Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
He’d never been afraid to die for the things he believed in.
“Where’s the uniform?”
Chapter 26
The uniform must have belonged to a bulkier man because even after Cole fastened the brass buttons of the long jacket and tightened the belt, the thick black wool scratched the back of his neck, as if it meant to choke him. On the upside, it also created the illusion of broader shoulders, which would play to Cole’s advantage and obscure his identity. He’d stolen a few hairpins from a bowl resting on someone’s windowsill and had used them to secure his long hair under the helmet. Only once that was done did he step out of a narrow alley and onto the street.
In the time it had taken him to get there, he’d gone from wanting to force his way into Ned’s cell to a more realistic plan. He no longer had an entire gang to back him up in moments of crisis, and since he lacked the manpower, it was wise to use deception instead.
Ned was the talk of the town, and Cole had even overheard two patrolmen discussing his unexpected arrival at the station while he was hitching his horse. It hit him like a baton, but as he leaned against Carol’s warm body, resting one hand on the well-used saddle and the other on her soft muzzle, worry soon transformed into relief. Ned might be in captivity, but he was very much alive, ready to run as soon as Cole got him out.
Cole had already scouted the haunted house location on the way, and while navigating out in the wilderness came to him with way more ease, once he reimagined the tall buildings as mountains crisscrossed by caves and the busiest streets as rivers, the route became clear in his mind.
Everything was ready.
Even he was ready, but faced with the imposing building with a clock tower in the middle and grand windows, he couldn’t help the cold sense of dread spreading through his insides like mercury. It poisoned every bit of him, causing cramps and a hot flush that would surely end up giving him away, but there could only be two endings to this story. Either both he and Ned ran away, or they both died. There was no middle ground. And if the dice didn’t fall in their favor, then the savings he’d gathered through outlawry and bounties in the past seven years would go toward Tommy’s keep.
The police station ahead eyed him with suspicion. But then a stranger tipped his hat at Cole, and one look at his reflection in a shop window told him that while he felt like a clown dressed for a cheap show somewhere in the countryside, everyone else saw an officer meant to protect their safety.
There had never been a chest less worthy of the tin badge than his. He’d killed, stolen, and demolished property for rewards much less precious than the life of the man he loved. But he was a bastard and would use it to his advantage nevertheless.
He couldn’t believe he’d been so blind that he’d overlooked not only Ned’s honesty but also his own feelings. The truth had always been there, and he’d just chosen not to see it. His eyes were finally open, and he’d keep them that way.
He nodded back at the polite stranger and walked on with a spring to his step. The afternoon sun shone behind him, and the shadow he cast certainly looked the part he was playing. The closer he was to the entrance, the more comfortable he felt in the assumed role, a wolf wearing the pelt of a sheep as it carefully approached the herd. They’d remain ignorant of his presence until it was too late, until Cole sank his teeth into flesh and drew blood to rip Ned from behind bars.
He was about to walk up the steps to the grand entrance at the front, when the twin doors swung open, pulling Cole out of his predatory high and back to the streets of Denver. He’d only ever gotten a glimpse of Thaddeus Craig in real life, but was acquainted well enough with his likeness from photographs to recognize him the moment the US Marshal headed his way in the company of two policemen.
Craig had a pointy chin and a narrow mouth that made his face resemble a rat’s, and his choice of moustache—a tidy black chevron—wasn’t helping. He carried himself with confidence though, like a man who had done his job well and knew it.
“Why the wait?” one of the officers asked as the three of them walked down the steps, ever closer to Cole. “We know he’ll hang anyway.”
“Do they want to try that shock chair I’m hearing about on him? Because of his fame?” the other wondered, sending a hot jolt of nausea all the way down Cole’s throat, as if it were a hand trying to make him expel the contents of his stomach. He had no grudge against any of those men, but the casual way they discussed Ned’s death made his vision blur with fury. He didn’t let his feelings show, and lowered his head, pretending to offer Craig a polite nod.