malodorous smoke into the air.
But it was Brandon who stood up. Brandon who rose as I was pushed into the sphere of light. “Kelly,” he said. “Oh Kelly…”
Briefly, I thought they had caught him too. And then I thought no, of course not; Brandon is with them. And he was.
“I found her outside with a horse.” The man who held my arm spoke in a measured cadence that was surely foreign, though I could not place the accent.
There was a second stranger in the room. He sat on top of one of the nearest tables, his feet propped on one of the stools. He smiled.
“Kelly,” Brandon said again, “what are you doing here?”
The gunman still held my wrist. The hand attached to it was cold, numb. So was the rest of me. I could only stare at Brandon.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I swear I never meant for this to happen.”
“Brandon.” His name was dust in my mouth. “Brandon—what’s happening?”
The second man continued to smile. He was very dark, with an aristocratic bone structure—he was attractive in a vital sort of way, but his smile was eerie. My flesh crawled over my bones.
“Rashid,” the dark man said. “Be gentle. She is a lady.”
“Do I care?” Rashid retorted. “She is here.”
“Leave her alone, Frenchie,” Brandon said sharply to the man sitting on the table. “I’ll be responsible for her.”
Frenchie. A Frenchman? No. He did not have the accent for it.
“Brandon, what are you doing?” I asked with as much calm as I could muster. “You and John Oliver—tell me what I’m supposed to think.”
“But would you believe it?” asked the man called Frenchie. “I think not. So what use is an explanation?”
The gunman—Rashid—pushed me forward and shoved me down the line of tables toward John Oliver. A pressure on my shoulder told me to sit; I did so with alacrity. I doubted I could stand a moment longer.
Carefully I set both hands on the table, spreading my fingers. I stared at them a moment, then finally looked at Brandon, “Is it the land? Is it Smoketree you’re after?” I swallowed painfully, “Is that what’s been going on?”
John Oliver drew on his cigar, observing me with cold eyes as he blew out the smoke. It coiled upward, wreathing itself around the lantern light. He said nothing. But he smiled, and I knew, somehow, there was more to all this than land. There had to be. But whatever it was, I didn’t want to die over it.
“Land?” Frenchie mocked. “No, I think not. Not this land, at any rate. Not even within this country.”
“Enough,” Brandon said. “I’ll answer for her, but only if she doesn’t know anything.”
“But she already does,” Oliver commented. “She’s here, Brandon. What else is there to do?”
“Let me walk out of here,” I said. “Just let me go. I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“And would you give us your word?” Frenchie asked.
My mouth was dry. I knew there was no sense in it. Not even in begging. They already knew what they would do.
My belly churned. I was sick and clamped my jaws against the urge to lose the contents of my stomach.
“I’ll give you anything you want,” I said faintly. “Just let me go.”
Brandon shifted restlessly on his stool. “Kelly, don’t bargain with them. You don’t have anything they can’t take anyway. ”
“Bargain with them," I said sharply. “What about you? Can I bargain with you?”
“I think not,” said Frenchie. “He is as committed to this as we are, if for different reasons. And I’m quite sure he recognizes the risk you constitute.” He smiled again, and this time it had an edge to it. “Just as he did when he killed the man and set the horse loose. Clever, no?”
My knees wobbled as I stood up in shock. “Brandon! You killed Drew—?”
Rashid’s hand came down on my shoulder. He thumbed a pressure point that shot pain and numbness throughout my body; I dropped down at once. John Oliver’s smoke was a veil before my face, filling my nose and eyes. I wanted to cry; I wanted to scream; I wanted to strike out at them all. But I did nothing, because I could not.
“You’ll kill me,” I said raggedly.
Oliver sighed. “It’s your own fault—you shouldn’t have come up here. Blame yourself.”
Blame myself. I nearly laughed. But I was afraid it would turn into hysteria, so I clamped down on the impulse. I retreated into silence.
“I had to kill him.” It was Brandon, explaining, as if he thought I