He had no idea where they were now. In West Virginia, somewhere—whenever Marietta released him long enough to move near the door again, he could see the Potomac winding its way through the valleys.
They had decided after prayer that they should wait until they were on solid ground before taking any action. Mrs. Hughes could too easily be injured in any fray they took to his private car, and Marietta insisted they spare her whatever fresh pain they could. So when the train slowed, Slade would close the door again and hide. Marietta would go with Hughes when he came for her—with Slade’s revolver; he had liberated another from the crates—and pretend to be repentant.
Hughes might believe her for a few minutes, anyway. Long enough for her to get the mother separated from the son. Slade would give himself enough time to see how many cronies the man had recruited and do what was necessary to stop them.
Another tongue of electricity flashed through the sky, and Marietta scooted closer. “That seemed close. What if it strikes us, or sends a tree onto the tracks? What will we do then?”
“Just what we planned, kitten. With a few modifications.”
She shuddered when the thunder rolled over them, loud as a cannon. “I’m sorry I’m such a ninny about these stupid storms.”
His chuckle disappeared into a gust of wind that sent the sliding door banging. “You can snuggle up to me anytime you want. In fact.” He shifted, tilted her face up toward his. “What was the ‘best distraction’ you had in mind a couple weeks ago?”
“Hmm. I can’t recall.” She pressed a hand to the back of his head. “Let’s see if a kiss refreshes my memory.”
Did she use phrases like that just to sound like an ordinary person? Maybe someday, if they had a someday, he would ask her. For now, he touched his lips to hers, intending to keep the kiss sweet and soft. She would remember this forever, and if it were their last embrace, it should tell her always how much he loved her.
Marietta must have had different ideas. Her lips tasted of urgency and moved with purpose over his.
That was all right too.
His eyes slid shut, but he still saw the next flash through the lids, and no thundering pulse could drown out its electric snap. They were in the heart of the storm now. The door crashed again—he would have to secure it in a minute. Rain lashed the floor of the car, and they would do better to stay dry than to have the evening’s meager light.
But that would require releasing Marietta, and his arms refused. Better to hold her tight, to meet her kiss for kiss.
There was a roar—human, not heavenly—and then the world shifted. A sturdy boot connected with his ribs, and his eyes flew open to see the devil himself towering over him. Hughes had Marietta by the torso, pinning her left arm to her side and pressing her legs into one of the barrels.
Slade hit a crate, fell to an empty section of floor, and slid through the puddle as the train raced around a curve.
Hughes, shrouded largely by shadow, snarled. “Exactly how many ways have you betrayed me, Osborne?”
“Me?” Guns—he needed one of the guns. “I haven’t done any betraying.” There, still on the crate. He levered himself up, though the chances of getting to it before Hughes could act were slim.
Where was Marietta’s?
“Haven’t done any—” Hughes spat out a curse, his voice venomous. He must have made some move, because Marietta whimpered. “You are in my train when you should be in Washington. With your hands on my woman.”
Lightning flashed, and in its light he saw the flash of metal. Her gun—in her right hand. Praise to the Almighty.
His praise turned to silent plea when he saw that Hughes’s hand was clasped around hers on the weapon. And that he was forcing her arm up, inch by inch.
She whimpered again, her arm shaking.
Images flashed before his eyes. Fire spitting from the barrel of his revolver, aimed at his heart. The cylinder turning, another bullet sliding into the chamber. Hughes turning the gun—Slade’s own gun—on Marietta.
“No!” Whether it was fear, premonition, or prophecy, he didn’t know, but he had to stop it one way or another. He had to save her. He tried to take a step, but the wet floor beneath him sent him slipping. He grabbed at anything he could.
Wind whipped his back. His fingers had found purchase, but not until he reached the door.
Marietta’s scream blended with the rumble of thunder.
Lord, help me. Help me save her.