The Peacemaker Read Online Free Page B

pocket. Before she could cock the hammer, the Apache pushed the captain aside and seized her wrist. A small scream tore from her throat. Desperate to hold on to the revolver, she clamped her other hand around the length of the barrel. "Let me go," she said between her teeth, bringing the barrel around. His savage look told her he had no intention of letting her go or letting her get off a shot. "Damn you!" She couldn't let him stop her—couldn't let him take her captive. Summoning all her strength, she twisted away from him. If she could roll over with the pistol beneath her . . .
    Almost effortlessly, he flipped her back, climbed on top of her, and straddled her hips. In the midst of the fracas, Indy had managed to shove her index finger into the trigger guard, but had yet to cock the hammer.
    The Apache beat her to it, then forced her finger against the trigger. The bullet shot straight up and blew a hole through the canvas top. Five more times he cocked the hammer and made her pull the trigger. The cylinder clicked hollowly at each empty chamber. After the last one, his hostile gaze met hers and she read the anger in his eyes.
    "Yes." She hissed like an angry rattler. "I saved the last one for me. I'd rather be dead than have you or your friends touch me!" Sobs choked her and tears blinded her. She couldn't move, not even her legs, which had been bared when he'd straddled her and forced her dress up. They were beginning to go numb beneath his weight—her whole body was going numb, except for her head, which felt like it might explode.
    He leaned over her, blocking out the daylight. His dark hair fell forward over wide, muscular shoulders the color of saddle leather. He was watching her like a hawk watches its prey. Would he kill her quickly, she wondered, or would he tease and torment her until she screamed for mercy?
    His gaze inched downward, lingering on her heaving breasts, clearly making an appraisal of her assets, yet acknowledging nothing of his summation in his expression until his gaze moved lower.
    He spoke suddenly, a guttural foreign-sounding word that she could barely make out the pronunciation, let alone understand what it meant. Then, before she could guess his next move, he tore open her jacket and pulled her blouse free from her skirt.
    "No!" she cried, assuming his intent. "No, please!" Of all the things she'd imagined would happen to her, she hadn't ever considered rape. Somewhere she thought she'd read that Apaches didn't rape.
    Fear and blinding pain transported Indy to another part of her mind where she no longer felt the Apache's hands intimately examining her body, where she couldn't see his measuring expression, and where there were no sounds to intrude upon her trancelike stupor.
    Slowly, she became aware that there was someone hovering above her. It was Sergeant Moseley. He was kneeling beside her, his craggy features tight with worry. Indy fought to keep her eyelids from closing, but they felt heavy, as if they'd been weighted.
    "Sergeant—" she breathed, unable to complete her question. Her tongue felt thick.
    "Shh, don't talk. You're safe now. Everything's gonna be all right." He patted her hand reassuringly.
    It seemed to Indy that she must be hallucinating. How was it possible that the sergeant had escaped the attack after the second band of Apaches had joined the first? Was he the only one who had survived, or had he and his men somehow managed to fight the Indians off? Questions rolled around inside her head like tumble-weeds, but she couldn't seem to grab hold of one long enough to ask it. She looked up, bewildered.
    Moseley tipped his canteen and soaked his neckerchief. "You've got quite a knot on your head, big as a bird's egg," he said, carefully pressing the cloth to the side of her head just above her ear. She yanked back sharply. "Come on now. Easy. This'll take down some of the swelling. You'll probably have a headache for a few days, but all things considered, I'd say you was