Undercover Bride (33 page)

Then she heard it again: a soft scraping sound. The hayloft opening was only about eight inches over her head. At that moment it appeared to be a monstrous mouth waiting to devour her.

She’d burst into her share of outlaw hideouts and other dangerous places through the years, but never on a ladder. She didn’t even like heights.

Biting her lower lip, she forced herself to concentrate. Hesitation could be deadly. A detective’s best tool was the element of surprise. Holding on to the ladder with one hand, she pulled out her gun.

It was bright outside, and normally she would close her eyes for a full five minutes before entering a darker area. That’s how long it took eyes to fully adjust, but today she couldn’t afford such luxury. She needed to stay alert to her surroundings.

She closed her eyes for only a few seconds. Okay now, one, two, three…

She pushed up to the last rung in one swift movement and leaned into the window, gun first.

Toby looked up from his “room,” his eyes wide with surprise. “Hello, Miss Taylor.” He still called her by her assumed name.

Relief flooded through her. Toby was safe and Cotton nowhere in sight. She holstered her gun and climbed through the window. In her haste, she tripped over a bale of hay.

Picking herself up, she brushed off her skirt. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on the house and work on my mechanical horse.”

“How long have you been here?” Toby’s inventions would be the death of him yet.

He shrugged. “Not very long.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“Nope. But someone messed up my things.” He indicated the scattered tools on the floor.

“Okay, listen to me, Toby. This is important.” She waited until she had the boy’s full attention. “Your uncle Charlie is not a very nice man. I’m afraid he might hurt us if we’re not careful, so I need you to do exactly what I tell you to do. Understand?”

His eyes widened as she spoke, and he nodded.

“I want you to stay here and not make a sound. Under no circumstances are you to leave until I tell you it’s safe to do so.”

She moved to the window and gasped. Either her eyes were playing tricks on her or Garrett just stepped out of the house. Cotton was behind him. She couldn’t be certain, but it looked like he was holding a gun.

“Pa!”

“Shh.” She pulled Toby away from the window.

“You gotta do something,” Toby whimpered, “or he’ll hurt Pa.” He sounded close to tears.

“Okay, now listen to me.” She pulled her hands away from his shoulders. “If we’re going to save your pa, we have to stay calm.” She glimpsed outside again before ducking away from the window.

Confound it, where was Rikker?
Think.
If she could just get close enough to Cotton, perhaps she could disarm or distract him in some way. A dozen different options ran through her mind, but none of them seemed adequate for the task.

If only there was a way of reaching the first floor without using the ladder outside.

She knocked on the wood partition with her fist. It sounded as solid as it looked, but it might be possible to pull a panel away. She just needed a crowbar.

Toby’s tool cache revealed a saw and hammer but no crowbar. She stepped on something: Toby’s slingshot.

She rushed to the window again, careful not to expose herself. Cotton had a gun all right; no question. But what was Garrett doing with a shovel?

As if reading her mind, Toby said, “Uncle Charlie is making Pa dig a grave.”

It was a chilling thought.

She considered the area below, estimating distances and possible covers. Sneaking up on Cotton wouldn’t be easy, but neither would it be impossible.

She reached for the slingshot on the floor and shoved it into Toby’s hands.

“Don’t let your uncle come up that ladder. Do you understand what I’m saying? If he tries, use your slingshot.”

Dear God, she was asking a boy to bring down a giant with a slingshot. Not that it hadn’t been done before, but still… Toby stared down at the slingshot in his hands.

She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m counting on you, pumpkin.”

If Rikker knew what she was planning, he would have a fit. He never liked a plan with less than a fifty percent chance of success. She preferred closer to seventy-five. She gave this one a ten.

The hardest part would be climbing down the ladder. Even if she reached the ground safely, she would be exposed for a good fifteen or twenty feet before reaching the privy.

Five. She gave her plan a five.

She upgraded her plan to an eight upon reaching the ground unseen. Cotton’s back was still turned and Garrett was still digging. Cotton shouted something, but she couldn’t hear what he said.

On the count of three, she raced a straight line and dived behind the privy. Peering around the stone facade, she took several deep breaths to calm her nerves. So far, so good.

Had Garrett spotted her? It was hard to know. He was half turned away from her, so it was possible. She glanced back at the barn window. Fortunately the sun slanted off the roof, making it difficult to see the loft window clearly. If she couldn’t see Toby, then neither could Cotton.

Was that a bird call? She strained her ears but couldn’t be sure. If it was Rikker, where was he? Behind the barn? The house? Where?

She pulled out her gun but decided to give Rikker another minute or two to make his move.

Garrett said something, and Cotton inched closer. Garrett swung his shovel, hitting Cotton on the chest. Cotton’s gun flew out of his hands and landed in the newly dug hole.

Surprised by the sudden turn of events, Maggie left her hiding place and ran toward the battling men.

Garrett swung the shovel again, but this time Cotton was ready. He dodged, and the spade hit the ground. Before Garrett could recover, Cotton barreled into him headfirst, and the two fell.

“Stop!” she yelled, gun aimed.

Cotton glanced up, his mouth twisted, and she advanced forward. He rolled away from Garrett, jumped to his feet, and ran. She fired and missed.

Hoping Rikker would take care of Cotton, she advanced toward Garrett, dropping by his side, knees first. “Are you all right?”

He squinted at her. “What are you doing here?”

She grinned. “Looks like I’m the one saving you this time. Can you get up?”

“I think so.” He was winded but not seriously injured. Hand on his jaw, he groaned then struggled to sit upright.

“Take it easy.” She holstered her gun and pulled a clean handkerchief from her sleeve. “How did you get out of jail?” she asked, dabbing his forehead.

“Cotton. He has some crazy idea that I know where some money is hidden.”

A surge of guilt rushed through her. The plan she and Rikker had cooked up put Garrett’s and Toby’s lives in danger. She had underestimated Cotton, but she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Thank God you’re all right. Can you stand?”

“Hold it right there.” It was Cotton again, and this time he had a shotgun. “Drop your gun.”

When she didn’t move, he repeated the order, this time louder. “I said drop it!”

She laid her weapon on the ground. “You’re not going to get away with this, Cotton.” She spoke louder than necessary for her partner’s benefit. If Rikker was anywhere in the vicinity, now was the time for him to show his face.

“I’ve done all right so far,” Cotton said. “Just tell me where the money is, and we can all get along.”

“There isn’t any money. We found all of it.”

“You said—” His eyes glittered. “You tricked me.” He leveled his gun. “I don’t like to be tricked.”

She had to keep him talking. “It’s over, Cotton. We know you and your partner robbed the train.”

“My partner?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, the one Detective Greenwood is interviewing as we speak.”

His smirk turned into an ugly grin. “Greenwood’s dead.”

Air rushed from her lungs. Rikker’s dead?
God, no. Please don’t let it be true.
But it would certainly explain Rikker’s absence. Only from years of training and experience was she able to put her emotions aside and focus. Garrett’s and Toby’s lives—and her own—depended on keeping her wits and thinking clearly.

“You killed him,” she said, her steady voice belying the devastation she felt. “Just like you killed your sister.”

She felt Garrett stiffen by her side, but it was Cotton who commanded her attention.

Surprise crossed his face. “You think I killed my sister? Why would I do a thing like that?”

“Maybe because she’d hidden the money from you.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t know that until after her accident. The town was swarming with US marshals, and I didn’t want to keep the money at the boardinghouse. I told my sister someone kept going through my room. She agreed to let me store my things at her house until I made other arrangements.”

“Other arrangements meaning to leave town,” she said.

“Yeah, but I thought it would look suspicious if I left right away.”

“What was Katherine doing outside that night?” Garrett demanded, his face marked with loathing.

“How am I supposed to know? All I knew was that she was dead and the money was gone. I thought—”

“What did you think?” Maggie asked. He didn’t answer; he didn’t have to. “You thought Garrett had killed her and hidden the money.”

“It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“It matters to me!” Garrett snapped, his voice as hard as his face.

She could feel his tension build, and she didn’t want him doing anything foolish. “No one killed Katherine,” she said, gently. “It was an accident.”

Garrett’s head spun toward her. “How do you know that?”

“Yes, how
do
you know that?” Cotton repeated.

“You’re the only one who knew she had the money. So unless you came back that night—”

“I didn’t.”

Somehow Maggie believed him. “I think Katherine discovered what was in the satchel and didn’t want it in the house with the children. Or maybe she was afraid you’d come back for it before she had a chance to turn it over to the sheriff.”

“She wouldn’t do that. I was family. She loved me.” His face turned red, and his eyes took on a strange, wild look.

With her peripheral vision, Maggie checked the position of the gun at her feet. She would have preferred Cotton’s Colt, but that was at the bottom of the hole. Her derringer would have to do. If only she could find a way to distract him.

“Enough talk,” Cotton said. He held the shotgun straight out with his finger on the trigger.

Something whizzed by Maggie’s head and hit Cotton square on the chest—a rock. He jerked back and his arm shot upward, followed by a blast.

Maggie dived for the gun, but Garrett’s hand got there first. Before either of them could pick it up, they were staring down the muzzle of Cotton’s shotgun.

T
he rope cut into Maggie’s wrists and ankles. Seated on a chair back-to-back with Garrett, she glanced around the parlor looking for something—anything—that could be used to escape.

Wiggling her body in an effort to loosen the cords brought an immediate protest from Garrett.

“Ow! That hurts,” he grated over his shoulder. “Can’t you keep still? It’s like being tied to a bronco. What are you doing?”

Maggie clenched her teeth. “I’m exercising my God-given right to escape.”

“You think you’re going to break through these ropes?” Garrett asked.

“Did last time.”

“Last…? How many times have you been tied up?”

“This is only my third time,” she admitted.

“Third!”

“I know it seems like a lot.”

“Drat, Maggie! For the average person, once would be a lot.”

Cotton made her tie up Garrett first, and that was a blessing. It allowed her to plant her metal Pinkerton badge between her palms before Cotton got around to her. It was just a matter of twisting her hands until she was able to cut through the rope with the badge’s sharp edge. Unfortunately, Cotton had tied her in such a way that this was easier said than done.

“Escaping isn’t usually so hard.” She spoke through gritted teeth. Talking helped her stay focused. “Providing you remember to expand your muscles while being tied up. It also helps if the rope is old. Even Samson said he would be weakened by a new rope.”