Wildstar

"You knew all this time. You knew Jessica was mine and you never told me."

"Jessica is not yours." Riley's tone finally took on an edge of fury. "You gave up any right to be her father twenty-two years ago, and nothing you've done since has changed that. She hates everything you stand for. and I don't blame her one bit. I raised her to have principles—something you wouldn't recognize if they jumped up and bit you."

"You took my daughter away," Burke muttered. "You turned her against me—"

"No, you turned her against you. Good God, you nearly killed her! You tried to take over our mine and blew it to hell with her in it."

Devlin knew the exact moment when Burke made the connection between Riley's angry accusations and the events of a few weeks before; the silver king's stunned, angry look turned to horror.

"Dear God . . ." he rasped again, evidently finally real­izing that his machinations had nearly killed his own daughter. He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

Devlin found a kind of grim satisfaction in Burke's dis­may. The bastard should be horrified by what he'd done. Even if he hadn't given the direct order to dynamite the Wildstar, he'd turned his hired guns loose to terrorize Jessica and her father, with dire results. His ruthless greed had almost cost him dearly. That ruthlessness was also re­sponsible for prejudicing Jess so bitterly against wealthy men—the prime cause of Devlin's own recent battles with her. He held Burke to blame for that, as well.

He watched grimly as Riley stood there clenching his fists at the silver baron. "You didn't deserve to know about her," Riley declared. "And I wouldn't have told you now if it hadn't been necessary. Jess is far too good for you. If she wants to acknowledge you, it'll be her deci­sion. She doesn't know about you yet, and you won't be the one to tell her. I will. You'll keep your mouth shut un­til then, and after—"

"If we don't do something soon," Devlin interrupted quietly, "no one will have the chance to tell her. Burke, we don't have much time. We need to get a posse together and go after her. If she finds Purcell first—I don't even want to think of

what might happen. Will you help us or not?"

That seemed to jolt the Englishman. "Yes . . . yes, of course I'll help." He stood up, still looking dazed . . . as if he'd been poleaxed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Have a word with Lockwood."

"Yes . . . certainly." He seemed to gather himself with difficulty. "You'll have your posse in fifteen minutes." It was said with the assurance of a man accustomed to hav­ing an army of sycophants at his command. "I can't be sure where Purcell has gone, but I might have an idea. There is a canyon near Middle Park . . . I've hunted there—with Purcell, in fact. It would be an ideal location for a hideout. I intend to go with you—" He stopped ab­ruptly and looked at Devlin, obviously realizing the choice was not his to make. "Please?"

Devlin was certain it was one of the few times in Burke's entire life that he'd ever pleaded for anything. Devlin gave Riley a glance, leaving the decision to him. Jessica's father nodded, suddenly looking weary.

"Let's go, then," Devlin said grimly.

It was left to Burke to voice what all three men were thinking. "If Purcell dares hurt my daughter . . . I swear I'll rip him apart limb by limb."

Devlin shared the sentiment completely.

Chapter 18

A bullet smashed the rock beside Jess's head, making her flinch. Flattening herself on the ground, she drew a steadying breath. She didn't know how much longer she could hold out. Her ammunition was nearly spent, and her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep.

Squinting against the bright, early-moming sunshine, she carefully aimed her shotgun but held her fire. She had pinned Purcell and some half dozen other men in the crooked canyon below, but the tangle of growth in the gulch—willows and alders and a few big cottonwoods snarled with patches of wild raspberry—provided them too much cover for her shots to be totally effective. And she couldn't afford to waste a single cartridge.

It had been mostly luck that had allowed her to find Purcell before he could get away. Just after daybreak, she'd seen the smoke from a campfire and spied him down below, harnessing a team to a big ore wagon. When she started shooting, he'd gone to ground with his cohorts in an abandoned mine, some fifty yards up the far slope. She could see the tunnel entrance from where she lay.

Her success surprised Jess a bit. She'd expected them to seek safer ground. Certainly, they could have managed to get away if they'd tried hard enough. But they seemed re­luctant to desert the wagon.

The day felt hot already. The sun had burned away the frosty chill of the night and the early-morning mist that had hung over the mountains. Beneath her hat, sweat trickled down her brow—although that could have been caused by tension. Jess wished she could stop for a minute and at least quench her thirst. A clear rushing mountain stream glittered invitingly in the boulder-strewn chasm below, but she couldn't risk leaving her post.

Lifting her gaze, she cast a worried glance above her, trying to judge the time. All around her, lofty granite peaks cloaked in aspens and tall pines stretched upward into a sky of richest blue, where three buzzards swung la­zily overhead. She had chosen her position well, with a mountain on each side that would make it difficult for someone to circle around and ambush her from behind. But time and her ammunition were running out.

Where was Devlin? She'd expected him to be hot on her trail. He had planned to ride after Purcell—at least once he'd gotten her safely home. She could use his support just now, even if last night she'd been bound and determined to prove that she didn't need him.

Darn it, why hadn't Devlin listened to her when she'd pleaded with him to ride after Purcell at once? Why had he felt the need to be so blasted protective of her and for­bid her to go? She could shoot as well as most men, and she could have been a big help to him. Besides, she had her own score to settle with Hank Purcell. After what he'd done to her—both last night's abduction and blowing up the Wildstar—she wanted to see him in jail for a million years. Of course, if she could prove he had robbed the Colorado Central, he might very well hang.

She was almost certain that was his gang down there, and that he'd come to fetch the money he claimed to have stashed away. She would bet her last ten dollars that the ore wagon was filled with stollen silver bullion. Otherwise they would have abandoned it when she'd started shoot­ing.

Jess returned her attention to the sun-splashed canyon below. If Devlin didn't get here soon, she would have to admit defeat, but she wasn't about to draw off until she was down to her last shells. What happened then might be a bit tricky. She would have to get out of there fast if she didn't want them to come after her.

And Purcell would likely get away.

The thought made Jess grit her teeth.