The Sharpshooter's Secret Son Page 12

  “I didn’t understand most of that, but you’re the nurse, so I’ll take your word for it.”

  She sent him a wan smile. “Thanks.”

  “Is this—” he made a vague gesture toward her tummy “—is this it? Are you having the baby?”

  “No.” Mindy lifted her chin. “No. It’s too early. And—look where we are. No. My baby will not be born here.” She cradled her tummy. “Did you hear me, Sprout? Stay in there. We’ll be home soon.”

  My baby. Those two words echoed in his ears. She’d told him that the baby was his. She’d even referred to him as our baby a few times. He was surprised how much it hurt to hear her say my instead of our right now.

  He cleared his throat. “What can I do to help?”

  Her olive-green eyes met his gaze. “Go find a way out of here, get help and come back and rescue me.”

  “Forget that. I’m not leaving you here. Especially if you’re having the baby.” And especially since he knew they were practically sitting on enough dynamite to blow the entire mine.

  She glared at him. “I am not having the baby.”

  Despite the seriousness of their situation, her determination made him smile. “What? You’re going to stop him from being born with your steely resolve?”

  “Damn straight I will.” She stuck her chin out pugnaciously.

  “And you call me stubborn,” he muttered under his breath.

  “I heard tha—Oh!”

  “Min?” He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Her fingers tightened around his with surprising strength. “Breathe, sugar.”

  She kept a stranglehold on his fingers until the contraction was over. He spent the time watching her, and estimating how long it had been between contractions.

  “I think it’s been ten minutes since the first contraction,” he said, as she pushed herself back against the dirt wall.

  She nodded. “That’s what I thought. Ten minutes apart. I’m in premature labor.”

  “Is that some kind of labor that comes before real labor?” he asked hopefully. He had a sinking feeling that the answer to that question was no.

  Sure enough, she shook her head. His heart sank and his pulse sped up.

  “It’s real labor, but it’ll go away. Like I told you, it’s too early. He’s not due to make his appearance for six more weeks.” She pushed herself up a little more. “Can you bring me some water?”

  Deke fetched her a bucket of water. She drank several swallows.

  “I’ve got to lie down,” she told him. “The recommendation for slowing or stopping premature contractions is to lie still for a couple of hours and drink lots of water. That’s the best chance I have to stop them.”

  “Okay, so we’ll wait for two hours, then we’ll both get out of here.”

  Mindy shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk. Not in two hours. I’d just go back into labor.” She put her hand on his. “Deke, you’ve got to find the way out.”

  “No. I’m not leaving you.”

  She maneuvered herself into a reclining position and turned onto her left side.

  “This is no time to start being sentimental,” she said. “I need you to do what you do best. What would you do if I were an injured man? Or a female innocent you were sent in to rescue?”

  He scowled at her. “You’re not.”

  She scowled right back at him.

  He relented. “I’d leave the man with a weapon to defend himself while I scouted the best way out. I’d probably carry the female out with me.”

  “You can’t. You’re injured, and I’m not only too heavy, I can’t walk.”

  “I can’t leave you here, alone and helpless.”

  “It’s the only way. Now give me the knife and go find us a way out.”

  He silently handed the knife over to her.

  “I know you’ve already figured out what Novus is doing,” she said.

  He nodded. “He’s got all the exits manned, and he’s figured out what he thinks I’m going to do. I’m telling you, he’s got a time frame he’s working within. As soon as he can figure out a way to get to Irina—” He stopped. He didn’t want to tell her that Novus’s timeline included killing the two of them as soon as he got his hands on Irina Castle.

  “He’s having fun trying to anticipate my next move. His favorite thing to do is toy with people.”

  “Like a cat with a mouse.”

  “And like that cat, he knows exactly when and how he’s going to go in for the kill.”

  EVERYTHING WAS ABOUT CHOICE.

  Deke had to give Novus credit. James had said Novus’s goal was to wear him down. And as bad as he hated to admit it, Novus was accomplishing his goal. Because right now, Deke was just about at the end of his rope.

  He was tired. He was weak and nauseated from loss of blood and the fever brought on by his wound. And he hadn’t slept more than an hour in the last twenty-four.

  Now, he’d literally come to the end of the line. He sat on his haunches and stared at the pile of rock and broken timbers in front of him. Dark shadows danced in the lantern’s light, and the burbling of the spring mocked him. Every few seconds, a silvery reflection in the water caught his eye. The little fish, battling their way through the rocks to swim downstream.

  Toward Mindy.

  He thought about her, back in that alcove alone where he’d left her over an hour ago. That had been a bad choice. The fact that it was the only choice didn’t make it good.

  And now he was staring at the result of the rumbling he’d heard, the rumbling he’d told her was thunder. He knew the cave-in he was staring at had been caused by the explosion, because here and there, wisps of smoke still rose from the debris, and the hot smell of explosive and ozone permeated the air.

  He’d tried to dig through the debris in a couple of places using the crowbar, but he hadn’t gotten very far. All he’d managed to do was start a couple of small rock slides and stir up a fog of hot, choking smoke and dust. He couldn’t take the chance of tumbling the whole wall of rocks and timbers down on his head.

  So he had no choice here, either. He had to go back.

  But what was he going back to? Another dead end and the choice of lying to Mindy or telling her the truth, that they were trapped in the mine?

  Because if James had blown this tunnel then he’d blown the downhill one, too. It confirmed his suspicion that James didn’t have enough men to guard every exit.

  One thing in their favor. Maybe.

  He cupped his left hand and scooped up water to drink, then bent down and splashed some on his face. After swiping the water from his eyes, he picked up the lantern and the crowbar and turned on his heel.

  MINDY JERKED AWAKE. She’d heard something.

  Dear God, let it be Deke.

  She winced as her little Sprout kicked her, reminding her that he’d been asleep, too.

  Holding her breath, she listened. There it was again. The noise that had woken her. And this time she knew what it was.

  The crunch of footsteps on dirt and gravel.

  Not Deke. Her pulse skittered, stealing her breath. Deke would have already called out to her.

  As quietly as she could, she scooted farther back against the farthest wall of the alcove, pulling the knife from her bra.

  She stared at the dim glow that outlined the alcove’s opening, doing her best to keep her breathing steady. The knife’s handle was warm from her body heat, and although she’d seen the damage it could do, right now it felt pitifully small.

  Then the light at the entrance changed, brightened.

  Her breath hitched. Whoever it was had a flashlight. The beam was too concentrated to be a lantern.

  Just then a contraction hit her. She gasped and bit her lip, working to stay quiet.

  Deke? Where are you?

  The footsteps grew louder and the flashlight’s beam flitted across the alcove’s entrance.

  Her breath caught. Had they missed it?

  It snapped back. />
  Her mouth went dry. She drew her feet up, trying to make herself as small as possible while the flashlight penetrated the darkness in front of her.

  Then the pale blue moonlight was blocked by shadows—two shadows, and the beam swept back and forth, back and forth, as it crawled toward her along the dirt floor.

  It touched the toes of her shoes. The sensation was almost physical.

  She couldn’t get a breath. Her left hand instinctively cradled her tummy as the circle of light climbed up her leg.

  It was almost a relief when the beam finally blinded her.

  “Hello, Mrs. Cunningham.” The voice was unmistakable. Frank James. “Shame on your husband for leaving you alone.”

  AN HOUR LATER, HE FELT cool air on his heated face. In the next instant, his eyes detected a difference in the total blackness before him.

  It was the end of the tunnel. He slowed, using his instincts and his honed senses to assess any danger, before he burst out into the open.

  What if Novus had blown those tunnels, not because he didn’t have enough men, but to separate Deke and Mindy? If he guessed that Deke would leave Mindy to investigate the explosions, this would be the perfect time to have James capture her.

  Flattening himself against the tunnel opening, he scanned the open area.

  Nothing.

  As much as he wanted to believe that nothing was a good thing, his natural caution told him otherwise. He longed to rush over to the alcove and take Mindy into his arms, but he had to proceed as if he were infiltrating enemy lines.

  Sweat trickled down the side of his face. He wiped it away, and felt the heat radiating from his skin.

  He had a fever. That meant his damn arm was infected. He laid his palm on the bandage covering his wound. Sure enough, it was hot, too. And the pressure of his hand was excruciating.

  Judging by the way his head kept threatening to spin and by the blackness encroaching on his vision, he was close to passing out. He swallowed.

  Damn close.

  He took a deep breath and eased out into the open. Hugging the wall, he slid around to the edge of the alcove, scanning the room the whole time, alert to any slight movement or sound.

  He set the lantern down and lit it awkwardly. He held it in his right hand and brandished the crowbar in his left.

  His pulse drummed in his ears and his heartbeat shot sky-high. He wished it was merely the anticipation of seeing Mindy safe and sound, but he knew it was an adrenaline response, readying him to attack.

  Rocking to the balls of his feet, he angled around the alcove opening.

  No Mindy. Even though he’d expected it, his heart sank. She wasn’t where he’d left her.

  At that moment, a movement in the shadows at the back caught his eye.

  “Mindy?” Even as the word formed on his lips, the shadow lunged toward him. Mindy couldn’t stand up by herself, much less lunge.

  He swung the crowbar with all his might, following it with the lantern. The arc of flame revealed a glimpse of a grimacing black mask of a face with bared teeth gleaming.

  Then a huge weight sent him plummeting backward. His skull slammed into the dirt floor—hard. Pain blinded him. A dreadful growling filled his ears.

  He tried to roll away, but the monster rolled with him, trailed by a strange orange light. He blinked. It was a man—a very big black man with his hair on fire.

  The man shook his head, flinging drops of hot oil onto Deke’s face, and propelled himself toward the spring. He dunked his head, frantically trying to douse the flames.

  Deke retrieved his crowbar and followed him. Awkwardly, he gripped the crowbar, wishing he was left-handed, and drew his arm back.

  When the man lifted his head, Deke leaped, swinging. The crowbar connected with a loud crack.

  The man dropped like a stone, and Deke’s momentum carried him right over him. He landed sideways on his injured arm. He clamped his jaw and hissed.

  Breathing hard, he got his feet under him and crouched over the unconscious man. He patted him down and hit pay dirt. A portable Taser—dripping wet.

  Deke grabbed it. Just looking at it tightened his muscles in involuntary reaction. He shook it and dried it on his pants, then examined it. He started to turn it on, but on second though he decided to give it time to dry out.

  Pocketing it, he dropped to his haunches. He needed a couple of minutes to rest before he headed back toward the hotel.

  After a few deep breaths and a swallow of water, he headed across the spring. He eyed the tunnels for a moment, then turned and looked at the rusted car that held the dynamite.

  A sense of inevitability settled on his shoulders. As dangerous as it was, he had to carry the old, unstable explosive back to the hotel. He had to blow the two remaining entrances to the mine. He couldn’t take the chance that James might escape through them, or force Mindy back into this dark abyss.

  He swayed and had to steady himself against the wall. He clenched his teeth, refusing to give in to the fever that was trying to take him down. He couldn’t. He had to keep going.

  This time, if he failed, Mindy would die, and so would his son.

  Chapter Nine

  The pitch-black tunnel seemed endless. Deke trudged along, carefully balancing the dynamite and blasting caps in the crude sling he’d made from the musty blanket, and using the crowbar as a walking stick. It was a sobering thought that he was carrying his own mode of destruction. He was literally a walking, ticking bomb.

  But the dynamite wasn’t his biggest worry. His biggest worry was that he wouldn’t make it. He was having a hard time putting one foot in front of the other. And he felt cold and hot at the same time.

  In a part of his brain he was trying to ignore, he knew what was wrong. His arm was bleeding again. The knife wound ached with a stomach-churning pain that turned the edge of his vision black. When he’d looked at it, he’d seen the red line running up his arm. It was an artery, and it was infected. If that line got much closer to his heart, he’d be in real danger of dying.

  He’d tried Mindy’s home remedy for stanching the bleeding. He’d gathered up spiderwebs and pressed them into the oozing gash on his arm. Then he’d reban-daged it. Not surprisingly, they’d helped for a while. And if he’d been able to immobilize his arm, they probably would have stopped the bleeding entirely, just like Mindy had said they would.

  He’d stopped trying to use his arm, working hard to keep it still. He’d draped it over the dynamite-filled blanket, and occasionally he felt the faint tickle of a drop of blood running down his wrist to drip slowly off his fingers.

  He stumbled over a rock, catching himself just in time, cringing as he had to adjust the blanket containing the dynamite. The misstep jarred his arm and turned the darkness in front of his eyes into a bright fireworks show. He ducked his head and braced himself against the wall. He needed to shut his eyes for just a few moments, until the fireworks went away.

  WHEN HE OPENED HIS EYES AGAIN, he was crouched against the wall. He’d fallen asleep—or passed out, for no telling how long. At least the blanket was still in place, slung over his shoulder.

  Breathing through his mouth, trying to settle his racing heart, he lifted his head and blinked.

  Was he still woozy, or was that a real light in front of him? It didn’t dance around, and it wasn’t the same bright yellow as his internal fireworks show.

  This light was dim and pale and vaguely rectangular. A lump of relief closed the back of his throat and stung his eyes.

  It was the end of the tunnel. Where Mindy was. Just a few yards farther. He covered half the remaining distance before he had to stop.

  He pressed his back to the wall and rested his head against it for a moment. With his eyes closed, he pictured the small anteroom that connected the tunnels with the hotel basement. He’d returned the way he’d gone, back through the south tunnel—had it just been yesterday?

  He was less than two yards from the anteroom. He had to work fast. He carefully placed the
blanket-covered dynamite on the floor just inside the tunnel entrance. He’d already attached one of the blasting caps and a length of fuse to the sticks. So all he had to do was unroll the fuse and light it.

  He started working, but he kept losing focus. What the hell was the matter with him? His legs were heavy and slow. Sweat rolled down his face, chilling his skin. He shuddered and concentrated on making it to the south wall. He slid along it, keeping to the shadows until he reached the framed doorway. Then he stopped and listened.

  Nothing.

  To the east was the trapdoor, and on the north wall was the massive wooden door through which James had disappeared.

  Before he positioned the fuse, he had something he wanted to check out. After listening again and hearing nothing, he moved from the dirt wall to the timbers that framed the tunnel opening. He angled around quickly, sweeping the room quickly with his gaze, then ducked back behind the timbers.

  He looked at the trapdoor through which he’d crawled earlier. He’d discarded it because Mindy would never be able to crawl through the small opening.

  But the thing that had puzzled him ever since he first knocked on that wood still held his interest. Sixty years ago, this alcove had obviously provided a passage from the hotel and the building to the north into the mine from the two buildings. That trapdoor must have once been a full-size doorway.

  Deke gripped the crowbar in his hand and examined the wooden planks carefully. Whereas the other side looked like a door, this side appeared to be a rough-hewn planked wall, except that the planks above the trapdoor looked newer than the rest.

  There was a door there. Relief stung his throat and turned the back of his neck clammy. With the noise he was about to make, he figured he had two minutes at the most before one of James’s men saw or heard him.

  He attached the fuse to the dynamite and ran it along the wall to the north door. There was barely enough to reach. He didn’t know much about detonation. That was Brock’s specialty. But he knew that fuse burned rapidly, so he figured he had about enough to last five minutes.