Chapter Thirty-One
Daisy had never realized fear could make a room sound so crowded.
Every breath seemed louder than it should have, every heartbeat pressed against her ears, and every small noise carried a weight that made it impossible to ignore.
Amos stood somewhere near the front door.
She knew his position by the sound of his voice and by the faint scrape of his boots whenever he adjusted his stance.
The revolver gave him away, too. Metal brushed lightly against metal each time his fingers shifted around the grip, as though he wanted the weapon to remain part of the conversation.
He wasn't trying to hide who held the power. He wanted them to hear it.
Clara sat beside her without speaking. Daisy couldn't see her, yet she didn't need to. Clara's breaths arrived quick and uneven, each one carrying more strain than the last.
The scent of lamp oil lingered in the air. Cool night air drifted through the open doorway and stirred across Daisy's skin, bringing with it the feeling of a world carrying on as normal while this room remained frozen in place.
Nathan had warned her.
The words came back with cruel clarity now. Flint should leave. Every day he remained beneath this roof increased the danger. Even when the first riders had been seen near the road, Nathan had urged them to act before it was too late.
She had refused.
She'd told herself Flint was too weak to travel. Told herself they only needed another day. Then another.
Had she really been protecting him? Or protecting herself from losing him again?
Her stomach tightened.
Nathan was somewhere out there because of her choice. Wyatt had been drawn into the danger. Clara sat trembling only a few feet away, held captive in her own home.
Even Flint...
If he'd ridden away the moment he could sit a horse, perhaps none of this would be happening.
Perhaps loving him had never been enough.
Perhaps she'd endangered everyone simply because she couldn't bear to say goodbye a second time.
Nobody attempted to fill the silence.
Amos appeared content to let it stretch.
That unsettled Daisy far more than raised voices ever could have. Anger had edges. Threats announced themselves. This calmness felt different.
She drew a careful breath. "Why Flint?"
A quiet chuckle drifted across the room. "I wondered how long it would take before someone asked."
"You've spent weeks hunting him," Daisy said. "You sent men after him. Now you've come here. Why?"
The chair creaked. "Because Flint Callahan walked away with knowledge that was never meant to leave my organization."
She frowned. "He witnessed things no outsider should ever know. Conversations. Transactions. Decisions that would've ruined a great many respectable men if they ever reached the wrong ears."
A chill crept through her. "You’re afraid of him."
"No." Amusement touched his voice. "Fear implies uncertainty. Flint simply presents a problem that requires solving."
"You mean killing him."
"I mean ensuring he never becomes someone else's opportunity." His tone never changed. "And to show everyone that you cannot just leave.”
Daisy sucked in a sharp breath. Flint hadn't brought this danger to her doorstep because he'd wanted to.
This was why.
"Men don't leave me, Miss Whitmore. If Flint disappears and builds himself an honest life, every young fool I've ever taken in starts believing he can do the same."
Daisy tightened her hands together. "So, this isn't only about what he knows."
"No." Amos gave another quiet laugh. "It's about what he represents. A man who knows my secrets and proves escape is possible becomes a very dangerous example."
Amos sounded comfortable and confident. Like a man who already knew how the night would end.
"You know," Amos said after a while, "this has gone far more smoothly than chasing Flint across half the territory."
Daisy focused on the sound of his voice and held her own steady. "You aren't going to find him."
A low laugh drifted across the room. The easy amusement in it made her skin prickle.
“Oh, I will.”
The measured tone unsettled her more than any threat could have. He sounded like a businessman discussing a routine arrangement rather than a man holding two women captive.
"People are getting hurt because of you," Daisy said.
"That's one way to look at it."
"It's the only way to see it."
He gave a quiet hum, as though considering her argument. "I imagine every person involved believes they're justified. That's usually how these situations work."
Daisy drew a careful breath. "You make it sound reasonable."
"I make it sound right."
Until that night, she'd imagined Amos as a man driven by temper, greed, or vanity. Sitting here and listening to him speak, she realized none of those explanations fit.
He approached people the same way other men approached tools. Their value rested entirely in what they could accomplish, and any suffering along the way seemed no more important than mud clinging to a wagon wheel.
Time stretched until Daisy lost any sense of how much had passed. The ticking clock near the mantel continued its steady rhythm, though even that sound seemed distant beneath the pressure of waiting for whatever Amos intended to do next.
Time dragged so slowly that Daisy began measuring it through sounds rather than minutes.
Then she heard hoofbeats.
The rhythm arrived faintly at first, carrying across the night from somewhere beyond the property, yet every stride landed hard enough to send hope surging through her before she could stop it.
Please.
The riders were moving fast. She could hear it in the pace of the horses. With every passing breath, the sound grew stronger until the drumming hooves rolled across the yard itself.
Amos heard them too.
The change in the room happened almost immediately.
His confidence remained intact, yet a new tension entered his movements.
Daisy picked it up in the shift of his boots across the floorboards and in the subtle change in his breathing.
He sounded like a man adjusting plans rather than a man caught unaware, though the arrival had clearly unsettled him.
The yard filled with restless snorts and the soft jingle of tack before silence settled again.
A door opened outside, and heavy footsteps crossed the porch.
Daisy's pulse hammered so hard she could barely hear anything else. She knew those footsteps; she would've recognized them anywhere. The steady pace, the weight of each step, the familiar confidence behind them all belonged to one man.
Flint.
The porch boards creaked beneath his boots. A heartbeat later, his voice carried through the doorway. "Amos."
Relief swept through Daisy with such force that her knees nearly gave way.
Flint was alive.
She had spent every moment since he'd left praying he had managed to put miles between himself and Amos Grady. Praying he had ridden far enough away that no one would ever find him.
Instead, he had come back.
The truth settled over her with sickening clarity. Amos had never needed to hunt Flint across Wyoming. He had only needed to wait until Flint learned she was in danger.
He'd walked straight into the trap.
Amos laughed. "Mr. Callahan," he replied, sounding far too pleased with himself.
The relief fractured immediately.
Daisy pushed to her feet. "Flint—"
"Don't."
Flint’s warning cut across her words before she could say another syllable.
Dread settled heavily inside her as Flint spoke again. "Let them go."
Amos broke the stunned silence with a quiet laugh. "You've always appreciated efficiency," he said. "Straight to the point before anyone has the chance to enjoy the conversation."
"What do you want?" Flint asked.
"You."
Daisy's pulse surged as dread swept through her. Every instinct screamed at her to stop whatever came next, yet she already knew where this conversation was heading.
Clara's fingers closed around her hand. "It's all right," she whispered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed that she didn't believe it herself.
"No," Daisy said.
Nobody acknowledged her.
Flint's attention never left Amos. "I'll do whatever you ask."
Her heart sank. He was doing it again. Offering himself. Trying to carry everyone else's burden as though his own life mattered less.
"I'll cooperate," Flint continued, his voice steady, "provided Daisy and Clara walk out of here unharmed."
"No, Flint," Daisy whispered.
He didn't answer. "Let them leave."
Amos sounded entertained by the proposal. "That loyal streak remains one of your more predictable qualities."
"Amos, I am offering you what you want.”
A chair creaked. Daisy pictured Amos leaning back, entirely comfortable while other lives hung in the balance.
"I'll release them," he said. The words caught Daisy off guard, but before relief could take hold, the rest of his sentence followed.
As soon as I'm satisfied that you'll keep your side of the arrangement."
The hope vanished immediately.
Amos had never intended to let Flint walk away.
Daisy shook her head and felt tears gathering behind her eyes. "Please don't do this."
When he finally spoke, his voice carried a gentleness that made her throat ache. "Daisy, you need to let me do this.”
The sound of her name on his lips nearly broke her. "I can't lose you again. If you turn yourself over to them, I won't survive watching it happen."
Amos released a long breath. For the first time all evening, irritation crept into his voice. "That's enough." His patience had finally worn thin. "Drop the weapon, Flint."
Daisy's entire body went rigid as she listened. The pause lasted only a few heartbeats, yet each one seemed to stretch endlessly while she waited for Flint to refuse.
Instead, a sharp, unmistakable clatter echoed through the room as metal struck wood.
The revolver.
He had surrendered it.
A sob slipped from her before she could stop it, the sound breaking free as every fear she'd been carrying since the morning came crashing over her all at once.
This was really happening.
Flint had given Amos exactly what he wanted.
Then Daisy heard a sound that didn't belong.
The faint creak reached her from the rear of the house, quiet enough that most people would've missed it entirely, yet every nerve in her body reacted at once.
She knew this house. She knew which boards complained in cold weather, which doors stuck after rain, and which hinges squealed unless oiled. Living here had taught her to map every room through sound, and that tiny noise carried a familiarity that immediately caught her attention.
A few heartbeats later, she heard it again. The faint sound of movement drifted through the house, so careful and deliberate that anyone else might have missed it, but Daisy caught it immediately.
Hope rushed through her so fast it left her lightheaded.
Nathan and Wyatt.
It had to be them.
The sound carried from the rear of the house and crept steadily closer, accompanied by the occasional whisper of a footstep that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. Whoever had made it inside was taking every precaution, easing through the rooms with enough patience to avoid drawing attention.
Amos gave no indication that he'd heard a thing. His focus remained locked on Flint, who stood just as rigidly engaged in the standoff. Neither man had room for distraction when a single lapse in concentration could tip the balance in the other's favor.
As Daisy listened, an idea began to form.
She wasn't hoping for an opportunity to overpower Amos or make a dramatic move that would put everyone at greater risk. What mattered was keeping his attention fixed where it already rested and stretching the confrontation long enough for Nathan and Wyatt to reach them.
The timing didn't have to be perfect.
She only needed to create a delay that lasted a little longer than Amos expected.
Her heartbeat drummed against her ears while she stood motionless, listening to every sound the house offered and willing the unseen footsteps to keep coming.
"You think this makes you powerful?" she asked.
Amos gave an amused laugh. "I don't think it. I know it."
The answer strengthened her resolve. "You dragged two women into this and pointed a gun at them. That doesn't sound powerful to me."
The silence that followed felt useful rather than uncomfortable, because Daisy sensed Amos's attention shifting to her exactly as she'd hoped.
That was what she needed.
Every word she drew out of him gave Nathan and Wyatt more time to move through the house unseen, and every second Amos spent listening to her voice became a second he wasn't paying attention to anything else.
"You think this is power?" Amos asked. "This is simply what's necessary to protect what I've spent years building."
His confidence had returned, though a sharper edge lingered beneath it now, suggesting her earlier comments had landed closer to the mark than he'd like.
Daisy tilted her head slightly toward his voice. "You've built a place to hide," she said. "People who hold real power don't spend their nights guarding terrified hostages and demanding loyalty at gunpoint. They have better things to do."
A floorboard complained somewhere beyond Amos. The sound came from closer than before.
Daisy kept her expression neutral and her breathing steady while relief threatened to sweep through her. Clara's hand found hers again, squeezing hard enough to make Daisy pause, as though silently begging her not to provoke Amos any further.
Whoever was moving through the house had almost reached them.
Amos gave a short laugh that carried more annoyance than amusement. "You've got strong opinions for a woman whose future depends entirely on my goodwill."
"That would've worried me if I'd ever seen evidence you possessed any."
The laugh that escaped him held genuine surprise this time. "Careful," he said. "You might convince me you're fearless."
"I think you've mistaken honesty for fearlessness," Daisy replied. "I've spent enough time listening to people like you to recognize the pattern."
His interest sharpened immediately. "And what pattern would that be?"
Daisy seized the question without hesitation. "I think you're a man who needs everyone else afraid because confidence disappears the minute people stop believing your stories."
When Amos finally replied, amusement colored his voice once more. "You know what I think?"
A knot formed in Daisy's stomach. "What do you think?"
"I think you're working very hard to keep me talking."
Fear surged through her so quickly that it stole every trace of satisfaction she'd felt over the past few minutes. Amos's voice carried the unmistakable certainty of a man who'd finally spotted the game being played around him.
The floorboards creaked.
He was moving.
Each measured footstep brought him closer until she could feel his presence standing only inches away. Before she could react, cold steel brushed lightly beneath her chin, forcing her head upward.
"I admire the effort," Amos said quietly. "But I’m nobody’s puppet. And I don’t appreciate being hoodwinked.”
Every muscle in Daisy's body locked. She didn't dare move.