He muttered something and then took her arm.” Come along,” he said kindly, “I see you safely there.”
Soon, they were in a well-traveled and bustling section of San Francisco. While they walked, Dagny explained where they were staying. When he told her he’d looked for her family after the fire, she was warmed by the knowledge that this sweet, kind man cared.
A shout brought them to an abrupt halt. Across the narrow street a carriage had overturned, trapping its occupants. The fallen carriage horse whinnied and screamed, trying to get free of the broken shafts and tangled reins.
Duncan pulled her across the street. “Stand back here, out of the way. I’m going to help free that horse.”
Dagny stood back and watched. The crowd of spectators grew. Duncan freed the horse and then tried to help right the carriage. She smiled when she noticed how Duncan’s strength made the impossible task look more possible. The rescuers, now a large group of men, pushed and rocked the heavy brougham as the spectating crowd grew.
Dagny stepped away from the milling group so she could get a better view of Duncan, but she still couldn’t see. She lifted her skirl and stepped off the walkway, craning around the people.
A clammy hand clamped over her mouth and jerked her into a dark alleyway. She tried to scream, to fight, to bite, but her assailant was dragging her backward, and she couldn’t strike out from the awkward angle in which she was held.
The man said nothing, but his panting breath grew stronger and deeper as it swished past her head. He stopped in a dark doorway and his arm gripped her by the neck as he fumbled with what sounded like the jangle of keys. His arm tightened, and she had no air. She tried to breathe. Her chest hurt, and his hand now covered her nose, making it burn for air. Racing stars flickered on her closed eyelids until, suddenly, a curtain of black killed the light.
14
Abner dragged an unconscious Dagny into the tiny room. He laid her on an old tick in the corner and tied her hands together. Looping a rope around her right ankle, he secured the free end to the handle of a heavy trunk.
Now, she couldn’t run.
Shuffling across the dirt floor, he picked up a candle stub that sat on a broken crate. He lit the stub and then let the wax drip onto a small pewter saucer, watching it through his sunken, opium-teared eyes. Like some nocturnal animal, he blinked at the light, his drugged state making the small flame appear blinding. He stuck the candle into the well of cooling wax and he sat by Dagny, waving the saucer near her porcelain face to wake her. Her eyes opened and instantly filled with horror. He could read the scream coming, so he shoved his wadded handkerchief into her open mouth. Her scream was muffled.
“You must be quiet.” Abner patted his pockets, searching for the gold he’d won for her. “I’ve something to show you.” Smiling, he pulled out the gold bag and showed her. “See this?” He opened the strings and looked inside the bulging bag. “It’s full.” He tilted the bag toward her frightened face, and she jerked her head back.
He frowned at her reaction. “This is for you.” He poured the gold coins and nuggets into his palm and held them out to her.
Then she did the oddest thing. Her eyes narrowed and she butted his hand with her head, scattering the gold. He watched, detached, as the coins rolled in the hard dirt.
Looking up from the gold, he examined her face. It was strange. He had thought he didn’t want Dagny to be afraid of him, but now it was different. His blood rushed from the prey like fear he read in her eyes. She shook, and his hand reached out to brush a lock of shiny black hair away from her face. His fingertips grazed her skin and traced the path of perfection that edged her hairline. He gently rubbed the struggle marks marring her throat. Her hard swallow contracted under his hand, and he felt something strong overtake him.
When he touched the throbbing pulse in her neck, she twisted away from him and faced the wall. Her foot pulled at the ankle bond; it gave no slack.
Abner ached to see her struggle.
The buttons of her dress were so easy. One by one they slipped through their loops, and with each button she struggled more. Her frantic movements drove him to release the next, and the next, until they were all undone.
But then she stilled. His hands shook violently with the need to feel the helpless, futile fight in her. He grabbed both sides of her open dress, and rising to his knees, he ripped it in two. She flopped back on the tick.
There was no struggle.
Abner dropped the fabric and rolled her onto her back. She had fainted again. Panting, he shook her. “Fight! Fight me!” He drew back his hand and slapped her. Nothing happened. Again and again his hand, open and stinging, cracked against her face, but she remained unconscious.
His breathing slowed and he felt suddenly drained. He stood, closing his eyes to control the rolling, the shaking within him. And then he stared at her. Her pale cheeks were now blood-red from his strikes, hand imprints. Blood leaked from a split in her cracked lips, and it trickled from her mouth’s corner.
He turned his open, scarred palms up and examined them. Had they done this?
Something rammed hard against the door, and he looked up. Again the door shuddered, and sharp, creaking sounds came from it as the wood began to splinter. He scooped up handfuls of gold and shoved them into his coat pockets. The door cracked again and he glanced back at Dagny. The sight of her beaten face and her torn clothes snapped some sanity into his teetering mind. He needed time to escape!
A ladder hung from the storage loft, and he climbed the rungs. Just as he reached the loft, Abner heard the door shatter. The crash sent him bounding over the crush of barrels and containers until he reached a tall shipping crate that stood under the trap to the roof. He scaled the crate and jumped up to grab hold of the trap edge. He pushed open the trapdoor and pulled himself through. Squatting, he looked back to see if he was being pursued. Duncan’s familiar blond head appeared from the ladder below.
Abner stood and ran across the flat roof, climbing up onto the neighboring one. He scurried up the sloping shingles of the street’s last house, and as he grabbed hold of the roof peak, the shingles gave way. He slid down the steep roof, clawing at the wooden tiles with his scraped and splintered hands. His hands grasped the roof edge and held, even as the weight from his swaying body jarred through his arms. He looked over his straining shoulder to the roof next door. No one followed.
He looked down at the alley, some twenty feet below. Again he looked up, but the sound of a slamming door sent him plunging to the ground. His ankles buckled with pain when he landed, but his mind still spun with hunted fear, so he crawled into the shadow of the building and rocked with the pain. Footsteps echoed from above, and Abner pushed himself up the wall. His right ankle held but his left one pierced with sharp pain. Still, he limped down the alley, dazed but driven, and escaped into the dark and shadowed maze of the city’s back streets.
Hallie grabbed Liv’s shoulders.“Are you sure you haven’t seen her?”
“Uh-uh,” Liv answered, shaking her head.
