The Hidden

“How did you rig the moose head?”


“Oh, I did that ages ago. Believe it or not, the house was full of tourists, but I did it at night. It was easy. All I did was take it off the wall so I could hollow out the plaster and make room, then move the head off the panel it was mounted on and cut through the wood. You really can find everything on the internet, you know. I read about crossbows and the rest was easy. It was perfect, don’t you think? Of course, your stupid séance ruined my chance of actually killing anyone. But, still, it was a lot of fun. Some stupid kid came in when I was making the arrows, and I just gave him a lesson on arrowheads. People just smile and think you’re a crazy Easterner who’s really fallen in love with the Old West when you get carried away like that.”

He was ridiculously proud of himself.

Maybe not so ridiculously. He was holding her at gunpoint, after all.

“Ride,” he told her.

Scarlet knew she had to risk it. She looked up at the sky. Afternoon was turning to evening. The sky was ablaze with colors that would quickly fade to gray. Gold streaked over the mountaintops in the distance, making the snow glitter like pastel diamonds.

A calculated risk, she told herself. Now or never.

The weirdly freestanding wrought-iron gates were straight ahead, and if Terry hadn’t been lying, a second killer could be waiting behind them.

“We’re here,” she said, sliding off Blaze’s back. She stood tensely for a split seconds, waiting. The moment Terry began to slide off his horse, she gave Blaze a solid whack on the chest. As she’d suspected, he jerked backward, slamming into Terry’s horse. She heard his startled grunt as his horse reared in turn, sending him flying to the ground.

She saw him flounder, trying to hold his Colt as he struggled to rise without being stepped on.

She knew she couldn’t reach the gun before he could fire, so she started running into the cemetery, using the mausoleums and greenery for cover as much as she could.

A bullet whizzed by her ear, so close the whistle of its passing was almost deafening.

She kept racing, dodging between headstones, then tearing into the field of crosses, still running.

For her life.

*

First Blaze came racing toward Diego, followed quickly by Madrigal.

There was no way in or out of the cemetery except on horseback or on foot.

The killer was up there somewhere, and so was Scarlet. But if the horses were racing back to the stables...

Then Scarlet had done something to send them running.

Which meant...

He had to believe she was still alive.

*

Night had fallen in earnest. A three-quarter moon cast down an eerie glow where the golds and mauves of dusk had so recently reigned.

“Oh, Scarlet, you’re making this so hard for me. I mean, let’s be honest, I can’t let you live. But I know you know where the gold is, so if you just tell me, I can be quick. One moment you’ll be here, and then you won’t. Think about it. You love history, and now you can be a part of it. They’ll make a statue of you and everything. You’ll go down in local legend, and you deserve that, you really do. Believe it or not, I like you, you know, even though you never had time to look at me twice. You’re bright, and very pretty.”

“Shut up, you ass,” a woman said, and Scarlet jumped and then, afraid she would be seen, she froze.

“Where the hell have you been?” Terry demanded.

“You told me to lead that Fed off the trail. Did you think that would be easy? And then I had to get all the way back here after leaving the police station. All you had to do was kill the cop and get Scarlet—and you’ve screwed that up, too!”

Gwen? Gwen Barton?