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Batton's rough hands slung her down from his shoulder and deposited her on the floor.

Blind and disoriented, Callista collapsed to her knees and scrabbled to free herself from her burlap prison.

The slam of a door spurred her to desperate speed, but her panic made her clumsy.

Her hands fumbled until Batton grasped the top of the sack and yanked it off her head, taking several tufts of her hair with it.

She bit back a yelp and blinked away the tears pooling in her eyes.

She'd not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower.

Pushing to her feet, she brushed a fallen lock of hair from her face and glared up at him.

"Welcome to my cottage, Miss Rosenfeld." He sketched a bow as if she'd just stepped from a fancy carriage and strolled into a ballroom.

"Do you like it?" He swept his arm in an arc to encompass the room.

"I use antlers in all of my decorating back home, so I immediately felt at ease here.

Isn't it cozy? I even brought a few specimens from my personal collection.

Always nice to have a sentimental item or two when traveling. "

Callista scanned the room, hoping to find an escape option or available weapon, but the décor he bragged about practically jumped from the walls.

Dead animals stared at her with glassy, unseeing eyes.

The mounted heads of several bucks with large antler spreads encircled the room, interspersed with two boars with tusks and several birds with suspicious dark spots on their underbellies.

A coyote with bared teeth breathed down her neck from the wall at her back.

She scooted sideways, bumping into a table.

A coiled snake with large fangs toppled her direction.

She squealed and batted away the venomous creature as Batton's dark laughter echoed off the rafters.

He bent over and plucked the stiff coil from the floor and settled the taxidermic snake back on the table.

"I see you found one of my pets. I killed this one with my bare hands.

" He stroked the scaled head. "It tried to sneak up on me a few years ago while I was stalking a moose.

I spotted him, took him by the tail, and whipped him— boom —just like that.

" He waved his arm in her face and gave a vicious flick of his wrist. Callista flinched.

"Snapped his neck instantly." Batton's prideful grin turned Callista's stomach.

"He travels with me now. A trophy of sorts.

I do like pretty trophies." He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Callista jerked her face away from him. "I'm nobody's trophy."

He laughed, the sound hollow. "With that face and figure? Honey, you were made to be a man's trophy." Batton snatched her wrist and dragged her deeper into the room. "And the perfect bait."

She dragged her feet and struggled against his hold, but her efforts didn't slow Batton in the slightest. "Let me go!"

"I don't think so, sweeting."

He tossed her roughly into a hard wooden chair then wrenched her arms behind her. A cord of some sort coiled around her wrists and pulled tight. As soon as he stepped away, she tugged and squirmed, trying to pull a hand free, but the cord held fast.

"The more you struggle, the tighter the noose will pull," Batton warned as he moved from behind her and collected a second chair.

Callista stilled. She'd not be able to escape with him watching her so closely.

Better to bide her time and wait for him to leave the room before trying to free herself.

What she wouldn't give for the scoring knife she'd been using just an hour ago.

She'd have to find something else to use to cut her way free.

Thankfully, she had an entire room filled with fangs, tusks, and teeth.

If she could just figure out how to get to them.

Batton placed his chair directly in front of her and took a seat. "That's better. Now we can converse like civilized people."

"Civilized people don't abduct their company and bind their hands."

He raised a brow and ran his gaze down her form in a way that made her face heat in shame. "I could treat you with much less civility, my dear, and quite enjoy myself in the process. You'd do well to remember that."

Callista's mouth dried as her heart pounded in her chest.

Batton rose and hovered over her. One by one, he pulled the pins from her hair. When one refused to pull free of her tangled tresses, he forced it with an unsympathetic yank that brought tears to her eyes.

"There we go. That's better."

He arranged her hair over her shoulders, creating a wavy dark curtain she longed to hide behind. But he tucked the curtain behind her ears, leaving her exposed to his view. Was he preparing her to be mounted upon his wall? A pretty, lifeless trinket to proclaim his prowess?

"Can't have our bait looking scraggly, now, can we?

" He smoothed her hair with his hand as if he were stroking a hound.

"Everett Griffin has a weakness for beautiful women.

" He circled to stand in front of her, crooked a finger beneath her chin, and lifted her face.

" You, in particular, I'd say, judging by the protective way he rushed to your side when I paid my last visit.

That's going to make this all the sweeter. "

She jerked her chin away from his touch, earning a chuckle from her captor.

"You know, when you first told me who he was, I thought I'd just lie in wait and shoot him like I did his interfering manservant.

" Batton flipped his chair around and straddled it.

"But then I realized that a quick death was too easy for Everett Griffin.

He needs to suffer for his sins. Slowly and painfully. "

Callista's breathing grew shallow, and her head began to spin.

Ambrose Batton had shot Mr. Lightfoot. Why?

A picture rose in her mind of Mr. Lightfoot rescuing her from Batton's overbearing presence after church that first Sunday.

And his protective hovering every Lord's Day thereafter.

Had Batton shot Mr. Lightfoot because of her ?

Nausea roiled in her stomach at the thought.

And what of Everett? Merciful heavens! Batton sounded like he wanted to tear him apart piece by tiny piece. Was it some kind of deranged jealousy? Maybe if she convinced him that there was nothing romantic between her and Everett, he would let go of his vengeful plans.

"Mr. Griffin is my employer. Nothing more.

" At least nothing that would endure past her final day in his employ.

"I've been rebinding some of the books in his library.

That's all. Any protectiveness you think you noticed was merely his sense of responsibility toward an employee in his household.

He has no claim on me, nor I on him. In fact, tomorrow is to be my last day.

I'll be heading home this weekend, never to see Mr. Griffin or his staff again.

There's no need for you to harm anyone else from Manticore Manor.

They have nothing to do with what has transpired between you and me. "

Batton smirked. "Leave it to a beautiful woman to assume everything is about her.

" He rose from his chair like a panther rising from a crouch and stalked forward.

"I've been hunting Everett Griffin for five years, Miss Rosenfeld.

Chasing lead after dead-end lead. Until last year, when a friend of mine mentioned seeing a piece of art in a Houston gallery bearing the signature of the very man I'd been trying to run to ground.

I've been scouring Texas ever since, working my way systematically north through this oversized territory, determined to flush out my prey.

I discovered you, instead, but thanks to a providential twist of fate, you've led me straight to my quarry.

" He smiled, and the look in his eyes sent shivers slithering over her skin like a hundred venomous snakes.

"If it wasn't for you, my dear, I might never have found him. "

"Henderson's cabin is at the end of that trail." Wade pointed to where the overgrown path disappeared into a group of trees.

Everett nodded and pulled his rifle from the saddle scabbard. "Thanks for showing me the way."

He set his jaw, trying not to imagine all the ways the next few minutes could go horribly wrong.

The sum of his battle experience had been gathered from ballrooms and books.

He knew nothing of gunfights. And while he and his brother had sparred in the boxing ring with enough regularity to keep in shape, he doubted Ambrose Batton would honor the Marquess of Queensberry rules.

"You better head back." Everett lifted his chin in the direction of the main road. "I doubt this will be a peaceful discussion."

Wade steered his horse's head around. "If it's all right with you, I'll keep the horse and ride back to tell my pa what's happening.

I know your man went to fetch the sheriff, but the inn is closer than town, and Pa can help.

He grew up in these parts and knows back ways into places I've never been. "

"Fetch him. I'll be grateful for whatever help he is willing to give." And if Wade was racing back to the coaching inn, he'd not be in the line of fire. "Miss Rosenfeld is my top priority, though, so I'll not be waiting on him. Spartacus and I will do the best we can on our own."

Hearing his name, Spartacus drew his nose away from the ground and cocked his head toward his master.

Everett waited for Wade to head off in the opposite direction, then signaled with his hand for Spartacus to advance. "Let's go get her, boy."

Spartacus barked and loped down the trail. Everett followed, scanning the trees for danger as they approached a cabin backed up against a rocky hillside. It seemed a frontal assault would be the only option.

Whatever happens, Lord, keep Callista safe.

Heaven knew he was no Allan Quatermain. His marksmanship was mediocre at best, and his tactical stratagem for this mission consisted of three axioms: hide when possible, avoid getting shot, and save the girl.

His grasp of how best to accomplish those goals was pitifully thin, but he possessed an abundance of motivation.

Not to mention an unseen ally who hopefully had a plan in place.

The Almighty possessed a rather impressive record for any battle he chose to enter.

Everett prayed he'd enter this one. For Callista's sake, if not his own.

While still in the trees, Everett dismounted and patted his gelding's neck. "Stay here, Enbarr. You're too easy a target."

He pivoted to face the cabin, only able to see one edge of the building through the cover of the trees.

Spartacus had scouted ahead. Everett couldn't see him, which made him a bit nervous, but he dared not whistle to call the animal back.

Hopefully, the heritage of generations of hunting dogs, war dogs, and guard dogs running through his veins would hone his instincts.

Rifle in hand, Everett darted forward, careful to keep a tree between himself and the cabin at all times. Until the trees ran out.

What to do? He had no doubt Batton was watching for him. He'd be a sitting duck if he stepped into the open. Which left him with only one option—talk his way through.

"Ambrose Batton!" Everett's voice boomed across the twenty yards of open space between him and the cabin. "The sheriff is on his way. Let Miss Rosenfeld go, and you have my word that I won't hinder your escape."

No bullets whizzed by his head. That was good.

But there was no response of any kind. That made him nervous.

Were Batton and Callista not in the cabin?

The big palomino stood saddled near the corner of the building, so they had to have been here at some point.

Everett stepped slightly away from the tree shielding him, his gaze glued to the front window, expecting a rifle barrel to poke beneath the raised sash at any moment.

Nothing materialized. He inched out a little farther, debating whether or not he should rush the cabin.

Just as he prepared to launch, the front door opened.

Callista stood in the doorway, her familiar blue dress a beautiful sight.

But a meaty arm wrapped around her midsection marred the view, as did the leering face above her head.

The glint of a steel blade near Callista's neck stole Everett's breath.

"Gotta give you credit, Griffin," Batton shouted from behind Callista. "You found me faster than I expected. Too bad. I had hoped to have more time alone with your lady."

Everett's gut clenched so hard he was surprised it didn't crack a rib. "Callista?" His voice broke a little. "Are you all right?"

"She's fine for now, but she won't be for long, unless you do exactly as I say."

"No, Everett! Run! It's you he's af—" Callista's words cut off and visions of the blade cutting into her throat speared through his mind.

Everett charged out from behind the tree, caution forgotten.

With Batton holding her with one arm and wielding a knife in the other, the man couldn't shoot.

But he could hurt Callista, and that's what he did.

His blade sliced into the tender skin beneath her chin, drawing a cry of pain that ricocheted through Everett's chest like a barbed ball bearing.

"Not so fast!"

Everett skidded to a halt a few feet from them. "Please. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt her." If Batton wanted him, he'd gladly make the trade.

"Drop the rifle. And your sidearm. Set them on the ground and kick them away from you."

Everett did as he was told, then straightened with his hands in the air. "I'm the one you want, Batton. Let her go."

Everett's gaze darted to Callista. Her beautiful brown eyes glistened as she shook her head ever so slightly, still trying to get him to save himself. Her eyes pleaded, but he'd not leave without her.

"I'll let her go," Batton said, "but only after you suffer for what you did to my cousin."

His cousin? Everett searched his memory for any Battons that he might have known back in New York, but nothing came to mind.

"I've never intentionally harmed anyone, Batton. I don't know who your cousin is, but—"

"Lillian March." Batton growled out the name, and the force of his released rage dug the blade of his knife into Callista's neck, drawing her whimper. "My cousin is Lillian March. You destroyed her, and now I'm going to destroy you."