Diablo (36 page)

“But I wouldn't let you,” she said. She realized now he was right. He
had
tried to stay away. She had done the chasing, the tempting. She had made a fool of herself.

“No,” he said as if he read her mind. “Damn it, I … cared. God knows I shouldn't have, but—”

“But you still needed the map, the last few miles before you get your blood money,” she finished. “Or was it just a pardon? Or both? How much did you sell yourself for?”

He stared at her for a long bleak moment. “I want you to take me there,” he said woodenly. “The law knows too much. They're much too close. You and Robin have to get out. I have to make your uncle understand that.”

“How far is a posse from here?” she replied dully.

“There's not a posse, damn it. I saw you ride out of town and knew you'd heard something. I came alone. But your uncle's running out of time.”

“How did you find me?”

“I knew part of the way. I heard your shot, and then I was able to track you.”

“Liar. Spy. Tracker. How many other talents do you have? Or have you always been a law dog?”

“No,” Kane said wearily. “They were going to hang me.”

“So you decided to save yourself by befriending and betraying us.”

“If that was true, then I would have just accepted your uncle's offer,” he said.

“Then what? What did they offer?” she asked.

“Would you believe me if I told you?”

“No,” she said flatly. “I wouldn't believe anything you said.”

She saw a muscle throb in his cheek.

“Then it doesn't make any difference, does it?” he finally said wearily.

But the reason did. She wished it didn't, but she had to know. What did he want so badly he would risk everything, including … whatever had been between them? He might lie, would probably lie, but … she still had to hear it from his lips.

“No … but I want to know,” she persisted. “I want to know why.”

“It has to do with a friend,” he said softly. “A very good friend.”

She stared at him. He had mentioned a friend before. Several times. She couldn't ask what she wanted to know.
More important than me? More important than Robin? Than your word, implied if not spoken?

“All for a friend?” she asked softly, unable to keep a new rush of anguish from her voice. “And what were you planning for me?”

He was watching her. “I didn't bring a posse, but I suspect there will be one soon. They can track me like I tracked you. That's why I have to see your uncle.”

She turned away. “He'll kill you.”

“That's likely,” he said.

“Then why?”

“I want him to send you and Robin away.”

“No.” She started to turn away.

His hands caught her shoulders, then fell to her arms, holding them captive. “Damn it, Nicky, you have to take me.” He took a gun from his gunbelt and handed it to her. “Backtrack if you want. Check for yourself first. But you must get me through the entrance to Sanctuary, to your uncle.”

There was a pleading note in his voice she'd never heard before. He was good. He was very, very good. She almost believed him. She wanted to believe him. The pain would be less if she thought he was protecting a friend rather than enriching himself. Or would it?

She finally stood, feeling the weakness in her legs. The torrent of tears had taken what little strength she had after so little food and so much hard riding. But she forced herself to take the gun, and she pointed it at him. “I could kill you.”

“I know.” His gaze met hers. His eyes were so deep in the falling dusk, so unfathomable. She wondered whether she had ever known him at all.

“Why shouldn't I?”

“For Robin,” he said, “if not for yourself. I have to convince your uncle to send you out. I don't want … either of you hurt.”

She stood straighter. “Sanctuary is my home.”

“It's a nest of killers.”

“And what are you,
Diablo?
I read the posters, the accounts in the newspapers.” She watched him wince as she used his outlaw name. She looked at his face, the scar that marked it, the new bristles of beard that hardened it. She looked at the guarded eyes, the mouth that had once kissed her but now was strange to her. Her body felt cold and hot at the same time, warring against itself. The heart was cold; the core of womanhood, though, still remembered the feel of him.

She met his gaze. “I hate you,” she said, her voice shaking. “I'll never take you through to Sanctuary, so you can take me in now. At least, you'll have something to show for your blood money.”

Her hand, holding the pistol, dropped to her side. She wanted to shoot him. She wanted to hurt him like he had hurt her. But she couldn't. She couldn't pull the trigger. She could only hurl words at him, and words were meaningless.

He just stood there, not moving. His eyes were empty, his jaw set. His mouth worked for a moment and his shoulders slumped. What was left of her heart, what small fragments still existed, crumpled as she saw the defeat in him. She balled her fists in agony. She wouldn't go to him. She wouldn't trust again. Never.

He finally reached for his pistol, took it from her hand and pointed it toward the ground, firing three times in steady succession.

Nicky swallowed. She knew exactly what he was doing. He was inviting company. Her uncle's men? He had to know they would kill him. He'd admitted as much. Or was he simply calling a posse?

“There's no posse behind me,” he said softly, reading her thoughts.

“Then go,” she whispered. “Go before my uncle's men come.”

Kane looked down at her. “I can't.” His gaze seemed to bore right through her and he smiled at her. Wry. Tender. Unafraid. His hand went to her face, his knuckles brushing softly along her cheek. “Remember that blacksmith I mentioned in San Antonio?”

She nodded stiffly.

“Take Robin there. He and his wife are good people; they'll help you. Don't let your feelings about me … keep you and Robin from going there. He'll be good for the boy.” He swallowed hard for a moment, reluctance written all over his face. “I have no right to ask you for anything,” he said finally, “but …”

Nicky couldn't take her gaze away from him. Her heart was pounding. His words sounded like a will. And they would be, if he didn't leave. Sanctuary was well within the range of the sound of gunfire.

“Leave,” she ordered fiercely. Why did she still care?

He shook his head, his eyes holding hers, willing her to listen, to obey. “My friend … he'll die, unless …”

“Unless what?” She didn't want to know, but his intensity was so strong, she couldn't ignore it. He was willing her to listen, and God help her, she wasn't capable of turning away from him.

“Masters. The man in Gooden. Let him know …”

“Know what?” she asked when he hesitated.

“The bargain was—”

But the approach of horses interrupted his sentence, and she recognized Mitch Evers. He had three Comanches along with him. Her gaze returned to Kane's face.

“The bargain?” she prompted.

“Tell him how I died,” he said, stooping down and placing his gun on the ground. He ignored Evers, who dismounted and approached. “Please,” he added urgently, his will again reaching out to her, enveloping her in it. She found herself nodding.

“Ben Masters … or Smith,” he said, lowering his voice. “Gooden.” He turned to face Evers.

Nicky felt herself shaking again. Why had she agreed? What was he doing?

Mitch stopped in front of her, his curiosity frank as he looked at her, then Kane, and back again. “Thank God, you're all right,” he said to Nicky. “We heard gunshots …”

Nicky felt her back stiffen. The truth would kill Kane. Probably slowly and painfully. Mitch might even give him to the Comanches. The thought was excruciating, even more painful than his betrayal.

Loyalty warred with loyalty. Except she owed no loyalty to Diablo. But it was there, just the same. She felt as if a civil war were raging in her head.

Mitch was obviously waiting for some explanation. “We got your note,” he said finally when none came. “We found Calico dead, but no sign of Hildebrand. Are you all right?” His voice lowered as he inspected her. She knew how she must look, how the tears must have left trails on her face and a redness in her eyes. She nodded.

Mitch looked dubious, then looked toward Kane. “What happened?”

“You aren't going to like it,” Kane said, and Nicky knew instantly that he was going to sign his own death warrant. She wanted to stop him. No matter what he had done, she couldn't let him …

She started to open her mouth, but he stopped her with his next words. “There's a posse on its way. They know about Sanctuary.” He'd just denied that to her.

“How?” Mitch asked flatly.

“I'll tell Thompson,” Kane said.

Mitch looked at her in question. “What's going on, Nicky?”

“I don't know,” she said. But she was beginning to, and the truth was like a dagger in her heart. For whatever reasons, Kane hadn't lied to her, but he was lying now. There was no posse—or it would already have been here upon hearing the shots—but he wanted Mitch to believe there was one. Kane
wanted
to be taken. He was inviting himself to be killed.

Mitch's eyes narrowed. “Nicky?” he said in a warning tone. “You've been gone nearly a week. Nat's been sick with worry. And why isn't O'Brien blindfolded?”

“Because I followed her,” Kane interrupted. “She didn't realize—”

Nicky found herself breaking in before he could say anything else. “I found him the night I left and told him about Calico and Hildebrand. He fought them, tied them both up, and we went on into Gooden. I decided to return because I knew you would be worried, and I thought he would be another couple of days. Maybe he decided he didn't want to wait on a guide.” Lies begat lies. Did they come that easily to Kane?

“Why wouldn't he just ask you, then?” Mitch asked.

Nicky wished she had Kane's glib, lying tongue. “Maybe he didn't want to be blindfolded.” She hesitated, then started down another deceptive path. “Mitch, we heard some things in town. Maybe they don't know exactly where Sanctuary is, but I think they have a good idea. We … heard a posse's being formed.” She avoided looking at Kane, even as she lied for him.

Mitch's head jerked up.

“We may not have long,” she said.

Mitch's eyes went to Kane again, then back to Nicky, as if seeking a truth he wasn't being told. “Nicky?”

But she set her chin and went to Molly. “I think we'd better warn Uncle Nat.”

Mitch nodded. “Let's go,” he told Kane.

Kane hesitated, and Nicky finally looked up at him. She couldn't read the emotion in his eyes, but that muscle was working in his cheek again.

She turned away, realizing her efforts were in vain. He was going to tell her uncle exactly what had happened. She had given him a way out, and he wasn't going to take it. Telling herself she didn't care, she held out a hand to Mitch, avoiding any contact with Kane. Then why was she so sick at her stomach at the thought of what was going to happen? And why had she tried to help him?

Mitch helped Nicky into the saddle and muttered a few guttural instructions to the Indians with him. Two of the braves turned toward the direction of Gooden, and Nicky knew they would scout for a posse. One remained with them.

“They'll cover our trail,” Mitch said as her eyes questioned him, and the small band started toward Sanctuary.

Kane's gaze fixed on Nicky, who rode just ahead of him with Evers. Why in the hell had she lied for him?

He still saw her face, tear-streaked and tired and broken. He still heard her voice.
I
hate you.
Her accusations still echoed in his soul.
Liar. Traitor.
He recalled how she shied away from his touch as if he were a monster.

Yet she had lied for him, tried to protect him despite everything she knew. He supposed he should grateful. Hell, he was. Grateful and … touched beyond anything that had ever happened to him. But the guilt was now a burning brand on his soul. He wondered whether the pain would ever fade. She had lied for him, she who was always so agonizingly honest. She had put aside her own hurts, bitter as they were, to soften his. Why?

He wished she had run a sword through him instead. Her uncle would soon realize she was protecting a traitor. God, he knew the agonizing cost of divided loyalties. No torture would be worse than the look on Nicky's face, than the soul-shattering tears, than the contempt that replaced them. Every one of her words—liar, traitor—kept ringing in his head. He'd been unable to counter them, unable to defend himself. He was everything she said he was. And worse. He had killed the spirit in her as much as he'd killed that sheriff's deputy two years ago.

Kane shifted in the saddle. His heart lay in torn remnants, sliced apart by the hurt he'd inflicted on one of two people he'd loved in his life, his inability to help the other. He bent his head, the muscles in his throat working convulsively. He didn't even care if anyone else heard the barely suppressed groan as waves of pain exploded throughout every feeling part of him.

Nat Thompson leaned against a post of the front porch. Lookouts had signalled the approach of riders. It had to be Nicky. She'd been gone nearly a week now, and worry had furrowed even deeper lines in his face.

She never would have taken chances like this if he'd been well.

He tried to will away the pain that kept grinding at him, then turned back to the pass where the riders would be appearing. He made out Mitch first, then Nicky, and his heart lightened. He then saw a man on a bay. Diablo.
Diablo was back.
The pain in his belly seemed to explode, and he clung to the post.