Games (Timeless Series) (40 page)

“They took a horse and buggy?
Where’d they go?”

“Out
toward the main road. I’m surprised you didn’t spot ’em on the way, seein’s how you just came from that direction.”

“Thanks, Jamison
. That’s twice I owe you for being observant.” Jamison’s beaming countenance was Simon’s answer, and turning to Jake, he said, “They must’ve taken a trail. Do you know of any offhand that lead to his place, or back to the main road?”

“There are only two that I know of that are wide enough,” Jake said, mounting
. He stilled an impatient Asapurna and added, “If he had a conveyance, he’ll be hampered. Come on! We’re wasting time.”

Parker, Simon
, and Jake rode in single file out of the main stable doors. In the lead, and finally out in the open, Simon increased his speed to catch up with Marcus.

He caught up with him and yelled in an amused fashion
—as amused as he could be given the situation, “Do you know where you’re going, Marcus?”

Marcus glanced at Simon with an expression saying he was clueless
. “You know damn well I don’t.” His annoyed, clipped voice resonated in the cold air.

Simon only grunted
. “I thought not.” Then he grinned and said, “Follow Jake. He’s not too far ahead of us. We have a good idea where he went with her.”

“Thank God.” He slowed, letting Jake and Parker gallop ahead of him before following right behind.

Jake came to an abrupt stop and quickly dismounted. He hiked to the trail and searched the ground more carefully. He strode back to his horse and looked at Simon.

“No sign of ’
em on this trail,” he said, shaking his head. “They must’ve taken the other.”

In one smooth movement, he swiftly mounted and had his horse heading down the lane
. The others followed.

After riding another few minutes, Jake slowed
. This time he didn’t dismount. He carefully bent from the saddle, checking the bushes and shrubbery along the trail.

He sat up straighter and shouted, “They definitely came this way.”

With the others in pursuit, Jake rode ahead a ways and again slowed. Jumping once more from the saddle, he said in an urgent voice, “Looks like they had some kind of scuffle.” He pointed to the bent grass and broken stalks from the weeds. “She might have tried to get away from him. It most likely slowed him down.”

Marcus spoke up then and said with fatherly pride evident in his voice, “She’s no pushover
. I trained her myself.”

“When she first told me she was Marcus Franklin’s daughter, I laughed and made light of it,” Simon replied
. “Now I only thank God you taught her so well. I also pray she still has her weapon and won’t be afraid to use it.”

Marcus caught Simon’s gaze and chuckled
. “She still has that toy?” At his nod, his grin spread. “Don’t worry, she’ll use it if she gets the chance.”

Simon sobered and increased his speed
. “I am worried. Tyler’s already proven dangerous, so her odds aren’t good that he’ll give her the shot. But maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll underestimate her. I won’t rest easy until we find her. Let’s keep moving.”

All four men and horses forged on through the path, keeping to the hectic pace Jake established.

~~

Lying on a bed in a room she didn’t recognize and feeling totally disoriented, Giselle struggled for consciousness
. Her head pounded. The light hurt her eyes. Shading them with her gloved hand, she glanced around the room. She sat up and noticed she was still wearing her cloak. When Giselle turned to put her booted feet on the floor, a wave of nausea overtook her so quickly, she could only sit still with her head in her hands.

Once the nausea passed, she sat motionless
a while longer, clearing her head.

Panic set in
. She grabbed her middle and hugged herself.

“Get a hold of your fear,” she whispered
. “Do not let it overtake you. If you do, he’ll certainly win.”

Remembering Bradford’s words about killing Simon, an angst-filled pain shot through her. The dam of emotion burst
. Her tears flowed, running down the sides of her face in two steady streams. Since he was dead, her prayers for his arrival this time wouldn’t work. To survive, she had to have a clear plan that held none of the panic or the pain now ravaging her system.

How had she been
so stupid as to not see what had been right in front of her eyes?

Bradford was a little touched
in the head. He had to be, to be so cruel. Too intent on playing silly girlish games of keeping him on her line, she never noticed the telltale signs. Thinking back, she now realized they’d been there all along. His obsession with his mother, his obsession about punctuality, even his comments regarding her working with Libby were all signs of deeper problems. She’d always ignored them. Thinking of them now, she also realized his actions were what held her back from becoming more involved with him.

“I
will not let him win,” she said more determinedly, wiping her eyes. If he thought she’d give in easily, he was in for a big surprise. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. Drying the last of her tears and then pushing up to lift off the bed, her hand grazed the derringer in her pocket, along with the file.

Sitting back down,
her eyes lit up and she sucked in a delighted intake of air. Unbuttoning her cloak while reaching into her dress pocket, she pulled both items out and loaded the small weapon. She stuck the extra bullets in the pocket of her cloak.

“No!
The game is not over yet,” she said, rising. Giselle’s new intention became one of showing that deranged fool she was a worthy adversary who played to win.

She rushed to the door and tried the knob
. Disappointed, but not undaunted, to find it locked, her gaze roamed the room, looking for anything to help her cause. Spying a newspaper, she grabbed it and slid it under the two-inch gap at the bottom of the door. Praying that he’d underestimated her and left the key inside the lock on the other side, she put her file into the keyhole. As the file hit metal, Giselle’s exultation came out in a squeal and her smile was back. Pushing the file farther into the hole, she felt the key move. Upon hearing the clunk of metal hitting the paper on the floor, Giselle closed her eyes and sent up a silent thank-you, also praying her luck would hold. She slowly pulled the newspaper toward her, breathing a sigh of relief when the key slid under the space and into the room.

She triumphantly pocketed her file
. Her grin spread from ear to ear as she hastily stuck the key in the lock and turned it. After unlocking her temporary prison cell, she cautiously opened the door and searched for signs of life.

Nothing
. Warily she stalked into the hallway, holding her weapon close to her body with her elbow bent. Posed as thus, she moved slowly down the stairs, watching for movement.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped to listen
. Her heartbeat was so loud. Surely it could be heard in the quiet of the surrounding room. She slipped around the banister, rushing toward the door.

A sinister chuckle, along with
the sound of slowly clapping hands, echoed through the air. Turning in the direction of the noise, her heart sank. All hope for a mad dash out of the house was shattered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, stilling her beating heart.

Sacre
bleu.
It won’t be as easy as I thought, but I’m not defeated yet.

“My dear, you have surpassed my expectations
. You couldn’t know how I feel about game playing.” Chuckling again, Bradford shook his head. “Winning without a struggle is no challenge. I do so enjoy the chase, makes winning that much more fulfilling.”

Now fully turned
toward him, she brought her weapon in front of her. “I have no intention of letting you best me, Bradford. Surely you know that about me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Come, my dear
.” He nodded to her gun. “You know you’ll never shoot me.” He started walking toward her with his hand outstretched and a disturbing smile on his face. “Give me the gun before you shoot yourself.”

She backed up until her ankle met the bottom of the stairs
. She halted, unable to go farther without taking a step up. Shaking her head, she said, “I do not want to hurt you, Bradford, but I am not dying. So, if you give me no choice, I will shoot.”

His outright laughter revealed not only disbelief, but also amusement
.

He was now about fifteen feet from her, still walking slowly
toward her. She took another deep breath and waited for him to come closer, knowing the closer he got, the better her chances would be of hitting her intended target. She hadn’t lied to Simon. She was a crack shot, but the derringer’s best feature caused its biggest drawback. Its size—small enough to fit into her pocket—with the shorter barrel, meant it was harder to hit objects farther away.

Holding her hand steady, she stealthily aimed for his heart while Bradford kept walking
.

Finally she said, “That’s close enough.”

Perverse laughter was his only reply.

In a burst of speed, he lunged for her
. Only she was expecting it, and she fired.

He sto
pped short. The stunned look of amazement on Bradford’s face was almost comical. Watching him glimpse down at the wound in his shoulder, now darkening with red blood, Giselle leapt into motion, using his distraction. She ran for the front door, stopping only to open it.

In a full
-out run, out the door and down the front steps, she could hear him struggling behind her. She prayed the bullet would stop him, or at least slow him down, as she still wore the same hampering impediments.

She kept running
. She was about fifty feet away from the house when his boots clomped on the steps. Increasing her speed, she headed for the trees, a few more yards away, hoping for the time to make it to the cover they provided. From what she could surmise, her only chance of escaping the madman lay in that direction.

“Stop
, Giselle, or I’ll shoot. A shot in the back is no way to end our game.”

She ignored his words, keeping to her pace
. When a shot rang out and a spray of bark from a tree exploded five feet in front of her, she stopped and turned around.

Bradford stood
not fifty feet away with a rifle pointed directly at her. Giselle noted his shirtfront was covered in blood. It was obvious, from the rage on his face, his wound had done little to stop him. Standing tall with tears in her eyes, her thoughts were bent on staying alive. She’d be damned if she’d make it this easy for him to kill her.

If ever confronted with becoming a target, make yourself the smallest target possible.
Remembering her father’s words, she dropped to the ground and rolled. Then with shaking hands, she shoved another bullet into the chamber of her derringer.

But she wasn’t quick enough
.

The sick laughter she heard
made her realize the game was close to ending and she would be the loser. Of course, she took comfort in the fact that her death from a bullet wound couldn’t be mistaken for an accident. That little bit of irony had her smiling.

“You may think you
have won, but you have not,” she goaded, glancing up and seeing the rifle pointed directly at her. “Killing me will only bring them to you.” Then she let out a self-deprecating laugh and looked directly into his eyes. “Besides, you will be doing me a favor. With Simon dead, I have no reason to live anymore—so go ahead—shoot! I dare you!”

“My pleasure, Giselle
.” Giselle squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. A shot rang out. When nothing happened, she squinted up at Bradford.

His eyes were big with astonishment and he turned
. His last word, “Mother?” was spoken just before he hit the ground face forward, with another bullet hole spilling blood from the center of his back.

Then all hell broke loose as the bushes from the other side of the clearing came alive with four thundering horses and riders bounding into view
.

Shaking, Giselle rose to her feet
. It was then she noticed the older woman holding a rifle, tears streaming down her grief-stricken face, standing behind an obviously dead Bradford.

As the riders approached, Giselle walked over to her
. With her derringer still in her hand, she wrapped her arms around the woman, whose sobs by now were escalating out of control.

Giselle turned to lead her
toward the house.

“I couldn’t let him do it
.” Mrs. Tyler’s whispered words held so much anguish. “He’s gotten away with too much in his life. I had to stop him.”

“I
am sorry,” she said, using the words as a balm to soothe the woman’s hurts. Her tears were flowing freely again. She wiped them away. “I do not think he knew what he was doing.”