table. He rummaged inside for a fresh candle, lit it and placed it in the holder. Then he turned and leered at Belle.
“I’m glad you made yourself comfortable, it’s going to be a long night. Hungry?”
Belle shook her head. Her stomach was roiling dangerously.
“Suit yourself. I’m starved.” He took a hunk of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a bottle of whiskey from the sack and hunkered down on the floor beside her. Belle scooted away. He grinned at her but did not stop her. He ate quickly, gulping from the bottle between mouthfuls. He burped loudly when he finished eating and continued to drink from the bottle. He rested his head against the wall, his eyes narrowing on Belle. He offered her the bottle. “Let’s celebrate.”
Belle shook her head, wishing he would drink himself into oblivion and forget her. She should have known better.
“Your man got my note,” he said between swigs.
“Did you tell him where to find me?” Belle asked.
He laughed harshly. “You think I’m stupid?”
“I’ll send him another message after the hanging, instructing him where to bring the gold. Once I have the ransom maybe I’ll set you free and maybe I won’t.”
His words sent terror racing through her veins. “What do you hope to gain by holding me prisoner? Take your gold and run. Casey is a detective, he’ll find you. I’ll only slow you down.”
“Who says I’m going to take you with me? It would be easier just to get rid of you. I’ll amuse myself with you until the old man swings for murder. When I leave San Francisco it will be alone, if you get my drift. Of course,” he hinted, “if you please me I might change my mind.” He reached for
her. “Show me how you’re gonna change my mind.”
Belle leaped to her feet. “Don’t touch me!”
He lurched after her, swearing when he grasped air. He was drunker than he thought. “Oh, I’m gonna do more than touch you, lady. I know how to make a woman willing.”
“With your fists,” Belle charged injudiciously as she backed away from him.
“Stand still!” he growled as she slipped from his grasp a second time. “I don’t aim to chase you around this room.”
He lurched forward, Belle darted away. But she wasn’t fast enough. His hand caught her skirt. She wrenched it free. He wasn’t prepared for her resistance, and when she jerked her skirt out of his hands he stumbled backward, lost his balance, and fell against the table. The candle skittered across the table, dropped to the floor, and sputtered out, pitching the room into darkness. Belle seized the moment. She ran to the door, jerked it open, and rushed outside into blessed darkness.
Cursing her lameness, Belle ran as fast as her crippled leg would allow into the thick forest of pine trees growing on the hillside behind the hut. She heard Jones stumbling after her and ran faster. He crashed through the underbrush, his curses turning the air blue. She darted one way then changed directions, widening the gap between them. Belle grew frantic. There was nothing but narrow tree trunks and darkness to conceal her from Jones.
“Come back!” Jones shouted, shattering the silence. “When I catch you I’m gonna make you sorry you ran away. Do you hear me? If you think that
whore looked bad when I got through with her, it’s nothing compared to how you’re gonna look.”
His words were slurred but Belle took his threat seriously. Breathing hard, she climbed up the hill, refusing to be caught like a rabbit in a trap. The pace she set for herself was grueling. Her breathing became ragged as she picked her way up the hill. Pain shot up her lame leg; dry brush and twigs tore at her skirts and ripped into her face. She tasted blood when a branch cut her lip. She had to go on. She had to find a hiding place until Casey found her.
It was amazing how completely she believed in Casey given how she had distrusted him a short time ago. She knew Casey would come for her, she just wasn’t sure when. Until he did it was up to her to keep from becoming Jones’s victim. But her leg, oh, God, her leg was nearly numb with pain. Finally it buckled and she went down in a tangle of petticoats. She began rolling head over heels down the hill, gaining speed as she rolled. She feared for her babe and protected her stomach as best she could with her arms. She came up hard against a tree trunk and stopped abruptly. Her breath emptied from her lungs and she blacked out.