According to Hoyle (30 page)

After a moment of silence, there was another scuffling sound from above and then far down the upper deck the sound of light steps running on the deck reached them through the fog. Stringer raised his gun and followed the sound, but they were unable to see anything worth firing at. Cage briefly entertained the idea of trying to get free, but Stringer put the barrel of the gun back to his temple before he could follow through.

They heard a banging sound from the side of the ship, then all fell silent once more. Cage found himself holding his breath again and straining to see into the heavy fog as his heart sank. It sounded as if someone had just retreated.

“I think your Desert Flower just blew away, Cage,” Stringer murmured into Cage’s ear.

Cage closed his eyes and tried not to react outwardly. But he knew Stringer could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

“I
COULDN
’
T
get a clear shot,” Rose told Flynn breathlessly. “Did you hear him?”

“Yeah,” Flynn answered quietly. “Jack Kale.”

Rose nodded, his frown deepening in concentration. “I don’t know what... I don’t know.”

Flynn was surprised to see the indecision. Rose was clearly struggling with the disclosure, trying to decide how to handle it. Flynn didn’t understand why. Even if Cage was the man known as Jack Kale, what did an outlaw like Rose care? Birds of a feather flocked together, after all. Now their almost instant attraction to each other even made sense.

Flynn reached over and gave Rose’s shoulder a gentle shove. “You’re thinking about skinnin’ out on him, aren’t you? After all this time preaching to me about love and saving them and you’re just going to abandon him now?” he asked, appalled.

Rose looked at him quickly. “Certainly not.” A light entered his dark eyes suddenly and he smiled slowly. “But now that you mention it, that is a very good idea.”

“
H
OW
’bout you, Mister US Marshal?” Stringer shouted after another long stretch of silence. “You going to come fetch your partner ’fore we toss him overboard? Gonna be hard for him to stay afloat with just the one arm!”

Two of Stringer’s men began pushing Marshal Washington over to the railing of the boat. Cage jerked instinctively, but Stringer held him tighter as the men led Wash to the railing. He didn’t struggle at all, something Cage thought was either very brave or very stupid.

“Flynn, you don’t show yourself, you hear me?” Wash shouted into the night as they pushed him against the railing. “You kill ’em all!”

“Do it!” Stringer ordered before Wash could say any more.

Cage struggled against him, trying to pry himself from Stringer’s grip and help the marshal. Wash kicked at one of the men holding him and pushed himself into the other, trying to keep from being heaved over backward. The man shoved back and Wash wrapped his one good arm around his neck, intending to take him overboard with him if he went.

“Stop!” someone called from the cover of the enveloping fog.

Stringer whirled, putting Cage between himself and the direction from which the voice had come. The men stopped struggling with Wash and drew their guns, backing away from the railing and pointing their firearms erratically at the thick fog, trying to see the man who had spoken.

“Let him go,” Marshal Flynn ordered as he stepped closer, materializing out of the enveloping fog, revealing himself to them as he stood in the weak, flickering light of an oil lamp attached to the side of the ship. He had two guns drawn, one aimed in Wash’s direction at the two men who’d been about to shove him overboard, the other was pointed at Cage and Stringer.

“We got the drop on you, mister,” Stringer said to him. Cage could feel how tense the man was as he used him as a shield. Flynn was one twitch of Stringer’s finger away from being dead.

There was the last resort of going completely limp. It would distract Stringer long enough for Flynn to shoot him. But Cage didn’t know if the marshal would do it, and he certainly didn’t want to be lying on the ground playing possum when Stringer decided to put one between his eyes. He decided to see how Flynn would play it.

“I don’t want your gold, and I don’t want you,” Flynn told Stringer. “I just want them,” he demanded with a nod of his head at Wash and Cage.

“Where’s Rose?” Stringer demanded.

“Gone,” Flynn answered with a disdainful sneer. “When you started yelling he said it wasn’t worth it to get himself shot for Whistling Jack Kale and he skinned out.” The marshal’s eyes fixed themselves on Cage and he narrowed them. “You really Jack Kale?”

Cage shook his head vehemently and Stringer gripped his chin hard to stop the movement.

When Stringer spoke, his breath gusted across Cage’s ear and caused him to shiver violently. “He is that,” Stringer growled in answer. He put his lips against Cage’s ear. “Whistle for him, Cage,” he prompted with a smirk.

Cage snarled at him, shaking his head again at Flynn desperately. At the mere thought that Gabriel might have run when he learned who Cage was, the pain in his chest was worse than any punch to the gut. But he wasn’t Jack Kale anymore. Nothing would change that.

“I’m not too sure I believe you,” Flynn said to Stringer thoughtfully. “But Rose did. He took your little rowboat. We found your coal shell down in the boiler room,” he went on in obvious disgust. “Put it in your skiff with a short fuse. I’m sure you heard the explosion. Now, I’ll tell you which one of the lifeboats we didn’t put holes in if you hand those men over right now. You can be on your way without any more blood.”

“You saying Rose hightailed it?” Stringer asked suspiciously.

Flynn nodded grimly. “Didn’t even leave me his guns,” he sneered.

Cage distantly acknowledged the odd sinking feeling in his chest as he stared at the man. He didn’t know if he should believe the marshal or not, but something deep down told him that Gabriel wasn’t really gone. But would Flynn have truly let Gabriel out of his sight, knowing he might lose his prisoner in the ensuing melee?

Stringer snorted derogatorily and looked around at his men, who were growing even more jittery as the talking continued.

“He was your prisoner,” Stringer said to Flynn shrewdly. Flynn stared back at him unwaveringly. “You let your prisoner escape? Just let him sail off in our boat and leave you here to deal with us? Didn’t even try to shoot at him as he rowed off? I don’t believe you.”

“I’d rather live to track him down again later than get shot now,” Marshal Flynn answered coldly. “Now, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll take my marshal and my prisoner with me, and we’ll leave you the rest of the boat to do with as you please.”

Stringer’s grip around Cage’s throat loosened slightly, but he was still tense and coiled like a snake. “You can take your marshal,” he finally agreed warily. “Prisoner stays with me.”

“No deal,” Flynn responded firmly.

Cage stared at the marshal, both impressed and exasperated by his fortitude. He was practically a dead man standing, of course, but he was a brave dead man nonetheless.

Stringer pointed his gun at Flynn. Several of his men cocked their weapons as well. “You can live to track him down later,” Stringer murmured in a low, dangerous voice, “or you can get shot now.”

Flynn wavered indecisively, glancing from Wash to Cage hesitantly as Cage held his breath. Finally, the marshal nodded in agreement. Apparently, he was willing to sacrifice Cage in order to save Wash. Cage couldn’t find it in himself to blame the man for his decision.

Stringer relaxed, as did the men who had been restraining Wash. As they stood on the outer deck, tense and wary amidst the soupy fog, the very distinct sound of a shotgun’s hammer being pulled behind them echoed across the water.

F
LYNN
was careful not to look in the direction he knew Gabriel Rose was lurking. There were too many guns to deal with for him to give away even the slightest advantage
—
like where his partner was positioned. He mentally winced away from the thought of Rose being his partner, and he narrowed his eyes at the scene.

The sound of the action of the shotgun was still echoing through the dense fog as Flynn watched the ripple of panic spread through the exposed hijackers. He smiled crookedly, more as a show of confidence than any real emotion of the sort. He was anything but confident or cocky. He was, in fact, terrified of what was about to happen. Any sane man would be. Suddenly, there was a flurry of frantic activity, but to Flynn’s experienced eye, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

Cage jerked his body in the big man’s grasp, jamming his shoulder into Stringer and sending him off balance. His captor’s gun went off, sending a harmless round into the air as both men toppled to the ground. Cage curled and held his side as if he was hurt as soon as he hit the deck, but then he scrambled up and tackled Stringer to the ground.

The shotgun blasted from Rose’s hidden position, and one of the hijackers went flying backward and sliding across the damp wooden deck, leaving a smear of blood behind him as he did so. Another man fell as the buckshot struck him, tumbling and rolling. He got to his knees in a panic and began trying to crawl toward the relative safety of the salon. Two others began firing haphazardly into the darkness in a panic as they retreated toward cover. Flynn fired two quick shots, nicking one man and missing the other completely as he, too, moved for the cover of a low wall that surrounded a service stairwell.

Flynn’s eyes immediately searched for Wash, fear coiling in his chest as the gunfight bloomed into a bloody, chaotic mess. He saw Wash elbow one of his captors in the nose and send him falling backward over the railing, and then a burst of fire exploded from Wash’s linen sling. Flynn was certain the man had been shot. He watched in terrified confusion as the outlaw standing beside Wash fell to his knees and then pitched forward onto the deck. Wash didn’t go down, but instead bent and took the man’s gun amidst the fire from the retreating outlaws. He then ran for the cover of the very wall Flynn had ducked behind.

Wash slid into the darkness beside him, panting and, to Flynn’s eternal exasperation, laughing breathlessly as he met Flynn’s eyes.

“Sling gun,” Wash gasped gleefully as he wiggled his fingers and began trying to remove the sling from around his neck.

Flynn rolled his eyes and didn’t even try to repress his relieved grin as wood splintered above their heads. They both flinched and ducked, covering their heads as slivers of wood rained down on them. Wash rose to his knees and glanced over the railing as soon as the firing had ceased. He nodded to Flynn and they began returning fire in a measured sequence. The few glimpses Flynn managed to steal told him that Rose had run out of shotgun shells and was now using two of his stolen six-shooters from his hidden perch
—
with slightly lessened effect
—
as they chased the outlaws back into the salon. Cage had lost his fight with Stringer and was once again being used as a shield as they retreated toward the doorway.

They followed them into the main cabin, taking cover behind the ornate furniture that was peppered throughout the large room. They had the stairs covered, but there were still doors on the other side of the salon that led to the foredeck. There was no way off the deck, though.

Flynn cursed feelingly as the last of the men disappeared into the salon and safety. They had them sort of penned in, but all those passengers were in there with them and in serious danger. They may have the better position strategically, but the hijackers still had the upper hand. He felt Wash moving beside him and he glanced over at his partner as they both knelt behind a table they had turned over. Wash was peering at the salon doors intently and gritting his teeth, his previous delight over finally being able to use his sling contraption forgotten.

“Goddamnit.”

“You hurt?” Flynn asked him in a hoarse voice.

“Just my damn pride,” Wash huffed without turning to look at him.

Relief flooded Flynn’s body as he examined Wash with new eyes. His small amount of time with Gabriel Rose had caused him to reconsider his priorities quite a bit.

He turned and knelt down again so he was facing Wash behind the overturned table. Without further thought to the consequences of his actions, he reached out and grabbed the man’s shirt, tugging him close enough to kiss him.

Chapter 15

C
AGE
was half-dragged into the salon by his shirt collar, Stringer’s hands digging into his neck as he struggled with the bigger man. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been bested repeatedly in a fight like this. Either his year in anonymity had weakened him, or Bat Stringer had grown more adept at manhandling. It could possibly have been a little of both.

Then again, Cage couldn’t remember ever having fought Stringer before, save for their last encounter when Cage had cut off the man’s finger. Cage’s no-nonsense demeanor, when he had been known as Jack Kale, had kept him safe from challenges, both physically and mentally. Stringer had loved him, and even
he
had been marginally afraid of him.