Maureen McKade (33 page)

His jaw tightened. “Damn you, Elizabeth. Once we’re away from this place, I shall mete out your punishment accordingly.”

Calm acceptance flowed through Libby. Not even a ripple of the familiar fear accompanied Harrison’s threats. She’d been scared for so long, but she’d endured and was stronger for it.

Harrison eyed her coldly. “Consider the fate of the whore’s bastard and your erstwhile lover before you say anything further, Elizabeth. Whether they live or die depends on you.”

Icy fear slid through her. She’d been so wrong. She still had too much to lose.

“Remove your clothing, Elizabeth, or I will remove them for you.”

Libby fumbled with the buttons, and Harrison impatiently slapped her hands aside. He ripped her blouse open and she drew her arms free of the sleeves. Her skirt whispered down her hips, pooling at her feet. After taking off her shoes, she remained motionless, feeling his seething gaze slither across her body.

His fingers moved to his belt, and he removed it with deliberate motions. An involuntary shudder passed through Libby.

“Get on the bed.” He punctuated the command with the snap of the leather strap against her thighs.

Libby flinched but didn’t cry out. She did as he ordered. He could only violate her body, not the soul hidden beneath the flesh.

“Open your eyes, Elizabeth. I want you to watch.”

Ensconced in her safe haven, his strident voice merely rippled over her. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. He slapped her face, the crack resounding in the small room. Head thrust to the side, Libby tasted coppery blood. He backhanded her other cheek. She wouldn’t fight him. He wouldn’t win this time.

“Damn you, Elizabeth! Why aren’t you scared?”

He would be disappointed. She’d endured many forms of torment; there was little he hadn’t done before.

He panted above her, and Libby could sense his frustration. Without her usually terrified participation, he couldn’t satisfy his perversion.

He moved off the bed and she opened her eyes. A moment later, he rolled her to her side and drew her hands together. Using two silk neckties, Harrison tied her wrists behind her back and bound her ankles. Adrenaline surged, and Libby’s taut nerves screamed in resistance. Her instincts warned her to escape the madman, but that was what he craved. Forcing herself to breathe evenly, she gazed over Harrison’s shoulder and concentrated on a dark stain on the wall.

He gagged her with a white handkerchief, then dug in his traveling bag once more and withdrew a bottle of expensive brandy. He unrolled a piece of clothing and a snifter appeared. “A person of good breeding never drinks liquor from the bottle.”

Libby stared at him. He’d always been insistent on maintaining the highest level of decorum, except when they were alone. Now he seemed obsessed with his twisted version of gentility. Had the blow she’d dealt him worsened his madness?

Harrison splashed some brandy into the delicate glass, swirled the liquid, and drank the contents in one gulp. He repeated the procedure again and again.

“You’ve ruined everything,” he accused with a hint of a slur.

A bubble of hysteria arose in Libby, and she fought the sobbing laughter in her throat. He was the one who had ruined everything, including her life.

He aimed an unsteady finger at Libby. “You know how much I dislike it when you disobey me.”

Libby clamped her teeth down on the gag. She knew
from experience how Harrison’s viciousness increased a hundredfold when he drank.

He lit a cigar. The tobacco’s acrid odor stung Libby’s nose, and the smell bridged the gap between past and present. The old terror broke free of its chains. She whimpered and the sound startled her.

Harrison stood and stumbled to Libby’s side. He clenched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and moved the orange end of the cigar toward the slope of one of her breasts.

“You disappoint me, Elizabeth,” he said, spewing his foul breath across her. He lowered the glowing ember to her chest, and Libby jerked beneath the piercing burn. Horrified by the new torment, she screamed, but the cloth muffled her cry.

Harrison studied the brand he’d imprinted on her. “As I lay in my bed recovering from your bungled attempt to kill me, I plotted ways to make you pay for your inexcusable behavior.” He sighed. “Of course, I must wait until we’ve returned home, where we won’t be disturbed.” His lips twisted with an evil smile, and his glassy gaze settled on Libby. “I’ve become quite creative.”

He squeezed her nipple between his cruel fingers and Libby retreated inside herself. Her eyelids closed, and she concentrated on blank peacefulness. Libby thought of Matt and imagined his touch, his scent, the sound of his gruff voice softened by love. The pain faded to oblivion and her husband ceased to exist. If she didn’t acknowledge him, he couldn’t hurt her.

As if through a long tunnel, Libby heard a hinge creak and Harrison’s voice penetrated her inner sanctuary. “I have an appointment to keep, my dear. After that, perhaps I will give your uncouth sheriff his Christmas present.”

The door clicked and blessed silence surrounded Libby. Relief flowed through her aching body. Her
muscles relaxed and she drifted back into her world with Matt.

Matt.

My God, Harrison is going to kill Matt!
Renewed terror surged through her, and she sat up and swung her feet to the cold floor. After the feeling returned to her lower limbs, she stood and hopped across the room. She turned with her back to the door, using her bound hands to twist the doorknob, but Harrison had locked her in. Tears of frustration blurred her vision.

She thrust her shoulder against the solid wood. She couldn’t even pound loud enough for someone to hear her. Libby sat on the floor and kicked, but without her shoes she made little noise.

Hopelessness engulfed her. She had to warn Matt so he wouldn’t be caught unaware by a bullet in the back, and she had to convince him Dylan was in danger, too. Matt may hate her, but she trusted him to protect the boy they both loved.

Libby pushed herself to a sitting position and leaned back against the wall beside the door. Dressed only in her undergarments, she shivered in the cold room and prayed someone would come down the hall before she froze to death.

Adding another log to the fireplace, Matt tried to keep his mind blank, but images of Libby invaded his thoughts. He pushed himself upright, and his gaze searched the silent corners of his cabin. He’d imagined Libby turning the house into a home, bringing laughter to chase away the emptiness. He had thought his painful loneliness had ended, and that he’d have children to carry on his name. His fingers curled into a tight fist, and he ached for a shot of whiskey to deaden the bitter taste of betrayal.

Wandering into his bedroom, he spotted the tiny
box on the nightstand and lifted the lid. Set in a gold band, a small emerald winked at him. The ring would have been Libby’s Christmas gift.

Married. Jealousy boiled in Matt. The thought of Libby lying with her husband brought an overwhelming desire to strangle Thompson. Matt struggled to regain control of his murderous urge.

He dropped the square package on his disheveled bed, and cursed himself for a fool. The fool he was; the fool he’d always been.

Pounding at the door startled him, and he strode through the cabin. Throwing open the door, he was surprised to see Dylan, red-faced and panting. He quickly ushered the boy into the warmth.

“What’re you doing out this late?” Concern roughened Matt’s voice.

Dylan grabbed his arm. “I been looking all over for you. You gotta help her!”

“Who?”

“Miss O’Hanlon. That man’s got her.”

Matt hunkered down in front of the boy and took hold of his shoulders. “That man’s her husband, Dylan. I can’t take her away from him.”

The boy appeared on the verge of tears. “But you have to. He’s mean and he’s gonna hurt her.”

“How do you know that?”

“I followed them to the hotel and listened outside their room. I heard him say he’d kill you and me if Miss O’Hanlon tried to get away from him. And I think he was going to hurt her, like my ma hurt me.”

Matt remembered the night he and Libby had made love. Her terror, and the scars on her back, had been real. Sickness churned in his gut. It was her own husband who’d beaten and raped her! Matt had promised to protect her, then he’d sent her straight into the arms of the monster who’d brutalized her.

I have to leave Deer Creek because of love.

The true meaning of her words struck him.

She loved him, not Harrison—and she’d placed his life ahead of her own well-being.

Chapter 18

“I
want you to go to Lenore’s and stay there, Dylan,” Matt ordered.

“But I want to help Miss O’Hanlon.”

“You already have. I’ll bring her back to you, I promise.”

Dylan studied him with solemn eyes, then nodded. “Okay.”

He ushered the boy out of the cabin and sent him off toward Lenore’s. Matt ran down the street, his boots slipping in the snow. He’d let Libby down; he prayed he wasn’t too late to remedy his mistake. He barreled into the hotel and stopped at the clerk’s desk. “Which room is Thompson in?”

The young man pressed his spectacles up on his pointed nose. “Mr. Thompson doesn’t want anyone to disturb his wife. Especially not you, Sheriff.”

Matt grabbed his shirt front and hauled him across the counter. “What number, Orville?”

The pasty-faced clerk pointed up the stairs with a shaking finger. “T-twelve.”

Matt released him and raced up the staircase two steps at a time. He found the room, tried the knob and pounded on the door. “Open up or I’ll kick it down!”

Listening for a moment, he heard a small whimper.
Matt drew his gun, raised his booted foot and kicked. The door frame splintered beneath the force of the blow, and he burst into the room. He spied Libby on the floor, his gaze taking in the dark bruise on her cheek, and an angry red mark the size of a silver dollar above her left breast.

He’d failed her.

“Libby.” His heart pounded in his throat and his hand shook when he slid his revolver into the holster. Matt knelt beside her, removed the gag, and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry.”

He cut the material from her raw wrists. A cold sweat chilled him, and he carefully sliced the rope holding her ankles. She’d pleaded with him to stay with her, to believe her; but he’d cast her aside.

He yanked off his coat and wrapped it around Libby with the warm inner lining against her clammy skin. “You feel like an ice block.”

Libby’s teeth chattered, but she shrugged aside his jacket. She flattened her hands against Matt’s chest, desperation in her face. “He’s going to k-kill you, b-both you and Dylan. You have to hide s-someplace where Harrison will never find you.”

He pulled the top blanket off the bed and dragged it to the chair. He sat down, Libby in his lap, and covered her with the quilt. “Shhh, it’s all right. A lot of folks have tried to get rid of me, but I’m still here.”

“But Dylan—”

“I’ll make sure he stays safe, too.”

She wound her arms around his neck and sobbed, laying her head against his shoulder. “No matter how much you hated me, I knew you would take care of Dylan.”

Matt pressed his lips tenderly against her forehead. “I couldn’t hate you, sweetheart. Fact is, I could never stop loving you.”

She sagged with relief, and rested her cheek against his chest. The heat from her battered face seared Matt
through the layers of clothing. He damned himself for not believing in her. If he’d listened, he would have heard the abject fear in Libby’s voice and seen the terror in her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his tone thick with concern.

She stiffened. “Tell you what?”

“That Thompson was the one who’d beaten you.”

“Please, Matt, I don’t want to talk about it.”

He felt her breath fan across his neck. “Did he rape you again, Libby?”

“Harrison is my husband,” she whispered hoarsely.

Gently, Matt framed her bruised face with his hands and raised her head. “Even husbands can violate their wives. No more lies between us, Libby. Did he rape you?”

Her eyes filled with moisture and she shook her head. “I wouldn’t fight him, and he needs that before he can …” She swallowed. “Before he takes me.”

Briefly, Matt closed his eyes in relief. At least she’d been spared that. “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know. He said he had an appointment to keep, but who would he know in Deer Creek?”

Matt swore. “Sadie. I saw Thompson with her the other night, though I didn’t know who he was at the time.”

A silvery tear slipped down her cheek. “I thought I killed him, Matt. I hit him over the head, and there was so much blood. I panicked. I didn’t even check to see if he was still alive. I just got away as fast as I could.”

Matt thumbed away the moisture trailing down her swollen face. “You were scared, sweetheart. There’s no need for you to feel guilty. Listen to me—you had every right to protect yourself.”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Libby looked up, frightened.

“It’s all right,” Matt reassured. He shifted to pull
his gun out of its holster. He thumbed back the hammer, ready to defend Libby from the bastard he swore would never touch her again.

“Matt, Libby, where are you?” Lenore’s voice sounded.

He slipped the revolver back into its place against his hip. “In here.”

Lenore and Eli burst into the room. Lenore stopped to stare at Libby, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, honey!”

“That son-of-a-bitch husband of hers did it,” Matt said grimly.

“We know. Dylan told us,” Eli spoke.

“Where is he?” Libby asked.

“At the boardinghouse,” Lenore replied. “The same place you’re going.”

Matt stood with Libby cradled against his chest and gently set her in the chair. “You go with Lenore and get some rest. I’m going after Thompson.”

Libby grabbed his arm. “Don’t!”

“I have to, angel eyes.” He leaned over and kissed her cool lips, then turned to Lenore. “Make sure she doesn’t get away from you.”

“I’ll make sure she stays put, even if I have to sit on her,” Lenore assured.

Matt glanced at Libby. Her pinched face brought a stab of self-recrimination. He sent Libby a terse nod and left.

A blaze of lights lit the interior of Sadie’s house. He shoved open the door, pulling out his gun in one smooth motion. Upstairs, a man shouted and a woman screamed an obscenity.

A movement caught Matt’s attention and he turned to see Becky, the young prostitute who’d helped Dylan, peek out from behind the kitchen door. He pressed his forefinger to his lips and crossed the distance between them.

“You seen a man called Thompson?” he asked.

Becky’s blue eyes widened in terror. “You got to help Sadie, Sheriff. He’s gonna kill her.”

“Thompson?”

Becky nodded. “He dresses real fancy and acts like he’s a king, but he’s plain mean.”

Even young Becky had seen the truth—why hadn’t he?

“Where are the other girls?” Matt asked.

“In their rooms. They’re scared to come out.”

“Stay down here, out of the way.”

“All right.” Becky shrank back into the kitchen.

Matt slipped to the winding stairs and peered up from behind the baluster. He couldn’t see anything, but the shrieks grew louder. He crept up the stairs, then froze at the top. The sounds of a struggle drew him toward a closed door. Keeping his back against the wall, Matt held his revolver in one hand and cautiously turned the knob, easing the door open a few inches.

Harrison Thompson grabbed Sadie by her hair and slapped her viciously. Matt had no liking for the madam, but the blood on her face and the front of her camisole brought a fleeting moment of pity. Thompson raised his fist and struck Sadie, who stumbled back. Her head cracked against the windowsill and she slumped to the floor, her neck at an odd angle.

Matt shoved the door open and stood framed in the entrance. “Hold it, Thompson. You’re under arrest.”

The man’s surprise quickly turned to disdain. “Really, Sheriff, she’s only a whore.”

“Is that how you think of Libby, too, as ‘only a whore’?” Matt’s voice vibrated with fury.

Thompson drew his shoulders back. “Elizabeth is my
wife.
”

“Then why do you beat her? Aren’t you man enough to love her the way a husband is supposed to love his wife?” Matt taunted.

Thompson’s face flushed. “Our relationship is none of your concern, Brandon.”

“You’re dead wrong on that one, Thompson. I just came from the hotel. I found Libby freezing to death, tied up like some helpless lamb ready for slaughter. She told me everything.”

Thompson’s hands clenched at his sides. “I’ve told you she is a sick woman. She doesn’t know the difference between the truth and a lie.”

Matt shook his head in disgust. “You’re the one who’s sick. A man who can’t be a man unless he beats the hell out of a woman.”

“Ma!” Dylan’s young voice rang out.

The boy dashed past a surprised Matt and fell to his knees beside his mother’s still body. “Ma? Ma, wake up!” He looked up at Matt, his face grief-stricken. “You gotta help her. She’s not breathing.”

Matt wanted to pull the boy into his arms and comfort him, but he couldn’t. Not with Thompson in the room. “She’s dead, Dylan,” he said as gently as he could.

A tear slid down the boy’s cheek and he turned to Thompson. His sorrow changed to anger. “You killed her!”

Dylan attacked Thompson, but the man caught him, wrapping an arm around his neck. Dylan kicked ineffectually, and a tightening against his throat stilled his struggle. “Put down the gun, Sheriff, or I’ll break the little bastard’s neck.”

Cold dread swept through Matt. He lowered his gun to the floor and raised his hands. “Let the boy go. He can’t hurt you.”

Thompson’s smile, devoid of any warmth, chilled Matt. “Perhaps not, but his death would hurt Elizabeth.”

Matt’s lips curled into a snarl. “You hurt that boy and I’ll track you to the ends of the earth.”

“Not if you’re dead, too.” Thompson reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a nickel-plated derringer. He gestured Matt to move out of the way. “Back up.”

Reluctantly, Matt took a few steps into the hall.

Thompson dragged a white-faced Dylan out of the room and to the top of the staircase, keeping his double-barreled gun trained on Matt. He cocked the hammer, and the ominous click echoed off the gaudy walls. “I’ll give Elizabeth your regards, Brandon.”

Dylan opened his mouth and bit down hard on the arm around his neck. Thompson swore, and shoved him away. Dylan struggled to maintain his balance, but lost the battle and toppled down the long flight of stairs.

Libby lowered her head against the onslaught of wind-driven snowflakes, and buried her hands in her coat pockets. Her bruised face was protected from the cold and hidden from curious gazes with a woolen scarf. She hunched her shoulders in an effort to keep her camisole from rubbing the raw burn above her breast.

After Lenore had escorted her to the boardinghouse, Libby sought out Dylan. But the boy had disappeared, and she, Lenore, and Eli had begun to search for him.

Sadie’s house loomed before her. Anxiety chipped away at Libby’s courage, but the possibility of Dylan being inside chased away her apprehension.

A gunshot exploded from within and she jumped. Her heart thudding, she rushed into the house.

At the bottom of the stairs lay Dylan, his body too still, and his left leg twisted awkwardly. A dark wetness stained the lower leg of his trousers, and scarlet dyed the white rug beneath him. In her mind, she returned to Nebraska and stood with an iron poker in hand, staring down at Harrison’s body. Her
breath roared in her ears and she wrestled with the image from the past, forcing it to the black recesses of her memories.

She sank down beside the boy. “Dear Lord, no!” Not Dylan. Fear made her lightheaded and guilt washed over her.

Libby fumbled to remove her gloves and scarf. With shaking fingers, she searched for Dylan’s pulse, but gave up and leaned over to lay her ear against his narrow chest. His heart pounded steadily and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Where was Matt? He’d promised to protect Dylan. The frightening thought triggered horrific images of Matt shot in the back, and icy tentacles of dread tightened around her soul.

“So nice of you to join the party, Elizabeth.”

Libby’s breath jammed in her throat, and she looked up to see Harrison at the top of the stairs. She followed his weapon’s aim and gasped. Matt held his hand over his left arm; blood seeped between his fingers. The gunshot she’d heard had been for Matt, not Dylan.

“Is he still alive?” Matt’s husky voice called down.

She nodded and ran her hand over Dylan’s leg. A bone protruded from the skin. A shiver skidded down her back, and she rubbed her damp palms across her skirt. “He needs help. Are you all right?”

Matt grimaced. “It’s only a flesh wound.”

Libby looked at Harrison. “I have to get Dylan over to Dr. Clapper’s office.”

Harrison sneered. “You’re a doctor. Why don’t you help him?”

Surprise showed on Matt’s face. “A doctor?”

Libby nodded but didn’t explain. Harrison’s callous indifference sparked her fury. “You pushed him down the stairs.”

Harrison shrugged. “When an insect bites me, I get rid of the pest.”

Libby scrambled to her feet and stood over Dylan protectively. “You’re insane!”

“How many times have I told you not to be so emotional?”

Helplessness inundated Libby and she clenched her hands at her sides. She knew he wouldn’t listen, yet she had to try. “Please, their injuries need to be treated.”

Harrison laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Once your sheriff and the whelp are dead, you’ll be at my mercy. The way it used to be.”

Libby shook her head. “No. I’m not going back with you. And if you kill them, I’ll make sure you hang.”

“You will return with me, whether you wish to or not.”

“It’s over, Harrison. You can’t hurt me anymore,” she asserted.

A muscle in Harrison’s jaw jerked. “You can’t escape me, Elizabeth. I own you.”

“I’ll never belong to you. If you kill Matt and Dylan, I’ll find a way to get away from you.”

“You’re bluffing.” Harrison’s face contorted with anger.

“No, I’m making you a promise.” Without Matt or Dylan, she would have no reason to live.

“I won’t let you go. I
own
you. Nobody else would have you except me, and I gave you everything you wanted.”

“You gave me nothing.” She gazed up at Matt and his steady eyes met hers. The power of his love flowed through her, giving her strength. “Matt and Dylan are all I need.”