27 

Charlotte glared at the man who’d once hidden his evil behind a mask, the man with eyes as cold as January ice. Though she’d suspected the baron was the man who’d shot Jeffrey, seeing him now confirmed her fears. This man was a killer. He’d murdered before, and he’d do it again. In all likelihood, he planned to kill her and David as soon as she gave him the money. Murmuring a silent prayer that she could somehow outwit him, Charlotte refused to flinch as she met his gaze.

“You won’t get anything from me until I’m sure my son is unharmed.” Somehow she would get David out of here, even if she had to die to do it. Though she hated the thought of leaving her son, Charlotte knew David would not be alone if she were killed, for Barrett would raise him as if he were his own. But first she had to free him.

As if he sensed her determination, Warren lowered his gun, allowing Charlotte to pass. In her haste to reach David, she stumbled, her eyes widening in surprise when she recognized the object that had tripped her: David’s ball. He must have refused to relinquish it and had carried it all the way here. Or perhaps Gwen, knowing his attachment to the toy, had hidden it in her cloak. Whatever the reason, David’s ball was here.

Charlotte scooped her son into her arms, needing to hold him close, to assure herself that he was alive, before she untied him. Reluctantly, she laid him back in the crate. “It’ll be all right,” she crooned as she removed the gag and ropes. Like a spring that had been released, David began to flail his arms and legs. “You’re safe, David. You’re safe.” Reaching down to stroke his forehead, Charlotte prayed that was true.

As David’s whimpers turned into full-fledged screams, Warren scowled. “Shut him up! All he does is howl. It’s enough to drive a man crazy.”

Charlotte lifted the still struggling child into her arms and turned him so his cries were muffled by her body. “He’s a child, Warren,” she said, fixing her eyes on the man who was responsible for her son’s distress. “A child who cannot see. You took him from his home and put him in a strange place. How did you expect him to react? He’s tired, he’s probably hungry, and he’s scared. Of course he’s going to cry.”

As Warren’s scowl deepened, he began to wave his gun at her. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Mrs. Crowley.” The name was delivered with a sneer. “You thought you were smart enough to hide from me, but you were wrong.” He took a step toward her, his posture menacing. “Now, where’s the money?”

“I don’t have it.” She wouldn’t give this evil man Barrett’s savings if she could help it, for if what she feared was true, it would not save David’s life. She had to get her son out of here, but first she needed to be certain that Barrett was waiting.

Warren’s face reddened, making his nose look more like a raptor’s beak than ever. “What do you mean? Of course you have it. Jeffrey gave it to you.”

As David’s wails turned to whimpers, Charlotte shook her head. “Jeffrey had no money. He wouldn’t have gotten involved in the stagecoach robberies if he had.”

Though she hadn’t thought it possible, Warren’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “You’re lying. Jeffrey found Big Nose’s stash.”

“No, he did not. So you see, Warren, you accomplished nothing by kidnapping David. I have no money to give you.”

Warren took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “You’re not a very good liar, Mrs. Crowley. I think you do have money. It may not be Big Nose’s, but you have money. We’ll wait for Barrett.”

“Barrett?”

“You needn’t feign innocence, Mrs. Crowley.” Warren sneered again, as if pronouncing the name gave him pleasure. “I know you had dinner with him, and I’m sure that being the gentleman he is”—another sneer accompanied Warren’s words—“he accompanied you home. That means he knows about my demands.” Warren’s eyes narrowed as he kept his gaze focused on Charlotte. “If I had it, I’d be willing to bet Big Nose’s stash that Barrett did not let you come here alone. I expect him to burst through that door any minute now, so let’s get ready.” He gestured toward the shed’s sole seating, a spindle-back chair with one spindle and most of its paint missing. “Sit down.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll shoot your brat.” He cocked the gun.

Charlotte sat.

“Put the boy on the floor.”

Charlotte complied.

“Now put your hands behind the chair.” He grabbed two ropes from the table.

“Why?” It was a rhetorical question. Charlotte was stalling, hoping that Barrett would arrive before the baron could restrain her.

Warren’s lip curled. “Surely you’re not that stupid. You must realize I’m going to tie you to the chair. Without the money, you’re of no value to me other than as a bargaining piece. If Barrett cares about you, he’ll give me what I want.”

Charlotte took a deep breath. There was no sense in arguing with a man with a gun. Even without the weapon, Warren was bigger and stronger. Her only hope was to use her wits. With a silent prayer for wisdom, she settled onto the chair. At least Warren wasn’t threatening to gag and tie David again. Her son would be free to escape when Barrett arrived.

After stroking David’s head once more and admonishing him to sit quietly, Charlotte allowed Warren to tie her wrists, hoping he wouldn’t notice how far she had kept her hands from the spindle. If the rope was loose enough, she might be able to slip her hands out when he returned to his post by the door. But he tugged the rope so hard that she knew that plan had failed. If he secured her legs as tightly, she would be as powerless as David had been. Charlotte couldn’t let that happen. When Warren moved in front of her to tie her legs, she took a deep breath. It was time. Mustering every ounce of strength she possessed, she kicked. Her feet missed their target, and even though she had kicked as hard as she could, Warren remained standing.

His face contorted with rage, he glared at her for a second. Then slowly and deliberately, so she would know what was about to happen, he clenched his fist, drew back his arm, and swung it forward. When his knuckles collided with her face, the impact left Charlotte speechless. She felt her head jerk backward, and then she saw nothing but stars. By the time she had regained her vision, her ankles were bound. At her side, David whimpered softly, but though she longed to comfort him with a touch, she could not. For the first time in David’s short life, though his mother was nearby, she could not wrap him in her arms.

“I’m sorry, David,” she whispered.

“You’ll be more than sorry if you try anything like that again.” Warren’s voice held a menacing note. “I won’t pull the next punch.” He pressed his knuckles to her cheek, grinning when Charlotte winced from the pain. “It would be a shame to bloody your face, wouldn’t it?”

He looked down at David and aimed a kick in his direction, stopping short of actually hitting him.

“No!” Charlotte cried. “Don’t hurt my son. He’s no threat to you.” The pain in her face was nothing compared to the fear that Warren would harm her child.

“You’re right,” Warren agreed. “Your brat is no threat, and neither is Barrett. When he sees you, he’ll do exactly what I want. Now all I have to do is wait.” He strode across the room, positioning himself next to the door, his gun cocked and ready to fire.

Please, Lord, no. Don’t let him kill Barrett and David. Charlotte looked around, searching for a way to distract Warren. Though Barrett was armed, he was walking into an ambush. If he could get into the shed without being shot, he might be able to disarm Warren, and without a gun, Warren would be far less dangerous. Charlotte suspected he was a man who liked to intimidate those he considered weaker. Barrett was no weakling, but he was also no match for a madman with a gun. There had to be a way to even the odds.

Charlotte looked down at her son, who was sitting by her side as if afraid to move. As she did, she spied an object. That might be the answer.

“David, let’s find your ball,” she said softly. “It’s not far away.”

“What are you doing?”

Charlotte forced herself to meet Warren’s eyes, hoping her expression did not betray the glimmer of hope that had lodged deep inside her. “Keeping my son from crying,” she replied. “You said you didn’t like that.”

“And I don’t.” Apparently mollified, Warren leaned against the wall, his gun clutched at his side.

“A little farther,” Charlotte coached her son. “You’re a smart boy. That’s the right direction.” When he discovered his beloved toy, David began to chortle with happiness. “That’s good. Now come back to Mama.”

Warren’s curled lip left no doubt that he considered David a nuisance, a necessary evil in his plan to obtain the fortune he believed he deserved. The only good thing Charlotte could say about Warren’s obvious disdain for her son was that he was no longer staring at the door. Though she had turned her head so that the direction of her gaze was not obvious, Charlotte was watching the door carefully. There were no sounds, nothing to betray Barrett’s approach. Only the increasing darkness along the door frame told Charlotte he was here. She turned toward David. The time had come.

“Bowl, David,” she said, raising her voice slightly. It was a signal to Barrett as well as David. As she had expected, her son gave her a quizzical look but refused to move.

“What are you talking about?” Warren demanded. “Bowl?”

That was all David needed. The sound of a man’s voice pronouncing the magic word triggered his reaction. He sent the ball rolling across the floor toward Warren. Perhaps he pitched it faster than normal. Perhaps it was only because the floor was slightly tilted. All Charlotte knew was that when it collided with Warren’s foot, their captor gave out a loud “ouch.” It was the distraction Barrett needed. A moment later, he had entered the shed, his pistol drawn.

“Put your gun down,” Barrett ordered, his voice steely as he stared at the man who had once been his friend and adviser.

A sneer greeted his command. “I knew you’d come.” Warren swung around, pointing his weapon at Charlotte. “But you won’t do anything. You didn’t have enough starch to be a politician, and you’re too lily-livered to shoot me. You won’t take the chance that I can shoot Charlotte first.” His eyes narrowed, and though he kept his eyes and weapon focused on Charlotte, his words were directed to Barrett. “You know I’m a crack shot, and—unlike you—I’m not burdened with cowardly scruples. I killed a woman before. It wouldn’t bother me to do it again.”

“What do you want?” As Barrett moved farther into the shed, his gaze met Charlotte’s, and she saw his concern. Perhaps he was wondering why she hadn’t given Warren the satchel of money. Surely he must realize that it would not satisfy Warren, that he wouldn’t want anyone to live to tell what he’d done.

“You know what I want. Money.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Charlotte asked. It might not work, but maybe if she kept Warren talking, he’d lower his gun and Barrett would be able to disarm him.

“Why do you care?”

“If I’m going to die, I might as well know why.”

Charlotte heard Barrett’s intake of breath and saw his fingers tighten on the trigger.

“It’s for Gwen,” Warren said, his voice deepening with emotion. “She deserves to be treated like a lady. I’m going to build her a fancy house so she can live like a queen. And when I do, no one at the Cheyenne Club will dare refuse me membership.”

He cared for Gwen. Charlotte could hear that in his voice and see it in the fire flashing in his eyes. As for Gwen, Charlotte knew she loved the man she thought he was. But now that Warren had shown his true colors, everything had changed.

“Do you think she’ll still marry you?” Though Charlotte kept her gaze fixed on Warren, from the corner of her eye she saw Barrett moving closer.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Warren demanded, apparently oblivious to the fact that Barrett was now within striking range. He was staring at Charlotte, wide-eyed. Whether it was rage or shock that kept his gaze fixed on her didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping Warren from noticing Barrett.

“Gwen won’t marry you, because she’s seen the real you,” Charlotte announced as calmly as if she were discussing the weather. “She wouldn’t marry a man who killed her friends.”

Warren’s face contorted with anger as Charlotte’s words hit their mark. “You know nothing! You’re nothing but a liar, and you know what liars deserve?” He raised his gun and pointed it at Charlotte. “They deserve to die.” He narrowed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening, almost obliterating Warren’s cry of rage when the gun flew from his hand, propelled by the force of Barrett’s arm, and the bullet lodged in the ceiling. “You!” Warren snarled as he tackled Barrett. “You deserve to die too.”

A second later, the two men were on the floor, grunting with pain as their punches landed, rolling across the floor as each tried to gain supremacy. Charlotte winced each time Barrett groaned, but there was nothing she could do except pray that he would not be seriously hurt. Though Barrett had the advantage of age, Warren’s fury lent him unexpected strength. Neither man spoke except with fists and the animal-like grunts and groans that those fists provoked.

The fight was more brutal than anything Charlotte had ever witnessed, and yet she knew it could have been worse. If Warren still had his weapon, blood would have been shed. He would have tried to kill Barrett, and Barrett would have had no choice but to retaliate. As it was, both men had a chance of survival.

Charlotte closed her eyes for a second, trying to block out the horrible sights, but that was worse. Deprived of sight, her imagination conjured a scene that was worse than reality. Poor David. He had no way of knowing what was happening. It was no wonder that he’d scrambled to his feet and stood at her side, clinging to her. But, though he was clearly terrified, Charlotte was powerless to do anything but croon to him, trying to reassure him that the strange sounds he heard, sounds which must be even more frightening for him than they were for her, would stop.

And they did. Though it seemed as if hours had passed, Charlotte knew it was only minutes later when Warren began to tire. Barrett flipped him over, using his body to pin Warren to the floor, then pulled back his arm and punched the older man on the jaw. Even a trained boxer would have been proud of the knockout punch.

Somehow, though his muscles must have protested, Barrett found the energy to get to his feet. Once standing, he sprinted the few yards to Charlotte’s side. “Are you all right?” His eyes narrowed as he touched her bruised cheek. “Did he do that?” When Charlotte nodded, Barrett frowned. “I should have hit him harder.”

“I’ll live.” Two simple words, and yet they were the answer to prayer. Despite everything Warren had tried to do, all four of them were still alive.

Within seconds, Barrett had untied her. Charlotte rubbed her wrists and flexed her toes, trying to restore the circulation. As soon as she thought her arms were strong enough, she lifted David into her arms. “You’re safe, David. Mama’s here, and so is Mr. Landry. He kept you safe.”

With the resiliency of the very young, David seemed to have forgotten his ordeal. “Bowl?” he asked, turning toward Barrett.

Charlotte shook her head. “Not now, young man. We’re going home, and you’re going to bed.” Patting David’s back, Charlotte started to rise, then froze. It couldn’t be, and yet it was. Warren had regained consciousness and was crawling toward his gun.

“Barrett! Look out!”

It was too late. Warren had the weapon clutched in his hand.

“You can’t stop me!” A wild laugh accompanied his words. Though Barrett lunged toward him, there was nothing he could do. In less than a second, Warren had pressed the revolver to his forehead and pulled the trigger.