The Union (29 page)

Another mystery solved,
Dietz thought. So McBride had seen him and warned McCullough.
 

"We've got our spy," Dietz played along. What did McBride have in mind? Why didn't he shout out Dietz's identity? Sweat trickled down the back of Dietz's neck, from the hot sun, and the cold anticipation of a flight for life.

"I'll say we have." McBride's smile oozed wickedness. "I guess I'll be seeing you at the hanging." McBride tipped his hat and clucked to his horse as he prepared to cross the bridge into town. As he passed Dietz, he leaned over to whisper to him. "Saw your wife in Wallace. Pretty little piece of baggage. She told me you were McCullough. Reckon she'll be a highly sought after widow." He winked and sauntered on by.

Dietz watched him go. A public execution, so that's what McBride was thinking of. Wait for the men to get all worked up and drunk and then entertain them with a hanging. The arrogant— McBride held so much confidence he didn't even worry about Dietz escaping.

Thank goodness Keely was safely on her way to Spokane. By the time she found out who Dietz was, he'd be long gone. Damn, a wave of guilt consumed him. She would be ruined here in the Valley. Would the people believe that she was the innocent she was, or would they condemn her with him? What would become of her? She would hate him once she found out. He supposed he deserved it, but he didn't know how he would live with the knowledge.

A vision of him swinging at the end of a rope came to mind. They would make him suffer first, that much he knew. And later, mutilate him. He had no intention of letting that happen. He would go down fighting, taking with him as many men as he could. He looked up the hill toward the Gem Mine. He had to find a way to get reinforcements to help Patterson.

Lunn walked away from the boardinghouse seething. He didn't care what that bastard McBride had said or planned. Poynton had given him orders to capture and kill that spy McCullough. He meant to kill him. But it had to be done privately, where Keely would neither see it nor suspect his involvement in it.

He kept picturing her face just after he'd told her—crushed, dazed. He hated that detective for what he'd done, and he would make him pay. Then Keely would be his, forever.

He turned to look back one last time at Keely's doorstep. She'd called him a liar. She'd stomped and shouted and cried and ordered him away. But why shoot the messenger? If only Poynton had done the work instead, but he thought it would be easier coming from someone she knew. Well, Keely wallowed in shock right now, but when she calmed down and realized the truth, she would be eternally grateful to him and run to him for protection. With him at her side, no one would dare harm her or accuse her of any involvement in the detective's duplicity. For himself, Lunn had witnessed her shock firsthand. Genuine shock.
 

For now he had to find the detective. If all had gone as Poynton commanded, the fake McCullough wouldn't know he had been found out. Sooner or later he'd be back in town, drinking and carrying on and when he did—

Keely stumbled to McCullough's room upstairs, tripping on her skirts, her vision blurred by tears. She'd called Lunn a liar because she had to lash out somehow. But Lunn could not be so vicious. He had to be mistaken—he had to be! But even as she tried to convince herself, fear gnawed at her. He could be right. It explained so much.

She reached the door to McCullough's room and flung it open. She staggered in and went directly to the bed and pulled McCullough's saddlebags from beneath it. Her hand trembled as she traced the engraved
Mc
adorning them.
 

Please, let Lunn be wrong.
 

The initials calmed her, gave her hope. How could an imposter become McCullough so completely without planning it? Could someone have had time?

Still on her knees by the bed, she opened the bag, feeling like Pandora, wanting to know, and not. Wanting the world to be like it had been and being afraid the contents of those bags would forever alter it.
 

She dumped the contents onto the floor. Her letters to McCullough—good. Articles of clothing—nothing unusual. A packet of documents. She untied them and slowly leafed through them, her heart pounding louder with each beat.
 

McCabe. Who's McCabe?
 

Letters of introduction, personal papers, all made out to McCabe. A leather wallet, money inside, and a return address for Collin McCabe. A photograph.

She picked up the photograph of a group of men, squinting as she tried to recognize any of them and having no luck. She turned it over. Scribbling on the back identified the men pictured. Ian McCullough. She began trembling, quaking with every part of her being. Then she knew. The man in the picture identified as McCullough was
not
her husband. Lunn had not lied, had not been mistaken.

Her breath came fast and furious, so fast she felt as though she could not breathe.
 

Dietz calmly dismissed his men to join in the merriment and crossed the bridge to the mine side of the creek. He couldn't be certain who knew he was a private detective, and who didn't, but given a strong enough bravado, he could bluff his way into the woods. Given any luck, he could sneak to the mine and relative safety from there.

He'd just crossed to the edge of the forest when someone hailed him. "McCullough, what are you doing out here alone?" The man, Roberts, was one of his union drinking buddies.

"Patrolling for scabs." Dietz smiled. "Wouldn't want any of them to sneak away."

"Sure enough not!" The man guffawed. "But I thought you'd be heading back to town."

"Why's that?" Dietz tried to sound amused and lighthearted.

"Just saw Lunn Gaffney escorting your wife back into town and she looked mighty upset. She was a yelling and a screaming at him something fierce. Crying, too."

Dietz's heart plummeted into his stomach. Keely was back. His surprise must have shown. Roberts mumbled something about being sorry and backed away. What did Roberts think, that he'd just revealed an affair between them to Dietz?

Keely was back, how? Why? And Gaffney had been with her? Dietz glanced up toward the mine and freedom and back toward town. The Dietz of old wouldn't have given a damn about anyone but himself and the mission. But the man he was now couldn't leave Keely to the union dogs.

Keely wasn't in her bedroom. Dietz ran back through the kitchen and mounted the stairs two at a time. Where was she? They had to get out before the word of his identity spread. The door to his room stood half open. The boardinghouse stood eerily quiet, only the raucous sounds of the party in the street split the silence. Dietz forced himself to the doorway. When he pushed it open it swung silently forward.

She sat on the floor in a puddle of skirts, head bent, back to him, clutching his saddlebags to her chest, the contents spilled around her. She knew. For an eternal instant he stood there. How could he face her hurt, her hate? It took all his effort of will to speak. "Keely."

She straightened her shoulders and turned to face him. Tears streaked her cheeks. What had he done? What a cocky, arrogant son of a bitch he'd been playing with her heart like that, thinking he could get away with it. Nothing he'd ever done had knotted such guilt, such self-loathing. And nothing, not even his mother sending him away, abandoning him, had left such a void in his soul.

"Who are you?" She spoke softly, enunciating each word distinctly. Round-eyed with shock and betrayal, she looked hollow.

Dietz stepped toward her. "There's no time to explain now. I don't know how many of them know who I am, but enough to put me in danger, and you, because of your association with me. We have to be—"

"McCabe?" She traced the inscription on his saddlebag.

The name caught him off guard. He'd used the alias so long ago. "Dietz. John Dietz." He took another step and extended his hand to help her up.

She shrunk back from him. "No." She shook her head. "Whoever you are, I don't know you. Leave me alone. Save yourself if you can."

Damn her! He grabbed her, pulled her to her feet, and shook her. "I'm not leaving you, do you understand? I can't leave you to them. I don't know what they'll think of you, what they'll do to you."

Inches separated their faces. A spark leapt into her eyes as she suddenly wrenched herself away from him. "Damn you! What do you care? You've ruined me, taken everything I had. What does it matter what happens now?"

"Keely—"

"What was this to you, a game?" Her breath came in hard gasps as she spoke.
 

He had to find some way to calm her, but he had no time. He lunged for her and pulled her into his embrace.
 

"I hate you. I'll always hate you."

"Twist the knife, Keely. Go ahead. You might not understand what I did, but believe me I had good reason. Someday I'll explain—"

"You'll never be able to explain killing McCullough."

Her words hit him so directly he nearly let go of her. Angry at his own reaction and vulnerability, he cinched his arms tighter around her. "McCullough was a class one bastard. You don't believe me, read through the papers under the mattress, the letters he received here in Idaho.

"He tried to shoot me in the back. I returned fire in self-defense. As for you, McCullough meant to use you like a common whore and leave you when he tired of the sport. He was nothing but—"

"And you haven't?"

"Ah, shit." He swallowed hard. "I never
meant
to take his identity. I seized an opportunity. I saved you." No use explaining further. She'd never believe him.
 

He dragged her toward the door. She kicked and screamed and spit, but he pulled her from the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. How was he going to get her out of town with her fighting him?

"Listen to me, Keely. I never meant for you to find out. I planned to disappear for good and leave you your good name and reputation and a fat purse of money to live on. But, damn it all, you came back. If you'd stayed on the blasted train like I told you to—"

She stopped struggling. "Let. Me. Go."
 

He needed to gain her confidence so he released her.

"Let me take you to Spokane. I'll give you enough money to start over somewhere."

"Blast you, McCullough—" She caught her mistake and corrected it quickly. "John Dietz. I don't
want
to start over. I want my life back."
 

What could he do? What could he say? She asked for something he had no ability to give.

A man crossed in front of the window on the boardwalk outside. The door swung open. Dietz cursed. He'd let the woman distract him from business again. Lunn Gaffney stood in the doorway wearing surprise plainly on his face.

Before Gaffney had a chance to react, Dietz drew his Colt and grabbed Keely, holding her hostage in front of him as he formed a plan. Maybe there was a way to escape
and
give Keely what she wanted.
 

He pointed the Colt into Keely's ribs. "Drop your weapon, Gaffney."

Keely squared her shoulders and thrust her head high. "He's bluffing, Lunn. He can't hurt me any more than he already has."

Damn the woman. She knew how to cut him.
 

A crowd formed behind Gaffney. Gaffney wavered.

"I'll do what it takes to survive. Go ahead and test me." Dietz pulled Keely toward the hall and the back door. "Drop the gun. Slide it over to me."

Gaffney dropped his gun. "We'll get you, traitor. And if you hurt her, I'll make sure you suffer before we kill you."

Dietz laughed. "Hollow promises." He squatted, picked up the gun, straightened, and took another step back. "Call off the union boys behind you."

Gaffney motioned them back.

"Here's the deal, Gaffney. I'm going to leave by the back door, taking Keely with me as a shield. Then I'm going to make my escape in the woods out back. You play nice and stay put, I'll leave her cozy and safe up the hill in the trees out back."

"I'm giving you less than five minutes. Then I'm coming after you." Gaffney squinted angrily at him.

"Better make it fifteen." Dietz dragged Keely down the hall to the back door, feeling every beat of her heart as it pulsed against his arm where he held her. He paused at the door. The back of the boardinghouse stretched wide and empty, but anyone could be hiding around the corner ready to ambush. He had to take the chance. He pulled Keely backward toward the hill and the cover of trees and underbrush. He'd reached the edge when Gaffney burst through the back door of the boardinghouse with a contingency of men backing him up.

"Drop her!" Gaffney trained the sights of a Winchester rifle on Dietz just above Keely's head too close for Dietz's comfort.
 

Dietz made a split decision. "I'm giving you your life back, lass."
 

He released Keely, pushing her forward down the hill, below Gaffney's line of fire.
 

She screamed as Dietz turned and ran for the woods as a shot cracked over his head.