Part 15 (1/2)
”My father's name is Andrew Cahill, and his company is meatpacking, not butchering,” she said.
He began to smile. ”Well, well, looks like I done all right after all.” He turned to the woman on the floor. ”Whaddya think, Lulabelle? I got me a rich prize here.” His gaze narrowed. ”Maybe I can figure out a way to make Shoz pay after all.” He grinned.
Lulabelle sat up. ”Can I go?” she whispered.
”No, you can't go,” he shouted, reaching for her.
Francesca realized this was his chance. As he bent to lift the woman and do G.o.d only knew what to her, she raced past him for the door, screaming for help.
He cursed.
She flung the door open. ”Help! Bragg! Help!” She had never run faster than she now ran down the short distance of the corridor to the stairs.
A bullet whistled by her ear.
She stumbled, tripping as she went down the stairs.
He caught her on the third step, pulling her against his body, his arm going around her waist.
And he ground the barrel of the gun into her temple. ”Don't move, b.i.t.c.h,” he said.
Francesca went still, and at the bottom of the stairs she saw Hart and Nicholas.
”Don't move,” Hart said calmly. He smiled a little at her as their eyes met. It was meant to be rea.s.suring, and it was. She had the oddest feeling that he would save her now, and that feeling was accompanied by calm.
Nicholas was pointing a gun at Craddock; Hart's hands were empty, although a black leather valise was at his feet. The poker players from the back room had come into the bar and stood in a jagged circle behind Hart and Nicholas. Now the saloon door burst open, and Bragg appeared on the threshold, a gun in his hand. Behind him were Shoz, Rourke, and Rathe, in that order. Almost simultaneously, every single man saw what was happening and froze. Bragg's gaze slammed to Francesca.
”Joel escaped with Chrissy!” Francesca cried.
His eyes widened.
Craddock jabbed the gun so hard into her temple that she became dizzy and watched the room becoming black. ”Shut the f.u.c.k up.”
”If you hurt her, you will get nothing,” Hart said in the same calm but oh-so-authoritative voice.
Bragg had come to stand beside Hart. ”Craddock, it is over. I am Rick Bragg, and you are surrounded. Release Miss Cahill, release her now, and we will let you walk out of here, unharmed.”
Craddock jerked on Francesca. She managed not to whimper. ”Like h.e.l.l. Well, well. If it ain't my old friend and pard, Shoz Savage.”
Francesca glanced breathlessly at Shoz. He was staring coolly at Craddock; he did not speak.
”Guess we got an ole score to settle, now don't we?” Craddock said, jerking hurtfully on Francesca.
She refused to gasp. Sweat trickled into her eye.
”Leave Miss Cahill out of this,” Shoz said flatly.
”Now why should I do that? Hey, them rich folks of yours, they know you murdered a man in
cold blood?” Craddock laughed. ”In front of seventy-one witnesses; no, make that seventy-six. Got to include the guards an' bullyboy Tim-bull.”
”If I go down,” Shoz said softly, ”I am taking you down with me.”
For one moment, Craddock stared, and Francesca felt a new tension tightening his body.
Then he said baldly, ”I don't think so. You see, I got me a ticket here, one to freedom and cash.” He jabbed the gun against her to make his point. This time, she did gasp, as her temple was terribly sore now.
Bragg stepped forward. ”Miss Cahill has nothing to do with this. However, there is a carriage outside, with a driver, and you may take that-but only after you release Miss Cahill.”
”An' the cash?”
Bragg glanced at Hart. Hart smiled and picked up the valise, opening it. He tossed out a bound wad of bills. And then another-and another. ”Five thousand, ten thousand. Fifteen.
Here. Now it is twenty. Do tell me when to stop, Mr. Craddock.”
Craddock's eyes were popping. ”How much do you got in there?”
”It is not how much I have in this satchel,” Hart said. ”It is how much I have in my safe and my bank accounts, and the answer is, I will pay what you wish, but you must release Miss Cahill... now.” His gaze moved to Francesca.
Something warmed inside of her. She had the distinct feeling that he would turn over hundreds of thousands of dollars without even thinking twice about it, to ensure that she was unhurt and freed.
Craddock licked his lips. ”Thirty,” he said hoa.r.s.ely. ”Thirty thousand dollars.”
Hart smiled and tossed two more wads of bills at his feet. ”Release her,” he said softly.
Francesca felt Craddock's grip loosening-and then footsteps sounded and dozens of men in blue uniforms swarmed into the saloon, with Brendan Farr at their head.
”Get out!” Bragg shouted furiously. ”Get your men out of here!”
Craddock's grip tightened and he dragged Francesca back up the stairs, screaming, ”No police, f.u.c.k you, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d! No d.a.m.n police!” And even though she fought him every step of the way, the next thing she knew, he was shoving her face-first into the small room, and slamming the door closed behind them.
Francesca fell onto the wood floor, chin-up. Pain exploded in her head and she saw stars.
And she heard the bolt dropping.
Chapter Twenty.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1902 - 5:00 P.M.
The timing was simply unbelievable. Bragg rubbed his face with his hands as a police officer directed the policemen out of the saloon. It was hard to think clearly, hard to keep his fear at bay. He would never survive if anything happened to Francesca. Then he got a grip and he looked up at Farr. ”Make certain every man leaves this block. I do not want any police anywhere in the vicinity of this saloon! Is that clear?”