Hollister stood outside the rear door of the sleeping car, watching the landscape rush by. He was thinking about the woman. There was something in their encounter that had altered things, but damned if he could put words to it. She had upset everything. Chee was jangled up so tight he might gun her down the next time he saw her and that might just be the right thing to do.
What had happened when she looked at him was something he’d never experienced before. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. At the Point, he’d spent a great deal of time in New York City and he’d seen his share of gorgeous women.
Right after the war ended, he’d been invited to a party in Washington. It had been a grand affair at the White House and General Sheridan had gotten him an invitation. He’d been allowed to shake the hand of President Lincoln just three days before the son of a bitch Booth gunned him down in cold blood.
It had been the fanciest affair Hollister had ever attended. After four long years of war, people had been ready to celebrate, and the music, the food, the liquor, and beautiful women had been there in abundance. Some of the prettiest ladies he’d ever seen, in elegant gowns, with their eyes sparkling and their skin so clean and white it was like they’d been dipped in clouds. After months of nothing but the dirt, mud, blood, and gore of battle, the cleanliness of it had made his eyes hurt.
He spent a great deal of time dancing with the daughter of an Ohio senator. She had night-dark hair piled high on her head and ice-blue eyes. He’d even asked her father if he could call on her, but then Lincoln had been shot, and he and his regiment were sent South to finish up with Johnston and he never got back to Washington. Many times, as he’d lain awake on his bunk in Leavenworth, he’d thought of her and of that night and how much he wanted to see her again.
Tonight as the train whistled and picked up speed chugging out of Denver, he could not even remember the girl’s name. And as pretty as she had been, she wasn’t even in the same county as Shaniah. For the life of him, Hollister could not understand why this mysterious woman had affected him this way.
Part of him wondered if Chee had been right. If she was a Deathwalker, it was certainly possible she could exert some kind of control over him. Mix him up so he wasn’t thinking straight. Perhaps this was how these creatures captured their human prey, through some kind of control over their thoughts. He remembered how he’d felt back in Wyoming, with that tall freak advancing on him. He’d felt paralyzed and unable to fight back. Maybe that was what happened.
It made as much sense as anything, for he could not get the woman out of his mind. Closing his eyes and feeling the speed and power of the train move from his feet up through the rest of his body, he tried to clear his head. It was no use. Shaniah’s face floated in his consciousness.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, opening his eyes and watching the night rush past. “What the hell am I doing?”
Chee was right. The woman was trouble.
Clear of the city now, the train whistle sounded again and Hollister heard the steam shoot into the baffles on the engine. He was almost shocked at how fast it accelerated. He smiled. The woman might be trouble, he thought.
But my train kicks ass.