Lone Star 04 (16 page)

“No, they didn‘t, and before you ask me why not, I'll tell you I don't know.” She turned on him and held his eyes with hers. “I
do
know that was an honest-to-God American wolf—not some creature out of a Transylvanian fairy tale.”

“And your American wolves are immune to bullets, yes?” he said wryly. “This must be a great inconvenience to your farmers and ranchers.”

Jessie caught his tone and ignored it.

“I'm not going to tell you I've got all the answers,” she said quietly. “But I've sure got a few you don't know about. Which makes it a lot easier for me to understand what's happening here. There's more to all this than I've told you, Feodor.”

“Yes, I'm well aware of that,” he said without looking at her.

“Please don't be angry, now. I've got my reasons.” She hesitated, then went on. Choosing her words carefully, she told him about the European cartel that was her enemy, the organization's awesome power, and their goals in America.

“It's not just your wheatfields they're after,” she said. “Multiply that by a hundred, a
thousand
different villages throughout the Midwest. What it adds up to is millions of acres of wheat, Feodor. And control of that wheat means control over people. That's sort of frightening, having that kind of power over lots of hungry folks. The ground we're standing on right now couldn't be worth more if it was solid gold. There've been some pretty bad harvests in Europe, you know. Right now, I guess we're the world's breadbas ket, with a lot of people depending on us, and it could stay that way for a long time.”

Feodor looked grimly thoughtful. “That is not a good thing, Jessica. I have seen men kill for a loaf of bread.”

Jessie nodded. “It could come to that again, too. The cartel could make it happen, use hunger like a weapon. They would, believe me, if it served their purpose. And wheat's just part of the picture, just one of the things they're after. They mean to strangle this country by controlling its railroads, its industry, the government itself—”

“—and the men who run these things,” Feodor added quickly. “All this is true, Jessica? There are people with such power?”

Jessie didn't have to answer. He could see by the look in her eyes that the things she'd told him were true.

“And this Torgler is behind it?”

“Part of it. A very small part. Here in Roster, and maybe in other sections of the wheat belt.”

“He is not the man Marshal Gaiter told Gustolf about. The man who wants to buy our land.”

“Whoever that was, he's one of Torgler's people. Torgler will take over now. He's got your folks stirred up with this werewolf business. Ready to get out at any price.” She caught Feodor's look and shook her head. “I don't know how he's doing it. But he is. You can believe that, friend...”

 

 

Ki had no trouble at all following Lucy Jordan's trail. The girl was running her mount hard, moving fast over the prairie and cutting a swath through the knee-high grass as straight and clear as an arrow. At first he thought she'd simply panic and kill her horse and make his job easy. Soon, however, he saw that she'd slowed to an easy gait. Ki nodded and almost smiled. In a way, anything else would have been a disappointment. Lucy Jordan wasn't a lady who was used to losing her head. He had nothing but contempt for what she was, but he had to admire her skill. She'd outfoxed him good back in Roster—twice, as a matter of fact. She was clever and cunning and could think on her feet. You didn't have to like your enemies, but it was foolish to underestimate them. He wouldn't make that mistake again with Lucy Jordan.

Ki reined in his horse at the top of the hill, and let his gaze sweep over the land ahead. It was poor country to run in, a bad place to throw off pursuers. Every way you turned was exactly like the place you'd just been. There were no twisting gullies or canyons for hundreds of miles, only the gently rolling prairie that seemed to stretch out forever.

Ki thought about that. Lucy Jordan knew what she was facing as well as he did. She knew who was after her, too, and that he'd stay on her tail till he got her. Knowing what she did, what was she likely to do next? She sure as hell wouldn't quit—he was dead certain of that. And if she was half as smart as he thought she was . . .

Ki stopped and came suddenly alert.
That
was the thing that had been plaguing the edge of his mind. Lucy Jordan was running flat out, making no effort to cut left or right, or make a broad circle and slip through behind him. It was the only thing you
could
do on the prairie, and Lucy hadn't even considered it. Why? Ki asked himself. What else did she have in mind? He knew the answer just as well as he knew his name. It was exactly what he'd do himself. They were much alike in that respect, foxes instead of hares. She'd run so far, then turn around and fight. He was certain she'd already made that decision. Now they were both hunters, and both the hunted. Ki, though, figured he was still a few steps ahead. He knew what the girl had in mind, and he had a few tricks up his sleeve that she'd likely never heard of.

 

 

He looked at the line of trees a long moment before he realized what he was seeing. The trees hid the creek that wound its way past Gustolf's settlement. He'd circled out of town in an unfamiliar direction, and come in on the other side. Stopping to get his bearings, he guessed the settlement was a good ten miles back to the right.

Ki slid off his horse and studied the ground. Lucy's tracks went off ahead, paralleling the creek, but showing no sign of going near it. Not yet, anyway. He climbed back in the saddle, rode another hundred yards, and stopped abruptly. There—just as he'd figured. Ki grinned and followed the trail with his eyes until it disappeared in high grass, then he extended the path farther in his mind. Lucy had suddenly veered straight for the creek. If he followed her trail and she was waiting for him, he'd be dead in a few minutes. From the cover of the trees, she could see him coming forever—and he already knew she could handle a gun.

Of course, Lucy knew he wouldn't do that, ride straight into a trap. He'd follow the land a good mile or so, then head down the creek himself, cross it, come in behind her, and catch her flat.

Like hell, thought Ki. She isn't anywhere near that creek, not anymore. She's already been down and come back, and she's waiting for me right up ahead.
He was sure he was right, but he wouldn't bet his life on it. He'd underestimated Lucy Jordan once before. If
she'd
guessed that
he'd
figure what she might do . . . Ki tossed that thought aside. It was like the intricate little ivory balls they carved in Japan, one inside the other, and then another and another. You could worry about it forever, and end up doing nothing. He might be wrong, but he wouldn't go near the creek to find out. Instead, he mounted up again and kicked his horse into a run, making a long half-circle over the land. There was always the chance she might break through and pass him, but Ki didn't think so. Lucy was a professional assassin. She'd wait, and rid herself of him once and for all.

 

 

When he saw the place, he knew he was right. He'd left the horse in a hollow between the hills and bellied through the tall grass for the last quarter-mile. It looked like an old way station for a stage line, and very likely was. There was a burned-out stone building and the remains of a horse corral. Ki figured it had been there since before Roster was settled.

He crawled up as close as he dared, within thirty yards of the place. After a few moments he knew she wasn't there. The place was too small, too obvious. The only real cover was the shell of the building itself. He'd be foolish to ride into that. What she'd done was take cover in high grass, just as he'd done himself. She was waiting out there, past the abandoned station but somewhere in sight of it. A rider would come up on the place, see right off that it was a good place for an ambush, leave his horse, and come in on foot from behind. And that was when Lucy would get him. Walking, without any cover.

Ki came to his haunches and moved swiftly through the grass at a crouch. He had a good idea where she was. It was the spot he'd pick himself—a clump of grass that appeared innocent enough, but commanded a slightly higher approach to the abandoned building. He stopped, took off his Stetson, and raised his head carefully out of the grass. He couldn't see her, but knew she was there. He could almost sense her presence, see her in his mind's eye. Crawling a few yards farther, he found a slight depression in the land and followed it toward Lucy's position. He stopped again, listened. Nothing. Not even the dry chatter of insects, or the cry of a crow from the creek. For the first time, Ki began to seriously doubt himself. He
knew
she was there. She
had
to be. Still...

It was an old trick, but certainly worth a try. Backing up along the depression, he came to a spot where a few sticks had been washed down the hill in seasons past. The branches were light, brittle, and bleached as white as bone. He found one three feet long with a stubby fork on the end. Digging in his jacket for a length of light string, he attached the cord three-quarters of the way up the stick and carried it quietly back the way he'd come. He laid the stick flat on the ground with the forked end toward him, and dug the fork slightly into the ground. Then he lifted the stick a few inches and placed his Stetson on the other end and backed off, carefully unwinding the cord behind him.

Finally he was a good twenty feet from the hat and the stick. Listening again, he slowly pulled the string. The stick. came up at an angle, and the Stetson peeked over the grass.

Nothing.

Lucy wasn't even tempted. Ki grinned and silently saluted her intelligence. Shooting at a raised hat was foolish. Ki lowered the hat and backed quickly down the depression. She knew where he was now, and would likely take the bait—circle around and wait for him to move. Which was exactly what
he
was doing, too. Of course, she might stay right where she was and just wait for him, but Ki didn't think she'd risk it. He'd told her with his hat that he knew where she was. It took a great deal of nerve to sit still after that.

Ki worked his way up the hill in silence, senses alert to every move, every sound that came his way. Lucy was playing his game now, whether she knew it or not. His samurai training had prepared him for the encounter in a hundred different ways. She could become as a stone, but he would know she was there. Breath whispered in and out of her lungs, and blood coursed through her veins to the beat of her heart. The wind brought him the sharp tang of her hair, and the subtle smell of her skin.

He knew she had a pistol at least, and possibly another rifle by now. He wasn't concerned about that, and didn't feel threatened by the weapons. A weapon was useless unless you could use it. He would not give Lucy Jordan that chance.

He saw her now with
kime,
the sense that feels an enemy's churning life forces. She was close, just above the draw, no more than five yards away, looking just to his right. Ki picked up a small pebble and tossed it less than a foot behind her. He heard her suck in her breath and roll away, then come up fast on her elbows with the weapon thrust out before her. Ki raised an eyebrow and gave her a silent nod of admiration. The girl was good—no, excellent! Not one person in a thousand could have reacted so swiftly—known instantly that it was a pebble and not a person, and held back pressure on the trigger.

Ki knew exactly where she was. He could have bounced a rock off her back. Still, he was learning more about her every minute, and had more respect for her than that. Lucy knew what he was up to and where the pebble had come from. This time she would squeeze off a shot, and in the proper direction, at that. She was good, and she could kill him.

Ki changed his tactics. He threw several more stones high in the air, with very little angle, making a small circle around her, but never too close. It would unnerve her, keep her on edge, but provide nothing to give him away. Finally he tossed five pebbles at once. They settled in the grass only inches from Lucy's head. The sudden assault was too much. Lucy fired three quick shots into the grass.

Ki moved swiftly under cover of the noise, then went to ground again. Once more, Lucy Jordan did the unexpected. Instead of keeping her cover, she sprang up abruptly, legs bent in a crouch, sweeping the weapon before her in a deadly half-circle. Ki came up in a blur. As Lucy jerked around to catch him, he brought his knees up to his chin in midair, turned his body parallel to the ground, and lashed out stiffly with his left foot. The pistol exploded, spitting fire along the plane of his calf and thigh. Lucy's head snapped back and she dropped like a sack.

Ki found the pistol and stuck it in his belt, then lifted the girl's limp form and carried her through the grass toward the abandoned station. She was surprisingly light in his arms. Her head fell loosely over the hollow of his shoulder, baring the creamy white flesh of her throat. Flame-red hair brushed his arm.

“You do not look like an assassin now,” he said wondrously. “You look like a woman asleep in my arms.” Watching her, it saddened him greatly that she was not at all what she seemed . . .