he darkness and the strangeness of the land forced the women to keep to a walk when every instinct demanded that they hurry. If there was to be a moon it had not yet risen, and the hot, unsettling wind sent clouds scudding overhead and blocking out most of the starlight. The horses, sensing the nervousness of their riders, were skittish. It took all of Victoria's skill to keep Sophie under control and at the same time try to pick their way through the darkness. Though they could discern large obstacles well enough, the night obscured those small holes and ruts in the earth that could cause a horse to fall, maybe break a leg or even kill its rider.

Every sound seemed alien, magnified on the night air. Celia stifled a shriek when a hunting owl swooped overhead, then said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," so pitifully that tears stung Victoria's eyes.

She had never before sworn in her life, but she was so enraged at what this had done to Celia that the thought rang in her mind: "Goddamn them, goddamn them all!" She didn't mean it as a blasphemy but as a curse. All of them—McLain, Garnet, all of the gun-men at the ranch who had looked at them as if they were nothing but sides of beef, even Jake, for he had left them to face this on their own—she cursed all of them.

Celia would never be the same again. Her light-hearted innocence was gone and could not be recovered. When she looked at men now it wasn't with childlike faith that they would protect her, it was with full knowledge that there was evil in the world and the very ones she had always thought were her champions were instead those who would harm her.

Celia should have, in a few years, fallen in love with a strong, gentle man, married him, raised a family with him, and died at a very old age having known nothing but devotion from her husband. It was a dream of perfection which Victoria realized few women achieved, but it was the life Celia should have had. It wouldn't happen now. She had seen the ugliness the human spirit was capable of, and it had changed her.

War hadn't touched her, but the bitter, violent atmosphere of the West and Kingdom Valley had.

Sophie stumbled and quickly recovered herself. Victoria leaned forward to pat the satiny neck and murmur encouragement.

"Should we go on or wait until daylight?" Emma asked.

They couldn't have gone far, having been restrained to a walk most of the time, but Victoria felt as if they were a million miles from civilization. She started to say she thought it would be all right to wait until morning when the sharp retort of gunfire rolled through the night air.

It wasn't just one shot. It was a multitude of them, the sharp cracks of pistols, the deeper thunder of rifles, and it went on and on.

They all three looked back in the direction of the ranch, though there was nothing to see.

Emma spoke first. "It sounds like a war."

"It is. The ranch is under attack."

"But who?"

Victoria could barely speak, her throat was so tight "The Major said it was Sarratt."

"It can't be. Why would someone wait twenty years for revenge?" Emma tried to sound soothing, but her own throat was tightening.

"Because the Major waited that long to get married," she answered, and swung Sophie's head around. She was so terribly frightened, but she had to stay in control. If it was Sarratt, would he bother coming after them? He wouldn't even know where they'd gone unless some of the men talked, if anyone was left alive to talk.

The Major had infected her with his maggot of fear; she could no longer convince herself that it was all just in his mind.

"We'll have to keep going," she said. "For as long as we can. The farther we are from the ranch come morning, the safer we'll be."

They didn't hit the ranch like a bunch of cowboys hoorahing a town, riding in fast and loud, shooting up the place. They left their horses back a piece and went in silently, on foot. Since it was going to be close fighting they all tied their handkerchiefs around their left arm for identification, so they wouldn't start shooting each other. It would identify them to McLain's men, too, but that couldn't be helped.

It started when one of the ranch hands stepped around the end of the barn and came face to face with one of the Sarratt men. The ranchhand reached for his gun and the Sarratt man's big Sharps rifle slug took most of the man's chest with it when it exited his back.

Jake and Ben fought their way side by side toward the house. It was hard to tell, but Jake didn't think any shots were being fired at them from inside the house and that gave him hope that the women weren't in immediate danger. His attention was centered on McLain, on finding him and killing him. It had to be; he couldn't afford to worry about Victoria until he'd taken care of McLain.

Someone shot at them with a rifle from the barn loft, the bullet zinging so close to Jake's head that he felt the heat from it and dived to the side. He looked around, saw Luis, and yelled, "Get that bastard in the loft!"

Luis grinned, his white teeth visible in the dark, and started his snaking run toward the barn.

All around them men were dead, wounded, or dying, and still the gunfire split the night from all directions.

"Where's Garnet?" Ben muttered.

"In a hole somewhere. He won't take any risks."

Wendell Wallace rose up from behind the hitching post where he'd been hugging the ground and drew a bead on Jake. Ben fired and Wendell fell back, his finger tightening convulsively on the trigger and firing a shot uselessly into the air.

Jake cautiously approached him, his.44 ready. When he reached Wendell, he saw that the man was breathing laboriously, with a frothing black liquid bubbling out of his chest.

Wendell looked at him and said, "Roper! Jesus Christ, why'd you do that?"

"My last name isn't Roper. It's Sarratt."

Wendell blinked, trying to focus on Jake's face. "Jesus Christ," he said again. "I thought we'd kilt you."

"No, but we've killed you. You're lung-shot, Wendell."

Wendell tried to take a deep breath, and the sound rattled in his throat. "Guess so." His voice was so weak it was almost soundless. "I'll be damned. Reckon I'm gonna die, then."

"Yep."

"Better'n gut-shot, anyways," he said, and his eyes became fixed in death.

Ben looked down at him. "That was Wendell Wallace?"

"Yeah."

"I remember him. He taught me how to whittle. Then he threw in with McLain and tried to kill us."

"Yeah," Jake said again.

They rushed the front door together, entering in a low crouch, hammers cocked and their fingers on the triggers. Nothing happened, no one moved. The lamps still burned serenely.

Ben's face was rigid. It was the first time he'd been inside his home in twenty years. He looked at the tiled floor where his mother had died.

They methodically searched the first floor, and found Carmita, Juana, and Lola huddled together in the kitchen. Carmita gasped when she saw Jake.

He didn't have time for explanations or reassurances. "Where's McLain?"

Carmita's eyes were huge. "I don't know, señor." She swallowed. "He was in the library."

They stood one on each side of the library door, and Jake tried the knob. It was locked. He motioned to Ben, then stepped back, raised his foot, and kicked in the door. Ben went in first, diving through, rolling and coming up, but nothing else in the room moved. It was empty.

"Goddamn it, where is he?" Ben asked, frustrated.

"Like Garnet, looking for a hole." Abruptly Jake looked up and his entire face tightened. What if McLain was upstairs, using the women as cover?

He ran up the stairs with Ben right behind. He took the rooms on the right, Ben checked the ones on the left. They were all empty.

Damn him, what had he done with the women? Certain now that McLain had them, he swore that he would carve the bastard up alive if he'd even so much as bruised Victoria.

"Check the courtyard." It was the last place he could think of for McLain to hide without having to leave the shelter of the house and face the firestorm of bullets outside.

Ben nodded. "I'll go around the house and come in the back gate."

Jake waited in the kitchen to give Ben time to work his way around. The three servants were still crouched on the floor, huddled together for comfort. "What is happening, Señor Jake?" Carmita asked.

"We're taking back our ranch," he replied without looking at her, pistol in his hand as he eased the door open. "My brother and I."

Lola raised her head, her face strained. "Sarratt," she whispered as Jake slipped out the door.

Rectangles of light from the window splashed across the courtyard, illuminating some spots, leaving darker shadows in others. Jake could just make out Ben sliding along the wall, gun in hand.

"Major?" Jake called softly.

Hearing, Ben went motionless.

"Major?"

For a long minute there was no sound and Jake took another silent step around a bench, the very bench where Victoria had sat the day after she had married McLain.

"Roper?"

The whisper came from his right, close to the rain barrel. Every nerve in Jake's body tightened.

"Yeah."

"They said you'd gone."

"I came back."

Slowly McLain stood up from behind the barrel. The light from a window fell across his face, starkly etching the physical signs of his mental deterioration. He giggled. "I told 'im, but he didn't believe me. Sarratt's back, isn't he?"

Jake stared in disgust at the ruin before him. "Yeah, McLain. I'm back."

McLain giggled again. "No, not you. Sarratt. You're back, but so's he."

"I'm Sarratt."

"No, you're Roper. You've got to find him and kill him for me. You've got to—"

Jake moved another step forward, also stepping into the light. It hit him from the side, delineating the sharp planes of his brow, jaw, and cheekbones, making dark pools of his eyes. To McLain's fevered brain his face looked like a skeleton's head, a dead man come back to haunt him.

McLain moaned, shrinking back from him, and the sound swiftly escalated into a shriek. "You're dead!" he screamed. "You came back, but you're still dead. Get away, damn you! I need a lamp! Someone bring me a goddamn lamp!"

Jake felt his guts twist and a bitter taste filled his mouth. The man was a raving lunatic. The moment of revenge he'd waited twenty years for had finally come, the gun was in his hand, but the target was still eluding him, snatched away by madness. He wanted McLain as he had been twenty years before, not this slobbering fool.

Without warning, McLain jerked his hand up, the pistol trembling in his grip. Frozen in bitter disappointment Jake was caught off guard, and even though his pistol was already in his hand he had a split second of recognition that he wasn't going to be in time. Then a shot boomed from behind him, followed closely by another. McLain jerked from the impact of the two bullets, rising almost on tiptoe, the pistol dropping from his hand. He stared at Jake with virulent hatred.

"Die again, you son of a bitch, this time I'll kill you and make certain you stay—" He raised his empty hand, unaware that the pistol no longer filled it, and pantomimed the motion of firing. A look of utmost astonishment crossed his face, then it went blank and he died on his feet. He flopped, rag-doll loose, across the rain barrel.

Jake whirled, his eyes blazing, to confront whoever had snatched away his vengeance, whoever it was who had saved his life.

Juana stood with one of the Major's pistols held at arm's length, both of her hands clasped around the butt. Her face was expressionless as she stared at McLain's body. Then her lips twisted; she spat at the dead man and whispered, "Good."

Ben walked up, and he and Jake stood shoulder to shoulder looking at the dead man. Jake was aware of an absurd sense of regret. It was over, the driving force that had dominated their lives for twenty years, but instead of the wrenching battle he had needed and anticipated, he had faced a man diminished by insanity, and the final act of vengeance had been Juana's. In a way McLain had still won, for even though he lay dead at their feet he had robbed them of satisfaction by being less than he had been.

It left a hard core of bitterness, this unexpected defeat.

There was still gunfire outside the walls, but it was more sporadic now. It reminded Jake that it wasn't finished, not until Garnet's body lay at their feet, too.

And where in the hell was Victoria?

He and Ben stepped back into the house. Juana followed them, her face as blank as a sleepwalker's although silent tears tracked down her face. "Dios," she murmured. "Dios."

From the way she was acting, Jake guessed at what McLain had put Juana through. He figured her need for vengeance might have been as great as his own and tried not to begrudge her. He bent down and lifted Carmita and Lola to their feet, assuring him that they wouldn't be hurt. "Where is the señora?" he asked. "And her sister and cousin?"

Carmita shook her head, looking frightened. "I don't know. They aren't upstairs?"

"No."

Carmita clasped her hands. "Madre de Dios! If they were outside—"

She didn't have to finish the sentence. He turned on his heel and left the house. If they'd been caught outside, stray bullets could easily have hit any or all of them. It had been a firestorm of flying lead.

It was all over now. Those of McLain's men still left alive were coming out of their various hiding places with their hands high and empty. Jake and Ben searched the area, turning bodies over with their boots, kicking pistols away from outstretched hands. There was no sign of Garnet, or of the three women.

A cold sensation was freezing Jake's insides as he looked around at the vast, dark land. Had Garnet taken them? If he had, Jake knew he would never see Victoria alive again, because she wouldn't sit meekly while Garnet raped her sister. She would fight him and he'd put a bullet in her brain without a second thought. Despair congealed in a hard knot in his stomach at the thought.

He turned back to the small group of men huddled together and picked one out. He thumbed back the hammer, knowing everyone heard the small click, and pointed it at the man's head. "You, Shandy. Where's Garnet?"

Sweat began pouring down the man's face, despite the chilly night. "I seen him ride out, Roper. I swear to God I did."

"When?"

"'Bout the time you went in the house. Him and a coupla others."

"Which direction?"

Shandy lifted a shaking hand and pointed east.

"Did he have the women with him?"

By now Shandy was shaking so hard his teeth were clattering together. "No, I swear he didn't."

Jake's finger tightened imperceptibly on the trigger. "I think you're lying to me, Shandy. The women aren't here. Garnet had to take them."

Shandy began wagging his head back and forth. "I swear, I swear," he babbled.

"He ain't lyin', Roper," someone else in the group said quickly. "I seen the women leave before the shootin' ever started. They lit out from the barn, ridin' west, in the opposite direction from Garnet."

Jake turned to Luis. "Get me a lantern." He lowered the hammer back into position, but looked Shandy right in the eye. "If you're lying to me, you won't see sunrise."

He, Ben, and Luis walked to the barn. Sophie was gone, as well as Emma's and Celia's mounts. The men used the lantern to examine the dirt floor of the barn, but too many people had been through it in the last half hour for him to be able to tell anything for certain. They walked outside, where he picked up Sophie's track with ease. He followed it for thirty yards, reading the sign.

"Just three horses," Ben said.

"Carrying light weights," Luis added.

Jake straightened, an incredible rage rushing in to displace despair. "The goddamn little fool, I told her to stay in the house." Now she had taken Emma and Celia out there, when none of them had the slightest idea how to survive or even find their way. Worse, Garnet was out there, too. Though he had headed in the opposite direction, he could have seen the women leave and veered around once he was safely away.

Ben rubbed a weary hand over his face. "We can't track them in the dark, Jake."

"I know." Even if he followed them with a lantern to pick out the tracks, a light would be visible for a long way at night. Not knowing who he was, the women would evade him; meanwhile Garnet could pick out his location. Every muscle in Jake was drawn tight, but there was nothing he could do. They'd have to wait until dawn before starting the search, even though that would give Garnet more time, too.

He was furious and his temper grew worse the longer he thought about it. If she had done what he'd told her, they would be safe right now instead of wandering alone in the wilderness. He only hoped she'd have sense enough to find shelter for the night.

"We've still got a lot of work to do," Ben said, interrupting his dark thoughts. "Like you said, this was only about a third of McLain's men. We might have some fighting still ahead of us, especially if Garnet joins up with them."

Jake grunted. "I don't look for him to do that. Garnet won't fight if he thinks it's anywhere dose to an even match, and we pretty much evened it up tonight. But, yeah, some of the other gunnies might make a stand."

Ben put a hand on Jake's shoulder. "We'll find them tomorrow," he said, but he, too, wondered. A lot could happen to three women alone on the land.

Victoria was forced to call a halt for the night. Though her instincts told her to keep going, Celia was unused to riding very far even at a walk. Long before midnight the girl was in a great deal of pain, though she didn't whine about it. It wasn't until they stopped to relieve themselves that Victoria realized what Celia had been enduring, because she burst into tears as she slid to the ground.

"We'll have to rest," Emma said. "She can't go any farther." She rubbed her own bottom, wincing a little. "I think I'm going to be sore, too."

Victoria looked around trying to find some sort of shelter, but there was still no moon to aid her. All she could see was the black masses where trees grew. Well, at least the trees would shield them. She put her arm around Celia's shoulders. "Can you walk just a little way, up to those trees?" she asked, pointing to the right.

Celia nodded, fighting her tears. "Yes. I'm sorry. I know we should keep riding."

"So we should, but we're all tired and so are the horses. If we don't let them rest, they won't do us any good tomorrow."

They trudged slowly up the rock-scattered hill to the treeline and found a grouping of boulders that blocked off most of the wind. Victoria and Emma unsaddled the horses and gave them water, then tied them where they could graze. When they returned, Celia had arranged their blankets and divided up three small portions of food.

Victoria sank down on a blanket and gratefully accepted the bread and cheese, which she washed down with water. Now that she was sitting she realized how tired she was. Exhaustion washed over her; she barely tasted the food, but didn't dare sleep.

Fighting off the urge to lie down, she rested the rifle across her legs. "I'll watch while you two get some sleep."

Celia stretched out, groaning, and was asleep in only a moment. Emma came over to sit beside Victoria. "Do you really think it was Sarratt?" she asked, keeping her tone low to avoid disturbing Celia. "How could it be after all these years?"

Victoria sighed. "I don't know. It was just that the Major was so sure, and he was so frightened. He sat up nights watching for them, did you know? He didn't sleep. I'd hear him all night long, sitting in there talking to himself, and sometimes he'd come in my room and tell me what they would do to me—"

She broke off and Emma swiftly hugged her. "I know I shouldn't say it, but the Major is mad. You know that, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, I know."

"Then why would you believe anything he said?"

"Because he is mad, not stupid." Victoria stared out at the night. "Because someone shot at me. Because I couldn't think of any other reason—"

"Don't you think the Major has made more enemies than just the Sarratts?" Emma asked with the sweet voice of reason. "It could be anyone."

Victoria couldn't prevent a low chuckle. "Does it really matter? An enemy is an enemy."

"You're right, of course. It doesn't make any difference who shot at you, the intent remains the same."

"How comforting!"

They laughed quietly together for a minute, then Emma sobered. "How long do you think it will take us to get to Santa Fe?"

"I don't know. Surely we can travel faster than before, when we rode in the wagon."

"Unless we get lost."

"We'll turn south in the morning. We'll meet up with someone on the way, and we'll ask directions."

"Do we dare?"

Victoria touched the rifle. "I'm willing to use this."

They were silent for a while, listening to the wind in the trees. Emma said, "The Major could come after us, you know. Or send Garnet. Whatever the trouble was at the ranch tonight, it's possible they handled it."

That had occurred to Victoria, and she had decided she would not take Celia and Emma back to that ranch. "I'll do whatever's necessary." It was so hard to say that she shuddered, then quickly masked her reaction by saying, "I'm becoming chilly. Why don't you try to sleep, rather than keeping me company? I'll be fine."

"Will you wake me in a couple of hours? You need to sleep, too."

"Yes, of course."

Victoria thought of a lot of things, sitting alone in the darkness. She wondered what had happened at the ranch, because as Emma had said, it could have been anyone. She wondered if she should contact the authorities in Santa Fe to get help, and if anyone would respond even if she did ask them.

She worried about Celia. She should never have brought her out West. Now she could only hope that her little sister would eventually forget some of the awful things and learn to trust men again.

Jake… Her thoughts eventually, inevitably turned to him, and she almost whimpered aloud from the pain. Why had he left without a word after all that had passed between them? She remembered the way he'd kissed her, the times she had even allowed him to fondle her breasts. Was that why he'd left, because she had demeaned herself to him by allowing him those intimacies?

Did the why really matter? He had left, and she had to face the bitter reality that he hadn't returned her feelings at all. He had wanted to bed her, nothing more.

She meant to wake Emma, she really did, but she sat for so long with her harsh thoughts, and she was so tired, that she didn't notice when her eyes drifted shut.

"Victoria, wake up. It's after dawn." Emma shook her until Victoria sat up, yawning.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I meant to. I fell asleep." Alarmed, Victoria scrambled to her feet. She drew a little breath of relief when she saw that everything appeared normal. Emma and Celia had managed to build a small fire, and Celia was rather competently cooking potatoes and bacon. Coffee was bubbling in the kettle.

The sun was already shining, but the morning was still crisp and cool. She sought privacy to attend to her needs, then returned to freshen her face and hands with a dampened handkerchief.

They were all inordinately hungry and devoured the simple meal. Celia vigorously rubbed her abused rear when she stood.

"Will you be able to ride?" Victoria asked, concerned. Her own muscles were twinging, so she could imagine how Celia felt.

"Yes," Celia said, then added darkly, "but I won't like it."

Victoria laughed, but Emma grabbed her arm, cutting her off as she pointed to the east and said, "Look."

Victoria squinted her eyes, then saw the riders. They were silhouetted on top of a ridge by the huge red morning sun. She couldn't tell exactly how many there were.

Cold fear seized her. She whirled and kicked dirt on the fire. "Quick, saddle the horses!"

Distances were deceiving out on the land. The riders had looked so close only because the sun had been behind them; they were at least several miles away and couldn't have seen the women. Unless smoke from the campfire had given them away…

Sophie chose that morning to be frisky, dancing away as Victoria struggled to get the saddle on her back. "Stop it!" she said sharply, fighting her panic. If Sophie sensed her fear, she'd never get her saddled.

They climbed on rocks to mount. Emma jumped down from her gelding and raced toward the fire. "I am not leaving the frying pan behind," she said. "It's the only pan we have."

Luckily, the frying pan had cooled enough that she didn't burn her hand when she snatched it up. She ran back to the rocks, and Victoria took the pan and stored it in her saddlebag while Emma remounted.

They didn't dare turn south now; that direction would insure that the riders cross their trail. Victoria put her back to the sun and kicked Sophie into a run.

Celia hung on with grim determination and her little mare tried valiantly to maintain pace with their larger mounts. Still Victoria and Emma had to rein in their horses to permit Celia to stay with them. Victoria cast several anxious looks over her shoulder, but the riders had descended from the top of the ridge and were lost from sight. She prayed that they weren't from the ranch at all, but were merely passing through and wouldn't pay any attention to their trail.

They gained the top of a crest and Victoria reined in, turning Sophie so she could watch the direction from which they'd come.

"Why are you stopping?" Emma cried, wheeling her own mount around.

"I want to see where they are. They might not be after us."

They waited, straining their eyes for sight of the riders. It was their ears that picked it up first, the distant rumble that sounded like thunder, though the sky was clear. Victoria waited, her mouth dry.

The riders topped another ridge, and her heart almost stopped. They were much closer than she'd feared, riding hard, and straight at them.

"Dear God. Run!"

She tried to think, but her brain felt numb. She knew it had to be either Sarratt or Garnet. Either meant death.

Celia was riding with her jaw set, though her face was pale. Victoria held back Sophie's long strides and positioned her on one side of Celia's mount, while Emma took up the other side. Better if Celia had taken another horse from the stable, but they hadn't thought of it. Now placid but slow Gypsy might well mean the difference between them getting away or being caught.

The landscape was changing, becoming gradually more dry and barren as the trees gave way to rock and shrub. A slight breeze picked up the fine dirt and blew it in their faces, covering them with grit. Victoria looked over her shoulder again, and again the riders were closer than they'd been before. She didn't recognize any of the men, but now she could see that they had pulled up their neckerchiefs to cover their faces against the grit. Their covered faces, even at a distance, were menacing.

She tightened her reins as they plunged headlong down a slope. Celia cried out and almost came off over Gypsy's head, but at the last minute Victoria reached out and grabbed Celia's skirt, hauling her back into the saddle. They slid and plunged to the bottom, and Victoria cried, "Stop!"

They reined in the horses. Poor Gypsy was almost blown, but Emma's gelding and Sophie were still strong. Victoria jumped down. "Quickly, Celia, change horses with me!"

"I can't ride Sophie!" Celia cried, appalled, though she obediently slid to the ground.

"You'll have to. I'm a better rider, I can get more out of Gypsy than you can. You take the rifle," she said swiftly to Emma. "Give me the pistol."

Emma, too, obeyed, but her face twisted. "What are you doing?"

"We have to split up." Victoria boosted Celia into Sophie's saddle, then she scrambled atop Gypsy. "Take Celia and ride east."

"East!"

"Yes, due east, along the base of this ridge. There's more shelter that way, and perhaps they'll follow me instead of you. Sophie is a strong horse, she'll keep going a long time."

"I can't leave you!" Emma shouted.

"You have to! You have to take care of Celia!"

"Then you go with her! I'll lead them away."

Victoria gave her a stark look. "It's me they want," she said. "It isn't Garnet; I know Garnet's horse. So it has to be Sarratt—or—or someone else who hates the Major. Now, for the love of God, hurry!" Without waiting, without allowing herself to look back, she touched her heels to poor Gypsy and rode west.

She had no hope of being able to outdistance the riders indefinitely; she only hoped to give Emma and Celia a chance to escape. Perhaps, even if Sarratt caught them, he wouldn't harm them. After all, they weren't McLains.

She rode as she'd never ridden before in her life, pushing the tired horse deeper into the barren, rocky land. It wasn't desert, but there were no trees, no crystal-clear rivers, no ripe meadow grasses. The sun rose high, burning her back through the thin fabric of her shirtwaist. Her arms and legs ached.

Gypsy stumbled. Victoria agonized, yet she knew she'd have to give the horse a rest or risk it dying under her. She stopped and dismounted, and walked Gypsy for as long as she dared before giving the animal a small drink of water. When the horse stopped blowing so strenuously, Victoria remounted and started her flight again, but at a slower pace. The mare simply couldn't manage more.

Victoria's throat was dry and caked with dust, but she didn't dare drink any of the water herself; she might need it for Gypsy. A wave of dizziness swept her, but she grimly concentrated on her balance.

Looking behind again, she blinked in confusion. She could see only one rider, steadily gaining on her—or was it a mirage? Where were the others? Her heart stopped in sickening realization. Her ruse had failed; he'd sent the others after Emma and Celia, but was coming after her himself, as inexorable as the sun. This was Sarratt. She knew it was Sarratt.

She kicked Gypsy, but felt no responding increase in speed.

They were nearing a huge outcropping of bare red stone when Gypsy began staggering. Victoria looked behind again and saw that he was only a few minutes behind. Her horse wouldn't go any farther. She reined in and jumped to the ground, then ran into the rocks. Her boots slipped as she scrambled higher and higher, searching for a cave or a notch where she could hide. The pistol was heavy in her pocket. Dear God, if she had to she'd use it. He was alone; just one shot was all she'd need if she aimed carefully enough.

She risked a quick look around a rock. He was below her, dismounting from his horse with a powerful grace that frightened her, yet seemed dizzyingly familiar. The lower half of his face was still hidden by the neckerchief. He lifted his head and scanned the rocks, and she jerked back out of sight.

The hot rock was scorching her hands. She stared up at the relentless sun, glowing in a sky unmarred by clouds, and wondered if this would be the last time she would see it. She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life.

"Goddamn it, stop wasting my time and come out of there." The voice was muffled by the cloth covering his mouth, but the rage in it was plain.

Evidently he didn't think he had anything to fear from her. Victoria felt as if she had enough fear for the two of them, but somehow she steadied herself. She might lose, but not without a fight.