full.
Gun drawn, Bud moved into the shadows of the building across the street. Quinn took the close side, moving with quiet steps along the boardwalk, keeping the saloon in sight as he approached. Probably a drunk letting off some steam, but he couldn’t be too sure. Underestimating the bad guy was a dangerous practice. He scanned the area around the Red-Eye. Usually the patrons exited the saloon. Why was this different?
Bud signaled he’d go around to the back door.
Stepping on the balls of his feet, Quinn moved to the side of the saloon’s swinging doors and listened. No music or laughter sounded from inside. Not good. His gut tensed, but he inched forward and angled his head around the doorway. “Gibson, you okay?”
“Yeah, shooter’s contained.”
Quinn slipped through the door and glanced around the room.
“Drifter lost his grubstake and the stupid fool took a couple potshots. A couple of fellas knocked him out.” He waved a hand toward the corner, where several men straightened chairs and gathered strewn playing cards.
Bud slipped in through the back door and walked to the body slumped in a chair.
Like a collective sigh had been exhaled, the saloon girls emerged from behind the counter, and the other customers rose from their hiding places. Within a few moments, activities shifted back to normal. Quinn relaxed his stance, slipping his pistol back into the holster. He watched Bud rouse the semi-conscious man and march him past. “Full jail tonight.”
“Looks like. Hope this is the total of the night’s excitement.”
Another problem averted. Quinn stepped out and breathed in the cool night air. As many times as he’d drawn his weapon in the line of duty, he still needed a couple minutes to let his heart rate return to normal. The drone of crickets and the warble of a meadowlark lulled him.
From down the alley came the sound of footsteps on the outside stairs to the hotel. Because the cadence of the steps was slow and hesitant, Quinn’s curiosity kicked up. A hotel guest would be moving with more confidence. With two long strides, he reached the side of the saloon and looked across the alley.
Just in time to see a familiar, auburn-haired female slip in through the second-floor doorway.
Concern for Ciara’s welfare revved his body back to full alert. Why was she sneaking around? He moved through the alley and climbed the stairs. When he leaned his head into the hallway, he spotted her at the far end, a hand on the doorknob to the last room. The moment he opened his mouth to call out, the door opened and a man yelled, “Hey, get in here.”
“Don’t grab me.” Her body fought against the man’s hold, and her feet kicked wrinkles into the carpet runner, and then she disappeared inside.
Quinn’s heart clamped. Damn. In an instant, his pistol rested loose in his hand, and he eased along the wall. Who was in that room and why would—
With a rattle, the door opened. Ciara jerked into the hallway, her body arched and an arm twisted behind her back.
Instinct pushed him into a crouch, a shoulder wedged against a door jamb. What was she doing? “Ciara?”
Her head whipped to the side. “Go back, Quinn.”
In a blur, a brown-haired man stepped into sight, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her backward, a gun pressed against her chest. “Stay back, or I’ll shoot the sneak.”
A hostage ? What had she walked into? He scanned the hall for a more advantageous spot. A low table topped with a vase of flowers about ten feet away offered the most cover. Who was he dealing with? “I’m Sheriff Riley. Let the woman go and we’ll talk.”
“Wrong. Go back down those stairs, and she’ll be released at the edge of town.”
No way was he allowing Ciara out of this hotel. By now, Bud was at the other end of town with the drunk from the saloon. He’d have to figure this out on his own. Best to keep the stranger talking. “Ciara, are you all right? Who is this man?”
“He claims he’s
Gun drawn, Bud moved into the shadows of the building across the street. Quinn took the close side, moving with quiet steps along the boardwalk, keeping the saloon in sight as he approached. Probably a drunk letting off some steam, but he couldn’t be too sure. Underestimating the bad guy was a dangerous practice. He scanned the area around the Red-Eye. Usually the patrons exited the saloon. Why was this different?
Bud signaled he’d go around to the back door.
Stepping on the balls of his feet, Quinn moved to the side of the saloon’s swinging doors and listened. No music or laughter sounded from inside. Not good. His gut tensed, but he inched forward and angled his head around the doorway. “Gibson, you okay?”
“Yeah, shooter’s contained.”
Quinn slipped through the door and glanced around the room.
“Drifter lost his grubstake and the stupid fool took a couple potshots. A couple of fellas knocked him out.” He waved a hand toward the corner, where several men straightened chairs and gathered strewn playing cards.
Bud slipped in through the back door and walked to the body slumped in a chair.
Like a collective sigh had been exhaled, the saloon girls emerged from behind the counter, and the other customers rose from their hiding places. Within a few moments, activities shifted back to normal. Quinn relaxed his stance, slipping his pistol back into the holster. He watched Bud rouse the semi-conscious man and march him past. “Full jail tonight.”
“Looks like. Hope this is the total of the night’s excitement.”
Another problem averted. Quinn stepped out and breathed in the cool night air. As many times as he’d drawn his weapon in the line of duty, he still needed a couple minutes to let his heart rate return to normal. The drone of crickets and the warble of a meadowlark lulled him.
From down the alley came the sound of footsteps on the outside stairs to the hotel. Because the cadence of the steps was slow and hesitant, Quinn’s curiosity kicked up. A hotel guest would be moving with more confidence. With two long strides, he reached the side of the saloon and looked across the alley.
Just in time to see a familiar, auburn-haired female slip in through the second-floor doorway.
Concern for Ciara’s welfare revved his body back to full alert. Why was she sneaking around? He moved through the alley and climbed the stairs. When he leaned his head into the hallway, he spotted her at the far end, a hand on the doorknob to the last room. The moment he opened his mouth to call out, the door opened and a man yelled, “Hey, get in here.”
“Don’t grab me.” Her body fought against the man’s hold, and her feet kicked wrinkles into the carpet runner, and then she disappeared inside.
Quinn’s heart clamped. Damn. In an instant, his pistol rested loose in his hand, and he eased along the wall. Who was in that room and why would—
With a rattle, the door opened. Ciara jerked into the hallway, her body arched and an arm twisted behind her back.
Instinct pushed him into a crouch, a shoulder wedged against a door jamb. What was she doing? “Ciara?”
Her head whipped to the side. “Go back, Quinn.”
In a blur, a brown-haired man stepped into sight, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her backward, a gun pressed against her chest. “Stay back, or I’ll shoot the sneak.”
A hostage ? What had she walked into? He scanned the hall for a more advantageous spot. A low table topped with a vase of flowers about ten feet away offered the most cover. Who was he dealing with? “I’m Sheriff Riley. Let the woman go and we’ll talk.”
“Wrong. Go back down those stairs, and she’ll be released at the edge of town.”
No way was he allowing Ciara out of this hotel. By now, Bud was at the other end of town with the drunk from the saloon. He’d have to figure this out on his own. Best to keep the stranger talking. “Ciara, are you all right? Who is this man?”
“He claims he’s
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