Beauty and the Bounty Hunter (22 page)

“Are those…?” He cast her a quick glance, and she tilted a brow to indicate his weapons.

“My guns?” he finished. Was she trying to get them killed? “Yes, darling.”

He wasn’t certain if her eye roll was because of the
darling
or the realization that if the guns were his, then they were empty. He didn’t care. As long as the sheriff didn’t realize it.

“This is my wife,” he told the man. “Her name isn’t Cat. You are mistaken.”

“She tried to capture me in Houston last year.”

“Capture,” Alexi repeated. Suddenly everything became quite clear. “That would make you an outlaw and not a sheriff.”

“Told you so,” Cat muttered.

“Hush,” Alexi said.

Amazingly she did. Or maybe not so amazingly.

Cat stood at his side, pale and trembling, one arm hanging useless. Barefoot and bare-assed, she wore nothing but a borrowed nightgown and a bandage. Her guns still resided in her saddlebags, at the livery with her horse. What else could she do but what he said?

Alexi’s gaze narrowed on the false sheriff. “What happened to your eyes?”

“She poked them like a goddamn girl.”

“She is a girl,” Alexi murmured.
My girl.

He was starting to have a very bad feeling about what had gone on here before he arrived. He could understand Cat escaping by whatever means necessary, even poking someone’s eyes. However, merely being threatened with the grave would not cause the quavering voice, the trembling hands. Cat didn’t fear death; she courted it. Therefore, there had to be more to this, and he had a fairly good idea what it was.

“Hold this,
moya lyubov’.
” Alexi handed her his gun. “If he moves, shoot him in the head.”

She cast him a quick glance. She couldn’t shoot anyone anywhere without bullets. But she tightened her lips and took the weapon.

“She ain’t gonna be able to shoot me in the head,” the sheriff scoffed. “Even at this distance, that’s a helluva shot with her hand shakin’ like that.”

Alexi crossed the room in two quick strides, grabbing the man by the collar and hauling him close. “I once made my living by shooting anything at which I aimed, and I taught her everything that I know. She will hit you in the head—have no doubt.”

“Honey?” Cat said.

“Sweetie?” he returned, staring into the man’s eyes.

Her impatient huff negated the endearment. “You’re in my line of fire.”

The sheriff smirked. “You taught her everything you know? I’ll have to thank you. She sucked me so hard in Houston, I thought I’d walk bowlegged fer a week.” He licked his lips. “Then she fucked me. Just to get close enough to—”

The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the crash of glass as Alexi tossed him through the window.

C
at blinked. One moment the sheriff was there, saying vile things; the next he was gone.

Alexi, glass sparkling in his hair like stars in the coming night sky, stared at his palms. “Oops,” he murmured.

Cat crossed the room, setting the useless gun on the bed so that she could reach out with the hand that still worked the way she wanted it to, snatch him by the collar, and yank him away from the window before someone saw him. “We need to go.”

Luckily it was dusk, not too many folks on the street. No outcry was raised. They might have a chance to escape. But they had to move.

Now.

Alexi continued to stare at his hands. She took one in hers. “Look at me.”

He lifted his gaze. “I enjoyed that.”

She been afraid he’d gone into shock, but his eyes were clear and aware. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

So had she. Which was how they’d gotten into this mess.

A door slammed below; footsteps thundered up the stairs. Damn. She’d thought they would have more time.

Cat snatched up the discarded weapon, stepped in front of Alexi, and raised the gun.

“Empty,
bébé,
” he reminded her.

“Idiot,” she reminded him.

Dr. Walsh came through the door. “What the hell did you do, Fedya?”

“Wasn’t him.” Cat lowered the pistol, handed it to Alexi.

“Was too.” Alexi took it.

“Shut up,” Cat and the doctor said at the same time, then glared at each other. She had to again resist the urge to punch him; she didn’t have the time.

“What’s happening outside?” Cat crossed to the wardrobe and selected some clothes.

“Folks are gathering. No one’s quite sure what to do. Sheriff’s usually the one who handles things like this. But the sheriff’s—”

“I know.” Cat whipped the nightgown over her head. “We need to get to the horses without anyone seeing us.” She stepped into the doctor’s trousers, turning as she fastened them.

“Jesus,” Walsh muttered, and Cat’s head jerked up, her hand slapping against her empty hip as her gaze went to the empty doorway.

She glanced at Alexi, who motioned to her chest as he lifted his exasperated gaze heavenward. The doctor stared at her bare breasts as if he’d never seen any before, as if he hadn’t seen
hers
before.

“Thought you were a doctor.” Cat presented him with her back as she shrugged into one of Walsh’s white cotton shirts.

He cleared his throat. “As you’re stealing my clothes for a getaway, I don’t think you’re a patient anymore.”

“So?” She faced him.

“When you’re a patient, you’re…” His voice drifted off and he shrugged. “Not male. Not female. I don’t see anything but the wound.”

“Hmm,” Cat murmured. She didn’t really care. “How do we reach the livery unnoticed?”

“I don’t—”

The door opened and closed again. Footsteps hurried toward them. Cat jerked her thumb for the doctor to get out of the way. She reached for the gun that Alexi wouldn’t use even if it did have bullets, but he shook his head just as Mikhail appeared.

“Mikey,” the doctor whispered, face pale, lips stiff and bloodless.

Mikhail sidled away from Walsh as if he were touched. Maybe he was. Or maybe Mikhail reminded him of someone he’d lost. Cat opened her mouth to ask, and Alexi blurted, “We need to get to the horses. Quick.”

When Mikhail turned to Alexi, his fear and confusion visibly eased. “Soon as I saw the man come out the window, I figgered that. Horses are waitin’, saddled and packed, on the next street north.”

“As soon as he saw the man come out the window, he figgered,” Walsh repeated. “What the hell have you done to him?” His gaze hardened. “Besides what you did already.”

“What—?” Cat began, but Alexi cast her a glance that froze the question in her throat even before she saw Mikhail wince, then rub his forehead.

The doctor stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Mikey,” he said again. Mikhail wheeled and pounded down the stairs.

“Go!” Alexi ordered.

Cat hesitated, uncertain what, exactly, was happening.

“Please,” he murmured, his urgency causing her to follow Mikhail even though her unease continued to deepen.

She reached the first floor as Mikhail disappeared through the door. Cat looked back. Alexi and Ethan stood toe-to-toe.

“We’re square now,” Walsh said.

“We are.”

“Next time I see you—”

“Next time,” Alexi agreed.

Alexi caught up to Mikhail and Cat in the alley behind the office. As the three of them hurried toward the next street to the north, the sound of a gathering mob drifted from the south.

“The sheriff done broke his neck!”

“Saw the doc run inside after he fell.”

“Someone was up there with ’im. I think they tossed ’im out.”

“Who?”

“Let’s see.”

Cat reached for Alexi’s hand. “We need to hurry.”

“Don’t worry,” Alexi murmured. “Ethan lies even better than I do.”

“No one lies better than you.”

“
Merci, ma très chère
.”

“English.”

“Thank you.”

He could tell by the slight clenching of her fingers around his that she suspected there was more to the translation. Yet she didn’t ask. She knew better. If he’d wanted her to know exactly what he’d said, he would have said it in English in the first place.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” she muttered.

“And yet I took it as one.”

The sun had gone down, and the buildings on either side of them were too close and too high to allow any light in at all. Alexi was glad. His voice sounded normal; the teasing and the foreign endearments held just the right tone. His palm was clammy, but then so was hers. His face, however, might betray him. It had been a very long time since he’d killed anyone, and it had shaken him.

He tried to gather himself. If they were going to get out of this without one, or perhaps all of them, swinging at the end of a rope, Alexi needed to be at his best.

They reached the end of the alley, and Mikhail held up a hand. He looked both ways, then motioned them forward. The silent northern street loomed empty except for their horses.

Without the shadow of the buildings to block the rising moon, Alexi could see Cat’s face, and she could see his. His expression was obviously not as neutral as he wanted it to appear since she cursed. “I should have been the one to throw him out the window.”

“With one hand?”

Her lips tightened; her eyes narrowed. She didn’t care for being helpless. Alexi couldn’t blame her. The last time she’d been so, her entire world had died.

“We’ll walk the horses out of town.” His voice held not a hint of tension because he did this quite often: slip away when no one was paying attention, and by the time anyone knew he was gone he was already someone else. “We don’t want folks to hear us and investigate.”

As the one in charge of investigating had just been tossed from a window, Alexi didn’t think they were in much danger.

They reached the outskirts of Freedom and continued walking their horses another mile. Even after the three of them mounted, they continued walking. Clouds had rolled in, covering the light of the moon.

Alexi stared at the pitch-black sky. “That might keep them from coming after us. If they’re so inclined.”

“If Ethan’s the big, fat liar you said he was, they shouldn’t be inclined.”

“He is.”

“Where’d he learn that? From you?”

“In truth,
meine Schönheit,
I learned from him.”

Cat gave a soft snort, which was echoed by Alexi’s horse. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe,” Alexi murmured. “Once upon a time, Ethan Walsh was General Grant’s most trusted spy.”

Cat said nothing for so long, Alexi wondered if she’d heard him. Then she laughed. “Sure he was.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Truth and Alexi Romanov haven’t walked hand in hand since I met him.”

Considering he wasn’t Alexi Romanov, she had a point. However, on this, at least, he was being truthful. As they had a long night ahead, and he doubted she’d give him a moment’s peace until he told the story, he would. But first—

Alexi reined in his horse and indicated Cat should do the same. The moon peeked through the clouds now and again, casting the landscape in every hue of gray. “Mikhail, would you scout ahead, please?”

“Sure thing, Alexi.”

“Slowly,” Alexi murmured. “Carefully. Stay in sight.”

But out of earshot.

“Why all the—?” Cat began, and Alexi put a finger to his lips.

Once the big man and even bigger horse moved off, the clop of hooves and the murmur of Mikhail’s voice as he spoke to the beast fading, Cat finished her question. “Why all the subterfuge?”

Alexi urged his mount forward, as did she. “You saw
how Mikhail was with Ethan. Every time something reminds him of the past, he gets a headache.”

“Why did Ethan call him Mikey? Is that a nickname? Or has he confused him with someone else?”

“I need to start from the beginning.” Or maybe the middle. He wasn’t going to tell her everything if he could help it. “I met Ethan in the war.”

“You were in the war?”

Her obvious surprise caused him to snap, “Wasn’t everyone?”

“In the South, yes,” she fired back, before taking a breath, then speaking more calmly. “Invasion brings the fight to folks’ doorsteps, and they tend to get testy. Everyone I knew signed up.”

Alexi sometimes forgot Cat was from the South. She was so good at pretending not to be. But sometimes, like now, the accent shone through unbidden. Other times, like when she’d been Meg, she allowed it to.

The image of Cat with that bag of cloth stuffed beneath her dress caused a rash of gooseflesh along the back of Alexi’s neck. He swatted at the tickle as if it were a fly.

Neither one of them had ever mentioned the war. Probably because it was something both wanted—and needed—to forget. Such was the way with wars.

“Did you?” she asked.

For an instant he couldn’t think what she meant. The memories of the war had begun to whisper. He shook them off, though he knew they would be back. They always came back.

“I’m not a citizen,” he said. “I couldn’t sign up.”

“Then how—?”

“I took the bounty.”

She stiffened. “Bounty?”

The South had instituted a draft over a year before
the North had. The Conscription Act was hugely unpopular as it was considered an infringement upon an individual’s rights by the government, one of the reasons that shot was fired at Fort Sumter in the first place.

The Confederacy had allowed substitutes, same as the Union. But if everyone Cat knew had volunteered, she’d probably never heard of the practice.

“A bounty was the term they used for the money paid to a man who would take the place of another in the fight,” Alexi continued. “If that substitute deserted, the hunters sent after him were called bounty hunters because they hunted not a man, but a bounty. A retrieval of some
thing
that had been bought and paid for.”

From the wrinkles in her brow, Cat had not been aware of the origin of her present occupation’s name. Few were.

“You fought?” Cat asked, as if she could not get her mind around the concept.

“What did you think I did?” Alexi snapped. “Picked daisies?”

“No, I…” She glanced at the empty guns strapped to his hips. “Go on,” she urged. “Someone paid you to go to war for them, and you accepted because…”