Page 55 of Heart on the Line

The two stood together by a dark wooden beam. Gardening implements and pieces of harness hung on the wall behind them. Straw littered the floor between them and where Grace lay on her side.

A barn. They must be in a barn. But where? On whose property?

Grace stared harder at the woman, trying to make out her features. Thin streaks of gray threaded through the brown bun pulled tightly at her nape. Her face showed a few lines but no discernable wrinkles. Not a young woman, but not terribly old, either. Yet Dunbar mentioned a father, not a husband. So a spinster? A widow?

Whoever she was, she was ripe for Dunbar’s picking. And since the father was not the one seeing to the Pinkerton and his prisoner’s comfort, Grace concluded he was probably infirm or, at the very least, uninterested in the people taking shelter beneath his roof.

Dunbar had mentioned dinner, so it must still be daytime. Grace strained to hear noises from outside the walls. Anything to help her piece together where she was. People. Horses. Wagons. A train whistle.

Nothing.

So they weren’t in a town, which made sense. He’d not want to move too far from Harper’s Station if he believed she’d hidden the documents there.

The fog continued receding from Grace’s brain, and her eyelids felt lighter, but she didn’t open them further. Better for Dunbar to believe she remained insensate. What she did do was rock forward very gently. He’d laid her down on her right side, and her derringer was strapped to her right thigh. When she moved, she felt the bruising from lying atop the hard metal. Thank God! Dunbar hadn’t found the weapon.

She gently tested her arms. Her left arm refused to budge. She glanced away from her captor to examine her hands. Rope bound her wrists. She wiggled her fingers and silently breathed a sigh of relief when they moved on command.

“You get on back to your father, now, Irene,” Dunbar drawled. “And be sure to thank him again for his hospitality. My horse couldn’t continue on much longer with the double load. I’ll try not to inconvenience you for long.”

Irene smiled. “It’s no inconvenience, I assure you. Father and I are glad to aid an officer of the law. Besides, you paid well above what lodging and food would require.”

Dunbar dipped his chin and doffed his hat. “The Pinkertons thank you for your gracious assistance, ma’am. But I do have one request. You must not tell anyone of our presence here, for your own safety. The woman’s brother insists she is innocent despite all evidence to the contrary and has attempted to cut me down on more than one occasion in a misguided effort to rescue his sister.”

Irene gasped, her gaze raking the detective from head to toe. “You’re not injured, I hope?”

The cocky grin reemerged. “No, ma’am. The fellow’s a telegraph operator. Worthless with a gun. Outwitting him was no hardship, but I’d hate for you or your father to be caught in the crossfire should he somehow track us down.”

“I’ll not say a word,” Irene vowed, “and I’ll ensure that Father keeps quiet as well.”

“You’re a fine woman, Irene Gladstone. God surely blessed me when he brought me to your door.”

Irene Gladstone. Grace filed the name away even as she cringed at the blasphemy of her abductor claiming God’s guidance. The scripture was true indeed about Satan masquerading as an angel of light.

However, as soon as the door closed behind the starry-eyed Miss Gladstone, the demon showed his true colors.

“You can stop pretending to be asleep, Grace.” Dunbar stalked across the dusty floor and leaned his face close to hers. “Now that we have a little privacy, we can get down to business.”

Rough arms jerked her into a sitting position. The straw beneath her shifted, and her head spun at the sudden movement.

“I don’t know where the documents are!” Grace hunched forward, desperate to stop her stomach from revolting. The effects of the laudanum might be clearing from her mind, but they lingered in her belly. Not that she would mind spewing what little was left of her breakfast all over the man in front of her, but she’d rather not cover herself with it in the process.

“Now, Grace.” Dunbar dragged a milking stool over to where she sat and planted himself on its seat directly in front of her. Then he winked at her as if this were some kind of game. “I like you, sweetheart. I really do. Not many people are clever enough to fool me, but you managed. At least for a while. I can appreciate that. Respect it even.” He smiled as he paid her the ridiculous compliment, leaning forward to rest his forearm on his knee. “But Chauncey is paying me good money to retrieve those papers, and if he loses his fortune . . . well, I’ll be losing mine as well, won’t I? Can’t have that.”

Grace glared at him.

He chuckled. “Still got your spunk, I see. Well, that won’t last long.” He flattened his palms against his thighs and pushed to a standing position. Then he strode over to her, grabbed her bound wrists, and yanked her to her feet.

“Let me go!” She struggled against his grip as he pulled her toward the wall, but he paid her as much heed as a buffalo would a fly. So she screamed, loud and long.

Dunbar shot her an impatient glance, then spun her around and shoved her against the wall, pinning her arms above her head with one hand. “No one’s going to come, Grace. They think you’re deranged, remember?”

She did. She remembered how Dunbar had told Irene to ignore any screams she heard, which meant he expected her to scream. Because he was going to hurt her.

The dull sense of danger that had weighed on her since he’d barged into her office that morning sharpened into a fine point, swiftly honed by the terrifying images springing to mind of blood and bruises and death.

Dear heavens. What was he going to do to her?

Her fear must have pleased him, for he smiled, his cold eyes crinkling at the corners. “Now you’re starting to understand, my dear.” He ran a finger along the edge of her face in a calculated caress that made her weak stomach lurch. She jerked her head away from the touch, but her defiance failed to deter him. His hand cupped the inside of her exposed upper right arm where it bent near her ear and slid upwards, straightening her arms overhead, the rough wood of the wall catching on her sleeves. By the time his left hand met the right at the rope around her wrists, her arms were fully extended.