The Loner (21 page)

"Sheet-fire," Danny breathed. "That makes me damned sad. Last time Mrs. Grey stood there looking like that, Will told me he was in for a whuppin' for sure. You gotta get him back, sir. He's my best friend."

"I will, Danny. You have my word. I'll bring him home or die trying."

Will Grey eyed the killer's knife and considered making a grab for it. After days in Plunkett's company, he'd grown a bit numb to the fear. His rage, however, had yet to abate.

He wished Deuce Plunkett to the lowest levels of Hell. He'd killed Suzanne. He'd caused Ben to go crazy. By now Will's mother probably knew that he'd been kidnapped, and she'd be worrying herself into the grave—all because of this cussed Deuce Plunkett.

I could kill him and not feel an ounce of guilt.
He'd been watching for an opportunity ever since they'd stopped and made camp an hour ago. Or rather, since Will made camp. Plunkett just sat and watched him do all the work.

Although Will hadn't been told where Plunkett was taking him, he'd bet his beloved baseball bat that they were headed for Black Shadow Canyon. The idea made him shudder. It wasn't bad enough to have one criminal to handle. In Black Shadow Canyon, he'd have dozens to deal with.

He tried to tell himself that maybe it wouldn't be as bad a place as rumor made it out to be. No one really knew what went on in that canyon. Could be the bad stuff was all talk. Criminals had to take a break from rape and pillage and murder sometime, didn't they? Maybe they didn't like to take their work home with them.

And maybe it'll snow in Artesia on the Fourth of July, too.

God, he wished he was home. They'd left Artesia by wagon, his kidnapper driving, Will bound, drugged with some bitter-tasting brew and stuffed in a trunk. The next day or two had passed in a drug-induced fog. He'd had the sense of traveling by train, but he hadn't gotten his wits back entirely until he woke up in a livery in Van Horn. Plunkett had put him on a horse, tied his hands to the saddle and kept a gun trained on him until they'd traveled well out of town into the desert.

They'd ridden hard, not stopping until dark and starting again at dawn. Yesterday about noon, he'd spied the mountains rising in the distance to the north and that was when his suspicions were confirmed. It was also when he'd decided to watch for a chance to escape. He'd searched his heart and decided that if the situation presented itself, he could.. .and would.. .kill Deuce Plunkett.

It would be a righteous killing. No one could argue otherwise. If he did it, he would be following in the footsteps of his father. Wonder what his mother would think of that?

"What are you thinking about, boy?" Plunkett growled. "I don't like the look in your eyes."

"Nothing, sir," Will hastened to say, dropping his gaze toward the ground, his tone cowering. It was a persona he'd developed right after getting his wits back, acting timid and scared, thinking ol' Deuce might relax his guard if he thought Will was a yellow-bellied coward.

"You better not be gettin' any funny ideas, boy."

"No, sir. I'm not thinking anything about anything. I'm too tired to think." That last bit had some truth to it. He'd been both surprised and grateful when the killer stopped early today.

"Good. Not that you'd get very far in this goddamned desert. No place to hide, no water to drink unless you know where you're going. Now get to cookin'. I want beans with that smoked pork and pilot bread and some of them dried peaches."

"Yes, sir."

Will quickly went through the familiar motions of building a campfire, glad to have the chance to move around with his hands and feet free. Although Plunkett appeared to watch him closely, he managed to squirrel away a few items he thought he might possibly use as weapons. A stone, a sharp stick. A hunk of cactus. He spied a scorpion scurrying toward a rock and made a note of its location. No telling what might come in handy, when.

He pictured himself throwing a panful of hot beans into the bastard's face and stealing his gun. He imagined kicking hot coals at the ass and grabbing his knife. He imagined leaping at the peckerhead and stabbing him in the eye with a stick.

He wondered how Lucky Logan Grey might act in a similar situation.

It was an exercise he practiced on regular occasions, imagining how the range detective who'd fathered him might react in various circumstances. Will had long harbored a secret fascination with Lucky Logan Grey. He'd read every newspaper account of the man's exploits that he could find. The story of how he'd captured a member of the Burrows Gang and used him as bait to lure the others into a trap was so exciting that somebody should write a book about it. At times he hated his father, at times yearned to know him.

His mother didn't like his preoccupation with Grey. She got a sour look on her face every time Will mentioned him, but she didn't try to prevent him from learning about him, either. The one thing she wouldn't do, however, was talk about him.

Will felt a sting when a stone the size of a walnut hit him in the shoulder. "Move faster, boy," Plunkett growled. "I'm hungry."

Let me stuff a yucca down your throat.
"Yessir. I'll do my best, sir."

"Damn right you will." Plunkett rolled to his feet and rummaged in his saddlebags, then pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

That's good, Will thought as he watched his captor take a long sip. Maybe he would drink himself sloppy.

Instead, he started talking.

"I hate this goddamned desert. It's either burning hot or freezing cold. Trip I made in January was a bitch with all the snow and ice. Damned wind was raw as a whip and blowin' hard enough to turn a prairie dog hole inside out."

Will was uncertain about whether or not to respond. A number of times on this trip the killer had displayed a hair-trigger temper, and he didn't want to spark it. But if response would encourage him to keep talking, to keep drinking, that could prove helpful.

While Will debated with himself, the outlaw continued, "Traveling in it put me in a sorry-ass mood. Stupid woman should have noticed." He took another sip of whiskey. "She should have accepted my request at face value. Should not have argued with me. Damn sure shouldn't have threatened me."

Will stirred the beans. Who was he talking about? Suzanne?

Minutes passed and Plunkett continued to drink. Will attempted to plan.

"Sure, I made a mistake, killing her like I did. I knew the moment she hit the floor and lay there with her head all catywhampus and her eyes open and glassy that there would be hell to pay back home because of it. Damned troublesome female. Why couldn't she have given me what I asked for? Tell you what, boy. Neither one of us would be here in this godforsaken spot right now if she had just cooperated."

Yes, he had been talking about Suzanne. Grief twisted like a knife in Will's gut and he wished Plunkett would keep his big mouth shut.

"Gunslingin' Suz," the outlaw muttered. "That's what they called her back in the canyon. Folks still talk about her. Said she could give Annie Oakley a run for her money. A person didn't lose her shootin' skills just because she retired and went straight. Only a fool would have let her get to a gun when she went running for one, and I'm no fool, by God. I thought Mama would understand."

He took an extra long pull on the bottle. "I was wrong."

Hope stirred in Will's heart. Plunkett's eyes looked to be going a little glassy. Maybe he would drink himself into a stupor.

"I didn't mean to push her down the stairs. I was simply trying to stop her. Who would have expected an old woman to be so strong?"

That comment brought the sting of tears to Will's eyes. Suzanne had been strong in many ways. She'd taught him a lot and he'd miss her until the day he died.
Which hopefully won't come too soon.

"Damn that old good-for-nothin' Shotgun Reese. This entire mess is all his fault. He's the one who cheated his family. He's the one who stole what was rightfully Mama's. I hope he is burning in hell right this very minute." He drank his liquor, then frowned toward Will. "How much longer till the food's ready?"

"Just a few more minutes. The fire is slow. I should have scrounged for more wood."

Plunkett snorted, then settled back to brooding. When next he spoke, Will thought he detected a slur in his words. "I found the map, though, didn't I? I had to hunt through her underwear and old shoes, but I finally found the stack of ribbon-tied letters."

Another sip of whiskey. Good. He'd downed a quarter of that bottle in the last twenty minutes. He definitely had to be feeling its effects by now.

"What's a woman her age doing with silky, skimpy underwear like that, anyway? Downright shameful, if you ask me."

Plunkett's fingers drummed against the bottle. When he looked as if he were going to set it aside, Will asked, "How did you know the map was with the letters?"

'"Cause I'm smart, that's why," Plunkett said, his words beginning to slur in earnest. "I recognized Shotgun's handwriting on the envelopes and knew I'd hit pay dirt. I figured the map would be in one of the last letters the old fart wrote. Sure enough, the December letter was pure gold."

Curious despite his better sense, Will asked, "What did it say?"

"Why should I tell you?" Plunkett belligerently demanded.

Will shrugged. "No reason. Just to pass the time."

The gunman snorted, then fell quiet for a time, but for a few drunken mumbles into his bottle.

Will had given up on learning anything more when Plunkett suddenly sat up and started spewing words.

"Shotgun told Suzanne that he was dying. He said he'd enclosed his Last Will and Testament, which gave all his worldly riches to her. He called her the one true love of his life—that really stuck in my mama's craw. She spent a lot of years with the bastard. But she forgot about it quick once she saw the third piece of paper. It was Shotgun's map to the lost Sierra de Cenizas gold mine."

"Geronimo's Treasure," Will said.

"Yeah. When I saw that, I thought Mama wouldn't be too upset that I killed Gunslinging Suz. In fact, I thought she might be glad considering how her man held a torch for Suz until the day he died." He sighed heavily. Hiccupped. "I was wrong."

"Your mother cared about Miz Suzanne?"

"Hell, no! She cared because the damned map is written in code."

"Code?" Will asked. "What kind of code?"

"Hell if I know." He fell silent again and Will thought he was done talking, but he had one more spurt in him. "Code was something Shotgun figured Suzanne would understand. With both of them dead..." He shrugged. "That's why you are here, boyo. Mama needs Ben's help, only once he figured out what had happened he quit cooperating. Him and his wife—damn their stubborn souls. That's why I'm back in this goddamned desert. You are our hostage to motivate Ben to decipher that map and find us the gold mine. Now, quit your lollygagging around. Feed me my supper."

"Yes, sir." Will piled Plunkett's food onto his plate, then walked toward him. The urge to throw the plate in his face made his hand tremble. Was this his moment? Was hot food his weapon?

He didn't know. He simply didn't know what to do.

He was four steps away, and he had a mouthful of his own heart and about as much guts as a skeleton.
Don't be chicken. Don't be spooked. You can do this.

Three steps.

Mom will kill me if I do something to get killed.

Two steps. Bet Lucky Logan Grey wouldn't hesitate.

Yeah, but he's the luckiest man in Texas.

One step.
I'm Lucky Grey's son.

Deuce Plunkett reached for the pan...and Will let him have it.

"Shee-it!"

The killer screamed, bringing a hand up to his face even as Will lunged for his gun. He got his hand on it, sensed the sun-warmed steel of the barrel before Plunkett yanked it away.

"Goddamn! You goddamned little bastard." Plunkett backhanded Will with the gun and sent him sprawling. "I'll kill you now, by God."

Now that he'd started the battle, Will refused to go down without a fight. He threw himself at the killer, his fists pummeling and scrapping for all he was worth. But Plunkett was older, bigger and meaner, and he overpowered Will. A hard elbow to the temple knocked him backward and made him see stars.

"You stupid shit," Plunkett said as he rolled to his feet. He stood over Will, scowling down at him as he wiped bean juice and blood off his face.

At least I bloodied his nose.
Will saw the gun come up and tried not to cower. He absolutely, positively refused to pee his pants.

He watched Plunkett cock the trigger, then he closed his eyes.
Guess when it comes to luck, "like father, like son " has nothing to do with it.

Sorry, Mama.

After giving Ellen one final hug, Caroline stepped back inside her house and shut the front door. Only then did she drop her brave facade and allow her fear full rein. She collapsed against the door, shaking like a willow in a whirlwind as her mind replayed Danny Glazier's confession.

Her family. Oh, dear, dear Lord. Her family. How had they come to this? Suzanne murdered. Ben in some sort of trouble with Shotgun Reese's paramour. Will kidnapped by a crazed killer.

Her estranged husband sharpening his Bowie knife in her kitchen.

Suzanne's voice echoed in her mind.
Pull yourself together, Caroline. Tears and fears won't help Will one little bit.

"You're right," Caroline murmured. She made herself stand up straight. She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She needed to talk to Logan, and she'd be a fool to approach him while acting like a weak-kneed female.

You're the same woman who brought down a bank robber. You're the same woman who stayed strong in the face of a tornado. You can face anything Logan Grey has to throw at you.

"Questionable choice of words there, Suzanne, considering that last time I saw him he was sharpening his knife," she muttered as she walked toward the kitchen door. She wasn't quite sure how to react when she saw that Logan had set down his knife.

Now he was oiling his gun.