Open Country (35 page)

“The cave-in wasn’t your fault,” Brady said again.

Hank turned from the window, suddenly feeling restless and on edge. “I should have been more vigilant. Posted a guard. Something.”

“You had no cause to. It wasn’t negligence, Hank. Or an accident you could have foreseen. It was deliberate sabotage.”

“I’m the man in charge. It’s my responsibility.”

Brady threw his hands up in exasperation. “Damnit, Hank. Haven’t you made enough mistakes lately? Why are you looking for more?”

“What mistakes?”

“Christ.” Brady started to scratch the stubble on his cheek then winced when he got too near the bruise by his eye. “I saw you go past here with Molly last night. Then later you come stomping back like you’ve got a burr up your tail. Not the behavior of a well-satisfied man.”

Aware that his brother was watching him, Hank picked up the piece of wood and rolled it in his hands. “So you don’t think it’s Blake?”

Brady sighed. “You are one close-mouthed sonofabitch.”

Hank tossed the wood back onto the desk. “And you’re an interfering bastard.”

“I’m observing. There’s a difference.”

“Right.” Hank turned toward the door. “I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s seen a stranger in town.” Like the man outside the livery with Molly. He opened the door.

“What about Molly?” Brady asked.

Hank stopped on the threshold, one step shy of escape. The man was goddamn relentless. “What about her?” he snapped.

“What are you going to do about her?”

That was a question Hank had wrestled with since he’d left the house the night before, and he still didn’t have an answer. The woman had him doubting himself, in a constant state of confusion, and so furious he could hardly form a thought.

Yet he didn’t trust himself to stay away from her.

He was that doomed.

He sighed. For her safety and his peace of mind, there was really only one thing he could do. “I’ll think of something.” Then before his brother could question him further, he closed the door and went to tell his wife he was sending her back to the ranch.

 

 

THE SCARRED MAN SHOVED MOLLY INTO THE LAST STALL. She hit hard against the wall and crumpled to the hay-strewn floor. Fighting to catch her breath, she crouched in the corner staring up at the man who had followed them through Nebraska, then Utah, to Val Rosa, and now Redemption.

“You’re a hard woman to track down, lovey.”

He was even more hideous than Penny had said, and not just because of the puckered burn scar that covered the left side of his face from hat to chin. There was an aura of evil about him that aroused within her a level of fear she had never known.

He began to pace the small enclosure, his steps kicking up puffs of dust that danced in the bands of light coming through the gaps in the planks of the exterior wall. She wondered where the stable owner was and if anyone would hear her if she screamed and what the scarred man would do if she tried to run.

He was thin, almost cadaverous, and moved with a sensuous hip-rolling gait, like she imagined a snake might move if it had legs. When he spoke, he gestured in the exaggerated way of an actor on the stage, and his voice was a lisping hiss that made her wonder if the flames that had marred his face had damaged his vocal chords as well. There was a wrongness about him that went deeper than the scar.

Trying to focus past the fear, she looked around for a way to escape or a weapon she could use against him. Nothing, not even a bucket or a halter on a peg. If he came close enough, she could go for his eyes with her nails. Or kick him in the groin. If she could butt him in the sternum and momentarily paralyze the vagus nerve, she might have enough time to get to the door. But if she failed . . .

Despair swept through her. Thank God the children were at the ranch. Whatever it was he had planned for her, at least they would be safe.

Don’t argue. Do what he says. Stay alive,
she chanted silently.

He stopped before her, his elegant, almost-feminine hands spread on his narrow hips. He gave her a scolding look. “Do you have any idea the trouble I had to go through to lure Nurse Molly away from that backwoods ranch?” He waved a languid hand in exasperation. “Mercy, I almost died in that cave-in.”

At her look of horror, he laughed, a high-pitched trill that vibrated along the nerves under Molly’s skin. “Close your mouth, lovey. You look like a trout.” Hunkering down in front of her, he cocked his head to one side and studied her through eyes as dark and empty as an abandoned well.

Molly pressed back against the wall. “W-What do you want?”

“Me?” With an expression of exaggerated innocence, he splayed his fingers on his chest. “I don’t want anything. But your brother-in-law is most anxious that you return what you took from him.”

“I didn’t take anything.”

His hand shot out and struck the side of her face, driving her head back against the wall. Pain ricocheted down her neck.

“Please, love, don’t interrupt. Don’t let’s lie to each other either. It would get messy and I abhor messiness. And you wouldn’t want to upset me, would you?”

Stunned, Molly blinked at him, her senses reeling from the blow.

He leaned closer. His breath stank of cloves. “That was a direct question,” he said in his hissing voice. “You can answer.”

“N-No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I d-don’t want to upset you.”

“Excellent.” He settled back on his heels. “Now where were we? Ah, yes. I was explaining to you what you need to do. It’s quite simple, really. Return the book. That’s all. And voilà!” He snapped his fingers. “I disappear from your life, Fletcher disappears, and we all live happily ever after.”

“W-What book? I don’t have any book.”

He slapped her again. “Then you had best start looking for one, hadn’t you?”

Molly recoiled, one hand pressed to her stinging cheek. “I d-don’t have anything of his, I s-swear it.”

He drew back his hand.

She ducked, her arm over her face. But instead of the blow she’d expected, she felt his fingers stroking her hair. She shuddered with the effort not to scream.

“You have beautiful hair, lovey,” he murmured. “I once did too. But dear old mommy set it on fire. Would you like to see?” Before she could answer, he whipped off his hat and thrust his bald head inches from her face.

She stared in revulsion at the ropy web of puckered scar tissue that rose in wine-colored ridges across his ruined scalp.

“Nasty, isn’t it?” With a dramatic sigh, he replaced the hat on his head. “Children are rather afraid of it. Which, of course, makes it almost worthwhile.”

He studied her as though lost in thought, one long finger idly tapping the twisted flesh of his lower lip. “Now where were we? Oh, yes, the children. I love children. Properly trained, they’re so eager to please, aren’t they? But oh, so breakable.” He smiled, although it was more of a grimace because of the rigidity of the scarred flesh. “Now Charlie and Penny seem a sturdy pair. When I saw you with them in Omaha, I was so taken with their beauty I just wanted to eat them up. But then you left and I couldn’t find you.” Reaching out, he tweaked her bruised cheek. “Naughty girl. You won’t do that again, will you?”

When she didn’t respond, he tweaked harder. “Answer, please.”

“N-No.”

That grimace again, his twisted lips pulled flat against crooked yellow teeth. “Of course you won’t. And you know why?” He leaned close to whisper in her ear, the perfumed reek of his body almost as nauseating as his breath. “Because I will, you know. Eat them up.” He made smacking noises and stuck his tongue in her ear.

With a cry, she shrank away from him.

He laughed. “Oh, don’t be so squeamish. They’re really quite tasty. Now hold out your hand.”

Molly stared at him, her heart racing like a wild thing in her chest.

“Hold. Out. Your. Hand.”

Panting with terror, she lifted her left hand. It shook so hard, it looked palsied. He took it in both of his, patted it reassuringly, then savagely twisted her thumb.

A popping sound, then white hot pain shot through her hand and up her arm. She sucked in air, so stunned by the searing pain, tears flooded her eyes.

“Shhh, lovey,” he whispered, clapping his hand over her mouth before she could cry out. “We wouldn’t want to draw attention, would we? Answer, dear.”

She shook her head.

He removed his hand, gave his palm a look of distaste, then wiped it on his shirtfront. “Oh, do stop crying. It’s not broken, just dislocated.”

Cradling her injured hand against her chest, Molly swallowed back bile.

“Now listen carefully,” he said in his whispery voice. “You have one month, and I’m being generous here because Fletcher is frantic to find you. But I have other business in Mexico—did you know they sell children down there? Not on the street, of course, but if you know where to look—well, never mind that. But when I come back, you’ll have what I want, won’t you?”

Molly stared at him, numb with pain and terror, her mind so sluggish she couldn’t concentrate. What was he talking about? What book?

He tapped her bruised cheek. “Stay with me here, Molly. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

Suddenly he tensed, ducking his head to peer through the gaps in the outside wall as footfalls crunched through the snow in the alley.

“Well, hello,” he whispered. “Isn’t that your husband, lovey?” Molly lunged toward the wall. But before she could reach it or call out, he grabbed her by the throat and yanked her back. She kicked, trying to hit the slats, but they were just out of reach.

His grip on her throat tightened.

In choking desperation she twisted and flailed, her lungs burning for air.

“Shhh,” he hissed in her ear. “Not a word, Molly, or your fine strapping husband will end up like him.” Forcing her head around, he pointed her face toward the rails of the next stall.

It was empty. But in the one past it, she saw a horse standing along one wall, a splintered door on the other, and a limp figure sprawled between.

“I tried to make it look like an accident. One of my talents, even if I do say so myself. But you already know that, don’t you, lovey? Poor daddy.”

An image of Papa’s ruined face flashed through her mind. Despair drained the last of her strength and she sagged in defeat. When she stopped struggling, he let go of her throat and she fell onto her back in the straw, sucking in great gulps of air.

Stepping over her, he bent and peered through the gaps at Hank’s retreating figure. He made that smacking sound with his twisted lips. “My, my. Isn’t he delicious. Shall we call him back?”

Molly rolled onto her side and gagged.

“Oh, pooh. You’re no fun.”

With her hand cradled to her chest, she crawled over to lean against the wall. Shaking and nauseated, she watched him pace back and forth. She had seen madness before. She had seen the horrors one human could inflict on another. But she had never known true terror until now.

This man was beyond madness. He was less than human. A monster.

He stopped pacing and stared down at her. “Now where were we? Ah, yes. You were going to promise to get me that book. Because if you don’t, lovey, here’s what will happen.” He dropped onto his haunches before her. “First your husband will die. Then his brother. Then, after they’ve served their purposes, or my purposes, really, those delicious little children will die. Do you see where I’m going here?”

Numbly Molly nodded, tears burning hot streaks down her cheeks.

He cocked his head and studied her. “I’m not sure you do. Perhaps you’re not taking me seriously.”

“I am,” Molly said weakly.

“Truly?” He gave her a doubtful look. “Because I don’t sense resolve, Molly. I’m sorry, but I don’t.” He sighed. “Hold out your hand.”

Molly cringed against the wall. She heard a whimpering sound and realized it came from her own throat.

“You’d rather I call your strapping husband back? Because you know what will happen if I do, and he won’t even see it coming. Is that what you want, lovey?”

She shook her head.

“Then hold out your hand.”

Sobbing hoarsely, she lifted her injured hand.

“The other one, silly. That one’s already done. And do hurry. He’s coming back this way.”

Molly held out her right hand. He gripped her thumb. “Let’s count together, shall we? But quietly. We mustn’t let him hear. One, two, snap, pop.”

Molly gasped as pain exploded. Bile spewed out her throat and into the straw.

“Well, that’s disgusting,” he said, rising quickly and stepping back.

Curling over her ruined hands, Molly dropped her head onto her knees, her body wracked with shudders.

“All right then.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ll see you in a month, lovey. Don’t disappoint.”

She heard him start toward the door, then stop and turn back. Bracing for more pain, she looked up as he stopped in front of her.

“I really hope you’ll keep this”—he made a fluttering motion with his hand—“just between us. If you went whining to your husband or his brother, why it would upset me so much I just don’t know what I’d do. Something terrible, I suppose. For their sakes, you’ll keep it quiet, won’t you, lovey?”

When she didn’t answer, he bent over and tapped her dislocated thumb with his index finger, sending a scream up her throat. “Answer me, Molly.”

“Y-Yes,” she choked out, dizziness spiraling through her head.

“That’s my girl. One month. Oh, and Merry Christmas.”

 

 

“YOU SEEN MOLLY?” HANK ASKED.

Brady looked up from the latest assay report he had spread over his desk in the mine shack. “Run her off already, have you?”