Even tamed by Weedon Welsh, the wolfdog remained a creature of the wilderness. He wasn’t scared of anyone or anything, only respectful of his master’s rules. In that sense, the reason for White Fur’s peculiar attitude around Jake wasn’t hard to guess. The dog didn’t like the bad boy from the West.
For now, they were about to set on a straight course to Gold Run, another unknown place but this one holding hopes for her. Hopes of finding the painting, and maybe a clue as to where her father was being held prisoner.
Jake left them to go to the locomotive and give orders to the engine crew. Tracy decided to stay in the main carriage with her companions until he came back. A few minutes before departure, he showed them The Drifter.
She nodded with appreciation in the kitchen upon discovering two copper pans sitting on an old-fashioned stove and cozy bedrooms, but frowned in the gun room-laboratory when her gaze encompassed test tubes, chemicals, and funny-looking powders in jars.
“What’s all this?” she asked.
Given that the six of them stood inside the lab, Jake closed the door to pull out some sort of a clothes rack hanging from the wall. “This, my dear, is very useful to make ammunition.”
Tracy gaped when the sliding panel revealed a full load of weaponry. “Ingenious, but why do you conceal your guns?”
“Maybe because I’m a secret agent.” The bad boy winked at her.
She couldn’t tell whether he was being truthful or kidding, but he struck her as too much of a show-off to be an efficient undercover spy working for the government. He’d been ambiguous right from the start and in all likelihood, he wasn’t about to change.
Fluttering in different cages above the door, pigeons made cooing sounds at them, their round eyes unblinking.
She wiggled her fingers. “What are they for?”
“They’re carrier pigeons, and I have to say, quite reliable when I must send messages.” Jake motioned behind him. “There’s a special device built for them in the main room, so they can come in anytime, day or night. It’s convenient.”
Tracy suspected the gunslinger would have enjoyed surfing on the Internet. In his line of work and in her world, agents downloaded confidential files all the time.
Once they had watched the birds, Jake took them to the car containing the supply of coal for the train’s steam power. He passed comments on the endurance and dependability of the railway engine and waved to the driver and his help before heading toward the stable car for the horses.
This carriage looked like a clean barn, the large room providing sufficient space for the animals. A pungent smell affected her nose but she observed the saddles, bridles, and whips hanging on the walls.
She really enjoyed the whole tour. Fantasy became real in this universe, and the actual experience was indescribable, very close to the materialization of a childhood dream. She’d even met a vampire.
When they got back in the main parlor, the early afternoon hour prompted them to cook and share a meal. They maintained the conversation on commonplace matters. She often looked at the landscape, going past the small town of Sacramento, then rolling onward along vast, desolate plains.
Surrounded by her traveling companions, she nevertheless kept to herself to mull over the complex her father had found and restored in Gold Run. Also to contemplate possible courses of action.
Her dad told Garrett that she had means. Was it a metaphor or an actual object? If a physical thing, what did it open? The complex? A secret door? The thing was, she didn’t bring anything with her.
All her father left her in the box buried in the garden was a note along with the silver necklace. Then again, he’d been so adamant about her wearing it at all times, could it be . . .? The more she pondered, the more she believed the necklace might be the means to uncover the secrets of the complex.
She itched to tell Garrett. Reluctant to do so with Jake in the same room, she breathed a sigh of relief when the gunslinger announced after lunch that he felt a bit tired and was going to have a rest with Jessica. Happily or not, the young woman followed her man to the sleeping car.
As soon as the couple got beyond listening distance, Tracy turned and addressed the two remaining members of The Circle. “I know how to enter the complex.”
Garrett and Weedon instantly fixed their attention on her.
Raising her hands, she quoted with her fingers. “I have ‘the means.’”
The questions tumbled out of their mouths at the same time while they leaned toward her. “What is it? Where is it?”
She touched the necklace with her thumb, glad to give them a lead, proud of her wit, expecting to surprise them for once. “Here.”
Garrett fell back, sighing the sigh of the disappointed.
Beside him, Weedon looked somewhat sheepish.
An unpleasant sense of wrongness infiltrated her bones even though she couldn’t say why. “What? What’s wrong?”
Chapter 9
Quickly recovering his usual polite composure after allowing himself to sigh like a commoner, Garrett pointed at her neck.
“That won’t take us into the complex,” he said. “Your necklace represents the anchor when crossing worlds. It’s compulsory to wear it in the telepod for the transportation to succeed, however that’s its sole function.”
“Could you or Weedon use it?” she asked, feeling somewhat deflated.
“Any bearer is entitled to travel,” Garrett replied. “William wears a special watch, and I believe he devised a bracelet for your mother. I don’t know where he concealed the bracelet, but its existence presupposes his intent to tell her about his research. He had in mind to produce more components for the members of The Circle, however he felt that working on a safety catch was a prerequisite.”
Silent up to then, Weedon considered the necklace for a few seconds. “That’s also why none of us ever had the opportunity to cross over. William kept it a family business.”
Tracy brought careful fingers to her throat, lightly touching the cool metal as though it might disintegrate. “Okay, let me get this straight. If I lose the necklace, or if it’s stolen from me, and Dad isn’t around . . .”
Dreading the truth, she focused on Garrett who inclined his head. “Then you’re stuck in our dimension.”
Interesting as it might be, the thought didn’t get her all excited. Sure, she enjoyed this universe, but her life was in the real world. She wanted to wake up again in her condo in Sausalito. She wanted to go home.
If a piece of jewelry needed to be worn to cross over, the abductor must have been aware of that fact beforehand and got hold of the bracelet intended for her mother. Somehow, she doubted he’d found it.
True, her dad had always been cautious, but never paranoid. The jewelry, the safety catch, the hidden painting, all these measures of safety felt unlike him. Then again, what did she know?
She hesitated, the frightening words stuck in her throat in spite of her efforts to push them out. “The phone call I received yesterday morning . . . The caller had to have been in my world, in my house with Dad.”
Garrett possibly wanted to avoid scaring her because he kept staring outside without voicing his opinion, but Weedon nodded. “Yes. We can come to the conclusion that he used your mother’s bracelet or forced your father to let him travel. There’s no other way he could have done it.”
The pieces started to slide into place. “He didn’t find the painting in the house, and now he’s using Dad as bait. But what’s that got to do with me?”
“He expects you to hand him the safety catch.” Up to then seemingly lost in the countryside unfolding in front of his eyes, Garrett rubbed his cheek. “The device would enable him to unlock the Everett program and steal it for his own purposes.”
What would they be? Hop from one world to another for fun? Probably not
.
With Garrett’s attention on her, she said, “how did he get the bracelet in the first place?”
“We can only conjecture,” Garrett said. “He might have stolen it at some point, or William may have given it to him.”
“Why?” Tracy shook her head. She tensed as an odd light passed over his gaze.
Heedless of her muscles contracting, he sighed.
“Perhaps because he trusted him.”
“No, Dad would never do that.” She bent over to open the bag at her feet, ferret out of her jeans pocket the letter she’d unearthed in her garden, and hand it to Garrett. “You’re the only one he wanted me to trust. No offense, Weedon.”
She smiled at the man sitting opposite her, but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t show any sign of displeasure.
“None taken.” Weedon gave her a warm smile.
Garrett read the whole letter, skimming through the instructions on how to work the telepod but lingering toward the end of the message. When he got to the last words, he glanced at her with a curious look on his face. “I wasn’t aware William regarded me so highly. He is a great man, Miss Richardson, and I feel honored.”
The way he said her name, the way his mouth tightened, pushed her to the realization that she’d made a mistake in showing him the letter. He left her bed in the middle of the night for that very reason.
If he’d undergone a change of heart in the meantime, she’d just reminded him of his sense of duty toward her father as well as blown her chances to get Garrett back. Damn his loyalty and code of honor.
Besides, no way in hell did her dad deserve such faithfulness with all his lying and deceitful tricks. Warmth slithering up the insides of her arms, she struggled to keep her irritation in check. “He’s also a man who abandoned his family for a whole year, and who wasn’t there for his daughter. How’s that for greatness?”
“A man of his word strives to pursue his objective and shall not be hampered in his progress. Such is the noble path for great men.”
Garrett’s immediate response couldn’t be misinterpreted. The man was in awe of her father. Observing his cold features, smooth brow and direct gaze, she knew he was telling his truth and nothing but his truth.
“Jeez, Garrett, don’t give me that crap,” she said.
When he remained silent, she snatched the letter from his hand, crumpled the stupid piece of paper and threw it back into her bag. “Do you really think life is only about great deeds? What about love, and friendship, and family, and caring for the people who—”
“What about ethics, duty, and virtue?” Garrett cut her off before she ended the long list of her recriminations, his face a disdainful mask. “Miss Richardson, I would appreciate if you—”
“Virtue?” She hit the table with the flat of her hand, sneering at his damn, fucking moral sense and stubbornness. And if he insisted on using her full name, she’d return the favor. “You’re a fine one to talk, Mister Burnes.”
Had he been worrying about virtue and duty the previous night when he had pounced on her and slid his hard-on inside her?
Garrett banged the table with his fist in turn, a dangerous flame of anger flaring in his eyes. “That is enough! I shan’t tolerate your insolence any longer.”
They were like two enemies, facing each other across the table, clad in their own beliefs and points of view, both unwilling to surrender.
Elbows on the table, Weedon held up a conciliatory hand that countermanded his authoritative tone. “Knock it off! You two should be ashamed of yourselves. If you have issues, find a private place to deal with them. Now, calm down, the both of you, apologize to each other, and let’s get back to the matter at hand.”
There was a stubborn silence following Weedon’s outburst, while she and Garrett actively ignored one another by staring out the window.
When he spoke again, Weedon’s cajoling sounded almost pitiful in the otherwise empty car, filled only with anger and pride. “Come on. I know the two of you don’t want to fight.”
Garrett didn’t move a muscle for long seconds, but finally took a deep breath before looking at her. “I understand I may be a tad harsh at times. Would you please accept my apologies, Miss Richardson?”
She nodded, well aware she’d better get a grip on herself, yet unable to subdue her sarcastic tone. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have mentioned your precious virtue.”
Weedon glared at her. “Tracy! I think that’s enough.”
Yeah, but standing up to Garrett felt so good. Breathing through clenched teeth, she dropped the relaxation technique when a masculine voice broke her concentration.
“For God’s sake, can’t a man have peace in his own home?” Jake barged into the parlor with Jessica right behind him. His vest loosely open over his chest, his tie undone and his hair ruffled, he looked resentful, angry, and disappointed. “What are you people going on about? I’m sure you can be heard all the way to San Francisco.”
Weedon frowned at her and Garrett before he stood. “Sorry, Jake. They didn’t mean to be so loud. It’s just a little misunderstanding, but I’m sure it won’t happen again. Please, try to get some rest.”
Springing to his feet as Jake opened his mouth, Garrett pointed outside. “No time for that now.”
Following his gaze, Tracy saw a band of men wearing cowboy outfits, maybe twenty of them, ride hard toward the train, dust billowing behind their horses. What was it now? Rob Roy?
Jessica quickly neared the window while Weedon squinted and passed both hands in his thick, brown hair. “Jake, shall we break out the guns?”
The cowboys started shouting fierce war cries before a battle as they galloped in a straight line toward The Drifter. Only a few hours earlier, Garrett suspected another attack, and he had been right.
Without any time to get weapons from the laboratory, Jake went straight to the fireplace and twisted an invisible knob.
Two black pistols appeared on a wooden swivel-stand on his desk. He threw one at Weedon and the other at Jessica who caught it with a devilish ease. The gunslinger then opened a sliding wall panel concealed behind a large portrait of Ulysses S. Grant to retrieve rifles and shotguns.
When they were all armed and ready, he pulled a hidden alarm to signal his crew to speed up.
Weedon made for the door. “Stay in here. I’ll take them from outside.”
Standing at the first window, Jessica pushed the heavy brown drapes back and started working on the latch while shouting at Weedon, “Be careful.”
Jake took up position by the nearest, large window.
Beside him, Garrett motioned her. “Tracy, get down!”
Gee. Now that she was about to get shot, he finally called her Tracy. Was it fear for her safety or unwillingness to bring to his dear mentor the corpse of his dead daughter? Whatever the reason, she took his advice and dove for cover, taking White Fur in her arms as she heard the cowboys’ shots getting closer.
Everyone was shooting. Bullets whizzed past, an acrid smell of gunpowder filling the car, men screaming, men probably dying.
Heart pounding, Tracy stayed low, getting her information on the battle with her ears rather than her eyes.
Jessica reloaded her pistols. “Three down!”
Tracy had to admire the vampire huntress. The sight of this beautiful, seductive woman wearing a long dress and acting as ruthlessly as a veteran soldier was eerie. Hearing about someone’s skills and actually witnessing it didn’t compare.
Now she understood Weedon’s speech about Jessica being a warrior as he shouted in response to her challenge, barely audible from his shooting position on the balcony. “Jess, I got four down! You’re getting sloppy, old girl.”
He sounded like he was laughing. Was this just a big joke to these people? Didn’t they care about being killed?
Weren’t they scared? Were they tired of living? Because they gave the impression of hugely enjoying themselves.
Puzzlement tilting his eyebrows, Garrett glanced over at Jake when glass exploded and shattered across the floor. “Good Lord, Cooper, what’s wrong with you?”
A light shade of red colored the gunslinger’s cheeks in spite of his acid tone.
“What?” Jake yelled. “Am I not efficient enough for His Lordship?”
Huddled under the table, still holding White Fur, Tracy watched as both men began firing from the opposite window. Jake appeared busy shooting and reloading, but, even to her untrained eye, he seemed all over the place. She guessed his aim was less than accurate, which was pretty funny for a gunslinger.
The combat raged on, bullets striking the train with loud bangs, screams lacerating the air, glass shards all over the floor, the deafening noise making her cringe and wish they would call it a day. How long was this going to continue? She was more than sick and tired of it.
She wanted out.
Then she saw the red stain on Garrett’s face, and her heart lurched. Blood oozed from his cheek, yet he never wavered. Hands steady, he took aim carefully, fired, hit and reloaded. Cool and focused. Trained to follow the rules whatever the situation. She felt it then. Fear biting her. Fear for Garrett.
Despite his irksome manners, she cared about him more than she wanted to. He wasn’t always irritating, was he? His strong hands on her the night before, his hot mouth crushing hers, his tongue licking her nipples, his powerful thrusts filling her body. That hadn’t been in the least irritating, right?
The recollections sent her flying in a straight line to passion-land, yet she didn’t have the luxury to dwell on them at this point.
She heard a wild shout from outside then saw Weedon collapse on the balcony.