At the Rainbow's End (41 page)

“I'll tell you where she'll be before another hour passes. Look!” He gestured at the fire outlining the horizon. “She'll be dead! And she can join you in Hell!”

“Will be?” Joel took a half step forward. “She's alive? What did you do—?”

Exulting in his victory, Kevin laughed triumphantly. “One of them is dead already. But Samantha couldn't be killed so quickly. Her crime was greater than lovely Leslie's. Now you'll meet her in Hell!”

Joel leapt from the bank. Kevin fired, but again the bullet missed. He aimed again, but Joel struck him, sending the gun hurling into the darkness. A soft splash told of an open lead not far from them. The pistol had sunk into it.

Fire as wild and bright as Dawson's blazed in Joel's eyes. Grabbing two handfuls of Kevin's coat, he demanded. “Where is she?”

“Find her yourself,” he sneered. “If you can. You'll be too late. The fire was close when I left.”

“The Aurora!” Joel shoved him away to turn to the shore.

“You're wrong. Look for her there, and you may waste your last chance to find her.”

Fury erased every thought in Joel's head. He swung his fist into his ex-partner's face. When Kevin did not fall, he struck with the other. A vicious sneer twisted his lips as he hit Kevin in the middle.

As the man bent over in pain, Joel ran toward the shore. He could not make Kevin pay as he wished. He had to get to the Aurora before the fire.

Something hit him in the middle of the back as he was scrambling up the bank. He gasped as his breath exploded out of him. Collapsing, he fell to the ice, groaning.

He was rolled onto his back, barely able to discern the shape of the madman lifting whatever he had struck him with. Instinct alone moved him. He raised his legs and kicked hard at Kevin's stomach, propelling him across the ice. He heard a sound in the dark, then a panicstricken cry. He struggled onto his stomach. Retching, he tried to rise and fell again.

“Kevin?” he called.

No answer came. His head snapped up. Although his ex-partner had bested him, he knew Kevin would not leave now until he had killed him. Crawling forward, his hand slipped into freezing water, racing between chunks of ice. Swearing, he quivered with the cold. Knowing it was hopeless, he shouted, “Kevin? Kevin?”

Again, no answer. He looked out over the open expanse of ice. From the way his hand had been sucked beneath it by the current, he knew what had happened to his partner. In the darkness, there was no hope of rescue.

Forcing himself to his feet, he reeled toward shore. Through eyes which could barely focus, he watched out for the treacherous leads. One could open at any time and suck him into the swirling currents, to share Kevin's horrid death.

He must not die. He had to reach the Aurora. If he did not, Sam would suffer for her crime of loving him.

Samantha woke to pain, fiercely trying to catch her breath. An ache ripped across her forehead, but most of the pain centered at the back of her head. She blinked, causing more agony, and a moan slipped from her lips. At this, she found full consciousness.

She was bound painfully to the footboard of the bed in the room where Kevin had brought her. Sickness welled in her as she recalled the corpse beneath the bed. What Leslie must have suffered!

Trembling, she quickly appraised her situation. Not only were her arms bound to the iron railings, but her ankles had been wrapped with more twine. A thick cloth tasted horrible in her mouth, keeping her from making any noise louder than a faint groan.

Furious, she tested the ropes. It was useless. Too many tied her too tightly. As she struggled, they felt like fire burning her arms.

Fire!

Terrified, she looked toward the window. The red glow seemed more virulent than before … whenever before was. She had lost track of all time. The smoke which hung heavy in the room warned her that the conflagration was not far from the Aurora.

Kevin had left her here to die. He intended, she was sure, that no one else would have her love. In his desperation to be foremost in the heart of one woman, he wanted to destroy her life. As he had his mother's. As he had Leslie's. As he would Joel's. Another moan drifted from her lips.

She began to cough in the thickening smoke. Gagging, she wanted to scream. She had to escape before the flames reached her! She scraped the ropes as much as they would move, on the bed spindles. It was futile, but she could not wait here to die without trying to escape.

Tears coursing along her face might have been from the smoke. They might have been from her sorrow at the thought of never seeing Joel again, and how he would mourn her. Whatever caused them, she ignored their wetness. She concentrated on breaking free. She must—before the fire reached her.

She must!

Choking, she struggled. She struggled until the clouds of smoke smothered her in their black, hot softness.

“Stop, French!”

The Mountie ignored the imperious words. “Stop! Now!”

He turned from his captain to snap, “Gilchrist, I told you before to stay out of the way while I am working. Captain Starnes is planning to blow the Aurora, to stop the fire.”

“The Aurora? No!” Joel's clothes creaked with the cold as he grasped the constable's arm. Teeth chattering from his near narrow escape from the freezing waters, he forced the man to listen to him. “Don't let them blow it yet!”

“Look, if we don't do something soon, we'll lose Dawson totally.”

“She … she is—is in th-there.” He forced his exhausted body to grant him the breath to form the words.

“She?” Eyes as gray as the smoke around them widened in horror. “Samantha? You are sure?”

He nodded. “Hou-Houseman told me. Leslie Morgain's room. Don't let them blow it until we get her out!”

Nodding, Palmer ran to where his captain was setting to give the order which might be their last attempt to save the city. Quickly he shouted what Gilchrist had told him. Captain Starnes regarded him as if he was mad. A motion near the flames caught the commander's eye, and he burst into a series of imaginative curses.

“There goes Gilchrist! Damn him! French, this is your fault! Go get that jackass. You have two minutes to get him and your own useless hide out of that building. It'll take two minutes to finish the work here. When the boys are done, the Aurora is going sky high. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Get the hell out of here. You're wasting time!”

French raced toward the now empty porch of the Aurora. He paused for a moment in the foyer. Overhead, he heard the pounding of footsteps. Leslie Morgain was the dance hall girl Gilchrist had mentioned. He knew which was her room.

Taking the stairs three at a time, he emerged into the smoke shrouded hallway. The crackling sound of the fire told him it already had reached some of the rooms. He tried not to think this foolish attempt might be too late.

“Gilchrist!” he called.

“Down here.”

It took him only a few seconds, to find the man. Taking his sleeve, he urged, “Come with me. They're going to blow this place in about a minute and a half.”

“No! I've got to get Sam.”

“Gilchrist, I know where she is.”

Joel demanded, “Then why are we standing here? Go!”

Neither man was surprised to find the door locked. In unison, without speaking, they rushed it, pounding their shoulders against the thin board. It shivered once, then splintered. Smoke puffed out in thick billows.

Joel pushed past the choking constable. Smoke burned his eyes. Waving his arms like a crazed windmill, he fought his way into the room. Tears blinded him, but he moved toward the opposite wall. At least only the deadly smoke had invaded this small chamber.

“Sam? Sam, are you here?”

No answer came to ease the fear exploding in him. Kevin might have lied. Even at the end, he might have lied.

“Sam?” he shouted desperately.

Samantha lifted her head at the sounds coming through the reddened smoke. Gagged, throat so dry she could make no sound, she had heard their footsteps pass her door. She had been sure she would die here alone. Now she feared Joel would fall prey to the smoke as well.

Unable to make a sound, she watched him grope across the room. Pain ripped through her when he stepped toward the window. If he could not find her, he might continue on to another room, to search fruitlessly. Kevin's revenge would be total. He must not give up!

Joel grabbed the first heavy thing his fingers closed around, a lamp, and flung it with all his strength through the glass. Throwing his hands over his head, he swung around to determine if he could see anything when the smoke briefly lessened. When the swirls did not ebb enough, he swore loudly.

Battling the surges of gray, searching for any sign of her, he found the bed when his foot struck something on the floor. His hands slid along the footboard until he located a form crumpled in the center.

He forced his eyes to focus through the burning smoke. In a voice choked by more than the black cloud, he whispered, “Sam!” Coughing wildly, he felt the lace of her chemise. He warned himself this was not the time to think of what Kevin might have done to her. He had to save her.

Feeling her face with hands still cold from his near dunking in the Yukon, he found the horrid gag. His hands shook as he untied it. Tears fell from her eyes as he pulled out the cloth.

“Oh, Sam,” he said, his voice breaking with sympathy. Then he heard the fire roaring toward them. “C'mon! We have to get out of this hell.”

“I can't! He tied me to the bed.”

Running his hand along her arms, he felt the ropes. Rage seared him, then he realized how futile this fury was. Kevin was dead. He had to get Sam out of the Aurora before the dynamite around the doomed building was detonated.

“A knife, French!” He shouted over the sounds of the fire and the noise from the street. “Do you have one?”

“Did you find her?” French gasped from the scorching hot hall.

“Yes!”

“Then let's go. The captain is going to give the command to blow this any second now.”

Joel leapt to where the man stood and grabbed his arm. Desperately he ordered, “Your knife. The bastard tied her to the bed, knowing the hotel would burn.”

When the blade was placed in his hand, he whirled to find the bed, coughing from the dense, acrid smoke. Sharpened recently, the knife began to cut through the ropes, swift as the fire ate through the wood of the surrounding buildings.

“Run ahead, French,” he croaked with the remnants of his voice. “Tell them we are coming. Get them to delay until we are out of here. Get us one minute. Two, if you can!”

The Mountie nodded and raced down the hall. If he did not get to his captain and ask for the extra time, all of them would die.

Hearing rapid steps fading in the distance, Joel ran back and bent to concentrate on his task. He could barely breathe in the deep churning smoke, now. His motions were hampered by the need to keep wiping his eyes blinking too rapidly.

“Hurry!” Samantha choked on the single word. Her lungs felt scorched. Breathing was becoming impossible.

He nodded, not wanting to waste precious air, silently cursing Kevin. The madman had secured her too well to the bed. Layer after layer of rope bound her arms from wrist to elbow to the iron spindles.

“Hurry!”

“Relax your arms, honey—don't want to slice you.”

“But—the fire!” she rasped, choking. “It's getting closer!”

He ignored her, continuing to saw on the ropes. He would not abandon her now … that thought vanished when he nicked the edge of the knife on the spindles again. Each time that happened, it dulled the blade. A crash sounded somewhere outside. He cringed, but not from the detonation of the dynamite.

“Go!” she gasped. “Don't die, Joel. Please!”

When the last rope fell away, he tossed the knife on the floor.

Scooping her into his arms, he noted how little she wore. He dropped her on the bed and pulled the wool cover over her. Embers fell everywhere. Without her blouse and skirt, she could be burned easily.

“Joel, Leslie—”

“What about her?” He lifted her, hoping he could find his way out of the smoke-clogged building, praying it would not blow.

“She's here.”

“Dead?”

“Yes.”

“It's too late for her. Let's hope it's not too late for us!” They could not stop to worry about her.

With her in his arms again, he raced along the path French had taken, as rapidly as he could. After his battle on the river, he had little stamina left, but he marshalled all his remaining strength and staggered toward the stairs. Sam cradled her head against his shoulder, her arms tight around his neck. Feeling each step before seeking the next. He knew he was going too slowly. The rumble of the fire sounded a death knell directly behind them, right on their heels. If he went any faster, he risked falling and losing all chance for escape.

Hands reached into the smoke to steer him and his beloved burden toward the door. He thought he heard encouraging shouts over the roar of the blazing monster so anxious to swallow them. Behind him he heard a thundering crash as timbers succumbed to the force of the fire.

Cold slapped him, releasing him from tentacles of smoke, and he coughed up some ash from his lungs. Again the bodiless hands urged him forward with Samantha. He moved, numb and dazed, until someone murmured, “This should be far enough.”

A crash rocked the frozen ground behind them. Unearthly noise swelled around them. He whirled drunkenly to see the debrís of the Aurora and the neighboring store settling to the earth.

In his arms, Samantha moaned softly. He had not reacted to her scream, barely heard through the shouts and the echoes of the explosion. When she asked, “What happened?” he remembered she did not know about the dynamite.

Before he could answer, Constable French rushed up. “Is she—?” he asked.