The Stranger's Secrets Page 17

  It took Sarah half an hour to get off the floor, and another fifteen minutes to stop crying. Lorenzo tried his best to comfort her, but if she was honest with herself, she didn’t need comforting.

  She needed Whitman, but would never, ever have him.

  He’d destroyed the trust and faith Sarah had in him by lying to her. There was no chance she’d forgive him for that.

  Lorenzo handed her a cool cloth. “Wipe your eyes, amore. They are puffy.”

  “You know, flattery is not your strong suit.” She pressed her face into the rag, grateful for its cold roughness. Her face felt hot and tight.

  “I’m sorry. I’m only trying to help.” He squatted next to her, alternately wringing his hands and peering at her.

  “I know,” she said through the cloth. “And I appreciate it, truly I do. You and I need to have a talk soon, about why and how you followed me, but for now, I just want to get through this evening.”

  Silence met her words, and when she looked at him, he’d pulled a few feet away, sadness filling his brown eyes.

  “You know, Lorenzo, I used to think that was cute. The puppy-dog expression you wore around me. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake you. You were like a cocklebur on my back.” She grew stronger as she spoke, recognizing the poor boy was about to feel the full wrath of her emotional agony. “Now you show up after not staying behind like I told you to, and you give me that same stupid look.”

  She tried to stand, but her legs had stiffened as she lay on the floor. Lorenzo helped her up without a word, further driving the nail of guilt into her heart.

  “You are a good man, a young man who has no business being in love with a crippled mess like me. Find a young woman to marry and make babies with, but please, for God’s sake, don’t love me anymore.” She picked up her brush and tried to comb out the snarls. The action made her eyes tear up yet again.

  “I can’t stop it, amore. You are my heart.” Lorenzo got down on one knee. “I would have married you, Sarah, if I had known you wanted a husband.”

  She threw the brush at him, catching him in the forehead. “You stupid fool. I didn’t want a husband. I wanted a new beginning to my life, but it seems I can’t get away from my past, not from you and not from Yankee soldiers. I’m trapped, dammit. Do you hear me? I can’t get out of this dark hole.”

  Sarah grabbed her cane and left the room, ignoring Lorenzo’s protest and the pain shooting down her leg. It was no worse than the sheer agony in her heart.

  Whitman paced the jail, checking outside every two minutes to see if Sarah was coming. He should have been there to help her, or carry her if need be. Walking could be dangerous for a woman crippled by damaged legs.

  He looked outside yet again when Miller yelled at him.

  “Jesus Christ, man, are you that henpecked?! I know she’s a strong-willed woman, but hell, man, don’t you have a pair of balls?”

  Whitman wanted to let out a laugh, but it stuck in his throat. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Sarah is crippled. A walk down the street isn’t easy for her. I’m worried, not henpecked.”

  Miller snorted from behind his desk. “Coulda fooled me.”

  “Now let’s not argue anymore, gentlemen,” Alfred piped up from his perch in the corner on a rather ancient-looking wingback chair. “We’re working together, remember?”

  Whit ignored them, although what he wanted to do was knock the sheriff into next week. No one understood what he was going through except Sarah, and she wasn’t even speaking to him.

  He’d made an enormous mess of things and damned if he had any idea how to fix it. Fixing things had become his habit. He fixed everything he laid his hands on, or at least he thought he did.

  His mother’s stubborn refusal to speak to her family again hadn’t been fixed by moving her to a farm in Maryland. In fact, it had done nothing but cause the rift between them to grow wider.

  Maybe Whitman’s skill at fixing things was limited to areas that didn’t involve women. God knew he needed help in that area.

  The door to the jail opened and Lorenzo stood there, alone. He glanced around at the three men. “Where is Sarah?”

  Whit’s heart dropped to his knees. “What do you mean, where’s Sarah? I left her in your care, Torreno.” He had the boy in his grasp in seconds. “If anything happened to her, I’m going to hold you personally responsible. Do you understand me?”

  Miller appeared between them. “Now, Kendrick, don’t hurt the boy. He’s an innocent bystander.”

  Innocent? Not hardly. The man had lived in Sarah’s boardinghouse. There was no way he was innocent.

  Whitman let him down and stepped back a pace. “What happened?”

  Lorenzo looked panicked. “She left the room five minutes before me. I-I was washing up, and when I left the room, she’d already gone.”

  Whit didn’t believe for even a moment the boy had been washing up, but he did believe Sarah left five minutes earlier.

  “Was she headed to the jail?”

  “Yes, she was. Sarah is very angry and I tried to comfort her, but she does not want my comfort. She only wants you, you stupid Yankee bastard.” Lorenzo might not have been fully grown, but his punch packed a wallop.

  Whitman fell to his knees, his ears ringing and the coppery taste of blood coating his tongue. Miller did his job and restrained the boy, although what they probably needed was to just get the fight over with.

  Later that would happen, after they found Sarah.

  Whitman spat out a mouthful of blood and rose to his feet. “You and I have some unfinished business, Lorenzo. Right now, we’re going to find Sarah. Then I’ll either beat the tar out of you or kill you. The choice depends on whether or not Sarah is unharmed.”

  He nodded to the sheriff. “I’d say Abernathy, or Ethan Rebay, caught wind of our investigation and decided to take some leverage to ensure he could get out of town safely.”

  Miller nodded tightly. “I’m guessing you’re right, Kendrick.”

  “Ethan Rebay!” Alfred stood, snapping his fingers. “That’s it. Don’t you get it? Ethan Rebay is the letters of Abernathy mixed up.”

  Whitman wanted to slap his own forehead. Of course it was. The man had left it right there for them to find and they’d missed it. Sarah might have to pay the price for their male stupidity. He made a promise to himself to never let her down again.

  “Let’s go find her then, and Ethan Rebay will regret the day he touched my wife.”

  Sarah should have expected the attack, but she was so involved in her self-pity, she wasn’t on alert. A pair of arms grabbed her from the alley next to the hotel.

  The man was strong enough to steal the breath from her, but not her will to fight. She tried to bring the cane up and hit him, but he kicked it out of the way, leaving her without her weapon.

  “Son of a bitch!” Sarah threw her head back to break his nose, but he was ready for that too, moving out of the way. The only thing she got from it was a sore neck and a bump on her head from slamming into his shoulder.

  “You’d best stop fighting, Mrs. Kendrick, or should I say Miss Spalding?” he hissed in her ear. “I know your secret, you know. Mavis was a talkative woman and she loved to spread gossip.”

  Without the protection of their fake marriage, both Sarah and Whitman were open for target practice by Sam Miller. She yanked at his arm.

  “Let me go and we can talk.” She struggled to stay on her feet as he dragged her into the alley.

  The image of Mavis’s bloody body raced through her mind and she fought against the panic that rose. She wouldn’t end up a rusty stain in the dirt. Sarah was too strong for that.

  “Sure we can talk. I’m going to leave town and you’re going to help me.” He pushed her up against the building. In the gloom of the meager light, she couldn’t make out his face, but the voice was familiar.

  It was definitely Abernathy.

  “I remember you from the first day of the trip, you know.” She fought back her fear
and concentrated on surviving. “I showed hospitality to you and invited you to ride in my compartment. This is how you repay that?”

  “As you know, Miss Spalding, time changes us all, as does the human need for survival.” His voice had a Southern drawl, probably Georgia if she wasn’t mistaken.

  “Were you in the war, Abernathy? I know you’re a Southerner. Why do you want to hurt me?” She tried desperately to get a good look at him.

  He chuckled. “The war is over and so is the Southern way of life. I’m taking what I learned from those damn carpetbaggers and using it for my own gain.”

  Sarah hated carpetbaggers almost as much as Yankee soldiers. “I realize Mavis was as annoying as the day is long, but did you have to kill her?”

  “Oh no, you’re not getting a confession that easily. Now let’s go. We’re taking a buggy ride.” He flipped her around, pressing her face into the wood building. Splinters lodged in her cheek even as her legs screamed in protest at the rough movement.

  “You’re not going to be trouble, are you, whore?” His hot breath gushed past her ear. “I heard about your boardinghouse. Maybe you can show me some of your tricks. I hear you can suck a dick like nobody’s business.”

  He pulled her arms up behind her back, then put his other arm around her neck and squeezed.

  Sarah wanted to kill him. No, she made a promise she would kill him.

  He dragged her down to the other side of the alley. Her heels dug into the ground, sending painful shocks up to her already aching legs. She tried to regain her footing, but he was walking too fast.

  For the first time in a very long time, she wished someone was around to rescue her. No doubt one or both of them would be dead before the night was over.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Whitman was frantic. He’d never believed that particular emotion would overcome him, but it had. Right after they found evidence Sarah had been taken.

  Her cane lay in the dirt, discarded in the rotten lettuce leaves and broken crates behind the hotel restaurant. She’d never leave it behind. It was not only her walking stick, but her weapon.

  He knew the secret of the handle as well as he knew she’d never have let the cane go without a fight. Abernathy had her. Whitman knelt beside the tracks and determined she’d been shoved up against the wall, possibly beaten, before he dragged her down the alley.

  When he rose, a small smear of blood caught his eye on the wall. He reached out with a shaking finger and touched it. The wet texture told him what he already knew.

  It was fresh. It was Sarah’s.

  “He knew we were getting close.” Whitman whirled to face the sheriff. “If you hadn’t been after Sarah for Mavis’s murder, this wouldn’t have happened. Don’t you know how to investigate a crime? You look at all the evidence, not the circumstantial shit any fool could see.”

  “Mr. Kendrick, take a moment to calm yourself. We won’t find your wife without working together.” Bannon might only be a train conductor, but he was persistent in his faith of others.

  “Step back a pace.” Miller held up his hands, palms out. “We won’t find her if you intend to pick a fight with me.”

  “I’m not picking a fight with you. I’m letting you know that I’m angry as all hell and I intend to make you pay for your ineptitude if anything happens to her.” Whit blew out a breath and tried to rein in his anger.

  He wasn’t helping Sarah by yelling at Miller. Right then, she needed him to keep a clear head and focus.

  “I hope nothing happens to her, and that’s the truth.” Miller sounded sincere. “I like your Sarah. She’s a hell of a lady.”

  Your Sarah.

  If only that were true. Even if they found her in time—no, when they found her—she was already lost to him. The pain and fury he saw in her eyes already told him she would never forgive him for being who he was.

  Or for not telling her the truth about it.

  “Where does this alley lead?” Whit picked up her cane and started following the drag marks.

  Miller was right behind him. “To Elm Street. Not much there but some houses, the laundry, and the livery.”

  Whit stopped and turned to look at the sheriff. “The livery?”

  It only took seconds for that information to sink in. Whit started running, regardless of what was in the alley. If Abernathy had access to a horse or a carriage, they could have a huge head start.

  Whit exploded out of the alley, unable to get his bearings. “Where is it?” He glanced behind him at the sheriff.

  “There, on the right.” Not surprisingly, Miller ran like the wind. He was a healthy man who probably spent a good deal of time chasing drunks and runaway horses.

  Whitman was right on his heels, praying they would be in time to save Sarah.

  Abernathy tied Sarah’s wrist to the post while he saddled a horse. It was after he’d knocked the stable boy unconscious, of course. No one appeared to be safe from Abernathy’s violence.

  Sarah watched him, balancing herself on her left leg while her right leg protested even the slightest bit of weight.

  She needed to find a way to disable the man, but he was much younger and stronger than she expected. In the light from the lantern in the stall, she saw what the wide-brimmed hat and perhaps theatrical make-up had hidden.

  Abernathy was not much older than Whitman.

  “You collect widows and spinsters to keep yourself flush with cash?” She didn’t expect him to react, but he did.

  “Shut up. I do what I need to survive. It’s not my fault if they are eager for companionship and fall under the spell of a charming man.” He bared his teeth at her. “Mavis was especially eager.”

  Sarah snorted. “I have no doubt. She’d never been in a man’s bed before, and I’m sure she was trolling for a husband. Too bad you had to kill her and spoil her plans.”

  “Her plans meant nothing to me. I needed traveling money and she provided it, even if I had to kill her to get it. You’d be surprised to find out what she had hidden in a money belt under her skirt.” Abernathy cinched the saddle tightly on the bay mare, then picked up the bit.

  It did surprise her, actually, that Mavis had money, but it shouldn’t have. She’d spent her life as miserly as they come, and when she sold her property, she likely had a stockpile of money.

  Now Abernathy had it.

  The glint of something in the hay caught her attention and she shifted to reach for it as slowly as she could. Abernathy had his back to her, fortunately.

  When her fingers came in contact with cold, hard metal, she nearly smiled. It was a spur.

  Sarah had a weapon.

  Whitman crept around the side of the livery, keeping out of the line of sight. Miller was on the other side of the building.

  They were going to hit Abernathy from both sides, and hopefully, before he hurt Sarah or escaped from the building. Whit wanted to tear the man apart with his bare hands, but he needed to make sure Sarah was safe first.

  The inky blackness of the night hid his approach. The low murmur of a man’s voice reached his ears. He strained to hear what was being said, but it was too far away to tell.

  Whitman reached the back of the livery and checked the latch on the door. It was well oiled, a nice advantage. He opened the latch and eased the door open.

  The voice grew louder through the opening and Whitman crept in, following the sound.

  Please be all right, Sarah.

  Sarah tucked the spur up into her sleeve. Her hasty departure from the hotel room meant her knife was back on the dresser, useless and forgotten and her cane was lost in the alley. However, the spur would give her the advantage she needed.

  Abernathy was busy going on about how smart he was, how women were gullible and stupid, and how he’d made a fortune taking what they were willing, or unwilling, to give.

  He obviously liked to hear himself talk, judging by the fact he told her everything about his crimes without her even asking.

  That meant two things:
he likely planned on killing her and she was running out of time.

  Sarah gripped the neck of the spur, the rowel digging into her palm. When Abernathy turned, she was ready, or at least as much as she could be.

  He pulled the brim down on his hat and put his hands on his hips. “How am I gonna get you up on that horse? You’re a big cripple.”

  Cripple jibes hadn’t bothered her in years, but he didn’t know that.

  “You don’t have to be so mean.” She sniffled dramatically. “I can’t help the fact that my leg doesn’t work. Some Yankee soldier tore it up.”

  “Poor baby. Did he tear up your cunt too?” His grin was anything but pleasant. “Don’t think I forgot about your special skills, Sarah. Care to give me a little loving and maybe save your life?”

  Sarah looked him in the eye and nodded. With his pants down, Abernathy would be vulnerable and she could use that spur to her best advantage.

  Whitman heard what Abernathy said and had to bite his fist to stop the murderous rage that flew through him. The bastard was going to rape her.

  Sarah was probably scared and angry, same as Whitman. The only thing he could do was throw himself into the fray to save her.

  Perhaps if he died, she might forgive him for not telling her the truth about himself.

  As he crawled through the dirt and hay, he heard what sounded like a slap, then clothes rustling. Whitman ignored the pain in his heart in favor of the rage in his blood.

  He peered around the corner to see Sarah tied to a post in the stall, her hair full of straw and dirt. Her cheek was bloody, and her eyes, damn it to hell, were full of fear. A man stood in front of her, his trousers gaping open.

  Whitman forgot how to think and just acted.

  Sarah heard a bellow just before she thrust the spur into Abernathy’s balls. He screamed in agony, falling back into the horse.

  The mare neighed and reared in fear, and Sarah tried to make herself as small as possible.

  A tug on her wrist made her look up into Whitman’s green eyes. His face was contorted into a mask of rage and fear. She hadn’t seen that look since her brother, Micah, had tried to kill their mother, so long ago.