Carol Finch (17 page)

“Noah does,” Hawk spoke up as the harlot propelled them upstairs. “I’ll stand guard by the door and wait my turn.”

He and Noah exchanged significant glances on the way up the steps. Hawk was silently requesting time to scout out the second and third story without drawing unnecessary attention.

Besides, the thought of tumbling around in bed with a woman who wasn’t Shiloh felt like a betrayal. Even if she was outside right this moment, falling for that smooth-talking Frenchman all over again, damn her.

The thought made him scowl sourly. He was anxious to ferret out the mastermind and capture the outlaw gangs so he could ride to San Antonio—where he wouldn’t have to watch Shiloh reconcile with her first love.

The prospect of Shiloh ending up in Antoine’s bed turned him inside out and backward. Forcing aside the tortuous thought, Hawk headed for the staircase that led to the third story.

A burning sensation that felt an awful lot like being sliced by a sharp knife stabbed into Shiloh’s heart when she saw Hawk walk into the brothel. The emotional blow caused her to sway unsteadily on her feet. Al
though Antoine was twirling her in rhythm with a fast-tempoed song, she teetered sideways, colliding with him.

Her secret wish that she would come to mean something special to Hawk died a quick death when he disappeared inside the brothel. Her spirits plunged to rock bottom.

“Are you all right,
chère?
” Antoine cooed as he tightened his grasp on her waist to make sure she didn’t wilt at his feet. “Are you feeing faint?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Shiloh said shakily.

She had felt betrayed and humiliated when Antoine dismissed her in favor of Aimee Garland, the young heiress in New Orleans. But watching Hawk enter the bordello to appease his needs—after she had sneaked into his room the previous night—made her feel one hundred times worse! Damn him, he might as well have come right out and said she hadn’t been woman enough to satisfy him and that she meant nothing to him.

Anger, mortification and conflicting emotions ate her alive while she braced herself against the supporting beam outside the bakery. She inhaled several steadying breaths while Antoine sauntered off to fetch her a glass of punch. She had maintained that her trysts with Hawk hadn’t happened. She’d claimed there were no ties to bind them together. She had said all those things for
his
benefit, damn it. She hadn’t really meant them. She’d just been trying to put up a bold front and protect her foolish heart.

What she secretly wanted was for Hawk to fall in love with her because he wanted
her—
for who she was on the inside and what she meant to
him—
not because she made demands on him after they became intimate.
It was killing her to know exactly what he was going to do after he escorted one of the harlots upstairs. She knew how it felt to be caressed and kissed by him, knew how it felt to lose touch with reality while they were one living breathing essence, soaring in ecstasy.

The image of another woman taking her place in the circle of his sinewy arms cut to the quick—and even deeper. Curse him to hell and back for singling out a harlot to appease his needs! Shiloh had obviously left him unfulfilled and he sought out someone who knew how to please a man expertly.

Damnation! Hawk had the power to betray her, hurt her deeply because she had fallen in love with him. She’d tried so hard not to, tried hard to deny her feelings for him.

All the while that she’d been spouting off about becoming a free-spirited spinster, she had secretly longed for Hawk to confide that he did have special feelings for her.

Her tormented thoughts scattered when an offensive-smelling ruffian sideswiped her as he staggered past. Shiloh hurriedly anchored herself to the supporting beam of the covered boardwalk before she cartwheeled off balance and landed in an unceremonious heap in the street.

“Well, lookie who we got here.” The deep voice beside her carried a drunken slur. “Ain’t Morty gonna be pleased to see what I found.”

Alarm pulsated through Shiloh when she glanced into the whiskered face and bloodshot eyes of Everett Stiles—one of the men who had fired down at her from atop the cliff and had opened fire during two other narrow escapes from the rugged canyons. And damn it, here was Stiles again!

“C’mon, darlin’,” Everett Stiles jeered as he snaked his arm around her waist then jerked her into the alley. “You know too much and we can’t have that.”

Shiloh upraised her knee, landing a disabling blow that caused Stiles to double over in pain. Unfortunately, before she could dart to safety, another assailant materialized from the shadows to pounce on her.

“Hold still, bitch,” Morton DeVol growled against her neck. “If you start screamin’ bloody murder I’ll have a knife stuck through yer ribs before you can draw yer next breath.” To emphasize his point, he slit the fabric near her waist, leaving a gaping hole that exposed her petticoat.

Shiloh knew she wouldn’t stand a chance of survival if she went peaceably. But she did take five unresisting steps alongside DeVol, allowing him to think she was compliant.

When his guard was down, she burst into action. She half turned to shove the heel of her hand into his jaw. DeVol’s teeth snapped together and he recoiled instinctively. She sent up a shriek for help, hoping to be heard over the loud music and dozens of conversations going on in the street.

When Everett Stiles dashed toward her, she kicked him squarely in the groin then lurched toward the boardwalk. She didn’t get far before she heard DeVol’s ferocious snarl behind her. When the butt of his pistol slammed into the back of her skull stars exploded before her eyes. Her knees folded up beneath her. She tried to shout for help, but DeVol covered her face with his smelly handkerchief and hooked his arm around her.

Shiloh knew Hawk wouldn’t be coming to her rescue. He was at Paradise Social Club, dallying with a
harlot. She was never going to forgive him for that, either….

That was her last thought before blinding pain turned the world turned pitch-black and she slumped lifelessly on the ground.

H
awk was on his way upstairs to the attic when he heard one of the doors creak open behind him. He muttered under his breath when Noah hurried to catch up with him.

“I gave Rachel enough cash to guarantee she’d stay in her room for a half hour before she drums up more business downstairs,” Noah explained.

“I can handle this alone,” Hawk insisted.

“I’m sure you can, but I owe you for saving Shiloh from disaster two weeks ago.”

“If I told you that I’m the reason she landed in disaster will you go away?” Hawk bartered.

“No.” Noah jerked up his chin, much the same way his sister did. “You’re stuck with me. Get used to the idea.”

Hawk decided there and then that defiance and muleheadeness were Drummond family traits.

His thoughts trailed off when he reached the locked door at the head of the steps. He could hear the coo and flutter of pigeons in the attic, but he didn’t want to risk making the kind of racket necessary to break down the
door. He was satisfied knowing he’d located the central roost for the pigeons the gangs used to communicate with each other.

“The mayor has quite an operation set up here,” Hawk murmured. “Reggie Clark gathers information then pays regular visits to the bordello and sends out instructions to the outlaw factions by carrier pigeon. All the better that isolated line shacks like yours make good roosts and divert suspicion. No wonder the Rangers have been one step behind in trying to figure out how these banditos operate.”

When Hawk wheeled around to descend the steps Noah blinked, startled. “You aren’t going in?”

“It will hold. I need to tail Morton DeVol and Reggie Clark to see where…”

His voice dried up when he reached the second level to see the harlot DeVol accompanied upstairs standing in the open doorway to her room. An uneasy sensation pelted Hawk. He wondered if DeVol had recognized him and then alerted Mayor Clark. He swore under his breath when Lucille Warner strode toward them—to provide a timely diversion, no doubt.

“Did you two get lost?” Lucille stared pointedly at the third flight of steps. “My business associate has declared that area off-limits. I will have to ask you to leave.”

Hawk didn’t bother making excuses; he simply strode past Lucille and headed downstairs. He cursed a blue streak when he failed to locate Morton DeVol or Reggie Clark.

Another fretful sensation trickled down Hawk’s spine when he walked outside. The scene before him seemed innocent enough. People were chitchatting with their neighbors. Several clusters of men hovered
around the beer kegs, swapping tall tales and laughing boisterously. Couples were still dancing but something didn’t feel right. The fact that Morton and Reggie had disappeared so quickly made Hawk twitchy.

“What’s that two-timing French Don Juan up to now?” Noah muttered from behind him.

Hawk snapped his head around to see the ostentatiously dressed Antoine weaving in and out of the crowd, craning his neck while carrying two cups of punch. Hawk’s gaze narrowed warily, wondering where Antoine had stashed Shiloh. Probably in some shadowy corner so he could ply her with spiked punch before stealing a few kisses and groping at her.

Hawk scowled at the offensive thought. He didn’t need to be hounded by overprotectiveness and jealousy when he’d had DeVol and Clark in his sights—and suddenly lost them in the crowd.

Another jolt of unease bombarded him when Fletch and Gideon circled the dance area then made a beeline toward him.

“Shiloh has gone missing,” Gideon blurted out without preamble. “That bungling Frenchman left her alone while he went to fetch a drink after Shiloh said she felt faint. Antoine propped her up against a supporting beam by the bakery. When he returned Shiloh was gone.”

Hawk let loose a string of oaths as a wave of panic buffeted him. “This is not a good time for Shiloh to turn up missing. DeVol is in town and Stiles is probably lurking about. If either of them recognizes her…”

He didn’t want to consider that prospect because he knew Shiloh’s chance of survival was nonexistent. Morton DeVol had a history of disposing of witnesses and abusing women. Shiloh was too spirited and rebel
lious to deal with a vicious man like DeVol. He was a bully who wouldn’t appreciate or tolerate her spunk. Sassing him was the worst thing she could do.

Hawk’s troubled thoughts scattered in a dozen different directions when he heard a rumble and saw a plume of dust rising from behind the marshal’s office.

“Four masked men tied their lariats to the bars on the backside of the jail cell and yanked out the window!” an eyewitness yelled at the top of his lungs.

Swearing profusely, Hawk took off at a dead run. He only made it fifty yards before an explosion shook the nearby buildings. A cloud of dust belched from the shattered windows of the bank and three masked men raced into the alley, toting bags of stolen money.

“Fletch! Find out where the banker is,” Hawk shouted. “If Will Proctor is in on this scheme to bleed his investors dry I want him apprehended.”

Fletch took off as fast as his mending leg would carry him.

Hawk raced around the corner of the marshal’s office to see six riders thundering off into the darkness. He wanted to bound onto his horse and give chase, but his concern for Shiloh took precedence.

“What can we do to help?” Noah asked from behind him.

Hawk wheeled to face the Drummond brothers. “Check the hotel to see if Shiloh is in her room lying down.”

Gideon shot off like a cannonball.

“Noah, ride south of town to alert the Rangers. They are setting up camp nearby.”

“And tell them what? That hell’s broken loose?”

“Tell Captain Tipton to send a patrol to Mills Ranch to round up every man on-site for questioning,” Hawk
instructed. “Send a second patrol to guard the stage that should be arriving in an hour. Things are happening too fast around here. Trouble is erupting with too much precision to be a coincidence. This has all the markings of a multiple strike.”

“I’m on my way.” Noah bolted off to fetch his horse.

Hawk stood there, battling the uncharacteristic sense of panic and impending doom that tried to incapacitate him. He could respond quickly and effectively to these multiple threats if he knew Shiloh was unharmed. But his concern for her kept clogging up his thought processes.

And when this was over Hawk vowed to strangle Antoine for doing such a sorry job of keeping track of her.

When he saw Gideon striding toward him, his face set in a grim line, he felt his heart twist painfully in his chest.

“She’s not at the hotel,” Gideon reported. “No one saw her enter or leave the lobby. But I overheard one man say he heard a woman’s scream coming from the alley beside the bakery. When he went to investigate he found nothing but this.” He held up Shiloh’s shoe.

Salty curses exploded from Hawk’s lips. He’d never felt so helpless and frustrated in his life. If Shiloh was the sacrifice he had to make to avenge Archie Pearson’s senseless death and resolve this case, the whole damn lot of desperadoes could go free. He just wanted Shiloh back, wanted to know she was safe… Even if the first place she ran for comfort was straight into that pretentious Frenchman’s arms.

“Now what do we do?” Gideon asked, looking as indecisive and nonplussed as Hawk felt.

“Go find Fletch and tell him that I’m going to track
the men responsible for the jailbreak and see where they hole up.”

“In the dark?” Gideon hooted incredulously.

“It shouldn’t be too hard.” Hawk lurched around and headed for the blacksmith’s barn where he had stabled Dorado. “They are headed northwest.”

“Toward Mills Ranch,” Gideon speculated.

“Or
your
ranch,” Hawk added grimly. “If DeVol and Stiles abducted your sister, they’ll see this as the perfect chance to get Shiloh to give them the combination to your ranch safe. Plus, they’ll have a hostage if the Ranger battalion gets them cornered.”

“Hell and damnation!” Gideon’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Do you think the outlaws captured her?”

“There’s a strong chance of it,” Hawk said bleakly.

Gideon pivoted, then took off at a dead run to locate Fletcher.

Hawk zigzagged through the crowd to retrieve his mustang. The sense of urgency to locate Shiloh was making him frantic. Something about the precision of the strikes on the bank and jail left Hawk wondering if the incidents were part of a smoke screen. He knew he was missing something, sensed there was more going on, but he couldn’t figure out what because concern for Shiloh’s safety was eating him alive.

While Hawk raced off on horseback, toting a torch to illuminate the hoofprints, fear coiled in the pit of his belly. He’d accepted the possibility of his own death long ago, but the prospect of Shiloh perishing shook him to the core. Damn it, if Shiloh turned out to be a casualty of this assignment, he was going to hunt down every cursed renegade and make him pay the supreme sacrifice, even if it took years.

The image of luminous green eyes, surrounded by thick lashes and a full head of rich, lustrous auburn hair sprang instantly to mind and tore at his heart. Hawk gritted his teeth and urged Dorado into his fastest pace.

This is your fault,
he reminded himself as he thundered off into the darkness. He’d led those vindictive outlaws straight to Shiloh that fateful day at the river. If she’d never met him then she wouldn’t be in serious trouble now.

Your fault,
the scolding voice of his conscience nagged.
All your fault!

Fletch shouldered his way through the crowd that jammed the street, dragging the outraged banker by the nape of his expensive jacket.

“I demand that you release me at once!” William Proctor snapped. “You can expect to hear from my lawyer!”

“Good,” Fletch said, unconcerned. “I have a few questions I want to ask him about you.”

Beside him, Gideon gestured for the curious onlookers to step aside so they could enter the jail. The older, heavyset city marshal stood inside the office door, scowling as he stared through the gaping hole in the back wall.

Fletch flashed his badge. “I request that you detain Proctor for questioning until I come back.”

“This is preposterous!” William ranted. He wagged his forefinger in the marshal’s wrinkled face. “And don’t think I won’t spread the word that you’re incompetent, marshal. You won’t hold this job for more than another week, if I have anything to say about it!”

“Which you don’t,” Fletch said as he quick-marched the dandified banker toward the one remaining cell that
hadn’t been destroyed by the jailbreak. He gave Proctor a firm nudge then slammed the barred door behind him.

“Glad to know we have Rangers nearby,” the marshal said as he hiked his breeches over his rounded belly. “I’ll gather a posse if you need reinforcements.”

Fletcher shook his head. “I prefer that you keep a lid on this town, in case another outbreak occurs.”

“Done,” the marshal agreed.

Fletch exited the office to find Gideon awaiting him. “How long has Hawk been gone?”

“Ten minutes. Fifteen at the most…” Gideon’s voice trailed off when a rider, waving his hat over his head, demanded his attention.

Fletch frowned warily as he watched George Porter—the crusty old cowboy who had delivered Hawk’s message to Ranger camp the previous week—skid his horse to a halt. The man’s face was a mite peaked and he was noticeably out of breath.

“What’s wrong, George?” Gideon demanded of his employee.

“I ran into Logan Hawk on my way to town,” he explained. “I told him that, while me and some of the men were watching over the herds, in case of rustling, a whole slew of riders barged in to take over your ranch house.”

He paused while Fletch and Gideon swore succinctly.

“I spotted Shiloh, jackknifed over one of the men’s shoulder, being carried into the house. When I gave Hawk the news he said to come find you then alert the Rangers.”

“Have you seen Noah?” Gideon asked worriedly.

“No. Hawk told me Noah went to contact the Rang
ers and I could intercept them and divert them to Drummond Ranch.”

A sense of urgency clambered through Fletch as he raced toward the blacksmith’s barn to retrieve his Appaloosa. Gideon was hot on his heels.

The prospect of Hawk trying to hold off the bandit brigade single-handedly until reinforcements arrived made Fletch twitchy. He remembered the incident George had related to the Rangers about Hawk defying the odds to protect Shiloh from harm before he realized the men who tried to lynch him were her brothers. Hawk was bold and daring to a fault, Fletch recalled. Always had been.

Fletch had lost the rest of his family and he could no longer contact his clan at Bosque Redondo. Damn it, he didn’t want to lose his brother, too.

The grim prospect prompted him to ride hell-bent-for-leather to reach Drummond Ranch to intercept Hawk before he got himself killed trying to save Shiloh…whose chance of survival was decreasing by the minute.

Shiloh awoke to the sound of muffled voices wafting toward her. She was careful not to move or make a sound that might alert her posted guards that she had regained consciousness. She opened one eye cautiously, shocked to discover that she had been toted to her own home. A dozen scruffy-looking characters lounged in
her
parlor, helping themselves to
her
brothers’ supply of cigars and whiskey. A thick fog of smoke clouded the room and bottles clanked against glasses repeatedly.

She cursed inwardly when she spotted Frank Mills sprawled on the tufted blue sofa. He was puffing on a
cheroot and talking with Morton DeVol and Everett Stiles. Nauseous and light-headed though she was, because of the blow to her skull, she racked her brain, trying to figure out how she could cause a distraction or foil whatever scheme these bandits had hatched.

Her discreet gaze circled the room again, expecting to see Reggie Clark, Hiram Evans or William Proctor in attendance. Either the suspected mastermind had yet to arrive or he refused to expose his identity to the other outlaws who had congregated at Drummond Ranch. According to Hawk, only gang leaders like DeVol—and most likely Frank Mills—could identify the mysterious mastermind.