Free Hannibal Rising by Jon Sharpe

Mr. Fargo?”
    “Yes and no.”
    “I’m serious.”
    Fargo stopped and looked up at her. He had to squint against the glare of the sun. “So am I. Yes, you can trust me to do the best I can to help you in the hunt. No, you can’t trust me if we’re alone tonight.”
    Samantha let out a sigh. “You never give up, do you? You latch on to a woman and pester her until she gives in.”
    “No. I let her know I’m interested. The rest is up to her.”
    “I’ve made it as plain as plain can be that I’m not interested. Why, then, do you persist in your advances?”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “You’re saying I don’t know my own mind?”
    “I think you really want me but you’re pretending you don’t because that’s what you think a real lady would do.”
    Lightning bolts danced in Samantha’s eyes. “Are you suggesting I’m not a lady?”
    “You’re as ladylike as they come,” Fargo admitted. “Wanting a man doesn’t make you less of one. It makes you a woman.”
    “Pardon my language but you confuse the hell out of me.”
    “Good.” Fargo grinned and went into the woods. He unwrapped the reins from the oak branch and stepped into the stirrups. Truth to tell, he was enjoying his cat and mouse with Samantha. The more she resisted, the more he craved her. Something told him that if she gave in, he would be in for the time of his life.
    Roland had stopped the caravan to wait for them. He told Fargo that he had wanted to come look for him but Samantha insisted he stay with the others. They got under way, and no sooner did Fargo rein into line than Tom and Cletus Brun were next to him.
    “I hear you killed the man who shot my brother,” Tom said.
    “His name was Anders,” Fargo hedged, and made it a point to glance out the corner of his eye at Cletus Brun. Sure enough, a scowl rippled across the hulking Missourian’s craggy face. “Ever hear of him?”
    “Can’t say that I have, no.”
    “How about your friend there?”
    Brun’s head swiveled on a neck as thick as a bull’s. “I told you I’m not his friend. And I never heard of anyone called Anders, either.”
    “He was a local.”
    “So? I don’t know everybody in Hannibal,” Brun rumbled. “I keep to myself. I don’t like people all that much.”
    “He was a hunter like you.”
    “I just told you I didn’t know him. Are you calling me a liar?”
    Fargo figured that now was as good a time as any to test his newest hunch. Casually placing his hand on his Colt, he said simply, “Yes.”
    “Here now,” Tom said.
    Cletus Brun surprised Fargo. He didn’t get mad or angry. All he said was, “What makes you think so?”
    “He made mention of a partner he was working with,” Fargo revealed. “I think that partner was you.”
    “Because I’m a local like he was? I suppose I might think the same if I was in your boots. But you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. I never partner up with anyone.”
    “So you claim.”
    Cletus rubbed his chin and said very deliberately, “You pile on the insults. Seems to me you’re askin’ for a poundin’ and I’m just the coon to oblige. Before this weekend is out I’m goin’ to bust your bones.”
    “You’re welcome to try.”
    “Here now,” Tom said again. “I won’t have talk like this, you hear me? Especially from you, Mr. Brun. I’m the one who hired you. To hunt for me, need I remind you? Not to indulge your violent tendencies.”
    “My what?” the block of muscle said, and laughed. “You and your fancy words. A man sticks up for himself and he’s bein’ violent? It’s a good thing you’re payin’ me good money or I’d as soon pound you as him.”
    “Enough of this,” Tom said. “Come with me.” He reined around and his giant doppelganger went with him.
    After that Fargo was left alone, which suited him as he had a lot to work out in his head. The way he saw it, he had at least three killers to contend with: the brown-eyed brother and sister, and whomever Anders had