Inspector McKnight was telling the assembled Mounties that it was unlikely they would be able to save the hostages.
Of paramount importance, he said, was the capturing or killing of the hostage-taker.
Sterling looked at Fiona MacGillivray, wrapped in her friend’s embrace. Her face was white with fear, but even with hair resembling that of one of the witches from Macbeth, she looked both strong and beautiful. He knew then that he didn’t care one whit what happened to Maggie Brandon—he’d pay for her steamboat fare out of the country himself if Angus was spared.
Fiona felt his eyes on her, and she raised her heavy lashes. Her glance hit him like a bolt of lightning. He forced his attention back to what McKnight was telling his officers.
“When women go bad, it’s a particularly dangerous thing. Their monthly cycles turn some of them into mad things.”
One of the men, who’d hardly started shaving yet, asked his companion what a monthly cycle was.
None of the Mounties carried firearms. The force kept a Magnum machine gun at Chilkoot Pass, mainly to keep the infamous Soapy Smith of Skagway, Alaska, off the Pass and out of Canada. And that was about it for the firepower of Her Majesty’s North-West Mounted Police in the Yukon Territory. There might be a few guns locked up in the store rooms, but if there were, no one had thought to bring them along.
Sterling stepped forward. “We have to proceed cautiously, sir,” he said. “Brandon has asked for Irene Davidson. Miss Davidson is here, willing to do anything she can to help. I suggest we ask her to shout into the Savoy and try to mollify Brandon.”
“We don’t mollify madwomen, Constable Sterling, we overwhelm them.”
“I want to help.” Irene Davidson stepped forward. “Maggie only wants to talk to me.”
“If you would please go and join the other ladies, Miss Davidson,” McKnight said.
“But…”
“This is a police matter; the assistance of women is not required. You’re only causing a disturbance and a distraction.”
Richard Sterling had been demoted once; he knew he now stood at the edge of outright dismissal. “With all due respect, sir,” he said, trying not to scream his frustration, “there are two civilians in there. A woman and a child.”
“Nevertheless…”
Before McKnight finished his sentence, a shot rang out.
I was about to shrug Euila’s arm off me. Time had long past for someone to do something. There was a woman in there with my son, holding a gun. She wanted Irene Davidson: I would see she got Irene Davidson. If I shoved Euila with enough force to send her floundering in the street, I could grab Irene and make a dash for the door. We’d be inside while the Mounties, gentlemen all, were rushing to assist Euila. Richard might present a problem, but if I had to, I could stop Richard Sterling in his tracks—one way or another—while Irene got through the door.
Would Irene do it?
I had no idea.
I could only make sure she had no choice.
For my plan to work, the door would have to be unlocked. Had I reminded Angus to lock it? I couldn’t remember. I considered going around the back but didn’t know if the back door was locked either. Ray had a set of keys, but Ray wasn’t here. And there was no time to send for him.
I flexed my toes, and pain shot through me so sharply, I gasped. Euila murmured soothingly, “It’ll be all right, Fiona, you’ll see.”
Pain be damned, I would save my child. I gritted my teeth and started to move into the half-turn that would break Euila’s hold with my body, while at the same time my raised leg would knock her legs out from under her.
Before I could move, everything changed. A single shot came from inside the Savoy. A woman screamed. I was so startled I grabbed Euila to keep her from falling. Then I was on my way, leaping up to the boardwalk and past the Mounties.
Only Richard Sterling moved faster than I.