"I
don't have a gun," Mr. Wick's retorted. "You shot it out of my hand."
The third outlaw, still on horseback a few yards away laughed. "Good shooting, Junior. But don't ever trust a man who says he's not armed. He might have another pistol or derringer hidden somewhere. Search him."
Junior. Did that mean the man sitting astride the ebony stallion was the outlaw's father? Or was it just a nickname?
Isabella studied the three outlaws. All of them had eyes the same shade of golden brown. The one they called Trey was a little shorter and slimmer than Junior, but it was quite possible they were all related.
The man on horseback, too, wore a bandanna across his face. A dark brown Stetson covered his head.
"You will not—" Mr. Wick protested.
"Would you rather I just assume you're lying and put a bullet between your eyes?" the man she'd decided to name Brown Hat asked from his seat in the saddle.
Mr. Wick opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Brown Hat laughed. "I didn't think so. Go ahead, Junior."
As Isabella watched, the man called Junior closed the gap between him and Mr. Wick, then proceeded to run his hands over him, searching for a concealed weapon. A moment later, he paused, his hand near Mr. Wick's ankle. "What have we here?" he asked.
With the outlaw's broad back blocking her view, she couldn't see what he'd found until he straightened. A small derringer dangled from his index finger.
"You're a very lucky man today," the outlaw said. "Lucky that I don't use this to put a hole right through you for lying to me."
Mr. Wick gulped, the color draining from his face.
The outlaw tucked the gun into his waistband. "Any other weapons I missed?"
"No …"
"Okay, good."
"Get the money and the jewelry," Brown Hat ordered, tossing a burlap sack to Junior. "Put everything in there."
Junior plucked the sack out of the air. He turned to Mr. Wick. "And don't forget the diamond money clip in your pocket."
She slid a glance at Mr. Wick as he obeyed the outlaw's instructions. Quickly, he slid an emerald ring off his pinky finger and tossed it into the sack, then took a money clip holding a wad of bills out of his pocket and added it to the sack..
Isabella squinted at the faded printing on the sack. It might be a clue that would help the sheriff when he formed a posse to track the outlaws and bring them to justice. Assuming she survived, of course.
Junior snatched the sack from Mr. Wick's hand and handed it Brown Hat. "You know what to do."
Brown Hat nodded, but kept his gaze on Mr. Wick and the stagecoach driver.
"Good," Junior said. "Bella and I will meet you later."
Isabella gasped. Bella? No one had called her by that name since she was a child. How did he know that? Was the masked man – Junior – someone she knew?
As Brown Hat kept his gun trained on Mr. Wick and the driver, Junior holstered his gun and approached her. Her pulse quickened. He leaned close to her, his breath brushing her cheek as he whispered in her ear. "Don't fight me and you'll be safe."
Safe? Safe from whom? And how could she possibly be safe with a gang of outlaws? Heaven only knew what they intended to do with her. She dared a look at Mr. Wick, his back pressed against the side of the stagecoach, his eyes wide. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Obviously he was in no condition to help her.
And she would die rather than be subjected to … well, she didn't know exactly what they intended, but it couldn't be anything pleasant. Yet, something about this masked man seemed familiar, almost as though he was someone she could trust.
Still, she'd be a fool to surrender. "Don't touch me," she bit out, putting as much bravado into her voice as she could muster.
She could tell he was smiling beneath the mask. "I give you my word. I'm not going to hurt you if you come peacefully, but if I have to drag you …" He didn't finish the threat.