J.A. Johnstone - The Loner - Crossfire

“Where’s the other guard, the one you used as bait?”

Frank gestured toward a shape on the ground nearby. “Knocked out, tied up, and gagged. He won’t give us any trouble. We’d better do the same with these two.”

Working quickly, they cut strips from the guards’ shirts and used them to bind the men securely, as well as for gags to keep them quiet. That left the back door of Lannigan’s lodge unguarded.

Conrad and Frank took the pistols worn by the unconscious guards. Having extra shots without needing to reload might come in handy. They trotted through the lantern light to the door and pressed their backs to the wall as they listened for any sounds of alarm. Everything was quiet. Evidently their approach hadn’t been noticed.

Conrad reached over and tried the latch. He swallowed a frustrated curse as it refused to budge. Looking over at Frank, he mouthed the word Locked. They would have to find another way in.

Frank leaned back and looked up. Conrad followed suit. The roof overhung the door and slanted up to darkened windows on the second floor. Frank pointed up with his thumb, then bent over and formed a stirrup with his hands. Conrad nodded. He weighed less, so it made sense for him to go first.

Putting a booted foot in Frank’s hands, Conrad stepped up and reached for the overhang. Frank heaved him up. Conrad’s hands closed over the edge, the rough shingles providing a good grip. He hauled himself up, and Frank pushed from below. Conrad cleared the edge and rolled onto the sloping roof.

Once he was there, he unbuckled his belt and slipped it out of the loops on his jeans. After wrapping the tongue end around his hand a couple times, he lowered the buckle end to Frank, who grasped it with both hands and started climbing up the wall. In a few seconds, Conrad was able to reach down with his other hand and catch hold of his father’s arm. With grunts of effort, he pulled Frank onto the roof.

They sprawled on the shingles for a few moments to catch their breath, then Conrad sat up, put his belt back on, and moved on hands and knees up to the nearest window. The room on the other side of the glass was dark and he hoped unoccupied. He tried to raise the window, but it wouldn’t move. It was fastened shut.

Frank went to one of the other second-floor windows and tried it, then looked over at Conrad and shook his head. Chances were, they were all that way. Conrad took off his hat and drew his gun. Using the hat to muffle the sound, he rapped the gun butt sharply against one of the panes, just hard enough to crack the glass without shattering it. He pouched the iron, put his hat back on, and took out his knife. He got the tip of the blade into the crack and started working it back and forth gently.

The work was tedious, but it was important to be as quiet as possible. After several minutes, he managed to loosen a big piece of glass enough that he could get his fingers into the crack around it. Being careful not to slice his flesh open on the sharp edges, he worked the piece of glass back and forth some more and finally pried it loose from the window.

Conrad set the glass aside and reached into the room through the opening he had created. He felt around at the bottom of the window until he found the catch that held it closed. Thankfully, the window hadn’t been nailed shut. He slid the catch over, pulled his arm out, and eased the window up.

Conrad went through the window first, with Frank following him.

Once inside the house, it was a matter of finding the children and making sure they were safe before dealing with Lannigan and the rest of the man’s hired guns. The odds were still steep against them, but that was nothing new for Conrad Browning and Frank Morgan.

Walking softly in hopes the floor wouldn’t creak under their weight, they went to the door, which they could see dimly in the faint lantern light filtering into the room from outside. It appeared to be a bedroom, but no one was sleeping there at the moment. Conrad tried the door. The knob turned easily in his hand. He and Frank stepped into a corridor.

A staircase landing was a few yards to their right. The stairs led down into a big room filled with heavy, rustic furniture dominated by a huge fireplace with a massive stone mantel. A fire crackled in that fireplace, casting a garish, flickering glow over the man who stood in front of it with a drink in his hand.

Dex Lannigan.

Conrad looked around the room. He didn’t see Winifred or the children, or any of Lannigan’s hired killers, for that matter. The man appeared to be alone in the room. The way Lannigan stared pensively into the flames in the fireplace seemed to confirm that hunch.

Conrad and Frank glanced at each other. Taking Lannigan prisoner would give them the upper hand. They could force him to turn over the children, then take him as a hostage until they were safely away from the lodge.

Moving in absolute silence the way living dangerous lives had taught them, Conrad and Frank started down the stairs.

They had just reached the bottom when Lannigan turned abruptly from the fireplace toward them. They lifted their guns, but Lannigan didn’t seem to be surprised to see them. He didn’t drop his drink and try to claw out a weapon of his own. He just smiled. “I was expecting you.”

“Don’t move,” Conrad warned as he looked at Lannigan over the sights of his Colt. “And don’t yell for your guards.”

“Or what?” Lannigan replied mockingly. “You’ll shoot me? What good will that do you? I have a dozen men who’ll be here in a heartbeat if they hear a gun go off. The only reason they’re not in here already is because I want to talk to you, Browning.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” Conrad snapped, “except for you telling me where my children are so Frank can go get them while I keep you covered.”

“Your children,” Lannigan repeated. “ Your children.” He laughed. “You damned fool. You don’t have any children.”

An ugly feeling had begun to crawl around inside Conrad as soon as he realized Lannigan wasn’t surprised to see them. It was like a snake in his belly, and it told him something was very, very wrong.

“Little Frank and Vivian,” he said. “Or David and Rachel, as you call them. You know good and well who I’m talking about.”

“Oh, I know.” Lannigan sneered. “But that doesn’t make them your children. They’re not here, anyway. They’re back in San Francisco with their mother. When I left there last night, I figured you’d follow me without ever checking to make sure I hadn’t left Winifred and the children behind.”

That was like a fist in Conrad’s gut. Every instinct he possessed told him Lannigan was telling the truth, about that part of it, anyway. The saloon owner had set a clever trap for him and Frank, and they had fallen into it. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Lannigan might have left the children behind.

But the rest of it had to be a lie. Conrad said, “Pamela Tarleton—”

“You’re about to tell me Pamela Tarleton is the twins’ mother, aren’t you?” Lannigan broke in. “How can you be so sure of that?”

“I was at the sanitarium in Cambridge where they were born. I talked to Dr. Futrelle—”

“Are you saying Futrelle couldn’t have been paid to lie to you? I knew Pamela Tarleton, I don’t deny that. When she set out to either destroy you or make your life a living hell, however it worked out, she tried to think of every possible contingency. She’s always been two steps ahead of you, Browning.”

Conrad shook his head. “You’re lying through your teeth. Pamela went to that sanitarium—”

“With her maid, who was about to have a baby but had no husband to go with it.” Lannigan shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t talk this way about the woman who’s now my dear wife, but at one time in her life she was rather free with her favors. When she found herself in the family way, it played right into her employer’s hands. Pamela hatched the idea of making you believe the child was yours. As it turned out, there were two babies ... but that just doubled the misery for you, didn’t it?”