Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 04] (35 page)

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Authors: Deadly Desire

BOOK: Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 04]
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“If I go down,” Shoz said softly, “I am taking you down with me.”
For one moment, Craddock stared, and Francesca felt a new tension tightening his body. Then he said baldly, “I don’t think so. You see, I got me a ticket here, one to freedom and cash.” He jabbed the gun against her to make his point. This time, she did gasp, as her temple was terribly sore now.
Bragg stepped forward. “Miss Cahill has nothing to do
with this. However, there is a carriage outside, with a driver, and you may take that—but only after you release Miss Cahill.”
“An’ the cash?”
Bragg glanced at Hart. Hart smiled and picked up the valise, opening it. He tossed out a bound wad of bills. And then another—and another. “Five thousand, ten thousand. Fifteen. Here. Now it is twenty. Do tell me when to stop, Mr. Craddock.”
Craddock’s eyes were popping. “How much do you got in there?”
“It is not how much I have in this satchel,” Hart said. “It is how much I have in my safe and my bank accounts, and the answer is, I will pay what you wish, but you must release Miss Cahill … now.” His gaze moved to Francesca.
Something warmed inside of her. She had the distinct feeling that he would turn over hundreds of thousands of dollars without even thinking twice about it, to ensure that she was unhurt and freed.
Craddock licked his lips. “Thirty,” he said hoarsely. “Thirty thousand dollars.”
Hart smiled and tossed two more wads of bills at his feet. “Release her,” he said softly.
Francesca felt Craddock’s grip loosening—and then footsteps sounded and dozens of men in blue uniforms swarmed into the saloon, with Brendan Farr at their head.
“Get out!” Bragg shouted furiously. “Get your men out of here!”
Craddock’s grip tightened and he dragged Francesca back up the stairs, screaming, “No police, fuck you, you bastard! No damn police!” And even though she fought him every step of the way, the next thing she knew, he was shoving her face-first into the small room, and slamming the door closed behind them.
Francesca fell onto the wood floor, chin-up. Pain exploded in her head and she saw stars. And she heard the bolt dropping.
The timing was simply unbelievable. Bragg rubbed his face with his hands as a police officer directed the policemen out of the saloon. It was hard to think clearly, hard to keep his fear at bay.
He would never survive if anything happened to Francesca.
Then he got a grip and he looked up at Farr. “Make certain every man leaves this block. I do not want any police anywhere in the vicinity of this saloon! Is that clear?”
Farr was slightly flushed, and Bragg knew it was with anger. “Absolutely,” he said. “Harry, you heard him.”
“I am not done,” Bragg interrupted. Clearly, appointing Farr as chief of police had been a mistake. The man was too smart, ambitious, and self-serving for his own good. But who would have ever thought that Lucy would come to New York, bringing so much trouble? Of course, he would have guessed that Francesca would quickly, irrevocably become involved in Lucy’s problematic affairs. “Set up roadblocks on Thirty-third and Thirty-first Streets, on both Second and Third Avenue, as we do not know which direction he will go.” Bragg watched Nicholas picking up the piles of money on the floor. “Any sign of Joel and Chrissy?”
Farr said, “The boy and little girl are outside with one of my men. They are both fine.”
That was a huge relief. Shoz had been standing slightly to the side, with Rathe, Rourke, and Hart. His eyes widened and he dashed from the saloon. From outside, Chrissy’s gleeful cry of, “Papa!” could be heard. Bragg almost smiled, except he could not, as he was too acutely aware of Francesca being upstairs with Craddock.
He must not think now of how often hostages were killed by their captors. He simply must not.
“Shall I go up and attempt to convince Craddock to give up Miss Cahill and surrender?” Farr asked.
Bragg felt like murdering him. Instead, he smiled. “No. Have Hart’s coach in front of the saloon.” He turned to go.
Farr detained him by gripping his arm. “You are going to let him get in that carriage? We may lose him if you do! It is not a good idea!”
“I am going to do what I have to do in order to rescue Miss Cahill,” Bragg said coldly. Farr’s gaze was too-knowing now. Undoubtedly the man knew what his entire family did—that he was in love with Francesca Cahill. “Get the rest of those civilians out of here,” he said, nodding at the six men who had been playing poker in the back room. Several of them seemed about to drool over the last wad of bills, which Nicholas was replacing in Hart’s valise.
Shoz suddenly strode into the saloon. He eyed Farr as he approached Bragg, then halted and did not speak.
It was obvious his brother-in-law wished to speak with him. As Francesca remained a hostage, Bragg could only hope that he had an idea with which to capture Craddock and set her free. But Brendan Farr remained a problem. “Where’s Chrissy?”
“With the boy.”
“Let’s get her safely home,” Bragg said decisively. “Rathe?”
Rathe stepped forward. “I’d rather stay—”
“I have enough trigger fingers on hand,” Bragg said. “Please see Chrissy and Joel safely home. Kennedy belongs to the Cahills,” he added wryly. Only Francesca would have found a way to move the entire Kennedy family into her home.
Rathe hesitated and nodded. He gripped Shoz’s arm. “Whatever you are thinking, do not do it,” he said. “You have a wife waiting for you, a wife who adores you, and three children who dearly need and love their father.”
Shoz said nothing. His expression was at once implacable and impossible to read.
Rathe looked at his son. “Rick, don’t let him do anything foolish.”
“I won’t.”
Rathe nodded and strode out.
Shoz glanced toward Farr, who was pretending to observe two of his men as they herded the poker players outside; in fact, he was clearly eavesdropping. Bragg took his arm and they stepped closer to the stairs. Bragg couldn’t help glancing up them. Of course, Francesca was all right; Craddock wanted two things, money and his freedom. Murder would not help him now.
But he was a vicious criminal, and he had already committed murder at least once. And most important, what he really wanted was revenge.
“Let them come out. I can pick off Craddock when he steps out of the saloon and before he gets into the carriage,” Shoz said softly.
“No,” Bragg said, in unison with Hart. His half brother had come over to stand with them.
“It’s too risky,” Bragg said, meaning it.
“You might miss or, worse, hit Francesca,” Hart added darkly.
Shoz gave them both a disparaging look. “Why the hell do you think I brought that fancy English rifle of yours? I can position myself across the street, on that little balcony above the milliner’s. I won’t miss. I never miss.”
“No,” they said again in unison.
“I simply cannot allow it,” Bragg added. “Besides, we are supposed to apprehend and try Craddock, not kill him.”
Shoz’s expression, already hard, hardened impossibly more. He walked away, pausing beside Rourke and Nicholas.
Hart faced Bragg. “What if he doesn’t release Francesca?”
Bragg hated the look in his half brother’s eyes. It was the first time he had ever seen fear there, and he supposed it mirrored his own expression exactly. “He has nothing to gain by keeping her.”
“She is his ticket to freedom,” Hart said harshly. Then, “God damn it.”
Bragg laid a hand on his arm. “I need you to stay calm, Calder.”
“I am calm. Calm enough to go up there and kill.”
“You know that would only get Francesca killed. I am going to try to convince him to release her.”
“He won’t. He’s going to use her to get safely in that coach,” Hart said.
Bragg had opened his mouth to speak when a shout came down the stairs. “You got my carriage ready yet?” Craddock yelled.
Bragg strode to the bottom of the stairwell and saw Craddock on the top step, using Francesca as a shield, his gun against her temple. She was very white, but Bragg saw instantly from her eyes that she was basically calm and in complete control of her wits. He tried to send her a signal of encouragement; he was thankful that she was thinking clearly.
She understood, because she smiled a little at him—and then sent a similar smile to Hart.
He must not think of that now. “Your carriage is directly outside of the saloon door,” Bragg said.
“The police? They had better be gone! I see one fly and I put a bullet in the pretty lady’s arm. An’ it’ll only be the first!”
Bragg went rigid. He tried to breathe, tried not to imagine Francesca bleeding from one or more wounds. He understood, though; yes, he did. Craddock was too smart to kill her. He intended to keep her alive and use her. Bragg did not doubt that he would shoot her if he had to. “They’re gone, Craddock; I sent them away. Now why don’t you release Miss Cahill and we will let you go?”
He snorted. “Like hell! Where’s the money?”
“It’s here, in the bag,” Hart said. He reached behind him without removing his gaze from Craddock; Nicholas handed him the valise.
“Open it. Show me it’s all there,” Craddock demanded.
Hart did so.
Craddock nodded now, with satisfaction, but sweat was mottling his brow. “OK. Things look good. I’m comin’ down with the lady. I see anyone reach fer their gun, I take off her arm. You got that, Mr. Policeman?”
So Craddock knew who he was. Bragg nodded.
“But I want him,” and he nodded at Hart, “to go ahead of me an’ the lady, an’ he can put the valise in the carriage before my eyes.”
“No problem,” Hart said.
Craddock looked at everyone in the barroom—Rourke and Nicholas, just to the right of the stairs, Bragg and Hart, directly below them, and Brendan Farr, standing a bit to the left and behind. “No one moves, except for the banker there, and he only goes when I tell him to,” he said. “All of you, now, get your hands up, high, as high as they can go!”
“Understood,” Bragg returned, but his pulse was pounding now as he slowly lifted his hands up. Everyone except Hart raised their hands up in a picture of surrender, even Farr. Hart remained as still as a statue, the valise at his feet. Bragg watched Craddock begin to come down the stairs, a step at a time, his gaze darting everywhere, making certain that no one was reaching for his gun, using Francesca as a shield. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to remain calm, composed, in control. It would be so easy to pull out his own gun and try to blow the man’s head away so that Francesca could escape.
But in all likelihood she would be hurt or killed, so he did not do so, no matter the primal urge.
Craddock was halfway down the stairs. He was panting. The sound was soft, yet harsh, and very sharp. No, Francesca was the one panting, he realized with a pang. Sweat trickled down her brow, her cheek, disclosing just how frightened she really was.
Hang in there,
he told her silently.
You are going to be just fine—we are going to get you out of this.
He wished he believed his own silent words.
Her eyes locked with his. He saw the fear there now and
a question. She mouthed something, trying to communicate to him.
It looked like she was saying,
“Where Shoz?
”
He jerked.
Where the hell was Shoz?
Bragg turned and realized that Shoz was not in the saloon, just as Hart also glanced wildly about, apparently realizing at the exact same time that Lucy’s husband had disappeared.
I can position myself across the street, on that little balcony above the milliner’s. I won’t miss …
Bragg’s gaze locked with Hart’s; surprise and fear mingled, mixed. Shoz was out there and he intended to take Craddock down, never mind that Francesca was his human shield.
“Shit,” Hart said, his eyes wide and stunned and afraid.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Craddock cried. “Why are you lookin’ around?” He had halted on the bottom step and Francesca gasped as he dug the barrel of the gun into the side of her head.
“Don’t hurt her,” Bragg said quietly. “Nothing is going on. We were checking to make sure the coach is outside the door.”
Craddock stared at him suspiciously when Hart said, “May I?” indicating the valise filled with money.
Bragg knew he intended to distract Craddock. And it worked. Craddock looked at the bag and nodded. A hungry look had come into his eyes.
Hart picked up the valise. Then he turned, giving Craddock his back, and began to cross the saloon, leading the way.
Francesca made a strangled sound.
Bragg knew what it meant. Hart had his back to Craddock, and the man could so easily shift the gun he held and gun Hart down from behind.
He had to hand it to his half brother. He was very brave, and he remained one of the cleverest and most determined men he knew. And clearly Francesca knew it, too. As clearly, she was afraid for him now.
“Let’s go,” Craddock said, moving onto the floor now,
dragging Francesca with him. “Get those two to the wall, off to my side!” he yelled.
Rourke and Nicholas leaped back against the wall, never dropping their arms.
“Keep them hands up! Everyone, or I’ll put my first bullet in the little lady you all are so fond of!”
Bragg had kept his hands up, and he glanced at Farr. The chief of police had seemed to be lowering his hands; now, reluctantly, he lifted them back up.
Hart had paused at the door; he glanced over his shoulder.
“Keep goin’, banker!” Craddock screamed at him.
Hart walked outside.
Bragg’s heart accelerated wildly.
Shoz was out there, waiting to take a shot at Craddock.
There was simply no other explanation for his disappearance.
Craddock half-dragged and half-pushed Francesca, carrying her with him, passing Bragg, then Farr. He pushed through the door, Francesca against his side.
The city sidewalk was no more than ten feet wide. Craddock took one step, then two. Bragg had his gun out; Craddock turned. “Drop it!” he screamed. “Drop it now before I kill the lady!”
Bragg dropped it; the revolver clattered to the floor.
Craddock began to smile, sweat streaking his face, and he turned; he was only a few feet from the carriage and, possibly, from freedom as well.
The shot rang out.
Craddock’s eyes widened, he staggered backward, and Francesca broke free. As he fell backward onto the boardwalk, she rushed away, directly into Hart’s arms. Bragg saw him drag her away from the carriage and to the safety of the side of the building as he ran toward Craddock with Farr, who had his gun in hand. He knelt beside the hoodlum and saw instantly that he was dead.
So did Farr. The chief of police rocked back on his heels. “Well, well,” he murmured, more to himself.

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