Reaper's Justice Page 3

“Probably wolves drawn by the food,” Billings offered, rolling another smoke. “Winter’s been a hard one.”

  José drew his gun. “I fucking hate wolves.”

  Adelaide yanked at her hands.

  Bob pulled his revolver, too. “I’m not afraid of wolves.”

  Her estimation of his mental capacity dropped another notch. Wolf packs killed cattle, sheep, horses, and people when times got very tough. At the end of winter, times were their toughest. He crossed to the small fire and grabbed a stick, the slight swagger in his step telegraphing what he intended to do before he said it. “I’ll check things out.”

  “You do that, boy, and when you get your frozen ass back here, you can tell us all about the wolves you didn’t see.”

  Bob shot the speaker, the man she’d classified as “fancy-man” from his shiny vest and ornate spurs, a disgusted look. “Fuck you, Dempsey. If it’s close, I’ll find it.”

  “Don’t no one find wolves,” a man too nondescript to have earned a name yet said. He made the sign of the cross. “They are devil animals.”

  Adelaide made note of his reaction. Superstition could be worked with.

  “It’s just a damn wolf, Manuel,” Bob said with disgust, lifting the torch. “Just let me get the gleam of his eyes in the light and I’ll put an end to his growling.”

  Now, she had five names.

  Sticks cracked and snow crunched as Bob moved out of her line of sight and headed into the night behind her.

  “Stupid kid,” Dempsey muttered.

  José holstered his gun. “Eh, let him go. It matters not if he kills the wolf.”

  “It will matter a lot if the gunshot alerts the posse following,” Blade stated logically.

  “There is no posse.” José made a dismissive motion with his hand. “The sentries have seen nothing.”

  Billings crushed out his smoke. “The Camerons aren’t the sort to send sign ahead. And that older cousin of hers isn’t called Ghost for nothing.”

  “They’re men. We have the higher ground. If they were following, we would know.”

  The certainty in José’s voice crippled Adelaide’s conviction. The scoff in Billings’s voice restored it. “That what you want me putting on your grave marker? ‘We would know’?”

  She couldn’t see José’s face, but the set of his beefy shoulders worried her. If the two men exchanged gunfire, she’d be in the path of the bullets. She tugged harder at her bonds. “I’m starting to believe you’re chicken shit, Billings.”

  “Believe whatever the hell you want.”

  “You’ve been whining ever since we stopped in Dover’s Crossing.”

  “Kidnapping women is bad business.”

  “You superstitious like Manuel?”

  “Nah, just logical. Kidnapping a decent woman gets everyone who hears of it riled. Puts the kind of posse on your tail you can’t shake.”

  There was a murmur of agreement from the men.

  With the blade of his knife, Billings pointed at her. “Especially one with kin like hers.”

  “Her kin killed my brother.”

  “Guess it wouldn’t do any good to point out he was killed during the kidnapping of another woman?”

  “He was my brother.”

  “Thought not.”

  “I’m thinking you’re yellow.”

  Billings cut off a piece of jerky. “You’re welcome to test that theory anytime you want. But truth is, I signed on for a bank robbery, not a kidnapping.”

  There was another murmur of agreement among the men.

  José seemed to square off. “You don’t like the way I do things, you can ride out.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Now would be good.”

  Billings went still and somehow all that nonchalance turned lethal as he held the slice of jerky balanced on the edge of his knife. “Morning will be soon enough.”

  “And if I insist you leave now?”

  Billings rose to his feet. He was tall, standing a good six inches over José. He popped the piece of jerky into his mouth.

  Adelaide wished she shared his nonchalance.

  “Then you’re going to have to go chase down Bob yourself.”

  José stared at him for a long minute. All Adelaide could see was his profile. It didn’t tell her much. Then he grunted and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Earn your keep and fetch him back, Billings.”

  Billings sheathed his knife long before Adelaide would have. She didn’t trust the leader as far as she could throw him, but Billings strolled by him as if he knew he was no threat. Or, she realized as José stepped out of his way, as if he were confident he could handle any threat José threw his way. She blinked and the man was gone. Disappeared into the shadows like mist into fog. One minute Billings was there and the next he wasn’t.

  “Madre de Dios.”

  Dempsey stared at the spot where Billings had been and made the sign of the cross. José’s hand came up. He stopped just short of completing the gesture others in the group were taking up. Adelaide tugged harder on her hands. Pain ground up from her wrists, traveling up her half-frozen arms in an unrelenting shudder. She gasped. José looked at her, evil in his eyes, and then turned back to stare into the darkness.

  Something grazed her fingertips. Panic froze her more solid than the temperature. Dear God, the wolf! The next instant, a hand covered her mouth and nose, holding her pinned through her instant of panic. When she stilled, the hand moved down a fraction so she could breathe. The scent of leather filled her lungs on her first breath. A barely audible “Shhh” wrapped around her, more welcome than warmth.

  She wasn’t alone anymore.

  “No noise.”

  The voice was rough, as if rarely used. The syllables flowed together, only skimming the consonants.

  She nodded.

  There was a rustle of cloth and then something heavy and warm covered her. She sank back against the tree as the coat enfolded her in blessed heat. The scent of leather intensified, but beneath it came another scent. Something masculine. Pleasing. A fragrance she thought she should recognize but couldn’t. There was another rustle and then a piece of jerky prodded her lips.

  The dark whisper came again, a near silent extension of the night. “Eat.”

  Her stomach rose, remembering what she’d seen earlier. Her stomach didn’t care. It gurgled so loudly she feared the men would hear. But no one paid her any attention. Someone had pulled out a flask. They were passing it around, gaining courage. Gaining ideas. The jerky pressed against her mouth again. She took a bite of the tough meat and held it in her mouth as revulsion wove through her. For the possible condition of the meat, for the drunkenness of the men. For what it was all going to mean to her.

  The unseen stranger’s hand left her mouth. More rustling. Something creamy and cool smoothed onto her wrists around the bonds, burning and then soothing. Balm? Why was he applying balm? Why wasn’t he untying her? She chewed faster. The meat was tough. To heck with it. She was just going to have to talk with her mouth full. “Untie me.”

  Instead of answering, hands cupped hers. They were large and strong, rubbing her fingers with brusque efficiency, his flesh catching oddly on hers. After a couple minutes in which she chewed and he rubbed, the feeling came back to her fingers in a burning ache. She gasped.

  She froze as Dempsey looked in her direction. Oh God! He’d see the coat and it would be all over. That hand came back over her mouth, making her order of “Run” a puff of sound. Dempsey’s gaze traveled on by as if there was nothing untoward about her appearance. She looked down, squinting. In the darkness, the coat that had been thrown over her blended into the color of her dress. From the firelight, looking into the shadows, she probably did just look a little lumpier. Still, she didn’t take a breath until someone diverted Dempsey’s attention with the flask.

  “Bob isn’t back.”

  “Neither is Billings.”

  “I don’t trust that man,” another bandit mut
tered.

  “Hell, you don’t trust anyone.”

  The unknown man behind her continued to rub her hands, bringing the life back to them. She didn’t see the point. They were only going to get cold again. “You need to untie me and get out of here,” she whispered, putting particular emphasis on the “untie” part. Untied she’d have a chance.

  “Shhh.” Warmth enfolded her hands in a smooth tug. Gloves, he’d put gloves, still warm from his skin, on her. His hand touched her shoulder in a warning. “Wait.”

  Billings came back into the ring of firelight.

  “Where’s Bob?” José called.

  Billings jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Out there with his throat torn out.”

  “Madre!”

  “Hijo de la—”

  Men glanced uneasily at the impenetrable dark, reaching for guns, God, whatever they could.

  “Shut up!” José hissed. Rising to his feet, a flask in his hand, he motioned to the dark. “And we are to believe this?”

  “You can believe whatever the hell you want.”

  “You do not bring proof ?”

  “You want to drag a bloody corpse in, be my guest.”

  Their fear transferred to her. She yanked her arms. Fingers grazed the length of her arm. “Be still.”

  “I’m not being still until I get free.” She yanked her wrists. “Untie me.”

  “No. You’ll run.”

  “Yes!”

  He fiddled with the edge of the gloves. “It’s not time yet.”

  “Time?” He wanted a specific time. As far as she was concerned, it was past time. He was as crazy as the others.

  “Be ready when I call you.” The whisper reached around her again. Solid. Strong. Something to believe in.

  There was a tug at her wrist and then something warm and smooth dropped into her palm inside the too-big glove. She curled her fingers around it. Her worry stone. She’d recognize it anywhere. She glanced over at the men. No one was watching her. They were all facing the darkness and the demon they feared.

  “Where’d you get this?”

  There was no answer to her question. No response. She was alone again, protected from the cold by his jacket, his gloves, her hope restored through the strength of his presence and the stone in her hand. The stone he’d returned to her. The stone whose significance only a few understood.

  “Who are you?”

  The soft whisper drifted on the wind, unanswered. A howl reverberated out of the night. Chills raced down her spine. The men jerked. Dempsey fired off a wild shot. Manuel crossed himself again.

  “Told you kidnapping a woman was bad business,” Billings growled.

  “Shut the fuck up. The woman has nothing to do with wolves,” José snapped. “Dempsey, holster that damn gun down before you kill one of us.”

  A howl came again. Sparks shot in the air as a log was hastily thrown on the fire. The flare of light reached her corner of hell. It was too much to hope that no one would notice her now-covered state. She rubbed her worry stone harder, praying for invisibility.

  “What the hell is that?”

  José grabbed a branch from the fire and came over. She shrank back against the tree as he bore down upon her, shadows from the torch flickering around him like snakes. She hated snakes, hated dirt, hated disorder, and she was surrounded by two of the three.

  José leaned over, hate and suspicion pouring off him. His eyes were narrowed to slits of evil. His filthy hand reached for her. Behind him the other men loomed, dark menacing shadows. She kicked out, catching José on the knee. He grunted and swore before drawing his foot back. She closed her eyes.

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  It was a simple bit of advice, delivered by Billings in no particular tone. A shadow came between her and the light, plunging her into an instant of darkness. A twig snapped. Reddish light burned once again against her inner eyelids. Adelaide opened her eyes. José was looking over his shoulder. A day’s growth of beard darkened his face, giving it a more sinister profile. If that was possible.

  “Why not?”

  A sulphur flared. The small flame threw Billings’s face into stark relief. He was younger than she’d thought. Maybe in his late twenties. Handsome in the hard-faced way so common to men out here in the Montana Territory.

  “Because I’m thinking whoever wanted her warm would take exception to anyone touching her.”

  “If whoever wanted her was capable of doing anything, then he’d have taken her rather than leave her.”

  Billings shrugged and stepped away. “You go right on thinking that.”

  José leaned down and then stopped, his hand inches from her shoulder. “Do you know something we should?”

  “Just a bad sign when I see it.”

  “And you think this is a bad sign?”

  “I think you bought a whole lot of bad signs when you went from bank robbing to woman snatching.”

  Around him, men murmured in agreement.

  “So you already said.”

  Billings took a pull of his smoke. “So I did.”

  José snatched the coat off her. For a split second Adelaide was between warm and cold, an impenetrable place where nothing seemed able to touch her, then the wind blew. The men murmured. The coat fell to the ground. And the wolf howled again.

  A chill swept over her. If her hands had been free, she would have grabbed for the coat, pulled it up over her shoulders. Her head. She rubbed the stone harder.

  “Whoever is out there can do nothing.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you challenge my leadership?”

  “Nah, just your assumptions.”

  José motioned two men forward. “Untie her.”

  “That’s a mistake.”

  “No one asked you.”

  Billings stepped back and away. “Nope. That is the truth.”

  Another drag on the cigarette. The glow on the tip was very orange. She focused on it, sensing her situation had just gone from bad to worse.

  Two men stepped forward immediately. She didn’t have names for them. They hadn’t done anything to stand out. Until now. Now, based on the grins on their faces, she was going to name them Lech and Lecherous. She kicked out. They avoided her feet with disheartening ease. She clenched her fingers over the worry stone as they cut the bonds between her hands. The gloves fell to the ground. They yanked her to her feet. Her arms howled in misery. Tears burned her eyes. She didn’t let a sound pass her lips. She had the ridiculous thought, as they dragged her closer to the fire, that her would-be rescuer would be proud of her.

  As soon as she got within five steps of José, the men shoved her forward. Her headlong stumble was stopped by José’s hand under her chin. He lifted her face to his as he took a drink from his flask.

  “Not so composed now, eh?”

  She blinked the tears away. Her mouth felt stiff. The words sounded disjointed. “Everyone’s composure slips now and then.”

  He took another drink, his gaze on the night behind her. “Like maybe the man who gave you the coat is about to?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Try as she might, she couldn’t get her arms to move. All she could do was stand there as far away as his grip allowed. She couldn’t even get a glare going for the agony shooting down her arms. She hoped she still had the worry stone in her hand. She pretended she did. Working it between her fingers. Two rubs on one side, and then rotate it to the other side, where she did three circles. Making five in all. The magic five. And then she started all over.

  José made a tiny motion with his pinky. Just a couple twitches but it snapped every man present to full attention. Even Manuel stopped crossing himself to stare.

  “Strip her.”

  Oh, Lord in Heaven! The next ten seconds passed in a horror of slowness. The footsteps coming up behind her. The harshness of men breathing in her ear as their hands grabbed the front of her sturdy wool dress. The disgusting anticipation in José’s face as they took a step
back and pulled. The tension that spread down her spine as the wooden buttons strained under the pressure. A splatter of brilliant red shot past her shoulder and splashed over José’s face as his hands fell away. Wetness hit her cheeks. She listed to the side and then the other hands released her, sending her reeling back the other way. She heard two soft thumps and then two loud explosions. Rifle shots, she realized. And those thunks were her attackers falling to the ground. Which meant the wet stuff on her face was . . . blood. Human blood. Horror spread through her. Around her, men shouted and dived for cover.

  She stood there, staring at the fallen men, her skin crawling, memories screaming. War cries. A woman’s screams. Her mother’s shout to run. But she couldn’t run. She couldn’t move. She could only stand there and watch them come for her.

  No, she thought, holding her memories at bay with sheer determination. No. This is now. Not the same. And the blood was that of the enemy, not her mother’s. The explosions were gunfire. And someone had just saved her from being raped. This time things were going to end differently.

  Adelaide spun around, her arms swinging uselessly as she stared into the darkness toward where she thought the reports had originated. Her lips shaped around the words “Thank you.”

  Dear God, thank you.

  3

  THANK YOU.

  Isaiah stared down the scope and blinked as he read the woman’s lips. She was thanking him. The men around her were diving for cover like squirrels surprised at a party, firing random shots into the dark, and she stood there like a symbol of calm amid the chaos, looking directly toward where he hid. Proud. Beautiful. Not looking through him but at him. And thanking him. Son of a bitch.

  He lowered the rifle, feeling the shock of that look down to his gut. She’d been as brave as all get-out when those sons of bitches had come up behind her and put their hands on her, that chin coming up in an unconscious challenge as they got ready to strip her bare, to shame her in an effort to shame him. As if all the shame hadn’t been beaten out of him years ago. Assuming he’d ever had any.

  She’d stood there and dared them, her arms hanging uselessly from the too-tight bonds to make it happen. He’d been as unable to let it happen as she had been to cower. The leader came up behind her, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her around. Her cry raked down Isaiah’s spine, raising the beast. A drop of blood spread over his tongue as his fangs cut through his gums.