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Then to Sam, “You’re going to regret this young man.”
“Hell, I already am,” Sam muttered, recalling how simple he had thought this capture would be.
His attention shot to the copper-haired woman and noticed the anger in her eyes was swiftly replaced by fear. Immediately, he went on edge. She was going to flee. He could feel it. Even from a moving train. Damn.
Sure enough, she turned and bolted for the vestibule. Without hesitation, Sam dived for her. But to his surprise, the porter intervened, throwing his brittle frame in front of Sam and blocking his way.
“Ah damnation,” Sam grumbled, before releasing a low growl and bringing the butt end of his gun down hard against the man’s temple. The old man went down in a heap in the middle of the aisle. Some females began screaming, but Sam ignored them and charged after his suspect.
She had just passed through the vestibule when he intervened her escape into the next car. “Not so fast, Freckles. You aren’t going anywhere just yet.”
With practiced ease, he reached for her, but was startled when she easily sidestepped him. He only allowed the shock to register briefly. Apparently the woman was more of a professional criminal than he expected. Escaping the clutches of the law, it seemed, came far too easily.
No matter how fast she was, however, Sam was quicker and was successful in snatching her arm in his hand the second time around. He was briefly taken aback by the mere flesh his fingers encircled.
Not surprisingly, she automatically tried to wrench her arm free. “Let go of me!”
“‘Fraid I can’t do that.”
Ignoring the fact it felt as if he may snap her tiny arm in half, he pulled her roughly back into the car. Hell, he couldn’t believe something so tiny could be so tough. And soft.
He frowned at this last thought. He hadn’t wanted to notice the fact her slender arm felt so delicate, so warm. So fragile. It made him coil in anger.
With his mind momentarily distracted, he realized too late, she had gone still. Then, before he could even glance back, a set of very sharp teeth sank deep into his hand.
“Jesus!” he bellowed, yanking his hand free and unconsciously releasing her.
She turned and bolted.
Cursing profusely, he went after her and easily hauled her back to his side. “That does it.”
In a move long since honed, he reached behind and retrieved his handcuffs. With one swift flick, he had them secured around her wrists. Her frosty eyes rounded in outrage.
Before she could utter so much as a gasp, Allison Radford, who had since revived herself from the previous faint, released a loud and horrified wail before falling to the floor once more. Harold Radford and a few other men went immediately to her aide.
“Air—I need air!” Allison moaned.
“Hell, lady, so do I,” Sam muttered.
Glancing down, he grimaced at the unconscious porter before stepping over his dormant figure and dragging his prisoner behind him.
She looked down at the crumpled form of the old man and declared, “Ye killed ‘em.”
“Sorry, Freckles, but your innocent act won’t fly with me, so don’t bother wasting your time.” Sam muttered to her with a fierce grimace.
“Ye uncaring bastard.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I’ve got a welt the size of my fist here on my head to prove
you don’t give a rat’s ass either, sweetheart.” He pointed an angry finger to his temple where the blood was beginning to dry beneath his Stetson.
She stiffened. “I’m not yer sweetheart.”
“That’s for damn sure!” he barked, then swung away more irritated than angry. With his free hand, he shoved his fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. Sam hated losing his cool. Particularly with a criminal. It was never a good thing to reveal any weaknesses to a prisoner. He knew better than that.
Shooting a brief offering glance toward the dormant porter, he stated in a more controlled tone of voice, “Besides, he ain’t dead.”
Then turning and addressing the small cluster of onlookers they had gained, he asked, “Is there a doc amongst you folks?”
