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“No, please,” she pleaded as the heavy wooden well covering was dragged shut. “Don’t close me in.”
“It’s going to rain, lass,” he hollered down. “Nice and hard. Ye don’t want to go and drown, now do ye?”
Ivy’s chin trembled horribly as she began to sob, uncaring how the young master reveled in the sound. “Please, I beg of ye, don’t leave me.”
“No fear, I always come back.”
The snickering of the boy was the last thing she heard as the wooden covering slid into place and sealed her in, shutting out the final rays of sunlight and throwing Ivy into utter darkness.
On the surface, the sound of her cries was smothered completely. The man took his leave and the boy pranced happily behind.
Chapter 1
Toronto, 1902
The meek looking female sitting demurely in the station’s terminal, hardly resembled the image of the most notorious female killer in America. However, Sam Michalski was no fool. He knew only too well the darkest of souls could be disguised in the purest of creatures.
As he drew closer, he noticed she appeared rather somber looking, as if in mourning, in a dark gray cloak and even blacker skirt. In contrast, her ghostly white complexion was marred only by a dark set of twin shado
ws beneath her downcast eyes. And barely noticeable beneath the dark hood tugged low over her brow, he spotted a rather shocking head of bright hair. From what he could observe, Sam figured it was somewhere between a lighter shade of red, or a darker shade of orange.
A tingle of elation made him pick up his pace. The same first thrill of excitement he received whenever successfully tracking down his outlaw, right before he hauled their sorry rumps off to face justice.
Reaching up, he pulled his Stetson low in order to cast a shadow over his eyes before narrowing his gaze on the woman. He had been tracking her a long time. His sources had finally led him here. Still, he had to approach slowly and with caution. If she suspected anything, she could very well bolt.
He would love nothing more than to apprehend his fugitive on the spot, however, had been known in his adolescent days to arrest the wrong criminal in his youthful eagerness. Mistakes which caused some mighty embarrassing and at times sticky situations for Roy, the US Marshal who had practically raised Sam since the day he dragged his fourteen year old hell-raising ass off the streets. Over the years Sam had reined in his excitement and taught himself some self-control.
And at the moment, truth was, he wasn’t entirely certain this woman was Ivy McGregor. The description he was given was of a redheaded Irish woman with a thick brogue and a distinct limp.
Thus far, he had not spoken with her to determine whether an accent was discernible, and if she bore a limp, he had yet to witness it. As for the color of her hair, he thought as his gaze strayed to the barely visible locks, he concluded they leaned more toward a copper hue than what he considered red. Such as the dark, fiery locks his mother’s had been.
She definitely wouldn’t be considered your typical criminal. Not a sole at the station would think this meek looking creature with her unassuming guise and soft transparent skin, was capable of bludgeoning a man to death.
Except for Sam.
Even as it was apparent he was approaching, she refused to make eye contact. A sure sign of a nervous outlaw. But, in all honesty, he hadn’t seen her gaze shift in the least since spotting her in the depot. She kept her attention focused firmly on the polished floor of the terminal.
A loud horn suddenly filled the station announcing the arrival of the train. All at once the place was bustling with activity. Folks sitting idle on the many benches lining the terminal, were now moving about the depot excitedly. Actually, it surprised Sam to see so many travelers this time of year as most folks preferred travelling during the warmer months.
He lost sight of the woman momentarily before he caught a glimpse of something copper-colored moving toward the exit to the boarding trains. He swore and pushed through the crowd. It wasn’t often he made a mistake, but he was beginning to wonder if he should have apprehended his prisoner earlier after all, as he had foolishly miscalculated the station’s activity.
Passing through a set of double glass doors, he left the building only to find the platforms just as crowded. The smell of burning coal filled the chilly air as the engineer stoked up the locomotive’s engine. If she were in there, Sam bemused as he scanned the thick crowd, he wasn’t able to tell. Releasing a low growl, he shoved his way through the drove of travelers.
Men and women attired appropriately in heavy twill coats for the cool autumn weather, began boarding the train. To Sam’s dismay though, he realized most of the people at the terminal were not passengers. They remained crammed on the platforms, blocking his view while flapping their arms in farewell like idiotic weeds caught in a northern storm.
He sighed angrily and glanced around. No sign of her. The train’s whistle let out a long and languorous siren. Billows of smoke rolled out from beneath the steam engine.
Hell, he had no intention of boarding that train.
His eyes searched the mass of people to no avail. He had lost her. When the throng finally thinned and the last passengers embarked, Sam looked one way down the platforms, then the other. But still, no darkly cloaked woman.
Damn.
He figured if he moved his keister fast enough, he might be able to catch up with her before the train pulled out of the station. Leaping up onto the nearest boarding steps, he cursed under his breath when passengers taking their sweet old time finding their designated seats, obstructed his way. A couple of heavy ladies deep in chatter and reeking of cheap cologne blocked the vestibule door leading to the rear cars designated for first class passengers. Sam turned and headed toward the front of the train. From the simple attire of his suspect, he guessed she more than likely purchased a coach ticket. Coach trains were always placed closest to the locomotive and the loud clanging engine. Only the wealthy and prestigious occupied the cars furthest from the intrusive engine. The service cars finished the fleet and tagged along at the end.
He moved swiftly but with determination down the long aisle, his gaze fixed and alert, taking note of every female, every face. Yet surprisingly, there was no sign of the copper-haired woman. It was almost as if she had disappeared.
Reaching the last of the coach cars without any luck, Sam released a frustrated sigh before retracing his footsteps back toward the rear of the train, thankful passengers at last were taking their seats. He was able to move much swifter and faster through the aisles and between cars. Considering the huge crowd at the terminal, the actual amount of travelers was minor after all.
