For hurting them both.
“Sierra’s spine is just fine,” I say. “Tell me, Declan, do we have a deal or not?”
After a long pause, Declan grinds out, “You come alone.”
“One man for backup,” I snarl. “You can’t expect me to come either alone or unarmed. I’m sure you’ll have me plenty outnumbered anyway, but humor me. No guns.”
“Whatever. One damn man,” he spits. “Midnight tonight. The ghost town. You come by the southern road from the ranch. Whistle three times when you pass the forked tree with the lightning cut split out of it, or you’ll get shot. Understood?”
“Understood,” I echo back.
Then hang up before he can answer.
I’ve reached my limit.
One more word and I’d have lost my shit and ruined the whole thing.
As it is, I’ve only bought less than twelve hours until midnight.
That’ll have to be enough time to stall him and turn my bluff into a rescue mission.
I’m already pulling up Blake’s number as I race for the door, Sierra’s voice trailing after me.
“Where are you going? What’s happening?”
“Stay here,” I throw back over my shoulder, flinging the door open and launching myself out into the sun. “Stay safe. I’m calling backup. We’re gonna bring Libby home.”
* * *
I know how to get Declan to believe me.
Just long enough to get him right where I want him.
Sure, there was treasure out in Ursa.
I’ve got it.
I’ve also got the proof.
And I stop by the house for a minute, racing inside. It’s so empty it reminds me of sleeping alone in Libby’s bed last night, never realizing all that time she was in that bastard’s hands.
Helpless.
Needing me.
And I wasn’t there.
That’s gonna change real fast.
I dash through Mark’s old journals, his keepsakes, gathering what I need.
The journal with all those numbers written on the inside back cover, for one.
Proof that there’s something valuable in Ursa.
Proof it’s worth millions, even if I still have trouble believing anyone in their right mind would pay that much for any old rock, even if it’s from Mars.
Doesn’t matter.
I need enough to distract Declan.
Tucking the journal under my arm, I move—and then, on a whim, I grab that little box with the red rock itself and take it with me, too.
Before I check my Colt, I make sure I’ve got rounds in the chamber.
Then I head out to saddle up and call in the cavalry.
I’m coming, Libby.
I’m coming for you.
Just hold on a little longer, honey.
23
Hold Your Horses (Libby)
Everyone knows I’ve got a bit of a violent streak.
It’s been refined down to an art by the grit it took defending my home from pricks like Declan Eckhard. Anyone who’d dare take the life I’ve built away.
But that violent streak is nothing compared to the sheer volcanic rage bubbling inside me now.
I swear, if I wasn’t tied to a rickety old chair with splinters biting into my ass and a bent, rusty nail head threatening to give me tetanus, I think I’d have launched myself straight at Declan by now and torn his throat out with my teeth.
If there was ever any doubt about the kind of man he is, he’s more than killed it over the last twelve hours.
Last night, he got me to lower my gun because even if I’m mad as hell at Sierra, she’s still my sister. I can’t let him hurt her.
So he clubbed me over the head with his pistol.
Knocked me out cold.
He dragged me here to Ursa, where I got woken up by a nice right hook to the cheek, only to find myself tied to this chair with my head throbbing fit to kill.
We’ve been yelling at each other for hours since then.
He wants me to be afraid of him?
Fuck that.
He wants something.
Even after hours of knocking me around, I haven’t given him anything but lip.
Every single verbal middle finger I can manage since he’s got my hands bound pretty tight in a mess of ropes.
I guess he finally got sick of my mouth, though.
Since afternoon, he’s given up talking, and he’s gone digging.
He and his goons brought a bunch of equipment up here. Looks like it might’ve been stolen from one of Holt’s sites. They’ve been going at it in the graveyard ever since.
I’m left alone inside the church between interrogations.
I can barely see them through the cracked, dusty glass still left in one of the windows. They’re working by floodlights now that it’s dusk.
The graveyard’s a total mess.
Markers tossed over, bits of bone gleaming in the white light.
All they’re finding are long-dead bodies.
I wish this town was cursed, and all of those people would take revenge for desecrating their graves.
At least I can take comfort that it’s not going well for them.
Declan’s getting madder by the second, losing his cool, screaming at his people all red-faced with his neck a bulge of tendons.
The guys aren’t taking it well.