Slocum and the High-Rails Heiress by Jake Logan

Author:Jake Logan [Logan, Jake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101561225
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2012-03-27T04:00:00+00:00

10

Long seconds passed. The door was thick steel sandwiching wood, and the locking mechanism was a three-bar sliding deadbolt that rammed into the doorjamb in three equally spaced points inside on the doorjamb. Finally, he heard the muffled voice of Miss Augusta Barr. “Mr. Slocum?”

“Miss Barr!” He pressed his face close to the door. “You okay?”

A pause, then, “Yes.”

“You and Ling are in there, and you’re safe? No one’s tried to get in?”

Another pause, then, “We’re fine, Slocum.”

He tensed. She had called him “Slocum.” He had only known her a short time, though in that time, she had been nothing but ladylike and formal, and had always preceded his name with “Mr.” Did she not trust that he was who he said he was, or was someone in there with her, forcing her to say these things? Seemed likely.

“Miss Barr, there’s been a shooting. I have to go find the porter, attend to these matters. I’ll be back when I can.” He straightened, his head still inclined toward the door, but he heard nothing. He leaned back down.

“Sit tight. And tell Ling not to overdo it. He opens up that wound, why, there’s no telling if he’ll survive.”

It was a feeble attempt, he knew, but maybe she understood that he was telling her to tell Ling to lay low, bide his time, then attack. If whoever was in there with her thought Ling was worse off than he was, they might underestimate him.

Fighting down a welling anger, Slocum bolted from the doorway, back toward the way he’d just come. It was the only thing he could think of, but he had to try to find that veiled woman, the other red-haired giant, or the key. If he found the key, chances were the veiled woman was indeed just some bizarre widow out for a bit of fun, no questions asked—or certainly none answered.

But if he couldn’t find it, and he was laying his money on that probability, then she was in it deep, along with the remaining Red Giant. All the way through the same damned cars, he got more looks than usual. He was starting to think he’d walked up and down these aisles more than the damn porter.

He made it all the way back to the cargo car in which he’d shot the man without seeing a porter, nor hide nor hair of a red-haired man, or the veiled woman. He realized she could have ditched the veil and he’d never known who she was. She could be in the lavatory, could be hidden in a berth.

On the face of it, a train seemed such a simple thing—a line of cars that offered few options in the way of hiding. And yet, he couldn’t seem to find much of anything on this damn train. The train still wasn’t moving at too impressive a clip, but it was a damn sight faster than a man could run, and considering it had recently been mired in snow, he guessed that any rate of speed in winter was a decent one.

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