Page 71 of A Dangerous Heart
As she approached Victor’s camp on foot, her fingers began to tingle—whether from the cold early-morning air or the surge of blood through her veins, she couldn’t tell. At one point, she dropped to crawl on her belly to stay out of sight as the sun rose. The brown autumn grasses were chilled and sliced into her palms like tiny knives.
A horse blew from nearby, startling her. She froze until she was certain no one was moving. Victor’s cronies tended to sleep late, thanks to the drink they usually consumed into the night.
She crept around the perimeter of the camp, avoiding the half dozen horses roped near a stand of trees, and crouched behind a flatbed wagon.
A silhouette of a short, stocky man with a potbelly moved near the fire. Shorty Jenkins.
Four canvas tents had been pitched around a large cookfire and an aging chuck wagon. Eli had to be in one of those tents. But which one?
A snore emanated from the tent nearest her. Her heart was pounding in her ears, drowning out any other sound. If Victor’s men were asleep, could she creep through the tents themselves? It would keep her out of sight?—
Suddenly, she was yanked backward, an arm banded around her waist. She felt the tip of a cold blade against the skin on her neck.
“What have we here?” The familiar and despised voice of Tom Crow rasped in her ear. “Clare Barlow, out for a stroll? I don’t think so.”
She felt the sting of the blade tip cutting into her skin beneath her chin. Every muscle in her body tensed. She wanted to reach for the derringer in her skirt pocket but thought better of it. Tom would slit her throat in an instant.
“I need to see Victor. To make a deal.” Clare made her voice strong even though she quaked inside.
“You ain’t in any position to make deals.” His arm cinched tighter, crushing her rib cage.
“I have something he needs,” she gasped. “For that surprise you have waiting under the bridge.”
He hesitated.
“Take me to Victor,” she ordered, acting on her brief upper hand.
She’d hoped to avoid Victor completely. To find Eli and run before anyone knew she’d been there.
Too late for that.
Tom Crow kept her upper arm in a bruising grip as he marched her past the horses. Shorty gave them a narrow-eyed look before opening the back of the chuck wagon, the old hinges sending a grating screech into the morning. Men stirred in their tents.
Victor exited the middle tent, bare-chested, as they neared camp. He walked with a limp. She must’ve hit him. She hadn’t seen him stagger when she’d fired, but…A grim spark of satisfaction flared before dread smothered it. He pulled on his shirt, not paying a lick of attention to them until Tom cleared his throat. Victor scowled when he saw her, eyes lit with deadly anger.
“Where’s Eli?” she asked quickly.
“You check her for weapons?” he demanded of Tom.
“Eli!” she shouted.
Tom backhanded her, the hit wrenching her head and making her see stars. “She ain’t armed.” Tom tossed the derringer on the ground at Victor’s feet.
Clare strained her ears. Had that been a sniffle from one of the nearby tents?
“Where’d ya catch her?”
“I came here of my own accord,” Clare said evenly. “I want to make a deal.”
Shorty snorted as he stepped in and handed Victor a plate of cold beans and hardtack. He was gone a moment later, Tom following.
There was no point in her running. Victor was armed, and the open prairie offered nowhere to hide. Even so, her eyes moved to the horses near the flatbed wagon they’d passed.
Victor stood with plate in hand, scooped some beans into his mouth, and chewed slowly, watching her through slitted eyes. “Tell me what the McGraws are planning,” he ordered as he bent and set his plate aside.
“I don’t know.”
He lunged toward her and slapped her so hard that her head was knocked to one side.
