Chapter 18
M ichael reached the clearing and began methodically searching the far bank of Shallow Creek for the blue spruce. It wasn't particularly easy. There were plenty of the trees mixed in among the aspens. And the course of the stream was different than it had been in his time.
The changes seemed to mock him, pointing out with painful clarity the precariousness of his situation. Lost in time. It sounded like the name of a dime novel, not reality.
He blew out a breath and tried to concentrate on his search.
One spruce in particular, kept catching his eye.
It towered above the others, its limbs fanning down to the ground.
Something about the rocks jutting out beside it rang a bell.
The little scraggly tree of his memory had filled out majestically.
He started to cross the creek, then stopped short, his mind filled with a picture of Cara disappearing into the gallery minutes before it exploded.
He let out a string of words fit for the crustiest miner.
He was a fool. Letting her go alone had been a mistake. Especially with Nick Vargas out there.
He spun around and headed back toward the cabin.
Hopefully, he was just making a mountain out of a mole hill.
She'd come bursting through the brush any minute.
Fifteen minutes later, he wasn't as sure.
Cursing himself, he increased his pace, fear lancing through him.
Oh God, he prayed, let her be all right.
"What are you doing here?" Cara tried to keep the tremor out of her voice, but only succeeded partially.
Nick smiled, a slow, lazy smile that never reached his eyes. "I think you already know that."
Cara felt the hairs on her arms rise. Why hadn't she seen the truth about him before? "You took my paintings." She was amazed at how calm her voice sounded. It wasn't everyday she had a gun pointed in her face.
He sounded amused. "Well, I did try to buy them. I told you that honest heart of yours would get you in trouble. Where's the boy toy?"
"He's not here."
"This gets better and better, Cara mia. How delightful to have you all to myself.
" There was a caress in his voice that sent shivers of dread down her spine.
He frowned. "Of course I'll still have to deal with Mr. Macpherson.
" He spat the name out like it was a curse.
"But first, I'll have the pleasure of dealing with you.
" The lecherous look was back. "Come here, darling. " He motioned her forward with the gun.
It took everything she had to hold her ground. "I'm not coming anywhere near you."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, darling.
" He was across the room before she could blink, his free hand closing around her wrist. She would never have guessed he was capable of moving so quickly.
He pulled her close, the barrel on the gun digging into her ribs, his warm breath fanning across her face.
"Back off, Nick." She gritted her teeth and tried to wrench her wrist free.
"I hardly think you're in a position to be giving me orders.
" He twisted her arm behind her, pulling her even closer, her hand pinned against her back.
He traced the tip of the gun along one breast, then used the barrel to work the buttons on her shirt free.
"I've been waiting for this a long time. "
A scream split the air.
Michael broke into a full run, leaping over the fence into the yard. His brain clicked into gear, just as he was starting to bound onto the porch. No sense in tipping his hand. He swerved to the side, bending low to the ground.
The Jeep was parked at the side of the house. He moved to its far side, inching the door slowly open. The rifle was still hanging against the back window. Reaching for it, he prayed that whoever was inside wasn't looking out the window.
His hand closed around the stock and he lifted it carefully out of the brackets. He had to admit, it felt good to have it in his hand. There was definitely something equalizing about carrying a weapon, no matter what century a man occupied.
He slid along the side of the house, ducking under the window. Slowly, slowly, he inched his way up, until he could see into the room. He choked back a cry of rage. Vargas had Cara trapped, his gun at her… He clenched a fist. The bastard would pay.
He ducked back down and slipped around the corner to the rear of the house.
The bedroom window was cracked open slightly.
He heaved a sigh of relief and shoved it higher.
He tossed the rifle onto the bed and he threw a leg over the sill.
Dropping onto the floor, he retrieved the gun and edged forward toward the open door.
Cara closed her eyes, trying to think what to do. Nick's hand was firmly holding her captive, threatening to snap her wrist each time she tried to rebel against his ministrations. She squirmed against him as the hand with the gun dipped lower, tracing a path against the bare skin of her abdomen.
"You didn't realize a weapon could be used with love, did you, Cara mia?"
She heard the slide of her zipper and sucked in her stomach as cold, hard steel rubbed against soft skin. "What you're doing has nothing whatsoever to do with love, Nick."
"You disappoint me, Cara, I thought you were more adventurous." He kissed her, forcing her mouth open and drilling into her with his tongue.
Cara gagged and tried to wrench her head away.
Yanking her free arm from between them, she dug her nails into his skin.
He jerked back, a queer smile lighting his face, a trail of blood along his cheek.
She sucked in a ragged breath, realizing she'd played right into his hands. The man got off on pain.
"So the lady likes it rough." He jammed the gun upward, digging into her tender flesh. "Do you realize, darling, that if I were to pull the trigger now, you would be shattered inside and out?" He waited, watching her, wanting a reaction.
She bit her lip and met his gaze full on, trying to keep her emotions in check. She'd be damned if she'd add to his pleasure.
He frowned and moved the gun muzzle up to the tender skin under her chin.
"But then, we don't want things to go too quickly, do we?
After all we're still waiting for your man of the hour.
" He pushed the pistol into her neck, pressing it against her larynx.
Then he slid around so that he was behind her, her body pressed against him, her arm trapped between them.
"Let her go, Vargas."
"Ah, Macpherson, right on time," Nick jeered. "I've been expecting you."
"I said to let her go."
Cara had never seen Michael look so angry. He held the rifle pointed at them, his stance stiff and unyielding. His eyes were narrowed into thin slits of cobalt, and if the old adage that looks could kill was true, then Nick Vargas was a dead man.
The gun bit into her throat. "I hardly think you have the upper hand here, Macpherson. If you don't want to see Cara's brains splattered about this charming living room, I suggest you drop the Rambo imitation and the gun."
Cara wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Michael didn't even know who Rambo was. She heard the click of the safety being removed and held her breath.
Michael dropped the rifle, but kept his tense stance, looking a lot like a snake about to strike. "All right, I've dropped it, now let her go."
"Well, now, that would be a mistake, wouldn't it? Just the edge you need." Nick's voice was even and pleasant as if they were attending a dinner party together. "Kick it over here."
Michael kicked the rifle and it spun away to the left.
Nick watched the rifle slide across the wooden floor. "Not very good at following orders, but it will have to do. I know who you are, Macpherson."
Cara sucked in a breath and watched as Michael stiffened. How could Nick possibly know?
"Did you think I wouldn't recognize the name? I had your family thoroughly investigated, but obviously the buffoon missed a branch. According to him, the only Macphersons left are in some godforsaken lake valley in Scotland."
"Crannog Mhór."
"Whatever." Nick waved the gun. "The point is I have no intention of sharing my find with you."
"Find?" The words popped out before Cara could stop herself.
Nick slammed the gun back into place at her neck. "Why yes, Cara, treasure beyond my wildest dreams."
"What treasure?" Michael spat the words out.
"Remember, Mr. Macpherson, curiosity killed the cat ." Nick's eyes narrowed, his voice malevolent. "But then I suppose there's no harm in the telling. Dead cat's tell no tales after all." He tightened his hold on Cara, his breath hot against her temple.
"It all began with the fact that little boys are great listeners. And doddering old men love to talk. One in particular." Nick sneered. "My grandfather. He spent his days in the bar. And I spent my days at his feet. Listening .
"It seems his father, a cowboy named Amos, was obsessed with finding the silver from a lost mine.
A fortune in silver to hear him tell it.
Anyway, my grandfather inherited the obsession.
Sadly, he died before he could find it." His voice held no remorse.
"So the quest passed to me, along with his worldly goods.
And until recently I was cursed with his bad luck.
." Nick sighed. "you see, there's been the little problem of finding the mine. "
"The Promise."
"A star for the boy toy."
Michael frowned. "That's why you wanted Cara's paintings."
"They were really just insurance." Nick relaxed his hold and Cara tried to struggle free. "Do hold still, darling." He twisted his hand, turning her wrist until she thought it would snap. An involuntary moan slipped between her clenched teeth. Michael's look turned murderous.
"Insurance against what?" Michael growled.