As soon as the hole was as wide as his shoulders, he stopped swinging at the brick and started swinging at the stone. Pebbles rained down behind what was left of the wall.
Mal swung again. And again. Harder each time. Needing to hit the hollow. To reach inside and search for a thief’s treasure. For Emma’s ransom.
The hammer connected with a particularly large stone. Reverberations jolted his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder and neck. The rock didn’t crumble like the rest. So Mal swung again, but at a slightly higher location. Solid. Unyielding. Supported by something?
He chose a third spot, a few inches higher and slammed the hammer against the stone. This time, rocks rained down again, only the pebbles that fell inward clanked against something. Something metallic. Something that could be a strongbox.
Mal flew at the higher-level stones in a flurry of strikes. When the stone was decimated as high as he could reach, he tossed the hammer to the ground and leaned forward into the hole. But it was too high to get the right leverage.
“Get me something to stand on,” he shouted, hoping Bertie was still in the room. His focus had been so intent on the wall, he had no idea if she was there or not.
A wooden step stool appeared at his feet.
“Thanks.”
He kicked bricks and stones away to clear an area, then set the stool against the wall and jumped straight to the top step. He reached into the chimney again, shoving his head and shoulders into the space. This time his palms came to rest against a hard, flat surface. Please let it be the gold.
Letting out a grunt that expanded into a full-out roar, he pushed against the box with everything he had. All at once it gave and plummeted down the flue with a crash. Mal nearly followed it down, but the lower section of brick braced his thighs and kept him on his feet.
Mal righted himself, hopped down from the stool, and kicked it out of his way. He retrieved the hammer and tore into the brick with a vengeance, slamming and wrenching until he could finally see the small hearth opening at the floor and the steel box stamped U.S. Army lying at a lopsided angle inside.
His fingers closed around the handholds, and he hoisted it up, the heft of the box sending silent cheers of victory clamoring through his brain. The gold. Praise God! The gold!
Mal dropped the heavy box onto the workbench and rubbed at his suddenly watery eyes. Stupid things wouldn’t stop leaking. Dratted plaster dust.
He swiped a final time at his eyes and gave a good long sniff before grabbing up the box again and turning to face his aunt. “Time to get Emma.”
37
“They’re leavin’, girlie.” Angus lowered his field glasses long enough to cast a superior smirk over his shoulder at Emma before turning back to watch the parade of wagons rolling out of Harper’s Station. “Looks like that man of yours ain’t as big a fool as I thought. Turns out he knows when he’s beaten.” He cackled as he fit the binoculars back to his eyes, enjoying the spectacle far too much.
Emma glared at the back of her abductor, wishing she could scald his hide with all the righteous indignation boiling inside her, but her jaw still ached from the last time she’d lit into him. He’d shut her up with his fist. Going another round would only weaken her chance of escape. She needed to be strong. Alert. Ready to seize any opportunity that presented itself.
Unfortunately, her escape options were limited, seeing as how she was tied to a tree. Of all the times for a man to respect her intelligence and abilities. She’d gladly exchange her suffragette card for a captor who believed her too dull witted and timid to bother guarding. But she was stuck with Angus, a man whose paranoia had him anticipating trouble five steps ahead.
Which meant he’d never keep his word about letting her go once the town had been emptied. Not when he knew she’d run straight to the authorities with his name and description the instant she was released. He planned to kill her, one way or the other.
“No sign of the law, either,” Angus gloated. “Not that I expected there would be. Last time I sent Ned into Seymour, he told me the sheriff was out with a posse chasin’ down them rustlers that’ve been stirrin’ up trouble to the south. Them fellers have plagued the sheriff for months. Nearly as slippery as I am.” He barked out a laugh. “Tabor won’t be back for days yet. You won’t be getting help from that quarter.” Angus shot her a taunting look.
Emma lifted her chin and schooled her features into a completely bored expression. It was the best she could do to thwart him. He’d not gain the satisfaction of seeing her fear, her worry, her anger. Not anymore. She might be tied to a tree with rope securing her waist and arms, but she wasn’t conquered.