Mark glanced back toward the road. Where was Caldwell with the extra men? He shifted from foot to foot, ready to move, to do something, to get Charlotte out of there.
“Steady,” Young said, his eyes never leaving the house. “They’ll be here.”
Mark clenched his fingers around the grip of the pistol at his side. Young was right. He knew that. It would be foolish to go it alone, and it might endanger Charlotte.
So he waited, a nervous, angry energy making it hard to remain still.
Finally, just as he was about to burst from the agony of waiting, Caldwell and three other men appeared like ghosts.
“I’m going to the back,” Mark said, pulling his pistol.
Young nodded. “I’ll cover the front. Caldwell, go behind Becker. The rest of you men spread out. We need people all around. But stay quiet. We don’t want them knowing we’re here until it’s time.”
Mark didn’t wait another second.
He crossed the ground to the house silently, Caldwell on his heels, and climbed the half-rotten steps to the back door. Gripping the handle, he turned it ever so slowly.
And the door opened.
Chapter Eighteen
THE SECOND THE QUIETclickcame from the rear of the house, Polson leapt to his feet. He kicked the sleeping McNab in the leg until he woke.
“What’s that?” McNab asked immediately.
Polson pressed a finger to his lips and gestured at the rear of the house and then at Charlotte.
Charlotte pulled herself into a ball as McNab stood and came toward her.
A small creaking sound came from what she presumed was the kitchen. Polson held his pistol out in front of him and made his way across the parlor. McNab gestured at her to stand. When she didn’t comply, he reached down and dragged her up by the arm.
Heart pounding, she tried to pull herself from his grip, but he didn’t relent. And when she saw the gun in his other hand, she stilled.
“Better drop your gun,” Polson’s voice sounded from the back room.
“On the contrary, you’d better drop yours.”
