The Stranger's Secrets (17 page)

The image of Mavis’s bloody body raced through her mind and she fought against the panic that rose. She wouldn’t end up a rusty stain in the dirt. Sarah was too strong for that.

“Sure we can talk. I’m going to leave town and you’re going to help me.” He pushed her up against the building. In the gloom of the meager light, she couldn’t make out his face, but the voice was familiar.

It was definitely Abernathy.

“I remember you from the first day of the trip, you know.” She fought back her fear and concentrated on surviving. “I showed hospitality to you and invited you to ride in my compartment. This is how you repay that?”

“As you know, Miss Spalding, time changes us all, as does the human need for survival.” His voice had a Southern drawl, probably Georgia if she wasn’t mistaken.

“Were you in the war, Abernathy? I know you’re a Southerner. Why do you want to hurt me?” She tried desperately to get a good look at him.

He chuckled. “The war is over and so is the Southern way of life. I’m taking what I learned from those damn carpetbaggers and using it for my own gain.”

Sarah hated carpetbaggers almost as much as Yankee soldiers. “I realize Mavis was as annoying as the day is long, but did you have to kill her?”

“Oh no, you’re not getting a confession that easily. Now let’s go. We’re taking a buggy ride.” He flipped her around, pressing her face into the wood building. Splinters lodged in her cheek even as her legs screamed in protest at the rough movement.

“You’re not going to be trouble, are you, whore?” His hot breath gushed past her ear. “I heard about your boardinghouse. Maybe you can show me some of your tricks. I hear you can suck a dick like nobody’s business.”

He pulled her arms up behind her back, then put his other arm around her neck and squeezed.

Sarah wanted to kill him. No, she made a promise she would kill him.

He dragged her down to the other side of the alley. Her heels dug into the ground, sending painful shocks up to her already aching legs. She tried to regain her footing, but he was walking too fast.

For the first time in a very long time, she wished someone was around to rescue her. No doubt one or both of them would be dead before the night was over.

W
hitman was frantic. He’d never believed that particular emotion would overcome him, but it had. Right after they found evidence Sarah had been taken.

Her cane lay in the dirt, discarded in the rotten lettuce leaves and broken crates behind the hotel restaurant. She’d never leave it behind. It was not only her walking stick, but her weapon.

He knew the secret of the handle as well as he knew she’d never have let the cane go without a fight. Abernathy had her. Whitman knelt beside the tracks and determined she’d been shoved up against the wall, possibly beaten, before he dragged her down the alley.

When he rose, a small smear of blood caught his eye on the wall. He reached out with a shaking finger and touched it. The wet texture told him what he already knew.

It was fresh. It was Sarah’s.

“He knew we were getting close.” Whitman whirled to face the sheriff. “If you hadn’t been after Sarah for Mavis’s murder, this wouldn’t have happened. Don’t you know how to investigate a crime? You look at all the evidence, not the circumstantial shit any fool could see.”

“Mr. Kendrick, take a moment to calm yourself. We won’t find your wife without working together.” Bannon might only be a train conductor, but he was persistent in his faith of others.

“Step back a pace.” Miller held up his hands, palms out. “We won’t find her if you intend to pick a fight with me.”

“I’m not picking a fight with you. I’m letting you know that I’m angry as all hell and I intend to make you pay for your ineptitude if anything happens to her.” Whit blew out a breath and tried to rein in his anger.

He wasn’t helping Sarah by yelling at Miller. Right then, she needed him to keep a clear head and focus.

“I hope nothing happens to her, and that’s the truth.” Miller sounded sincere. “I like your Sarah. She’s a hell of a lady.”

Your Sarah.

If only that were true. Even if they found her in time—no,
when
they found her—she was already lost to him. The pain and fury he saw in her eyes already told him she would never forgive him for being who he was.

Or for not telling her the truth about it.

“Where does this alley lead?” Whit picked up her cane and started following the drag marks.

Miller was right behind him. “To Elm Street. Not much there but some houses, the laundry, and the livery.”

Whit stopped and turned to look at the sheriff. “The livery?”

It only took seconds for that information to sink in. Whit started running, regardless of what was in the alley. If Abernathy had access to a horse or a carriage, they could have a huge head start.

Whit exploded out of the alley, unable to get his bearings. “Where is it?” He glanced behind him at the sheriff.

“There, on the right.” Not surprisingly, Miller ran like the wind. He was a healthy man who probably spent a good deal of time chasing drunks and runaway horses.

Whitman was right on his heels, praying they would be in time to save Sarah.

Abernathy tied Sarah’s wrist to the post while he saddled a horse. It was after he’d knocked the stable boy unconscious, of course. No one appeared to be safe from Abernathy’s violence.

Sarah watched him, balancing herself on her left leg while her right leg protested even the slightest bit of weight.

She needed to find a way to disable the man, but he was much younger and stronger than she expected. In the light from the lantern in the stall, she saw what the wide-brimmed hat and perhaps theatrical make-up had hidden.

Abernathy was not much older than Whitman.

“You collect widows and spinsters to keep yourself flush with cash?” She didn’t expect him to react, but he did.

“Shut up. I do what I need to survive. It’s not my fault if they are eager for companionship and fall under the spell of a charming man.” He bared his teeth at her. “Mavis was especially eager.”

Sarah snorted. “I have no doubt. She’d never been in a man’s bed before, and I’m sure she was trolling for a husband. Too bad you had to kill her and spoil her plans.”

“Her plans meant nothing to me. I needed traveling money and she provided it, even if I had to kill her to get it. You’d be surprised to find out what she had hidden in a money belt under her skirt.” Abernathy cinched the saddle tightly on the bay mare, then picked up the bit.

It did surprise her, actually, that Mavis had money, but it shouldn’t have. She’d spent her life as miserly as they come, and when she sold her property, she likely had a stockpile of money.

Now Abernathy had it.

The glint of something in the hay caught her attention and she shifted to reach for it as slowly as she could. Abernathy had his back to her, fortunately.

When her fingers came in contact with cold, hard metal, she nearly smiled. It was a spur.

Sarah had a weapon.

Whitman crept around the side of the livery, keeping out of the line of sight. Miller was on the other side of the building.

They were going to hit Abernathy from both sides, and hopefully, before he hurt Sarah or escaped from the building. Whit wanted to tear the man apart with his bare hands, but he needed to make sure Sarah was safe first.

The inky blackness of the night hid his approach. The low murmur of a man’s voice reached his ears. He strained to hear what was being said, but it was too far away to tell.

Whitman reached the back of the livery and checked the latch on the door. It was well oiled, a nice advantage. He opened the latch and eased the door open.

The voice grew louder through the opening and Whitman crept in, following the sound.

Please be all right, Sarah
.

Sarah tucked the spur up into her sleeve. Her hasty departure from the hotel room meant her knife was back on the dresser, useless and forgotten and her cane was lost in the alley. However, the spur would give her the advantage she needed.

Abernathy was busy going on about how smart he was, how women were gullible and stupid, and how he’d made a fortune taking what they were willing, or unwilling, to give.

He obviously liked to hear himself talk, judging by the fact he told her everything about his crimes without her even asking.

That meant two things: he likely planned on killing her and she was running out of time.

Sarah gripped the neck of the spur, the rowel digging into her palm. When Abernathy turned, she was ready, or at least as much as she could be.

He pulled the brim down on his hat and put his hands on his hips. “How am I gonna get you up on that horse? You’re a big cripple.”

Cripple jibes hadn’t bothered her in years, but he didn’t know that.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” She sniffled dramatically. “I can’t help the fact that my leg doesn’t work. Some Yankee soldier tore it up.”

“Poor baby. Did he tear up your cunt too?” His grin was anything but pleasant. “Don’t think I forgot about your special skills, Sarah. Care to give me a little loving and maybe save your life?”

Sarah looked him in the eye and nodded. With his pants down, Abernathy would be vulnerable and she could use that spur to her best advantage.

Whitman heard what Abernathy said and had to bite his fist to stop the murderous rage that flew through him. The bastard was going to rape her.

Sarah was probably scared and angry, same as Whitman. The only thing he could do was throw himself into the fray to save her.

Perhaps if he died, she might forgive him for not telling her the truth about himself.

As he crawled through the dirt and hay, he heard what sounded like a slap, then clothes rustling. Whitman ignored the pain in his heart in favor of the rage in his blood.

He peered around the corner to see Sarah tied to a post in the stall, her hair full of straw and dirt. Her cheek was bloody, and her eyes, damn it to hell, were full of fear. A man stood in front of her, his trousers gaping open.

Whitman forgot how to think and just acted.

Sarah heard a bellow just before she thrust the spur into Abernathy’s balls. He screamed in agony, falling back into the horse.

The mare neighed and reared in fear, and Sarah tried to make herself as small as possible.

A tug on her wrist made her look up into Whitman’s green eyes. His face was contorted into a mask of rage and fear. She hadn’t seen that look since her brother, Micah, had tried to kill their mother, so long ago.

Whitman sliced the rope holding her wrist and yanked her out of the stall before the horse could kick her.

Abernathy wasn’t so lucky. In addition to the rather vicious wound Sarah had dealt him, the mare had stomped him to death. He stared up sightlessly at the ceiling as the horse continued to yank at the reins, bloodying her mouth with the bit.

“Stay here,” Whit said through clenched teeth.

“You all right, Miz Kendrick?” Sheriff Miller appeared beside her. “Your face is a bit cut up.”

Sarah stared at him, surprised by his concern. “I’m okay.”

She looked back at Whit as he struggled to calm the horse. He obviously had worked with equines before, likely in the army, considering the ease he had with the mare.

Through the ordeal with Abernathy, from which she had rescued herself for the most part, she hadn’t been upset. She’d been angry and determined to survive.

Now that he was dead, and the sheriff there by her side, emotions started trickling through her, not the least of which was shock.

“Your husband was about ready to tear my head off.” He frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever run into a man more devoted to his wife.”

Sarah burst into tears.

Whitman finally led the mare from the stall and Abernathy’s body. The poor man had been turned into a pile of meat by the horse’s sharp hooves. Whit didn’t even want to look at the wound Sarah had inflicted with the spur.

It sent a shiver up a man’s spine.

The mare’s neck shook as he led her to an empty stall. He spoke soothingly to her, even as his insides jumped and popped like an egg on a hot pan.

Soon the mare was safe in the stall and he could take a deep breath. Miller stood near the stall alone, staring down at Abernathy’s body.

“So that’s him, huh? Poor bastard.”

“I can’t vouch for how his face did look, but I can tell you, he was definitely the one who murdered Mavis. The man was a self-centered, pompous ass who took what he wanted from people, no matter what the consequences.” Whitman grabbed a saddle blanket and covered the body. “If you’ve got a gravedigger, I suggest you find him quick. Nobody needs to see this.”

“I’ve got to call Ben too. The doctor needs to examine the body. There’s a wagon out back. If you help me hitch up the horses and move the body, I’ll drive him over to Ben’s house.” Miller started to walk away.

Whit glanced around and realized Sarah was gone. “Where’s my wife?”

“Gone. That Lorenzo fellow picked her up and carried her back to the hotel. Now let’s get this mess out of here.”

Whitman wanted to go to Sarah to see if she was all right, but he had an obligation to help Miller first. After all, the sheriff didn’t need to believe either of them, but he had. It cost a murderer his life, but the accusations hanging over Sarah and Whit died with him.

Now they had to deal with the aftermath, including the visit of the deputy from Belleville in the morning. If Whit went to jail for punching the idiot, then so be it. At least Sarah would be safe and the train could continue its journey.

With or without Whitman Kendrick.

Sarah leaned into Lorenzo, his firm young body carrying her with ease down the street. He kept to the shadows, trying to shield her from any passersby or prying eyes.

Lorenzo was a good person, a devoted friend. He didn’t ever hesitate to help her, no matter what the cost. The truth was, Sarah didn’t deserve such a person as a friend.

Lorenzo deserved better.

When they arrived at the hotel, Patrick and Alfred were there waiting. They both exclaimed at her condition and went off to find medical supplies and clean water.

Sarah wanted to tell them not to bother, but her voice had deserted her. The events of the day had sapped her strength completely. She had survived so much, physically and emotionally, all she wanted to do was sleep.

After Lorenzo laid her down on the bed, she pushed him away.

“
Amore
, you must let me tend to you. There is dirt, blood, and hay. You need to be cleansed.” He wrung his hands as he stood over her fussing.

“Go away. All of you go away. I want to sleep. Please just let me sleep.”

Sarah closed her eyes and ignored the protests. Lorenzo finally seemed to understand that the sleep she needed was to heal, regardless of what was on the outside.

She needed to heal the inside first. The last thing she remembered was the snick of the door as it closed behind him. Then blessed sleep claimed her.

It was nearly an hour before Whitman made it back to the hotel. He was exhausted, filthy, and in no mood for questions. Patrick was still at the front desk and he wisely didn’t ask Whitman anything.

“Where’s my wife?”

“She’s in your room, Mr. Kendrick. We tried to get her cleaned up, but she insisted on being left alone.” Patrick looked pained by the prospect that he wasn’t able to help Sarah, but he already had.

“Don’t worry, son. With your help we caught the man who murdered Miss Ledbetter and hurt Sarah. Believe me, he won’t be hurting any other ladies.” Whitman let loose a bone-cracking yawn.

“Maybe you should go to sleep too, sir. I can have fresh water brought to the bathing room if you’d like.”

For an extra fee, he could bathe in his own room, but Whitman knew it would wake Sarah. He’d make do with the bathing room.

“Yes, have the water brought in. I need to get clean.”

If that wasn’t the truth, he didn’t know what was. Whitman’s soul was stained with the muck and grime of all his sins, not the least of which was breaking Sarah’s heart. He sat down in one of the hard wooden chairs and waited for the hot water.

He hoped the bath would help cleanse more than the dirt on his skin.