IK3 (22 page)

him thinking about— Grinning, she scribbled her name on the ticket and

then sat back to savor the atmosphere.

It really was too bad they hadn’t taken more time to enjoy the whole Gold

Rush thing.

A few minutes later, a cowboy swaggered in, wearing chaps and boots with

real spurs that jangled as he walked toward the bar. His Stetson was pushed

back on his head, tawny curls brushing the collar of a blue chambray shirt. A

full moustache, several shades darker than his hair, drooped around a rather

full mouth that turned into a friendly grin as he greeted the waitress and

reached into the drawing jar to retrieve a ticket. Turning it over, he drawled,

“Chloe Whitney?”

She raised her hand and he sauntered over. “Howdy, Ma’am. I’m the

stagecoach driver. You’re the lucky lady that gets the last ride tonight.”

He had the brightest blue eyes—and they reminded her of someone,

although she couldn’t remember just who. “I’m waiting for someone. He

should be along shortly.”

“Oh, sorry, Ma’am. The boss has strict rules the horses need to be put up

before it gets dark. The ride’s only about ten minutes. Just give Lucy—” He

pointed toward the waitress. “—his name and she’ll tell him you’ll be back in

no time.” He winked at Chloe. “Doesn’t hurt to keep a fella waiting once in a

while.”

That was true. Maybe if she wasn’t waiting for Gavin like a friendly puppy—

Chloe smiled. “If you’re sure it won’t take too long?”

“Not long at all.”

She told Lucy who would be looking for her and followed the driver out. He

helped her into the coach. Two dark-haired men with beards and a blonde

woman were already inside. Tourists obviously since they were all dressed in

jeans and t-shirts. They nodded at her and continued talking about a bike

ride to Yosemite National Park. Chloe peered out the window as the stage

lurched forward. The horses began trotting, causing the coach to rock from

side to side.

“Gosh, I hadn’t realized how bumpy these things were,” Chloe said.

The blonde smiled. “Just wait til they get to runnin’.”

None of the coaches Chloe’d seen earlier had gone faster than a walk. These

horses were already trotting and they were near the edge of the tourist

area. “Why would the driver run the horses? Isn’t that dangerous?”

That drew a laugh from one of the men. The blonde leaned forward. “Gotta

have a little danger to make life excitin’ I always say. Just consider it a

special ride.”

The stage made a sharp turn and the horses broke into a canter. Chloe went

flying off her seat to land in the arms of one of the men. He pinned her to

him.

“What—let go of me!” Chloe pushed against him but she might as well have

been trying to move a rock wall.

“Well, the bitch really made it easy for us, didn’t she?” he asked as the

coach came to an abrupt stop and the door was flung open. Two sets of

hands reached for her.

Chloe kicked out and heard a satisfying thud followed by a rapid curse. “I’ll

cut you for that,” someone snarled as she was dragged outside, still being

held by her captor. Several huge motorcycles were parked nearby.

“You will not,” the driver said as he jumped down from the seat, all trace of

an accent gone.

“Bug off. We’re not being paid to take crap.”

The driver’s eyes flashed red briefly and the man with the knife dropped it.

“You are being paid very well to take whatever kind of crap I choose to dish

out. Is that clear?”

The blonde smiled at him while the men mumbled their agreement. “Mr.

Baylor wants this woman alive,” he said. “I am sure each of you is aware of

how dire the consequences will be if she is harmed?”

The men went pale, but Chloe hardly noticed. The blood was pounding so

hard in her head, she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Mr. Baylor— Adam

Baylor?

Dear Lord. Why had she not listened to Gavin? She fought down the hysteria

rising in her throat. If she ever needed a knight-in-shining-armor, now

would be a good time.

Only he didn’t even know where she had gone.

Gavin walked briskly toward Charlie’s Saloon, aware that he was a bit late.

Chloe did not seem to be the type of woman to complain about that—

actually, she had not complained about anything on this trip—but he made it

a principle to be on time. If he had arrived at Camlann a few minutes earlier,

he might have been able to stop the horrible destruction that followed.

He removed his dark glasses, his eyes adjusting immediately to the light

inside the saloon. Glancing around, he didn’t see Chloe anywhere. Gavin

frowned. Had she lost track of time shopping? Women did that. Still, he had

an uneasy feeling. This was the place they were to meet and she should

have been there.

“Hello, handsome. Can I get you something?” The waitress, a middle-aged

woman with overly red hair, curved her painted lips into a smile as she came

around the counter.

“I am looking for a young woman with spiked, orange hair. Have you seen

her?”

She raised a well-manicured brow. “Sounds like she’d be hard to miss.

Maybe she’s running late. Why don’t you have a seat and let me get you a

drink? My name is Lucy.”

The hair at his nape prickled. Now that he thought about it, Chloe had been

on time for everything this entire trip. Something was not right.

“You are sure she did not come in?”

“Haven’t seen her,” Lucy said as she brushed imaginary dust off the counter,

nonchalantly picking up a ticket stub to throw away.

Gavin’s senses alerted. Scotland Yard had taught him a few things. That

move had been shifty. “What do you have there?”

Her face flushed, then went chalky. “Nothing. Just trash.”

She started to toss it away, but Gavin caught her hand. He flashed a

dazzling smile, meant to make her forget the stub. Her eyes widened and

she opened her hand.

Gavin turned the stub over and felt his blood chill. Chloe’s name was on the

back in her handwriting. Holding it up, he spoke in a deceptively soft tone.

“This is the name of the woman I am looking for. Perhaps you might

remember her now?”

“I—” She continued to stare at him enthralled as he intended. “I—ah, that

was the winning ticket for a free stagecoach ride. I guess she must have

been the one to win it. I’m not sure—I—I just got to work a few minutes

ago.”

She wasn’t telling the whole truth. Gavin held her gaze, penetrating her

mind to discover what she was hiding. The probe backfired, jolting him. He

had hit a black wall of nothingness. Someone—or something—had already

taken her memory.

Only a demon had those powers.

No wonder the statue at St. Anne’s had held his attention earlier. It had

transformed itself into Brighid, Goddess of Avalon. She had only appeared to

him once before, when she’d led him to Lancelot during Templar times. It

was she who managed to strip Balor of his deity and exile him from the Holy

Isle.

The Goddess had sent Gavin a warning. Balor—or one of his demons—was

near.

And they had Chloe.

****

protect her from the chilly wind that swept down the bare, granite face of

the mountain. She tried to inch toward the small bonfire they were huddled

around, but an ankle manacle and chain tethered her to a stake in the

ground.

“Cold, bitch?” one of the men asked while the other two laughed at his pun.

“We can get you plenty warm if you are.”

She’d rather freeze to death. At least they hadn’t raped her—yet.

This abduction had been well thought-out. She was turned over to three of

the motorcyclists, arms tied securely around one of them and a sack placed

over her head as they roared off. It felt like they had ridden for hours, the

road getting rougher and the terrain more uneven, but when they finally

stopped it was still the middle of the night. Chloe suspected they were in

Yosemite from how thin the air felt, but she could discern no clear trail. Of

course, they wouldn’t exactly roll into one of the camping grounds. She

shivered again. How cold did it get at whatever altitude they were at in

October? God help her—what if it snowed? Freezing might be a real

possibility.

Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch. One of

the men had heated up canned stew and they were all enjoying hot, steamy

bowls that smelled delicious in the frosty air. A bowl had been set out for her

too—just out of reach of her tether.

It was clear what she’d have to do if she wanted to eat.

****

sold for stage coach rides.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed for the night,” the gray-haired lady working the

counter said.

“That is fine.” Gavin gave her an enticing smile. “I need to speak to the

driver of the last ride that went out.”

She hesitated. “I’m afraid he’s been taken to the hospital.”

Something akin to lead landed in Gavin’s stomach. “Why? What happened?”

“We don’t know. I saw the horses leaving town—which we don’t do—and

breaking into a canter, which we never do. I called my boss and he followed

the team. They’d been abandoned only about a half mile away on a dirt

road.”

“And the driver?”

“We found him in the alley. He’d been beaten.”

“Did he see who did it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Gavin set his mouth in a hard line. This had Balor written all over it.

Whoever he’d hired would have been careful not to be seen. The driver

who’d lured Chloe out—information he’d gotten from a grizzled old man at

Charlie’s—wasn’t a local. Hardly surprising. God’s Blood. They had Chloe!

“Can I see the stage that was used?”

The woman frowned. “Well, I don’t know—”

Gavin pulled out his badge. “It is important.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my! Scotland Yard? What’s going on?”

“I’m hunting a man wanted by Interpol. I have reason to believe he

abducted a young lady from the saloon on the pretense of giving her a free

stagecoach ride.”

“We don’t do that.”

“Yes, I know. I would like to search the stage, though.”

“Of course!” The woman’s hands shook as she reached for her cell. “Let me

call my boss.”

Thirty minutes later, Gavin crawled out of the coach, triumphantly holding a

scarf Chloe had stuck in her jacket pocket earlier. Another twenty minutes

had him scouring the spot where the coach had been found. Even though it

was completely dark now, save for the moon beginning to rise, his keen

eyesight honed in on several sets of tire marks. Bikes. From the looks of the

dirt that had been scattered in their wake, they’d taken off in a hurry.

He held Chloe’s scarf to his nose, thankful that Lucas’ wolf had taught him to

track when they hunted centuries ago. Her slightly spicy cologne wafted

from the soft wool, but more importantly, her own scent clung to it. Gavin

crouched down, sniffing carefully. Chloe had been placed on one of those

bikes. He had to be able to detect the smell of the man who owned it in

order to track it.

Damn! How much time had elapsed? The crisp coolness of the night air had

eliminated any trace of who had been here. He rose, going over the area

once more, attuning himself to anything out of the ordinary.

Turning to backtrack, he almost missed it. A slight gleam under a scrubby

bush caught his eye. Gavin bent and picked up an open switchblade. He

inhaled deeply catching the strong male scent of its owner. Whoever it

belonged to, the guy cherished it, almost like a lover.

Gavin grinned and snapped the blade shut. The knife would lead him to its

owner. Taking it back to the car, he placed it on the dashboard, leaving the

windows open so he could better track the bastards.

His fangs elongated. If Chloe had come to any harm from these thugs, Gavin

would be drinking real blood when he caught up with them.

****

ignored her protesting stomach and curled into a tight ball trying to protect

herself from the near-freezing temperatures.

“I say we have a little fun with the bitch,” one of the bikers said. “Ain’t

nobody gonna know if we all screw her.”

“It’s bloody cold out here,” another one said. “She could fire up our blood all

right.”

“We could keep warm all night,” the first biker replied. “I figure by the time

each of you has a turn, I’ll be ready to go again.”

“Who says you go first?”

“My idea. Besides, the bitch kicked me good and I lost my good knife. She

owes me the first round while she’s still tight and dry. Once she’s bloodied

up, ain’t as much fun.”

“Did you not hear what Lucien said?” the third biker asked. “She ain’t

supposed to git hurt.”

“Lucien ain’t here. What you afraid of, Gully?”

“Ain’t afraid of nothin’ and you know it, Scarface. We’ve been making good

money on the drug-runnin’ for Baylor. If the guy wants her in one piece,

why ruin a good deal?”

“It ain’t like we’re going to break her bones,” the second biker, Hawk, said.