The Loner (24 page)

When she finally dipped down to rinse, he managed to pull his attention away. He heard a coyote howl off in the distance, and when he turned toward the sound, something made him pause. That long-familiar sense of knowing filled him.

Trouble was on its way.

Logan went still and focused on his surroundings. There. Behind another hill a short distance away. Was that the faintest of glows coming from behind another rise?

With urgency humming in his blood, Logan hurried down the hillside taking care to move as quietly as possible. By the time he reached the campsite, Caroline was out of the water and toweling herself dry. She gasped and covered herself with the towel when he appeared inside the circle of light. "Get dressed fast, honey. I'm getting a bad feeling. I need you stashed away somewhere safe while I check it out."

"But—"

"Please, Caroline."

Thankfully, she did as he asked, moving quickly and efficiently while he gathered his pistol and extra ammunition. "Try to move quietly," he said, leading her away from camp. He'd chosen a spot about a hundred yards away from the campsite, a place he'd noted upon their arrival for just such a circumstance. Surrounded by tall walls of rock on three sides, it offered Caroline both concealment and security. "I'll call out when I come to get you. If you see any movement in the meantime, shoot first and ask questions later."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Go take care of the problem, Logan."

"You'll stay here?"

"Yes, Logan, I'm not a fool."

He hesitated, then leaned down and pressed a quick, hard kiss against her lips before turning away. "Neither am I."

He took a route that angled away from both their campsite and the nook where he'd hidden Caroline, stopping every few minutes to listen and to concentrate. Nothing.

Yet, his antennae continued to quiver. Something was out there. A threat.

To the north, he again heard a coyote's howl. Was that the threat he sensed? A four-legged variety?

Could be. His trouble sense didn't differentiate between species when it came to threats. But it also didn't thump on minor dangers, either. This was two-legged trouble and he needed to track it down.

Moving like a ghost, Logan headed for the area where he'd detected the glow of firelight. The rising moon cast a silvery light across the desert landscape and made his passage both easier and more open to detection. He walked with his gun drawn and his senses alert.

The coppery scent of blood stung his nostrils long before he reached the spot where dying campfire coals turned gray.

Dear God. What if it was Will?

His mouth went dry. His heart pounded. He braced himself to move forward. At first glance, all he could see was a prone shape, and he couldn't tell if the body was man or animal. He made a quick survey of the surrounding area. The site had an empty feel to it. Whoever—or whatever—had been there wasn't there now.

Logan moved closer, summoned his courage and took a good look at the body. It was a man, thank God, not a boy. Not a boy.
I don't have to go back and tell his mother...

The poor bastard had been cut and stabbed dozens of times. For the first time since he'd begun this hunt, Logan was glad of the absence of strong light.

It's possible that animals got to him after he was dead, but Logan considered that scenario doubtful due to the relatively undisturbed condition of the campsite. No, a human did this. A human animal.
Sick. Just sick.

So, just where had the depraved bastard gone and how long ago had he left?

Then, to Logan's shock and surprise, the body on the ground let out a groan.
Sweet Jesus. He's alive?

Poor bastard.
Logan took half a step forward just as the man's eyes opened. Glazed and glassy, the plea was obvious even in moonlight. Even as Logan debated his decision, the hair on the back of his neck rose.

The first gunshot hit the dying man right between the eyes.

The second spat up dirt at Logan's feet.

Caroline heard the gunshot and flinched. When she heard the second gunshot, she jumped. "Oh, Lord."

She shifted her index finger onto the revolver's trigger and watched the area in front of her like a hawk even as she listened hard for any and every sound. Seconds ticked by...minutes ticked by....

The third gunshot shocked an inadvertent squeal out of her.

Her heart pounded, her mouth went dry as sand. The urge to move was strong but his words echoed in her mind.
You'll stay here?

She'd promised. She wouldn't go back on her word, not after everything that had happened.

Come on, Logan. Call out to me. Let me know you are all right.

She heard nothing. No scuffle of boots against rock. No voices. No horse's hoofbeats. Nothing.

Oh dear, dear Lord.

She tried to count the passage of time. One minute, two. Then five. Then six.

Go to ten, Caroline. Get all the way to ten.
If he hadn't reappeared ten minutes after the third gunshot, then she would leave here and go look for him. After all, she had also told him she would watch his back. Staying hidden away in her safe little hiding spot wasn't exactly doing the job, now was it? On reflection, she'd be breaking her word to him either way, wouldn't she?

She made it to the eight-minute mark, then could wait no more. She took a deep breath, kept her gun up and her finger on the trigger, and eased out of her hiding place.

She hadn't a clue of which way to go.

"Oh dear," she whispered beneath her breath. "Oh dear oh dear oh dear."

Make some noise, Grey. Unless it's a scream. I don't want you to scream.

She decided to make a circle around their campsite. It took all her discipline not to call out for him, but better sense prevailed. If someone other than Logan had fired those shots, then she very well might need the element of surprise.

She'd traveled almost halfway around her circle when she heard the sound. She halted midstep and listened hard. There. Again.

Male laughter. Ugly male laughter. Not Logan's laughter at all.

"Oh God." Caroline swallowed hard.

All right. What to do? She had to sneak up on whoever it was and see if he was keeping Logan prisoner. She absolutely, positively wouldn't think that those gunshots meant anything uglier than.. .well.. .that man's laughter.

Keeping the pistol at the ready, she made her way toward the sound. Perspiration trickled down her back as she heard that horrible cackle. All right, that was a good sign. He wouldn't be laughing like that if someone wasn't around to hear him. Would he?

Maybe there were two gunmen. Maybe they were laughing at each other. Over Logan's... "No!" she shouted in a whisper.

Caroline continued toward the sound, moving quietly, but not silently. Tomorrow before she and Logan resumed their journey, she'd make him take five minutes and show her how to walk like a ghost. That was a skill she could use. One she needed, by God.

Oh, God. Please, God. Let him be all right.

Moving forward, her foot slid on loose gravel and she swayed, losing her balance, making way too much noise. She reached out and grabbed at the thorny branches of a bush, saving herself from a fall at the sacrifice of her skin. She clenched her teeth against an expression of pain as the spikes gouged deep into her hand and stood silently for a moment, hoping—praying—that her mishap had gone undetected.

For a full minute she waited, holding her breath. Then when she heard the stranger begin speaking, she moved steadily forward. "Just take a look at the Preacher there if you doubt that I know how to make you talk. I'm famous in the canyon for my knife work," cackled the voice. "Stubborn fool wanted to take the secret of Shotgun Reese's stash to his grave. Well, it didn't happen, did it? Lookee here."

Close now, Caroline stopped when he quit talking. She saw a flare of light and heard the crackle of burning brush. Then the man continued, "I aim to win this fight, boy. I want that gold. You might as well tell me before I hurt you like the Preacher here. I'll be happy to slit your throat nice and quick like. That's a sacrifice for me, I might add. I do enjoy my knife. So, talk. Where is she?"

She? Did he mean me?
Surely not. Though she hadn't seen his face, judging from the sound of his voice she'd never met the man. What could he possibly want with her?

"Whatever you think Caroline knows, you're flat-out wrong," Logan said.

Logan! A tidal wave of relief washed over Caroline as she listened to his strong voice continue, "Ben Whitaker never mentioned the goddamned treasure to her. She doesn't know squat."

Her sight of the men was blocked by the same crag of rock that hid her. The rocks also deflected the voices, making it impossible to know which man was standing where. She did, however, smell blood and the fact frightened her half to death.

"Doesn't matter. Whitaker told the Preacher the location of Shotgun's stash in exchange for a promise to guard over the woman. He knew she'd be coming after her boy once the Plunketts snatched him."

"Which they did in order to use the boy to threaten Whitaker?"

"Yep. Just like I'm gonna do with your lady. Now, where is she?"

"Go to hell."

The stranger cackled his evil laugh. "Now, that was a mistake."

Only because she was listening hard did Caroline hear Logan's quick intake of breath.

"That feel good? It's just a warm-up. Although, since I've already tested my skills tonight, I'm already pretty warm. Maybe I'll skip straight to your pecker. Ever thought what it would feel like to bleed out from your pecker?"

"Fuck you."

"'Fraid that'd be difficult to do, though, since you won't have a pecker. Last chance. Where is she?"

Dear Jesus. Please help me.
Caroline drew a deep, bracing breath, then stepped forward, the pistol leveled at the villain's heart. Logan was seated, his hands bound behind him, his legs tied at the ankles. The stranger knelt beside him.

She hadn't expected this. How had he gotten the jump on Logan? He was young, younger than Logan, but lanky and slim, not broad and muscular like her husband. Even as the stranger noted her arrival, she snapped in a tone filled with bravado, "She's right here, you thug. Drop the knife."

The stranger moved like lightning and had his knife at Logan's throat even as she prepared to pull the trigger. "You drop the gun, bitch, and I'll let him live."

"You cut him again and you are dead." Inside, Caroline quavered with fear and nervousness, but she used the lessons she'd learned from living with Ben and Suzanne to keep those feelings off her face.

Tension hung in the air thick enough to taste. In the flickering firelight, Logan's eyes snapped with frustrated anger. The man dragged the knife, and Logan's blood beaded against the silver blade. Caroline gritted her teeth as the outlaw said, "Last warning."

He laughed and the sound sent shivers up her spine. In the dim light, his eyes took on a maniacal glow and they telegraphed his intent. Caroline's finger tightened on the trigger just as Logan let out a yell and threw himself toward the man and knocked him over.

They rolled and grunted and bucked, but Logan's ability to battle was limited by the ropes around his wrists and ankles. Caroline's throat went tight. She took a step closer as the men rolled again. This time, the stranger ended up on top and as he rose up and lifted his arm, the knife flashed in the firelight.

Caroline pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times.

The stranger slumped on top of Logan, who cursed and bucked the body off. "Goddammit, Caroline!" he hollered.

"Are you hit?"

"No! I'm fine. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Excuse me. I need to be sick." She turned away and that was when she saw the body lying on the ground. "Oh God."

She stumbled around a rock and fell to her hands and knees. Her stomach heaved and she vomited until she was empty.

A hand touched her back and she jumped. "Caroline," Logan said.

He's all right. Thank you, God. Logan is all right. I'm all right.

No. I'm not all right. I just killed a man.

Oh my God.
She gave her head a shake, hoping to clear it. "You're loose, Logan. How did you get loose?"

"Fellow left a knife lying around. C'mon, let's go back to our camp."

"He's dead, isn't he? I killed him. I killed a man."

"Somebody other than me. Imagine that."

Somewhere deep inside, she appreciated his attempt at humor, but she couldn't summon so much as a smile. She felt shaky and sick and afraid. She'd killed a man.

Logan put his hands at her waist and lifted her onto her feet. "Let's go back, honey. I can use a dip in the creek."

Caroline went along with him blindly as reality settled in. Halfway to their campsite she started to shake violently. She stumbled and he caught her to keep her from falling. In her mind's eye she relived the moment she pulled the trigger and her head began to spin. "I need to sit down."

Instead, he lifted her into his arms and carried her like a child back to their campfire. When the tears started, he held her, rocked her and murmured comforting words against her ears until she slipped into sleep.

Logan hated to leave her, but he needed to go bury that poor man the killer had called the Preacher. Besides, he had a powerful anger riding his blood that simply wouldn't stop.

He carried the camp spade and a blanket back to the scene and went to work digging a single grave between a cholla cactus and a flowering agave. Since Caroline had been the one to shoot the bastard, he didn't feel obligated to bury him. In fact, in this instance if he had been the one to pull the trigger, he'd probably make an exception to his rule. He couldn't think of anyone he'd rather see picked clean by the buzzards than this sorry snake.

Rage pulsed through Logan's veins as he methodically turned the hard dirt. Rage at the killer, rage at the circumstances, rage at himself. He had a lot of rage at his own missteps in this fiasco. He deserved to have his throat slit for letting that son of a bitch get the better of him.