Anything for You (37 page)

Gypsy backed away from Bert's satisfied smile. The cruelty which haunted her gleamed in his eyes. Eight years of pain and betrayal might end before she drew her next breath. She wanted to apologize to Adam for drawing him into this lunacy. She had let love entrap her and the one she loved yet again.

“Sit on the floor, woman!” Bert laughed. “Sit like a good girl if you don't want me to kill Lassiter now, Gypsy. Gypsy or Elizabeth? Which name do you want on your grave?”

She refused to answer. The horrible memory of her family's faces, frozen in the torment they had suffered before this man murdered them, flashed through her mind.

His smile vanished. “Sit on the floor!”

“All right. Just—”

“Do as I tell you, or I'll let you see the color of Lassiter's blood.”

“Bert—”

“Sit!”

Carefully she lowered herself to the floor. She leaned back against the table as he ordered.

“Lassiter, on your knees.”

As Adam obeyed silently, she held out her hand to him. She wanted to touch him once more before they died.

Bert slapped her hand away and whirled to hold the gun inches from Adam's face. “Tie her hands behind the table leg, Lassiter.”

“Listen, you stinking—”

Bert reaimed the pistol at Gypsy. “Tie her up tight, Lassiter, or she's dead now.”

Adam jumped to his feet. Bert raised the gun to Adam's chest.

Gypsy cried, “No, Adam! Don't!”

Grinning when Adam hesitated, Sayre said, “Listen to her. She has more sense than you.”

With no choice but to obey or watch Gypsy be murdered, Adam knelt on the floor. Sayre shoved a ball of thick twine into his hands.

When Gypsy obeyed Sayre's order to put her hands behind the table leg, Adam leaned forward. “I won't leave you here,” he whispered as he secured the rope around her wrists. “I love you.”

“Save yourself,” she begged, her luminous eyes glowing with tears. “You can't save me.”

“Up!” ordered Sayre before Adam could answer. Keeping the gun aimed at her, he checked the ropes. “Good job, Lassiter. Or do you prefer
Major
Lassiter?”

“The war is over, Sayre. Let the past go.”

Bert ignored him and continued, “Too bad you got mixed up with Gypsy here. You're not a bad guy for a sneaky cop.”

He stood. “I'm not a police officer. I'm a private detective.”

“Not much difference in my book. Either way, you're going to be a dead one. If you'd just hit the hay trail and kept going, you'd have been left alive to mourn Miss Wilkins and her sister along with Glenmark. Now …” He motioned with the gun toward the door.

Adam hesitated, glancing at Gypsy. She was making no effort to escape. She would sacrifice herself for him.

Too late, he understood why she had tried to keep him distant from her heart. She had been afraid
he
would get hurt.

His hands fisted at his sides. He had been an ass for trying to keep her out of his heart because he feared being hurt again. She had brought feeling back into his life. Feelings like irritation and exasperation. Feelings like happiness and love.

They both had been fools. They should have taken the chance and savored the love that might now be doomed.

The prick of the gun's barrel in his side pushed him toward the door. He stopped at Sayre's order.

“What is it?” he asked. “Do you want me to hold the door for you?”

“Very funny.” Bert did not laugh as he picked up the rifle. Flinging it out the door, he smiled when it splashed into the river. “Don't you have any final words for Gypsy?” When Adam did not answer, Bert chuckled. “If you don't, I do. But first …”

Sayre shoved a barrel over. The top fell off and careened across the floor. Molasses poured out heavily. He laughed when Gypsy pulled her feet back as the thick river coursed over her.

“Out, Lassiter!” he ordered.

“If you think I'm going to leave her here—”

He pressed the gun to the back of Adam's neck. “If you want, you can leave her here dead.”

He pulled a bottle from beneath his shirt. He tilted the whiskey to his lips, then, laughing, tossed it at her.

Gypsy screamed as the bottle smashed against the floor and across her skirt. Pungent whiskey sprayed over her. A shard of glass sliced through her blouse and into her arm.

“Gypsy!” Adam shouted.

Sayre laughed and pulled out a second bottle.

Adam pushed past him. He took only a single step before something struck the back of his head. He dropped to his knees, his head ringing with pain. As he struggled to get back to his feet, the pistol crashed into his cheek.

He fought to hold onto his senses. He could not let Sayre kill Gypsy. Hearing Sayre's laugh, he flinched when the second whiskey bottle struck the floor. He raised his head to see Sayre pull the cigar out of his mouth.

Sayre blew smoke in Gypsy's face. As she coughed, he chortled. “Molasses burns slowly, Gypsy, but whiskey will take this place up fast. I figure you won't suffer anywhere near as long as you should.”

“No!” she cried when he tossed the lighted cigar into the pile of trash by the woodbox. Fire erupted to lap at the wood.

Adam strained to get to his feet. Blood ran down his face. As Sayre jerked him up and shoved him toward the door, Gypsy struggled against the ropes which held her to the table. A spark fell into a pool of whiskey and exploded into flames.

“Sayre, let her go!”

“You should be begging for your life, sneak!” He raised the gun.

Adam swung at Sayre. He missed the flunkey as the wanigan hit something. The floor bucked, throwing Sayre off his feet in the doorway. Adam knocked the gun from his hand. It flew out into the river.

The wanigan rammed the logjam again and rocked back. Sayre's feet smacked Adam in the gut. Adam teetered back several steps as he fought to keep his footing on the uneven logs.

Sayre ran out and jumped onto a log beside the raft. When Adam chased him, he shouted, “Come and get me, sneak!” Sayre raced from log to log.

Adam swore. After his one shot at birling, he knew he would never catch Sayre now unless … he pushed aside the thought. Forget his perfect record of apprehending every man he had been ordered to find! He ran back into the kitchen.

Smoke blinded him and clogged his throat. Throwing his coat over the woodbox, he waved aside the smoke and plucked a knife from the rack on the wall.

“Adam!”

He leaped over the cracked barrel and the line of fire inching across the floor. It flared wildly when it reached a puddle of whiskey. He stamped out the flame. Quickly he cut through the rope on Gypsy's wrists. He laughed when her sticky skirts clung to his legs.

“Where is he?” she whispered.

“By this time, he's halfway to the other shore.” He ground out another fire licking the floor near his feet. “Let's get out of here.”

Gypsy reached for his hand.

A flash, brighter than lightning severing a hot summer sky, seared her eyes. She flung her arms around Adam as noise tore through her ears. The floorboards came alive beneath her. Struggling to reach the door, she tugged on Adam's hand. They had to get out of here.

“No!” he shouted. He pressed her to the floor.

Debris shot through the door. Bits of wood struck her. Water sprayed everywhere. The noise grew louder and louder, until she was sure her ears would burst.

His arms tightened around her as the wanigan swirled out of control in a mad whirlpool. Logs crashed against the walls, sending glass showering over them. Boxes pelted them.

Adam pulled her beneath the table. The firebox door crashed open. Coals bounced across the floor, sizzling as water washed through the door.

Gypsy was not sure when the noise stopped, for it continued to toll through her skull, endless and painful. Watching Adam crawl from beneath the table, she took his hand and let him help her to her feet. She bumped into him as the wanigan continued to pitch wildly.

“What happened?” she whispered. Or maybe she shouted. With the din in her head, she could not tell.

“Peabody must have decided to dynamite the jam.” He gripped the windowsill. “This is some ride, Gypsy.” Putting his arm around her, he drew her next to him to watch the riverbank race past. “Will the river hogs catch up with us?”

“Eventually. We've got quite a head start on them. Adam, if Bert went—”

Facing her, he wiped blood from his cheek. “He's probably dead. If not, I'll hunt him down. Now that I know his identity, he's as good as caught by me or one of the others in my agency. He'll pay for his murders, if he hasn't already.”

“I'm sorry.” She clasped her hands behind his neck.

“For what?”

“For not telling you everything.”

He shook his head. “You had to protect your sister. I could have been the one who was terrorizing you.”

“You think I thought
you
were the one threatening me?” she asked with feigned shock.

Grinning, he said, “At least be honest with me now, Gypsy.” He caught her as the floor listed wildly when the wanigan collided with something and spun like a leaf in the current. “You
did
suspect me one or two times through this.”

“More than one or two times.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You were right. I'd forgotten how to trust anyone.”

“Gypsy, my love, it's over. We're going to get out of this runaway shack, and then we're going to find Reverend Frisch. It's time we got married and went for that fine honeymoon in Saratoga.”

She pulled away to stare at him. “Honeymoon?”

“Why not?” He tapped her nose. “I know you're a good cook. I'll never go hungry, even though I'll hunger for you more every day.”

She answered him in the sweetest way she knew. As she tasted the passion on his lips, the sound of someone jumping onto the raft came from beyond the door. She ignored the excited voices of the river hogs as she savored the love which dared her to do anything to keep it.

“C'mon,” he whispered against her ear, sending renewed shivers of delight along her. “Let's go let the river hogs play hero.”

She laughed and took his hand as they walked to the door and the life that waited for them beyond the north woods. With Adam, it would be unlike anything she had ever imagined, but everything she wanted.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2000 by Jo Ann Ferguson

Cover design by Neil Alexander Heacox

ISBN: 978-1-5040-0898-3

Distributed in 2015 by Open Road Distribution

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