Chapter 23 #3
Jack Randall had aged in the last ten years.
He was heavier, obviously well fed, but not fat.
His brown hair was sprinkled with gray, and his face was burned dark by the sun.
But a closer look showed lines in the face, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead.
There was a bandage at the side of his head, and his left arm was in a sling.
He licked his lips nervously as he looked at Rafe.
Randall, the tendons in his neck clearly visible, turned to the deputy: “I want to talk to him alone.”
“I don’t know about that,” the lawman said. “He’s a murderer.”
“Hell, you have my gun, and I’ll stay out of his reach,” Randall said impatiently. “I’ll take the risk.”
“All right, Mr. Randall,” the deputy said, obviously in awe of the rancher. Rafe felt his gut tighten. “Fifteen minutes. No longer.”
Rafe’s lips twisted into an ironic smile as the deputy turned around and left, closing and locking the door behind him. The sound of the key in the lock was louder than Rafe remembered, perhaps because of the silent tension that radiated in the room.
“I would offer you some hospitality, but, as you see, my resources are extremely limited at the moment. Have been, in fact, for some time.” He didn’t move from the sitting position, but every muscle was taut, every sense alert.
Perspiration dripped down the side of Randall’s face, but he didn’t seem to notice. He took a step forward, then stopped.
“Come to gloat? Or did you have another reason in mind?” Rafe was surprised at the evenness of his own voice. Christ, he’d had experience in controlling his rage, but even he was amazed at how casual he sounded when he wanted to strangle the man standing before him.
Randall didn’t say anything, but Rafe felt the intensity of his gaze. It took measure of the bandages on his arm and under his trouser leg, as well as the chains.
“Oh, I’m well chained, Major. You don’t have to worry about that.” There was no mistaking the fury underlying in the calmly spoken words. “I can’t get to you, just as I couldn’t ten years ago. And this time, I’ll likely hang for something you did.”
“No.” The reply held a tone of finality that puzzled Rafe.
Slowly, Rafe lowered the bent leg and placed his foot on the floor. He kept all his attention on Randall’s eyes, trying to read them. He had thought Randall had come by to gloat, but now he wasn’t so sure. “No, what? No, I won’t hang, or no, I won’t hang for something you did?”
Randall took another step toward him, his mouth opening as he obviously tried to find words.
Another step, Rafe willed him. God, he wanted to get his hands around the man’s throat.
“I … I have an offer to make you,” Randall finally said.
Rafe eyed Randall with contempt. “Say what you came here to say and get out. The sight of you makes me sick.”
“Shea …”
Rafe quickly stood and moved as close as he could to Randall. The chain stopped him two feet away. His handcuffed hands were fisted, the brand vivid on a hand now pale with strain. “What about Shea?”
“She’s disappeared. I think she might have gone looking for you.”
Rafe turned away toward a wall. He didn’t want Randall to see anything in his face. “Why would you think that?”
“She was … asking questions.”
“And you gave her the right answers?” Rafe asked mockingly, trying to fight down the desperation that was swelling inside him at Randall’s words.
“No,” Randall said in a low voice. “And I think she knew it.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?” Rafe hid his fear for Shea under a veneer of indifference. “Because of you, I’m rather occupied at the moment, and the whole damn town seems to have plans for me.”
“Tyler …” Randall stopped and put his hands to his face for a moment, as if hiding while gathering courage. He tried again. “I can’t take back what was done years ago. If you had come to me months ago, I would have given you everything I had.”
“Everything wouldn’t be enough,” Rafe said bitterly as he turned to face Randall. “You could have come forward any time during those ten years. You could have stopped this.” He held out his hand. “Look at it, Randall. The least you can do, God damn you, is look at it!”
Randall remained still under the force of Rate’s fury, resisting the urge to step back. He was losing. He knew he was losing. “So you seduced an innocent girl?” he snapped back.
Rafe smiled grimly. “Is that what she told you?”
“She didn’t have to tell me. Is that how a man like you gets revenge, Tyler?” His anger now was as great as Rafe’s.
Rafe would have killed him if he could have reached him. He tried, dammit, he tried. He lunged toward Randall, but the chain was already taut, and he fell to his knees.
He wanted to roar with frustration and humiliation. Instead, he froze, trying to school his emotions, refusing to give Randall a glimpse of what he had unleashed.
Rafe felt the moments ticking away. Randall was absolutely still. He had not backed up, had not moved. When Rafe slowly straightened and looked into his face, he was startled to find an agony that matched his own.
“You said you have an offer?” Rafe was surprised to find his voice steady.
“If you help me find Shea, safe, I’ll tell the authorities what really happened ten years ago.”
Rafe looked down at the chains holding him.
“I’ll help you escape,” Randall said simply.
“What makes you think I won’t kill you once I’m out of here?”
“I’ll take that chance.”
“How do I know you won’t renege on the offer?”
“You don’t,” Randall said. “You have to take that chance.”
“You mean we have to trust each other?” Rafe said with contempt.
“Up to a point.” Randall turned away. “You were a man of your word.”
“You weren’t. It seems you get the best of the bargain.”
“Yes,” Randall said, his self-contempt obvious, “I get the best of the bargain.” He hesitated, then added wearily, “Do you know where they keep the keys to those irons?”
“Downstairs. I’m a dangerous character. They wouldn’t chance a deputy venturing too close.”
Randall leaned down, pulled up the left leg of his trousers and took a derringer that had been tucked in his boot. He held it just out of Rafe’s reach. “Your word you’ll help me find her?”
“And you’ll confess your part in the payroll robberies?” Rafe said.
Randall nodded.
“And the recent murders?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with those.”
“But your friend McClary did.”
Just then they heard footfalls on the steps. There was no time for more conversation. “In case anything goes wrong when I try to get the keys,” Randall said, “go after her.” He handed the derringer to Rafe, who slipped it in the waist of his trousers and pulled his shirt out to cover it.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes with the keys,” Randall said in a whisper just as the door opened.
Rafe didn’t answer but retreated to the cot, assuming the same position he’d been in when Randall entered.
“Find out what you needed, Mr. Randall?” the deputy asked.
Randall nodded and followed the deputy out, who once more locked the door.
Rafe stared at the door. He didn’t know what he felt. Except fear for Shea. He put his arm on the raised knee and rested his head on his hand. There was nothing he could do now but wait.