Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Explain yourself, Mr. Carter,” said the woman with the dangerous dark eyes. After admitting him to the ground floor flat, she’d backed him into a straight wooden chair, where she kept him captive by force with the steam cannon. Rose Kelly perched on a second chair, the anxiety fairly streaming from her.
In his time on the streets, along the way to becoming the King of Prospect, Mitch had faced any number of weapons, including side arms, broken bottles, and knives of all descriptions. He didn’t think any of them rivaled a steam cannon—even a small one like this—in the hands of a defensive woman. If her finger so much as twitched, significant portions of his anatomy would cook instantly and he’d die on the spot.
What would happen to Tessa then?
He looked Miss Landry in the eye. “Can you please aim that weapon somewhere else? I just want to talk.”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Carter. Mrs. Kelly here says she’s heard your voice before, at an unfortunate moment in her life.”
“Mrs. Kelly might be mistaken.” Mitch shot a look at the woman in question. The agony in her wide eyes called up an unexpected measure of sympathy.
“Mrs. Kelly, I’m just looking for my wife. She disappeared this morning, and we’ve been unable to locate her. I very much fear she’s been abducted.”
Mrs. Kelly trembled. “And you think Pat has her? Why would he do such a terrible thing?” She leaned forward, displaying strength beneath her anxiety. “Why, unless I’m right about hearing your voice before, and you had a hand in abducting me?”
Why, indeed?
Mitch said, “I had no hand in snatching you, ma’am, but I know who did.”
“And you were there that day.”
“I might have been brought there by the person who abducted you. If your husband’s after revenge, I’ll give him the culprit’s name, just so long as he releases my wife safely.”
Rose Kelly gave a brittle smile. “You don’t know my husband, do you? He doesn’t believe in revenge. Mr. Carter, Pat isn’t holding your wife.”
“How do you know? She may not be here. That doesn’t mean—”
“You’re not listening to me. Pat would not put a woman—any woman—through what I endured. He’s a finer man than that.”
He wasn’t a man at all, but Mitch didn’t point that out. Rose Kelly seemed utterly convinced.
Miss Landry waggled the steam cannon at him. “Seems like you’re barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Carter. Pat didn’t snatch your wife. I suggest you concentrate on whoever did.”
And in his mind’s ear, Mitch heard Danny Dwyer’s voice. You have a wife too, a pretty one.
Damnation!
“I see by your expression you may have arrived at a possibility,” said Ginny Landry dryly.
Had Danny Dwyer grabbed her? But how? And for what reason? Kelly had the motive of revenge. Dwyer…
Dwyer, a brute and a bully, got what he wanted out of life through thievery, cajolery, and intimidation. He might have snatched Tessa just to get back at Mitch for breaking off their deal. Men like him—and Mitch himself—always went for the weak spot.
And no one could deny Tessa was Mitch’s weak spot, possibly his only one.
“Mr. Carter, do you think your wife’s been snatched by the same man who abducted me?” Mrs. Kelly urged, “Give me his name. We’ll send a message to Pat, and he’ll help you hunt the villain down.”
“His name’s Danny Dwyer. You can tell your husband so, but I’ll need no help hunting him down. I have my own boys.”
Miss Landry’s eyes widened. “You mean to start a turf war, Mr. Carter? I don’t think Pat would approve. That’s what the police are for.”
“Miss Landry, men like me don’t turn to the coppers for help.”
The two women exchanged glances. Miss Landry held out her side arm. “Do you need to borrow this?”
“No, thank you, Miss Landry. I’ve weapons of my own.”
Mrs. Kelly leaned toward him. “Then go find your wife, Mr. Carter. Find her as quickly as you can.”
****
The cheerful, hummed ditty ceased just above Tessa’s head. She could feel the man standing there, and goose bumps broke out all over her body. He might do anything to her—beat her, brutalize her, or rape her.
And what about her child—Mitch’s child—then?
Oh, Mitch, she cried in her mind.
Without warning, hard hands seized her and drew her up. Fingers dug at her mouth—the horrid gag came away.
“Don’t scream. It will echo something fierce in here and I’ll be forced to silence you.”
Tessa sucked in a deep breath and coughed. “Where are we? What is this place?”
His voice warmed, the Irish accent oozing charm. “You, my dear, are privileged to occupy the interior of Mr. Dart’s great invention.”
“What?”
“You’re not familiar with Mr. Dart? And you native to this great city. Tsk, tsk.”
Tessa fought to keep from screaming; she believed her captor would follow through on his threat. “I don’t understand.”
“This, Queen Carter, is the interior of a grain elevator, one of many here on the waterfront. The bin you’re in happens to be empty at the moment—cleared out into canal boats earlier today. The Irish boys who work here did a good job, didn’t they? Got nearly every scrap. If not, I daresay you’d smother.”
“Take off the blindfold so I can see.”
He ignored the request. “Of course, Queen Carter, this bin won’t stay empty long. The lake freighters are standing by waiting to unload. As soon as this rain stops, that process will begin, and then you will smother.”
“Take off the blindfold!”
“Not a good idea, pretty lady.”
“I already got a good look at you in the cab,” Tessa reminded him, perhaps unwisely.
“Very well.” Cruel fingers tore the blindfold away, catching a handful of Tessa’s hair in the process.
Tessa looked wildly from the man poised in front of her—dirty blond hair, narrowed blue eyes, and a twisted smile—to the space that surrounded them. Bin made a good description of the place, at least from what she could see by the light of the single lantern set on the floor at her captor’s side. Made of wood, like a giant crate, the building stretched out around her. Far overhead she could see a shuttered opening. A chute? Grain littered the broad floor.
No hope of escape, that was the important thing, especially with the man standing so very close to her.
With difficulty she focused on him. “What did Mitch do to you, to make you abduct me?”
Again he ignored the question and spread his hands. “Did you know I worked here a short while? Not for long, it’s true. Moving grain is damn hard work, and I wasn’t born to work hard. In the old days, before Mr. Dart had his grand idea, all the grain that came down the lake was moved on the backs of Irish laborers. They were cheap, see. Cheaper than horses, and people cared even less what happened to them. Now they just have to break their backs shoveling. Things get better for some, not so much for others. I’ve found we make our own fortune. Point is, the grain’s moved up from the holds on a conveyer powered by steam. When you hear that big steam engine fire up, you’ll know you’re about to die.”
“Why?”
“I told you, your husband—the self-styled King of Prospect—needs to be taught a lesson in respect. I’ve sent him a message. We’ll see what he’s willing to trade for your safety, just how highly he values you.”
Tessa thought of the look in Mitch’s eyes when she told him she hated him. A deep shudder wracked her body. How might a man like Mitch Carter—one who’d been through the hell that was life in the orphanage, where love never showed its face—react to a declaration of hate?
Might he decide he was done with her? Sure, he’d whispered the words “I love you” when he held her in his arms, but did he even know what love was? Might he not wash his hands of her, leave her here in the clutches of this dire bully?
To smother beneath a load of grain. To die.
“Let me go,” she advised. “You don’t want to cross him. He’s a dangerous man.”
“You think I’m afraid of fecking Mitch Carter? Ah, no.”
“Just let me go.”
“You mean to beg? That might be interesting. You’re awfully pretty.” He grinned. “It might be entertaining to find out just what you’d do to ransom yourself.”
Tessa recoiled, and he laughed. “We’ll save that for later, eh? Just before you die. Meanwhile, let’s see what your husband decides to do.”
Oh, Mitch, Tessa’s heart cried again. Please, please come.