McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [152]
He cocked the pistol; Lorelei felt the sound reverberate through her very bones. She struggled, like a drowning swimmer flailing for the surface, for air, but she was no match for Templeton’s strength. She closed her eyes. The gun barrel pressed, cold and hard, at the hollow of her throat.
There was a crash as the study doors sprang open—then a flare of smoke and fire.
Lorelei fully expected to die, but it was Isaac Templeton who stiffened. Instinctively, she shifted away from the pistol, aware of his finger tightening against the trigger, and felt the discharge whisk past her neck. The roar of it was deafening.
“Lorelei!” It was Holt’s voice, near as her breath, distant as the other side of the moon. He didn’t round the desk, he vaulted right over it, gathered her in his arms. Held her fiercely. “Jesus, Lorelei, are you all right?”
“I—I’m not sure,” she admitted, letting herself cling to Holt. “I think so, though.”
He kissed the top of her head, held her even more tightly.
“Mr. Kahill,” she said. “He worked for Mr. Templeton.”
“Shhh,” Holt breathed.
A great clamor rose in the street. People surged inside, streaming through the study doorway. Lorelei recognized Frank Corrales—the Captain—the constable.
“Jesus,” Frank gasped. “What happened here?”
“What the hell do you think happened, Frank?” Holt snapped.
“He was going to kill me,” Lorelei told Holt, burying her face in his chest. Breathing in the scent that was his alone, drawing strength from it, moment by moment, heartbeat by heartbeat. “I found the ledger—my father had nothing left—it all belonged to Mr. Templeton. He had those poor people murdered, probably to get their land, and blamed Gabe.”
“It’s all right, Lorelei,” Holt rasped. He cupped a hand behind her head, pressed her even closer.
“Do I still get my twenty-five hundred dollars?” asked a new voice.
Lorelei turned her head to look at the stranger, a man wearing rumpled clothes and a cheerful grin.
“R. S. Beauregard, ma’am,” he said affably, as though they were meeting under the most cordial of circumstances. “I’m Gabe Navarro’s lawyer. From what I’ve heard here, I’d say this is my client’s last day in jail.” He turned to the constable, who looked flummoxed, and broadened his grin. “You heard what the lady said, lawman. And you know it’s true. Since you don’t have Templeton to be scared of anymore, I reckon you might be willing to own up.”
The constable stood over Templeton’s body, and he looked as though he wanted to spit on it. “Get Judge Hawkins here as quick as you can,” he said.
Lorelei looked up at Holt. “The others—Kahill, and the men who worked for Mr. Templeton—”
“We’ll get them,” Holt said. “Cap’n—Frank? Are you ready to ride?” His hold slackened, and Lorelei realized she was grasping his shirtfront in both hands. Reluctantly, she let go.
“Holt,” she whispered. “No.”
“Wait a minute,” Mr. Beauregard interceded, belatedly troubled. “This is a matter for the constable and his men—”
“The hell it is,” Holt said. The Captain and Frank looked on in silent, somber agreement. He turned to the constable. “You know what Judge Hawkins is going to do, once he hears the whole truth. If you’ve got a decent bone in your body, you’ll turn Gabe loose, so he can ride with us.”
“Holt, please,” Lorelei whispered, but she knew she might as well have tossed the words into the wind. His course was set; there would be no turning him from it.
Just then, Angelina rushed in. Most likely, word of what had happened was spreading from one end of San Antonio to the other.
“Child,” she said, her brown eyes gleaming with tears.
“Oh, my poor child. Are you hurt?”
“Take care of her,” Holt told Angelina tersely. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I have to go with you!” Lorelei cried, knowing all the while that it was hopeless, that he would not be swayed.
He pushed her gently into her father