Reaper's Justice Page 5

  “No, it’s not.”

  Her nerves went taut in a flare of alarm that wasn’t the least soothed by his “You made the decision.”

  “You didn’t give me all the information I needed.” A glance over her shoulder showed the guy’s jaw was set and his eyebrow cocked.

  “Yet you made the decision anyway and now trouble’s come calling.”

  Trouble? She didn’t need any more trouble. She said so.

  He shrugged. “No one really cares.”

  She cared.

  He turned the horse around so it faced the way they’d come.

  She looked back over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  “He’d only run us down.”

  A man who could run down a horse? She swallowed. “Who is he?”

  Billings’s hand on the top of her head turned hers. In front of them, at the edge of the woods, stood something—someone—tall, big, and bulky. Menacing. Every horrible tale she’d been told of the demons and monsters that lived in the hills flooded her mind.

  4

  “HELLO, ISAIAH,” BILLINGS SAID.

  At least this demon had a name.

  The only response was a grunt that didn’t cross the line from beast to man. Adelaide rubbed her thumb over her worry stone, taking comfort from the smooth, rhythmic motion. Closing her eyes, she imagined she was home in her bed with its crisp white sheets, white-and-yellow-checked quilt, and fluffy pillows. She imagined she was warm and cozy under the covers. Safe.

  “You’ve come looking for this, I suppose?” Billings’s hand in her hair snapped her eyes open. With a tug, he tipped her head back.

  A growl rumbled out of the gloom and the figure took a step forward.

  It was a man, she could see that now. Tall, broad shouldered, and unkempt. His hair was long and wavy, brown touched by sun at the ends swept back over his shoulders and anchored there by his dark Stetson. His beard was thick. Dark clothes covered his body down to his black boots, but nothing could hide the power beneath. Something gleamed dully in his hand. A knife? A gun? Whatever it was didn’t matter. It was always the man holding the weapon who radiated the threat.

  As she studied Isaiah, Adelaide had the absurd thought that everything about him was a shadow. But then he took another step forward, and she took back the thought. He was substantial and she knew him. She’d seen him flitting away from her back door a time or two. A shiver that had nothing to do with cold went down her spine.

  Reaper. An icy rivulet of rain slid down under Adelaide’s hair, following her spine. It was bad. It was cold but no colder than the chill that shook her at the term. They were both Reapers. Isaiah was one of those strange men who had moved into the area last year after the end of the War. No, last year right before the War had been declared over. Shadowy figures whom the townsfolk feared and to whom they attributed all wrongs since they’d first noticed their arrival. She had, too, at first, but her own past had made her conscious of how rumor could distort fact. As time went on, she’d noticed that the number of wrongs had gone down since the Reapers had taken up residence in the hills. So when she’d seen the man hanging around outside her door, she’d started leaving out baked goods for him, the ones that hadn’t sold. It seemed such a paltry thing to do, she’d do the same for a stray dog, but she’d been compelled to do it.

  The War Between the States had been horrible to read about, but until the men had started to come home at its end, she’d never been able to appreciate the depth of the horror. So many of the men who’d come back to Montana after the War were broken, shadows of what they’d been. Some were missing limbs. Some missing their minds. Some both. Some had been heroes for the South. Some for the North. But when they rode home, it was hard to see beyond the shattered looks to the heroism.

  Then the Reapers had come. Men the townspeople rarely saw but who patrolled the perimeter of their valley. Silent guardians who had yet to ask for anything in return except to be left alone. Who was to say the Reapers were anything but war heroes lost to who they used to be?

  She glanced to his right hand, where that “something” still gleamed. She licked her lips and reconsidered. They could also be exactly what rumor said they were. Lethal monsters of the night who only allowed the townspeople to live for reasons yet to be explained. She’d been comfortable, caught between the two beliefs, making her own compromise by putting the food out and darting back into the house and immediately locking her doors.

  In all honesty, she’d never expected to come face-to-face with a Reaper. Yet she was riding with one and here in front of her stood another, the man who’d lurked around her home. His name was Isaiah. Her rescuer. He needed a bath and a shave and he wasn’t the most talkative, but he’d still come for her. Risked his life for her. She owed him for that.

  She forced a tentative smile to her stiff lips. His response was another growl. She leaned back against the man behind her. She didn’t owe him that much.

  “I think I’ll stick with you.” Like a burr. Isaiah was one scary man.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Billings pushed her forward and to the side.

  She grabbed for the saddle horn before she could slide off. He pushed harder. She held tighter, aware that at any moment he could get serious and toss her to the ground. Just the thought of rolling in the dirt turned her stomach. The thought of being that close to the compelling, terrifying Isaiah upset it more.

  “I’m not getting killed over a bit of fluff,” Billings bit out, keeping the pressure on.

  Never in her life had she been called fluff, and if she wasn’t hanging on for dear life to the saddle horn, she would have slapped him.

  There was another snarl and then hands were at her waist, taking the choice from her. She screamed, let go of the horn, and jabbed back with her elbow. Pain ricocheted up her arm. It felt like she’d hit a rock. This time she screamed because it hurt. Jerking her other hand free of her pocket, she lashed out again. Her worry stone bounced off her toe. Twisting, she grabbed for it, catching a glimpse of her captor from the corner of her eye. She blinked when she realized it was Isaiah who had her. How had he gotten to her so fast?

  She stopped struggling, her gaze locked to where her stone had most likely fallen. “Let me go, damn you.”

  She couldn’t see her stone in the gloom. She needed the stone—it was the only thing left of her former life.

  Another growl, this time in her ear. It should have scared her but it sounded too familiar. Too right. Goose bumps skittered down her arm.

  “Take it easy, Jones,” Billings said. “All I did was keep her safe until you calmed down.”

  From Isaiah’s snarl, he had no interest in being peaceable about anything. Yet strangely, Adelaide wasn’t afraid. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t detect any threat in the hands holding her so tightly that it was hard to breathe. Just a certain possessive determination. Cole had held her the same way when he’d found her living in that Indian camp after two years of searching. People only held people that way when they mattered to them.

  “Maybe we should have kept riding,” she gasped, trying to see Billings’s eyes beneath his hat as Isaiah backed slowly away.

  “I told you to trust me.”

  She had to try. Of the two, Billings seemed the more stable. “I trust you now.”

  “Too late.” Billings backed the horse up.

  Traitor.

  “He’s all yours.”

  “What am I supposed to do with him?” She wasn’t even sure he was sane.

  “My suggestion would be to do whatever you’re told.”

  “Of course,” she huffed. She had yet to meet a male who didn’t think following a man’s lead wasn’t the best course of action.

  “I’m serious.”

  “You do what you want.”

  She blinked. The voice was low and gravelly, as if from lack of use.

  Isaiah’s hands were like vises on her ribs, squeezing the breath from her. At least he was not holding the weapon now. Bu
t she knew he still had it. She dug her nails into the backs of his hands. He didn’t even flinch, just kept backing up into the gloom. She kept her eyes glued to the spot where she thought the stone had landed. She couldn’t lose her stone again, couldn’t go through this again. She struggled and kicked. “Let me go.”

  She might as well have been talking to the wind for all the attention the men paid her. Their gazes were locked in a silent duel. Beneath their shirts, she could see the bulges of muscle. The tension in the air was so thick she could cut it with a knife. They stared at each other like dogs competing over a choice bone.

  “It’s not like I was planning on keeping her,” Billings said, that smile that just made her want to smack him on his lips. “The woman never shuts up.”

  She felt Isaiah’s nod. “I know.”

  “She’s not much for quiet.”

  Isaiah nodded again. “I know that, too.”

  The heck he did. “I do not talk too much.”

  She might do a lot of things, but she didn’t do that. She was known for her silence. Her discretion. Her common sense.

  Billings chuckled. “She’s also got a temper.”

  Isaiah took another step back, dragging her with him. “She hides it.”

  “Not too well.” This time, Billings didn’t take a step back.

  Isaiah stiffened and shoved her behind him. Despite the congenial exchange, she’d only give it another minute before they came to blows.

  Isaiah took a step forward, and suddenly, she’d just had enough. They wanted to think she had a temper, then they could just have a taste of it. Grabbing Isaiah by the arm, she spun him around, part of her horrified by the action, another part of her thrilled at the illusion of control. His eyes narrowed as his gaze snapped between her hand on his arm and her expression.

  “I’m not a bone to be fought over,” she spat, letting go of Isaiah’s arm. She shoved her hair out of her face, wrenching her fingers through the snarls. She was dirty, she was wet, she was cold, she was unkempt, and it was their fault. All their fault.

  She fed the anger, driving back the fear. She didn’t want to belong to these men, and it would be a cold day in hell before she belonged to either of them. Nobody but she would ever dictate her future again.

  “You’re what I say you are for now.” Isaiah caught her hands, pulling them gently away from her hair but keeping her there.

  “No.”

  She didn’t have any choice. He had her hands. He had the muscle. He wouldn’t let her go. She bit him hard on his forearm. He didn’t even flinch, just let her do her worst while he kept himself between her and Billings. Protecting her, she realized when she looked up at his face to gauge his reaction. He thought Billings was a threat. She let go. Isaiah pushed her behind him. She let him, because when all was said and done, he was the man who had come after her while Billings was the man who’d been riding with the bandits.

  “Move on, Blade.”

  She blinked. Blade? The man she thought was her savior was called Blade? This time she was the one who took a step back.

  “Was planning on doing that in a minute.”

  Isaiah didn’t relax. Neither did Blade.

  “Do it now.”

  Was the tension between them a result of something that had happened during the War? Something they hadn’t let go? “The War is over, gentlemen.”

  Isaiah unceremoniously pushed her back. “Not for us.”

  “She’s right,” Blade said. “War’s over, Isaiah.”

  “You know that’s not true. It’s never going to be over for us.”

  “Yeah.” Blade jerked his chin in her direction. “You know what you’re doing?”

  Isaiah didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  Should she be grateful or worried?

  “Not sure she’s worth the risk.”

  Isaiah caught her before she could take another step aside and hauled her up against him so tightly she had trouble getting a breath. Again. “There’s no risk.”

  “I’d find it easier to believe if you didn’t have her pinned so tightly to you.”

  Abruptly the grip on her ribs loosened and Adelaide could take a deep breath. Another one of those grunts from Isaiah that could have meant anything interrupted the silence.

  She stopped struggling. There didn’t seem much point since she wasn’t having any effect. But she could listen and learn. Her cousins would approve of that. And no matter how terrified she was, there was something fascinating about both men. Something that had nothing to do with their handsome faces, muscled physiques, or confidence. Something intangible that came from within. Something stronger in Isaiah. She looked over her shoulder, trying to figure out what “it” was.

  “Shit.”

  Blade’s exclamation brought her gaze snapping back to his face. He sat on his horse as if he had a God-given right to judge, his mouth set in a firm line. He looked at her. He looked at Isaiah. And then he shook his head the way men did when they saw a certainty that couldn’t be helped.

  “I hope the hell you know what you’re doing, Isaiah.”

  “I know.”

  “This won’t go well.”

  Isaiah moved her behind him, not letting go of her hand so she couldn’t run as she wanted to do. “Everything will be fine as long as they don’t find out.”

  Blade snorted. “You putting a lot of hope in that happening?”

  “Not a lot.”

  Blade’s horse snorted and tossed its head as he pulled back on the reins. “Well, if you have a need . . .”

  Isaiah tipped his hat. “I owe you.”

  Blade’s grin flashed white in the gloom. “Yeah. Big, the way I figure it. Don’t worry, I’ll be collecting.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Blade’s grin faded. “You’re still the same ungrateful son of a bitch you always were.”

  Blade turned his horse and blended into the shadows that retreated before the dawn. How did he and Isaiah do that?

  In the last moment before Blade completely disappeared, Adelaide stated, “That was rude.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know rude when I hear it.”

  “And I know foolish when I see it.”

  She was suddenly conscious of how alone they were. “I think I preferred it when you growled.”

  “Trust me, lady, no one prefers it when I growl.”

  Backing down would be a mistake. Her experience with her cousins had taught her that, so she raised her chin and took a stab at bravado. “I didn’t give you permission to call me ‘lady.’”

  “I didn’t give you permission to speak at all.”

  She jerked her arm. “We just fought a war to free the slaves.”

  He didn’t let her go. “It’s not going to make a difference to you.”

  He was obviously the type of man who had to have the last word. That being the case, she changed the subject.

  “Let me go.”

  “Why?”

  She pried at his fingers. He had beautiful hands with long square-tipped fingers. And unfortunately, very strong.

  “I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

  She wasn’t going anywhere with him. “I can get there myself.”

  “You’ll get lost.”

  Her next tug got one finger loose. She took it as a positive sign. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “No.”

  Digging her elbow into his chest, she turned around until she could see his face. There was little more than an impression of full lips tucked inside a beard, and eyes full of pain. And intelligence? Yes, it stood to reason he was intelligent. Only an intelligent man could have defeated so many bandits in so short a time.

  “It’s my life. I’ll do with it as I want.”

  “I saved you.”

  “So?”

  “That makes it mine now.”

  Damn. He meant it. She closed her eyes, trying to find the strength to deal with yet another determined mal
e. Before she could find it, he was dragging her toward the woods. Oh no!

  “My worry stone!”

  He stopped dead. He couldn’t really understand what that bit of rock meant to her, could he?

  “Where?”

  “I dropped it when you jerked me off the horse.”

  She expected him to ask her why she needed it or berate her for the delay, but instead his fingers tightened viselike around her wrist and he dragged her to where the horse had stood. As he bent to retrieve something she couldn’t see—her stone, she assumed—she realized it made sense he wouldn’t ask.

  Someone had brought her worry stone to her at great risk to himself. That same someone who had wrapped her in a coat when she’d been chilled. That someone had to have been Isaiah. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she wished she had that coat now.

  “Did you find it?”

  A grunt was her answer. As he stood, she held out her hand. Without hesitation he put it on her palm.

  She closed her fingers around it. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t say anything. Maybe she heard an expulsion of breath that could have been another grunt and an answer. She wasn’t sure.

  Just as abruptly as he’d dragged her to where the horse stood, he dragged her into the woods. She stumbled along behind him, tripping over every stick, expecting to eat the dirt. But every time she tripped, he was there, as if anticipating her moves, knowing ahead of time what was going to happen. It had to be that, because nobody could move that fast that consistently.

  They kept walking long past the time she had expected them to stop. Long past when she expected him to reveal a horse hidden away for the getaway. He had to have a horse somewhere. How else had he kept up with Billings? Fifteen minutes passed before she realized no horse was lurking in the next clearing.

  “Where are we going?”

  No answer, just that steady pull on her hand. Beyond the trees it was getting lighter, but where they were going it was darker and eerie. He was taking her into the forest instead of out.

  The terrain changed, turning from level to steep. They were going up. She looked for their destination, but all she could see was trees. Nothing but trees. After a half hour her muscles were screaming, her lungs were laboring, and she’d had enough.