Chapter Forty

Tessa, half sunken into a stupor caused by exhaustion and lack of air, jumped violently when a steam engine suddenly burst into life close at hand. The sound of it echoed fearfully in the empty grain bin, making such a racket it set her heart racing full bore.

What was happening? How long had she been here, shivering in the near darkness?

Where was Mitch?

Once again, her longing for him rose up like a tiger, filling her inside—a strong, transformative emotion. She struggled against the gag in her mouth, her entire being at last acknowledging the truth.

She loved him. She loved Mitch Carter the way she’d never imagined loving any man. Somehow, amid the anger and the dismay, the distress at being forced to marry him, he’d wound up becoming a part of her—bone of her bone and heart of her heart. She wanted to be the one to ease the great loneliness inside him, wanted to live the rest of her days as his wife.

But she might have no more days.

Oh, Mitch, I’m sorry. Sorry I wasted our time together thinking I wanted something else. I didn’t, I didn’t. What I imagined I felt for Richard was just that, a silly girl’s imagining. I wish I had the chance to tell you so.

A second steam engine roared to life. Tessa’s ears fairly rang. How long did she have before grain started filtering down from the chute above? Surely only a miracle could bring Mitch to her in time.

****

“Actually,” Dwyer drawled, “I’m in the mood to be generous. I have to respect a man willing to do anything to save his missus. So I’ll require only half your properties signed over to me. Everything south of Chippewa Street. I figure if I get that bastard Kelly surrounded, he’ll have to yield to me.”

“Everything south of Chippewa?” Despite himself, Mitch hesitated. “That’s more than half my properties.”

It had taken him ten years to build all that up, and the rents represented most of his wealth. Without those properties, he’d be lucky to keep his house.

A tough prospect.

“Or,” Dwyer tossed at him, “you can let her die.”

Mitch growled deep in his throat, like the animal to which he’d sometimes been reduced back at Carter’s, while locked in the black room. There, he’d learned the only thing gained by throwing himself at the door and beating on the walls were bloody fists.

But Danny Dwyer was no wall.

Abruptly, the restraints he’d kept imposed on himself for so long broke. He leapt at Dwyer, fists swinging.

The world that was Buffalo might well underestimate him—Dwyer might. He wore good suits and kept the fine house and steamcar. Mitch knew the truth though; under it all he remained the scrapper who’d fought his way out of the gutter and on up through sheer determination.

Dwyer never stood a chance. He went over backward under Mitch’s assault, and Mitch battered him relentlessly. Dimly, he heard voices exclaim at a distance, but he saw only Dwyer’s face in front of him, increasingly bloodied.

“Here now, what’s this?”

The voice of authority broke through, or made it half way through. Mitch, seized and hauled backward, flew up as if he weighed nothing. He found his feet and tried to leap at Dwyer again.

“No, sir, I think not. Do you want to kill him?”

“Yes.”

Breathless, his lungs working like bellows, Mitch continued to stare Dwyer down. “He has my wife.”

The hands gripping his arms eased just a titch. “So I understand.”

Turning his head, Mitch caught a glimpse of blue—a dark blue uniform. A policeman. A second, incredulous look informed him he stood in the grasp of the hybrid automaton, Patrick Kelly. Behind Kelly stood other…men?…none of them in uniform. Behind them stood Mitch’s own boys, who’d crept out from hiding.

Kelly’s green eyes engaged Mitch’s. “Despite that, Mr. Carter, I’m afraid I can’t let you kill him.”

Mitch looked at Dwyer again. The Irishman lay sprawled on the ground; though his eyes remained open, he appeared to see nothing. Beyond him, a crowd of what might be dockworkers—mingled with Dwyer’s men—began to gather, staring.

Mitch kicked Dwyer’s leg. “This bastard’s hidden my wife in one of those elevators—he wouldn’t tell me which.” He switched his gaze to Kelly. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“My wife, Rose, sent for me and explained your predicament. She didn’t want another woman to endure what she had. I got a few of the lads and, since we’ve determined Rose was held hereabouts, I thought this the logical place to begin looking.”

“He says she’s in an empty elevator but when the grain starts loading in, she’ll die.”

Kelly released Mitch, bent down, and hauled Dwyer up with ridiculous ease. Dwyer, no small man, dangled from the automaton’s fist like a rag doll.

“Mr. Dwyer?” Kelly inquired in a polite tone, as if making a routine inquiry from a suspect, “where is Mrs. Carter?”

Dwyer’s bloodied lips stretched in an ugly grin. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out.

“Damn it,” Mitch said as hard regret swamped him. How many years had he kept his discipline and his temper? The first time he let himself off leash, and it cost him.

No, it cost Tessa.

“Here, take charge of him, Terry,” Kelly called to one of the other hybrids. “The rest of you, gather ’round. You too,” he gestured to the staring dockworkers. He raised his voice to be heard above the increasing number of steam engines firing up.

“There’s a woman being held here, quite likely in one of the elevators,” he called. “I ask you to spread out and search. The more of us the better—look every place you can.”

Controlled chaos broke out even as the breath whooshed from Mitch’s lungs. Kelly meant to help, even though he had no reason to trust him. And a dozen or more searchers beat one.

The squad of hybrids, along with Mitch’s boys, moved away, mostly in pairs. The dockworkers began asking questions, and Kelly waved them off. Then the automaton stood motionless for an instant, surveying the scene like—well, the way a machine might.

Many of the workers, not close enough to pick up on the commotion, continued to go about their work. At a distance, another steam engine fired up, fueling Mitch’s panic. Out over the lake the sky continued to clear; beautiful light shone down, illuminating the scene.

A sudden sweat broke out all over Mitch’s body. “She’s going to die,” he groaned. “I know it.” Why had he thought differently? How had he supposed he could have in his life a lovely creature like Tessa Verdun—the one desire of his heart? Especially considering the fact that he’d forced her into the marriage and she said she—

Hated him.

Patrick Kelly looked at him with calm green eyes. “There is no reason to think so, Mr. Carter—not yet. Come with me.”

****

Tessa’s entire body tensed when, with a loud scraping sound, the grate far overhead opened. Bright sunlight flooded in, giving her another good look at the place where she lay. A bin, indeed a huge one, and she rested at the very bottom like a roach in an empty kettle.

She began struggling then, straining every muscle in an effort to inch her way toward the door where her captor had entered and exited. A fine dust rose around her when she moved, and it stung her eyes. Her efforts made her gasp against the fabric covering her mouth; her senses swam.

She collapsed with a sob; even if she reached the opening she wouldn’t be able to open the door, with her hands bound. She would die here after all, and Mitch’s child with her.

Oh, Mitch!

She closed her eyes on an intensity of longing and felt something touch her cheek. It felt like rain, only softer. Opening her eyes, she saw it was raining.

Raining grain.

It appeared almost beautiful at first, fluttering down to land all around her, swirling through the light. Then it began coming faster and faster, and it hurt, pelting against her like hail, striking her exposed skin. And the racket of it, combined with the throb of the engines outside, stopped her ears to any other sound.

Except her own inner screams.