Wanted (46 page)

Morgan found the handcuffs on the ground where they had been left, picked them up, and locked them back onto his wrists. “Just think of it this way, Braden,” he said. “If I don't make it, you're home free. And if I happen to take them with me, you can collect the reward. I hope to hell you take my body back as yours. You should like that piece of irony.”

“I don't like it at all,” Nick said. “I don't like anything about this.”

“But it's Lori's best hope, and you know it,” Morgan said quietly, all the mockery gone. “This way we're both armed. They won't be expecting it. All their attention will be on the man they believe is more dangerous, not the man in handcuffs. That gives me an edge.”

“Even in handcuffs?”

Morgan nodded. “Even in handcuffs. Tell them you lost the key in a fight with me. I'll have it with me. I can slip out of them anytime I want.”

“What if they don't believe it?”

“I have a certain … reputation,” Morgan said matter-of-factly, without arrogance. “I don't make mistakes.” His lips suddenly twitched. “Until I met Lori.”

Nick ignored the last comment. “Why should they think you'd give me up, then?”

“Lori. A woman. They think that way. And they'll jump at the chance of taking you without fighting me. They don't like risking their necks. They much prefer bush-whacking and back shooting. They would think it's not all that important to me, anyway.” Morgan shrugged. “They just figure you'd end up the same way, anyway, and that that's all I wanted. They wouldn't see the difference.”

“I don't think I do, either,” Nick said wryly. “Dead is dead. Whether by the law or bounty hunters.”

“We always did have a difference of opinion on that,” Morgan said.

“That's because you're not on the receiving end.”

“No,” Morgan allowed with a slight curl to his mouth. He held up his handcuffed wrists. “I'm beginning to see your point of view, though.”

Nick stilled. “Does that mean …?”

Morgan shook his head. “If we both get out of this alive, I still want you to go back.”

“Want?”

Morgan shrugged. “Do you really want to go through this the rest of your life? Worrying about your back? About Lori? About the others?”

“You have it all figured, don't you?” Nick said bitterly.

“Yeah,” Morgan said without humor, “I always have everything figured.”

They took a room in town, the same hotel where Jonathon had been staying. The handcuffs were chafing Morgan's wrists, but he didn't dare take them off. The pistol was rubbing against his leg, and the knife wasn't any more comfortable.

Nick had been silent during the ride to town. He had dropped Daniel off near the Medicine Wagon but had stayed out of sight. Morgan knew he didn't want explanations. Neither did he.

Nick signed Morgan's name on the register. Morgan hoped that no one knew he wasn't left-handed. The clerk briefly protested the prisoner's presence, suggesting he be taken to the jail.

“I don't let him out of my sight,” Nick said in a harsh voice Morgan recognized as close to his own. Nick was a natural mimic.

Nick then took his arm none too gently and guided him up to the room. “Ever think about being a lawman?” Morgan said, trying hard to keep sardonic humor from his voice. He didn't think Nick would appreciate it. Humor was rare for Morgan, but he felt the need to say something to break the tension.

Nick's glare was withering. He went to the window and looked out. Morgan followed him, leaning against the opposite windowsill. It was full dark now, but lights in the store windows made the streets visible. They heard a train whistle. More people were in the streets now, visiting saloons. Cowboys, train workers, drifters.

Morgan suddenly stiffened as he saw a lone rider stop down the street at a hotel. Nick looked at him curiously.

“Curt Nesbitt,” Morgan said. “It was his brother I killed.”

“You mean
I
killed,” Nick said, his lips twisting in an ironic smile, referring to their changed roles.

“Well, he doesn't know it, and I think it's best he doesn't find out,” Morgan said. “I've run into him before. Like Whitey, he's a bounty hunter who prefers to take back dead men.”

“What do we do now?”

A current of warmth snaked through Morgan. A small bit of trust was developing between them. Not much on Nick's part, but a beginning.

“Wait for him to find us,” he said. “He mustn't know that we already know they have Lori.” He went over to the bed and sat down, leaning lazily against the wall.

The knock came approximately fifteen minutes later. Gun in hand, Nick cautiously opened the door as Morgan tried to look suitably sullen. It was the clerk who took one look at the gun, at Nick's dour face, and shoved a note into his hand.

“From a man who says he's a friend of yours,” he said, and stepped backward cautiously before scurrying down the steps.

Nick turned to Morgan. “Damn,” he said. “I've never frightened anyone like that before. I'd hate to think I've started looking like you.”

Morgan started to smile, but his lips thinned into a hard line as he walked over to read the note over Nick's shoulder.

Lori Braden is with us. North road

out of Pueblo at ten tonight
.

“No threats, no evidence,” Morgan said. “He's smarter than I thought.”

“What time is it?”

Morgan took out his pocket watch. “Eight.”

“How did they know we would be here?”

“Same way your family did, I expect. They're hunters, too. They would have checked the telegraph from George-town to see whether any messages were sent. When Lori showed up, they must have known we would be nearby.”

Nick's brows furrowed together. “They
would
have found us in Wyoming.”

“Yep, and not too long after I did.”

Nick crushed the note in his hands and went back to the window. It was going to be a long evening.

Lori cried out as the fist hit her face again. She didn't want to. She didn't want to give him the pleasure. The man called Whitey seemed to enjoy inflicting pain.

But it had been unexpected. He had stopped for a while, then suddenly turned and hit already-bruised skin.

“Where are they?”

“I don't know,” she said again. “I escaped from the Ranger two days ago. He was headed straight down to Texas.”

“Then why did you send a telegram to your family to meet you here?”

“The … Ranger found out that I knew where they were headed. He overheard me talking to Nick. He changed course. I ran away.”

“I don't believe you. I heard there was something between you and Morgan.”

“That pig! I shot him.”

His hand traveled along her cheek. She was hog-tied, her hands bound behind her and then tied by a short rope to her ankles. She shuddered at his touch.

“Did you do that for the Ranger, too?” Whitey said. “Shiver like that?” His finger dug down into her shirt, finding her breast. “You like that? Or do you like being hit?”

“I can't tell you what I don't know.”

He backhanded her. “I don't believe you. I want to know where they are.”

Her head hit the ground, and she feigned unconsciousness. The other man, Ford, had reluctantly left earlier, ordered to check the hotels once more to see whether their quarry had arrived. She heard the man curse. She had to buy some time. She had to. Buy time for Nick to escape. She hoped he would be free by now. And Morgan?

Dear God, he didn't know what he was walking into, didn't know about the ambush her family had planned for him. She was afraid to try the ropes, afraid to give any indication that she was conscious. It was one of the hardest physical things she'd done, trying to remain so still when she hurt so badly. The rope was cutting into her wrists, her ankles, and her legs were cramping.

As long as possible. Hold out as long as possible, her mind kept repeating. One minute, then another. And another. Remember Morgan, how he seared his own wound. If he could stand that kind of pain, you can stand a lesser one.

Another moment.

Then she heard the horse coming. She would have prayed, but she didn't know what to pray for.

“Ford, did you find out anything?” Whitey asked.

“They're there all right. At the Trader's Post Hotel. I wrote what you told me. The north road at ten.”

“A shame,” Whitey said. “I was just beginning to like the idea of keeping her.”

“You said …”

“I know what I said, but no woman is worth five thousand dollars,” Whitey said. Lori felt his hand snake along her cheek again, and she couldn't help flinching this time. His flesh was cold and cruel and repulsive. “You hear that? I guess we'll just have to wait for another time. If they come, that is. They may not think you're worth it, trading your brother for you, and then you and I can have a high old time. I've never had no five-thousand-dollar whore before.”

She turned around and spit at him, and he slapped her again.

“Do that once more,” he said, “and I'll show you who's boss and take my chances with Davis.”

“He won't trade my brother,” she said with complete confidence. “And he'll kill you.”

Whitey smirked. “So you don't hate him, after all. What a good little liar you are. Just how much is there between you?”

“There's nothing! I just know he doesn't release prisoners.”

“Ah, but there's never been such a tasty reason before. Now shut up.”

He walked away from her, joining his partner out of earshot. She squirmed, trying to ease her discomfort, but every movement only seemed to tighten the ropes. But far more painful than the ropes were the questions in her mind. Morgan wouldn't trade Nick for her. He
wouldn't
.

She couldn't bear that. She tried not to think about it, tried not to even consider the possibility. He never gave up prisoners. He'd said as much several times. Lori strained to hear the conversation between the two men, but they kept their voices too low. This was her fault. All her fault. If she hadn't sent that telegram …

If she'd only trusted Morgan.

Morgan and Nick got their horses from the livery, along with Clementine. They had walked past Jonathon Braden on their way out of the hotel. Nick went over to him and told him what had happened. “We'll get Lori,” he said. “You go back to the wagon. We'll get her back there.”

Jonathon Braden looked long and hard at Morgan, then nodded. “Thank you,” he said, and turned away before Morgan could reply.

Morgan and Nick mounted at approximately ten
P.M.
, walking their horses toward the north road. There was only a partial moon, but the stars were bright, and both men's eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. The road was lonely, particularly when they were both so wary, not knowing if and when they might be ambushed or confronted. But here the land was flat; there were few places to hide.

They rode thirty minutes or more in silence. Morgan was used to this kind of tension, even that quickening speed of the blood that always occurred before action. His senses always became more acute, his mind aware of every sound, every movement.

He didn't like the handcuffs. He didn't like being impeded that way. He didn't like the fact he couldn't make the normal reach for his gun. He also knew he might well be dead before he could reach the hidden weapons. Whitey wouldn't keep him alive long, probably no longer than it took Nick to disappear with Lori, and even then he feared that Whitey would go after Nick. He'd painted an optimistic picture for Nick. He'd known it was the only way he would get his cooperation. Even now, though, he didn't know how long that cooperation would last.

He'd suggested that Nick wear Morgan's own gunbelt. Whitey knew Morgan was right-handed, and he was the kind of man who would note that detail. It put Nick at a disadvantage, but there was no help for it. If all went well, Nick wouldn't need his gun, in any event. And if worst came to worst, Nick also had the rifle in his saddle scabbard.

Morgan saw a figure on horseback ahead. He exchanged a brief look with Nick. Even in the very dim light he saw the tension in Nick's body. “Easy,” he whispered.

“It should be me,” Nick said.

“Don't be a fool,” Morgan said, deliberately angering his companion. “It's too late now to change plans. The man ahead is Ford Nesbitt. We know each other, so acknowledge him with his last name. The other man is Whitey. The less you say …”

“I know you're not the most gregarious man I ever met,” Nick said stiffly.

“Just take Lori out of here as quickly as possible. I can take care of myself.”

“There's no telling what she'll do.”

Morgan sighed. “You're going to have to take care of that.”

Nick lapsed into brooding silence. They were nearing the man on horseback.

When they reached him, Nick nodded. “Nesbitt,” he said.

The man wet his lips, and Morgan saw his nervousness. Even in the slight moonlight he saw sweat glistening on his face.

The man's gaze went to Morgan. “Hell, he's your double.”

Nick shrugged. Morgan wondered whether he really looked that arrogant.

Ford Nesbitt looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Give me your guns.”

“Hell, no,” Nick said curtly. “You have yours. I have mine. Keeps things equal. Where's the girl?”

The man smiled. “Whitey said you'd be hot to get her. Guess he was right.”

Nick started to turn his horse, and Morgan silently approved.

“Wait,” Nesbitt said.

“Where's Whitey?”

“Right here,” said a man's voice from behind them. “Just wanted to make sure you weren't followed.” He was coming from behind them. Lori was in front of him, her hands tied, her body pinned against Whitey's by an arm. In the darkness Morgan wondered whether she yet sensed the deception.