All I could do was watch and wait, trusting that the woman I was falling for was as strong and as sharp as I believed. But as the afternoon dragged on and shadows stretched across the canyon floor, something started to feel wrong. Holt paced back and forth, arguing with his lieutenants, pointing again and again toward the shelter where they'd taken Sihaya. Whatever she'd told him, or refused to tell him, it was rattling him bad. And then I saw it, the moment everything changed.
Holt started barking orders. His men began gathering weapons, supplies, but they weren't getting ready for an ambush. They were packing to move now, and they were taking Sihaya with them. The plan didn't just go bad, it went catastrophic. I had to make a choice, and fast.
Stick to the plan, wait for Rook to signal when he had what we needed, or break cover, create a distraction, give them a chance to get out alive. Through the binoculars, I saw the urgency in every movement. They'd be riding out in less than an hour. Whatever had spooked Holt, it was big enough to make him abandon his own camp. Then I spotted Rook near the horse corral.
Even from that distance, I could see it in him, the tension, the way he tried to look calm, but kept glancing toward the shelter where Sihaya was held. Something had gone wrong. Real wrong. I was still weighing my options when the decision got made for me. One of Holt's men, a thin, dangerous-looking bastard I'd seen earlier, walked up to Rook, his hand resting on his gun.
I didn't hear a word. Didn't need to. Rook's cover was blown. Holt had figured it out. Rook wasn't there for revenge.
He wasn't delivering Cairo's sister, and that meant, in a matter of minutes, both Rook Vatcher and Sihaya would be dead. I'd been behind a rifle long enough to know when quiet had to give way to action. Sometimes the best plan was the simplest one. Start shooting and don't stop until the bad men are down or running. I checked my weapons one last time.
Two Colt.45s, both cylinders full. A Winchester rifle, loaded and ready, with enough rounds for a small war. It would have to be enough. My first shot dropped the lookout posted high on the canyon ridge, silent, clean, before he could raise the alarm. The second shot was for the man standing over Rook Vatcher.
It spun him around and slammed him face-first into the dirt of the corral. After that, hell broke loose. The Holt Syndicate scattered like startled quail. Some dove behind wagons and crates. Others scrambled for their guns.
I'd caught them off guard, and it took them a few precious seconds to figure out where the fire was coming from. I used every second. The rifle bucked against my shoulder as I poured shots into the camp, picking off anyone trying to rally the others. Years as a hired gun had taught me one thing. Shoot fast, shoot true, and don't hesitate.
Those lessons were keeping me alive. In the middle of the chaos, I saw Rook break free and sprint toward the shelter where they were holding Sihaya. Down below, Varick Holt was shouting orders, trying to pull his men together, but the surprise had already torn his camp apart. Then I saw her. Sihaya burst out of the shelter, no longer bound, gun in hand.