Chapter 20

Rope and chain imprisoned Anna to the bed.
She lay on a white quilt. Well, it was white when Jacob first shackled her wrists and ankles. Now with her disgusting clothes, pockets of dirt lined the seams.

She tugged on her left arm, the rope tied to the bedpost stretching taught, while the other wrist was chained to a thick pipe several inches beyond the frame. Her legs were fastened with iron links to the posts at the foot of the bed stretching her limbs wide like a star.

Jacob turned at the sound of her struggle and stood at the foot of the bed, his cream suit nearly the same color of the hair that swept over an eye. He laughed to himself then returned to the window. With one hand he brushed the lock away and with the other pulled back the curtain. She studied his profile as he peered down at the street, the straight nose and firm, pointed chin, handsome and dangerous.

Despair wasn’t half her stormy emotions. She wanted to kill this man.

He killed Philip.

Philip’s death was the only reason he wasn’t here in Deadwood exacting justice.

First she would end Jacob’s life, either with the law’s help or without them. Next Jeb would die. No second chances for him. And then she would find her sister, somewhere in South America or Africa or some other country. Then her mother. Then the other girls.

She would continue Anderson’s War. Anna’s War.

Jacob’s thin lips pressed together, and his eyes narrowed. When he spoke his voice was quiet. “This very room.” He looked at her. “Philip spent his nights in Deadwood in that bed.”

She didn’t question how he knew. He just knew things. Spies, no doubt.

“Below, Philip met the prostitute Rachel.” He looked at her, the wicked gleam on his face tore through her heart. “The bed you lie on—”

“Stop. He didn’t.”

He grabbed his sides and laughed.

After calming himself he said, “Ah, Anna. What fun we’ll have together.” After another glance out the window, he pulled out the map and looked at it again. “The thrill, the tickle at the back of your neck—not knowing. Could it be jewels? Cash? Gold? I believe gold.”

Anna kept quiet.

He settled on the bed beside her, and as he sunk into the mattress she struggled to get away.

“What, Anna? Can’t you see destiny?”

She looked away, and when he touched her cheek she tried not to scream. An aching and bruised stomach had been her penalty for screaming.

He stood and returned to the window. His mind was churning like a swollen stream, devising plots and scenarios, riches and renown. She could only guess at what his next moves might entail. Sanctuary, family, and peace meant nothing to him, like they sustained Philip. Jacob loved hurting people.

“Mmm, yes.” He tugged at his suit’s sleeves, straightened his collar, and gave the tie a quick check in the mirror.

A knock came from the door.

Jacob took three short steps. He reached out and grasped the small, ivory knob. He turned the knob with a quick flick of his wrist. The door swung open several inches.

Jacob looked up at a man several inches taller. Instead of opening the door wider, he turned his back and walked toward the window, leaving the man to push the door open and step in.

The man’s height shrunk the room. His clothes, worn from the elements, were two decades old and frayed. She guessed he was a meticulous man, however, since many of the frayed edges and tears were carefully patched.

Another man, shorter, rounder, and heavily bearded, stepped in behind him.

“Close the door,” Jacob said.

The short man complied.

“Have you spoken with the others?”

“Aye,” the tall man said. “They’re yours. At your price.”

“Forty a man.” The short fellow’s gaze fell on Anna. He licked his lips, reached over and ran a hand down her face. His rough fingers pressed hard and scratched her cheek and neck.

His fingers hovered over her top button. She shrunk in horror.

“Excellent.” Jacob reached into his suit coat and pulled out a leather wallet nearly as long as his forearm. The short man turned to watch.

Jacob opened the flap and pulled out a stack of unwrinkled notes. He returned his wallet to his pocket and stripped off two bills and set them by the water pitcher. “Get this man out of my sight. He is to be banished. On threat of death.”

“Hey.” When the short man jabbed his elbow into his friend, it stabbed at the tall man’s thigh. “What’d I do? He can’t do that.”

The tall man looked away, and his indecision—Anna knew—wouldn’t win Jacob’s favor. After several seconds of silence the tall man finally said, “I need every man.”

“Do you?” Jacob removed the wallet again. “It seems I’ve erred. I believed you when you said the Maxwell Gang was reborn.”

The tall man closed his eyes tight for a moment then shook his head. “Leave, Tony.”

“But—”

“Now!”

The short man jumped back, fumbled at the door, and nearly fell on his way out. The tall man focused on the rug. Then he slowly lifted his arm and without looking closed the door.

“Excellent. I pray that won’t be a problem.”

He looked up. “No, sir.”

“Because I would hate to think you cannot keep your house in order.”

The tall man’s voice was sharp when he said, “I said no problem, sir.”

“Excellent.” Jacob crossed the room and reached for the cane that was resting in the corner. He took the white wood in both hands and held the slender rod at chest level.

Anna shivered.

“Your men must follow my orders explicitly. Even if they seem . . . somewhat contrary.”

“No problem there, sir.”

Strange, seeing such a large man so submissive to Jacob. He reminded her of Ryan.

“Good. Camp on the north side of Devil’s Tower. I’ll meet you there tomorrow afternoon, as soon as I get an exact location.”

“Yes.” He turned to go then paused. He added, “Sir.”

“You may be asked to fight rival gangs.” Jacob glanced out the window.

“Even better. Plunder.”

“You’re not pirates.” Jacob shook his head. “Go quickly, before darkness keeps you.”

“I like dark.” He slipped from the room.

Jacob fidgeted with the cane’s golden handle and the staff slipped, exposing a few inches of wicked steel.

He set the cane’s tip down and leaned on the support. A few deep breaths as if gathering courage, and then the door opened without a knock. Mr. Wilkes stepped inside.

Anna’s eyes widened and she sat up. “Mr. Wilkes,” she stuttered. “Please, help me.”

His thick chest was covered in riding flannel, stained with sweat. He took off his hat, dirty from a long ride, and he held the brim in his hands as he looked down at Anna. “Oh, Jacob.” He pointed at her with the hat and looked at Jacob. “Why?”

“Allow me this, Father. This one concession.”

His voice. She’d never heard him use this tone on his father before. Usually respectful, he now spoke in a monotone voice, condescending, as if he spoke with those businesses in Mitchell who owed him money.

Something had changed between them. What had once been father and son interaction—similar to her father and older brother John—was now a game between two men both after the same thing.

The map?

Mr. Wilkes stiffened. A bemused look crossed his face. He took a few steps toward Jacob. His hand darted like a snake and grasped Jacob’s neck in an iron vice. As if picking up something as light as a cat, he lifted Jacob from the floor and drove him to the hard planks with a thud, not letting loose his grip.

Anna jumped.

“We’ve waited this long for the map,” Mr. Wilkes growled. “Don’t ruin everything now.”

Jacob struggled for breath, a strange picture of a finely dressed man writhing on the floor.

“Did you get the other half of the map?”

“De . . . destroyed.” Jacob coughed. “Philip.”

Should she call out Jacob’s lie? She decided evil implodes itself. Wait.

Mr. Wilkes considered Jacob—five seconds, ten—and finally he let go. Jacob heaved and gagged.

Mr. Wilkes stood, eyed Anna, and turned back to his son. “I found the monk.”

Jacob stopped rubbing his neck, his mouth open, eyes wide. “Still alive?”

He looked away and dipped his hands in the basin of water, letting the droplets fall on the floor. “You had your chance to be honest with me. You know where the treasure is.” He shook his fingers. “You found the map.”

“Is he still alive?”

“What difference would it make to you? He was an old fool.”

“He cared for me.” Jacob scrambled to his feet. “He loved me more than you ever would.”

Anna watched, unmoving.

Mr. Wilkes splashed water on his face. “You only say that because you’re angry.” He reached for a towel and rubbed his eyes. “He talked.”

Jacob held his cane in both hands, facing his father. “You don’t need the map. You don’t trust me.”

Mr. Wilkes pulled the cloth away and turned to Jacob. He dropped the towel and looked at his son directly. The two stared at each other, and Anna could feel fire burning between them, an inferno swirling into a lake of fire.

Mr. Wilkes laughed. “He drew what he remembered.”

“You know.” Jacob said. “You know where the treasure is.”

Mr. Wilkes smiled.

“You could have questioned him before.” Jacob took a step toward Anna. She drew away from him.

“You weren’t ready.” He flexed his thick shoulders and rubbed his ample belly. “And I believed he’d only seen the map I had.”

Anna tried to wrap her mind around the intrigues of these two men. Jacob knew exactly where the treasure was and was trying to decipher exactly what his father knew.

Why?

And what was the game Mr. Wilkes played?

Jacob took another sideways step toward her.

Now she knew exactly what the conversation with the men had meant. Jacob had his own army. Chances were Mr. Wilkes had mercenaries as well.

These men were feeling each other out.

“Jacob. She’s heard too much. She’ll have to be dealt with.”

“She’s under my care.” His brow rose. “If she talks, the alternative is silence.”

“You would? Are you capable?”

“Your bank guard fell easily enough.”

Anna’s head was spinning.

Mr. Wilkes pursed his lips and considered her for a few moments. Anna looked past him and out the window at the distant mountains. “She’s like your mother.”

“How would you know?”

“Your mother and Constance.” His eyes glazed over, as if looking through time. “Philip’s mother and your mother were friends.”

Jacob tucked his cane under his arm and straightened his jacket. “There is nothing Philip and I have in common. You’re mistaken.”

“The past cannot be altered by—”

Jacob’s face had turned purple. “The past can be rewritten. By the future.” He pointed his cane at his father with a sharp whoosh. “And I am the future.”

“Your mother—”

“Was not my mother!” He took a step closer. “And you are not my father. Look at us. You and I are nothing alike. I am the prodigy of God, cared for by a monk, so that I may do great things on this earth.”

Philip and Jacob attended the same church. Raised by a monk but attending a Protestant gathering?

Mr. Wilkes eyed Jacob with a shrewd look. “You’re not God. Nor are you chosen by God. You’re simply a boy the monk forced upon me if I wanted my portion of the map. A boy who would show me the path to God. It’s what he believed.”

Jacob’s bottom lip trembled. He spun and gripped the window sill. “Leave me.”

“I raised you as my own son. Taught you business. Aggression. Passion.” Mr. Wilkes pointed out the window. “I gave you the world! And you frittered it all away on this girl. These hopeless dreams.”

“Leave me.”

“I don’t need you, Jacob. I do you a favor.”

Jacob spun. “I said leave me!”

Mr. Wilkes snarled, his teeth gritted tight, and he turned and slammed the door behind him.

Jacob leapt across the room, a movement so sudden she caught her breath. He reached into a wardrobe and yanked out a stunning blue dress, snowy white lace scooped low, sleeves ending in the icy stitches, and wide skirt with looping garlands of similar lace. He threw the dress over a chair. “Tonight, you will dress for dinner. I will have a bath brought up.”

“I think not.”

His eyes remained focused on her, unblinking. He gripped her neck, much like his father had done to him. “Where is the treasure, Anna? Tell me.”

He didn’t know? He hadn’t seen his father’s map. Did he think Philip knew and told her? She leaned toward him as far as the bindings would allow and spoke through her closing throat. “Who do you have left to kill, Jacob? Who left can you dangle before me to force me to do your bidding?” Emotions burst from her chest, and she allowed the words to spill through her tightening throat like lightning from a Dakota thunderstorm. “You can destroy the world, one person at a time. You’ve proven yourself a big man. Oh, so important. What has it gotten you? Yes, fine, you’re in a fancy hotel room with a map to a treasure. Philip’s room. Philip’s map. Philip’s girl. Philip’s treasure. You can’t even create your own life. You’re just a child!”

The wild look in his eyes broke through her anger, and she stopped. He reeled back.

“I am not a child!” He fell to the ground, his eyes swollen and wet. He lifted an arm over his face, as if protecting himself from a blow. “Papa, no, please, no! I won’t do it again.”

His breath came in gasps, and his body shook. Why did his voice sound like a child’s?

“Papa, stop! Papa, stop! I promise I’ll not do it again.”

He lifted an arm over his face and jerked as if someone beat him. He reached out a hand, fingers open and empty. She blinked, only a fraction of a second, but when she opened her eyes again he held the cane in his hand.

Jacob yanked the cane from the invisible attacker and slowly rose to his feet.

Anna had seen this before with Philip. His mind was locked in the past, and what he saw, heard, and felt really happened. It was happening now, in his mind.

Jacob had lost what little reasoning he had.

“Wake up!” She screamed. “Wake up!”

“Now it’s my turn.” He drew up to his full height and swung the cane, so that the sheath slipped from the blade and spun through the air. It crashed into the pitcher, sending shards across the room.

Jacob bore down on the bed, sword raised high, only the chair with the dress between him and her.

His sword whistled through the air and slashed through the arm of the dress. Another swing tore through the rich fabric, sending ivory buttons bouncing across the floor. He raised his arm and brought the heavy blow down again, splitting the chair in two.

Anna reeled back, as far as the rope and chain let her. “Jacob! Wake up!”

“You can’t run from me!” He lifted the sword over his head and swung, slicing through the batting in the quilt. In a blur, he raised his arm again and the blow sunk into the wool mattress, inches from her leg. He swung so fast she couldn’t see the blade as it chewed inches from her feet.

“Wake up!”

Horsehair flew across the room as he chewed through the bottom mattress. “How does it feel? How does it feel? How does it feel?”

She watched him in horror. Blow after blow. “Jacob!”

The sound of the sword falling to the floor gave her a surge of hope. Jacob was reaching out to the tattered bed. “I killed him,” Jacob whimpered. “I killed him.” He curled into a ball.

Anna brought a hand to her neck as a tsunami of terror washed over her like a drowning wave. Now she knew how Jacob had become an orphan and found himself in the care of a monk.

Yes, maybe the deed was self-defense. But she knew how Jacob Wilkes—or whatever his last name had been—became an orphan.

Jacob had killed his own father.