Three of a Kind: Black Aces, Book Two

by Lee, Caroline

  He was giving her an out, even though he knew well and good she was the Ace?

  Something welled up in her, climbing from her stomach into her chest and throat. Relief? That was it. The acute relief, at realizing he didn’t think her guilty of murder, forced sudden tears to her eyes. She had to blink them away, hoping no one had noticed.

  He had, of course.

  As if trying to distract the others, Quint pulled the rifle from McNelis’s hands and shouldered the man out of the way, causing the sheriff to stumble backwards off the boardwalk. Quint turned to Finnie once more.

  “Is that possible, Miss Finnie?” he asked again gently.

  Hesitantly, she reached out shaking fingers to hover over the rifle’s stock. “It’s possible,” she finally whispered. It wasn’t a lie, anything was possible, and the excuse Quint had offered was a good one. “But what—” Her voice caught and she had to clear her throat. “What murder?” she asked, playing along.

  “Three men were brutally killed last night,” Quint said calmly in a loud voice, as if addressing the people around them, while staring intently at her. “The Black Ace has been accused, but since they were killed while apparently attempting a break-in at a respected business in this town, the morality is suspect.”

  Everyone might have been watching, but Finnie had eyes only for Quint. Her fingers closed around the barrel of the rifle. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

  The slightest twitch of his eyelid might’ve been a wink. “I mean that the Ace, despite being a criminal, seems to be this town’s protector.”

  That’s what the stranger had said last night, after gracefully ending the lives of Grady and Erstwhile and Ziggy.

  This town is under my protection now. I’m coming for your master next.

  She swallowed, then nodded just slightly, urging Quint to continue. He did.

  “Three men are dead, but if they were criminals themselves, this could be a falling out,” he explained. “The matter requires more investigation.”

  “Investigation?”

  King’s shrill voice had them all turning to the angry man.

  “Criminals? Those men were my employees!”

  Quint’s eyes narrowed. “I know.”

  A few of the surrounding men sucked in breaths at the insinuation that King was a criminal as well. King bristled, then pulled himself to his full height.

  “You think you’re clever?” he hissed. “This isn’t an investigation, boy! We know who did it, and we have the proof!”

  McNelis was back by his side, so King pointed his silver-tipped cane towards Finnie, his normally suave manner giving way to frenetic motion.

  “Evidence places her at the scene of the crime. She’s a freak of nature, large enough to be mistaken for a man!” His voice rose an octave as he gestured. “Finnie Pompey is the Black Ace, and she murdered three good men last night!”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” The languid drawl was familiar, and the crowd parted as Mr. Douglas, the investor from back east, stepped to the forefront. He waved lazily towards Finnie, but his eyes glittered sharply. “You expect us to believe this paragon of womanhood is a murderer? You expect us to believe she killed three men with her bare hands?”

  Finnie held her breath as the townspeople began to mutter again, all glaring at King. She wanted to thank Douglas, bless him for standing up for her, but instead she curled her fingers around the rifle, not quite sure what she should be doing.

  “Paragon?” King repeated shrilly, whirling to face the man. He was losing control, that much was obvious, to be yelling at the very man he needed so very much to impress. “She’s the Ace!”

  Quint glanced at her, his worry evident, but there was no way to reassure him. She was the Black Ace, despite their careful words.

  Behind her, the door to the saloon opened. Before she could turn, she felt Cinco’s small arms around her waist.

  “Go back inside,” she whispered under her breath, without tearing her gaze from the men in the street. She couldn’t bear the thought of the boy coming to harm, especially because of her.

  But it was too late. Douglas had noticed Cinco, and scoffed. “Look! She’s protecting the boy, as any good mother would, not a murderer.”

  From the crowd, the voice of Widow Hoyle called out, “He’s right!” and was met with agreements and jeers.

  When Douglas lifted his arm and rolled his wrist, it was simultaneously dismissive and elegant. “This woman didn’t kill those men, Sheriff,” he drawled.

  McNelis was looking worried, and Finnie saw his eyes dart back and forth between Douglas and his boss. Quint shifted slightly so his broad shoulders stood between her and the sheriff. Finnie’s heart was in her throat as she pushed Cinco behind her, praying she’d be able to protect him from whatever was coming.

  King was breathing heavily as he glared at the Easterner. In an obvious struggle, he wrapped himself in control once more, pulling himself up and swinging his cane like he always did. The rattle of the blade inside the cane reminded Finnie of the noise the faux Black Ace’s sword had made as he’d slid it from the scabbard, just before he’d cut Erstwhile’s throat, and she swallowed thickly.

  In a disdainful voice, King asked, “If she didn’t kill those men, Mr. Douglas, who did?”

  The stranger smiled, his lips curving upwards in a way which didn’t look at all joyful. “I did,” he drawled.

  Finnie wasn’t the only one who sucked in a startled breath. Staring at Douglas’s icy calm, she could believe it.

  Was he the one who’d dressed as the Ace and leapt and cavorted like a graceful acrobat? Why?

  The entire town seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see what King would do. He looked shocked, but his eyes narrowed and he inhaled, as if about to pass his own judgment.

  But before he could speak, there was another commotion, as Mr. Gomez pushed his way through the crowd and stood defiantly, his aged shoulders squared. “No! I killed them! I’m the Black Ace!”

  The murmurings started then, and Finnie shook her head, willing Mr. Gomez to look her way so she could urge him to take it back, to declare it was just a trick. She didn’t want him sacrificing himself, not for her.

  He didn’t look her way, just continued to glare at King. And then someone stepped up beside him.

  Bert Wheeler grinned toothily and rubbed his bad shoulder. “I’m the Ace! Been him for years now, ain’t I?”

  Matthias Blake stepped forward. “Don’t be silly, old man. I’m the Black Ace.”

  King’s head whipped back and forth between the men, all of whom were putting themselves in danger to save her.

  No.

  The realization came so swiftly, Finnie sucked in a startled breath and pulled the rifle to her chest. They weren’t doing it to save her; they were doing it to save the town.

  Just as she’d always wanted.

  “It’s me! I killed ‘em! I’m the Ace!” That came from Doc Vickers.

  Gwilym McHaffie stepped forward and spat on the ground towards McNelis. “Nay, they’re all lying to protect me, ye ken.”

  “I’m the Black Ace,” said Reverend Trapper as he stepped up proudly to stand beside his neighbors, ignoring the patent absurdity of his claim.

  The control King had fought so hard for was slipping again, as his attention jumped between the men of Black Aces who were defying him. Finnie felt her throat tighten from sheer joy. She didn’t know what the next few minutes would bring, but for one shining moment, everything was right. Quint knew she hadn’t killed O’Grady and the others, and her neighbors were banding together to stand up to King.

  Who apparently wasn’t going to take it. He whirled on Douglas. “Did you put them up to this?” he all-but-screamed.

  Douglas’s smile was cruel. “No, they’re finally seeing you for what you really are, I assume. But they’re all lying, of course. I’m the Black Ace.”

  “No, I am!”

  “No, I am!”

  The cries came from a
ll the men who’d stepped forward, plus more in the crowd, including a few woman. Even Widow Hoyle’s companion didn’t bother shushing her when the old woman cackled and yelled, “I’m the Ace!”

  “Fine!” King screamed, waving his sword cane in the air. “You heard them!” He whirled to McNelis. “They’ve all admitted their guilt. As an officer of the law, I demand you arrest them all!”

  And that’s when Sheriff McNelis grinned evilly and pulled his gun.

  17

  He was going to arrest the whole town?

  Quint’s brows were so high, he was sure they’d disappeared under his hat. He’d known McNelis was an incompetent boob, but this was ridiculous. There were rules, after all. Waving a gun around was a good intimidation tactic, but the so-called-sheriff looked all-too-ready to use it. King was still breathing heavy, looking more than a little crazy, but McNelis looked pleased at the opportunity to shoot someone.

  His eyes darting from King to McNelis to Douglas to Burton to McNelis again, Quint tried to calculate who was the bigger threat. King was wearing a gun, but it appeared to be for show. Same with Douglas, whose gun belt looked like it cost Quint’s annual salary, and which looked out of place on the dapper gentleman. The Easterner was acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world, and Burton—who was always careful—seemed content to watch for now.

  No, McNelis was the real threat. Quint calculated the odds of all of them walking away from this without a bullet hole in them. All the sheriff needed to do was become suspicious enough—or startled or have to sneeze or something—and he’d shoot one of them.

  He might be the sheriff of Black Aces, but it was clear his loyalty was to King, rather than the people or the law. And even though Quint had been sent here as McNelis’s backup in their hunt for the Ace, he’d come to see the sheriff for what he truly was.

  And Quint would put him down before he allowed the man to harm any of the people of Black Aces.

  No matter which of them was the vigilante Quint had been sent to stop.

  With McNelis still waving the gun around, Douglas shifted his weight, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his weight balanced well. “Well, Sheriff? Will you be arresting us all? Because I doubt very much you’ll be successful in your endeavor.”

  The corpulent sheriff’s gun pointed right at the Easterner. “Then you’ll be resisting arrest, won’t you?”

  Douglas tutted, his lips curving upwards wryly as he glanced at King. “And you’d kill your boss’s investor? You’d kill us all?” One hand gracefully encompassed the group of men who’d stepped forward. “You’d kill your boss’s renters? But then, where would his money come from, now that the mine’s played out?”

  In the heart of the crowd, the mutterings started, although most of the men who faced King kept their expressions neutral. With the investor announcing so boldly the mine was finished, the town’s suspicions were confirmed. Behind him, Finnie sucked in a breath, and Quint knew what it meant; King’s only source of income was now the outrageous rents he collected from her and her neighbors.

  With McNelis’s gun still pointed at Douglas, Quint was torn. He knew he should step down from the boardwalk and confront the sheriff directly. He’d sworn an oath to the law of the United States, which meant he was the only one here obligated to confront the corrupt sheriff. But if he did that, he’d leave Finnie and Cinco vulnerable. At least here, he could keep McNelis in his sights, but stand between danger and the woman he loved.

  And at the first opportunity, the first time he suspected he could make the move without startling McNelis, Quint vowed to go for his gun.

  King was looking stunned, but Douglas didn’t give him a chance to respond. “You can’t kill us all, Sheriff,” he challenged again.

  McNelis was an idiot, but not a coward. “Watch me,” he growled.

  “Alright, that’s enough.” Quint knew he couldn’t stand by anymore and allow a civilian like Douglas to draw this man’s fire. He stepped down from the boardwalk, towards McNelis and the rough circle of men.

  The movement drew McNelis’s attention and his aim, but Quint kept his voice calm and his palms out as he inched farther from Finnie. He couldn’t protect her out here, but he’d calculated McNelis was more likely to be aiming for Quint than her, so maybe this way she’d be out of the line of fire.

  As he moved, he watched for the angles and trajectories. He could take down McNelis from here, but not without likely hurting someone in the crowd behind the man. Hopefully, if or when the shooting started, everyone would be bright enough to hit the dust.

  Still, he had to do what he could.

  “Why don’t we all head home, folks. The sheriff and I will investigate the crime, and we’ll let you know what evidence we find.” He needed to disperse everyone, so there was less chance of them being harmed. “It’s been a long night, and I could go for some coffee.”

  He’d said the last with a false tone of cheer, and a few of the gathered men shifted, as if they were about to agree with him. But McNelis wasn’t going for it.

  “We don’t need an investigation, boy. We’ve got a bunch of confessions!”

  “Confessions to what?” Quint asked, keeping his voice mild as he nonchalantly moved into a better position to face the sheriff.

  “Confessions to the killing! To being the Ace!”

  “So you’re going to arrest them all? And if they resist arrest, kill them?”

  “It’s my duty!” the sheriff scowled.

  “No,” Quint said calmly. “You’re duty is to the law. And a real lawman knows when he’s outnumbered, knows when his actions are going to seriously harm the order of the town. He knows that arresting a bunch of innocents won’t work.”

  McNelis’s gun hadn’t wavered, but at least it was pointed at Quint, and none of the others. “A real lawman follows his gut.”

  Quint’s scoff wasn’t forced. “And murders innocents?”

  “And punishes confessed criminals.”

  Around them, the people of Black Aces stood in silent tableau.

  Quint lowered his voice. “You know they’re not criminals, Sheriff.”

  The logic didn’t seem to help.

  “One of them is,” McNelis insisted.

  “Maybe.” Quint shrugged. “But that’s why we have judges and trials. You can’t shoot everyone in town.”

  That’s when McNelis seemed to snap.

  “Watch me, boy!” he hollered, and shifted his aim to Douglas.

  Quint had to stop himself from throwing his body forward, knowing he couldn’t protect the investor from McNelis, and the movement would just startle the sheriff. Instead, he gave up his pretext of calmness and allowed his anger to seep into his tone.

  “McNelis, holster your gun. As a US Marshal, I’m telling you that I will do whatever I need to do in order to protect these innocent people.”

  The heavy man opened his mouth to respond, but Quint didn’t give him the chance.

  “Holster your weapon, McNelis. If you hurt anyone today, for whatever reason, I will take you down myself.”

  The warning in his tone must’ve gotten through, judging by the way the other man’s eyes widened. But before Quint could blink, McNelis’s expression slid into a sneer once more.

  “You didn’t have the guts to hunt down the Black Ace, boy.” McNelis’s eyes flicked to King, who was watching the proceedings with a veiled expression. “And you sure don’t have the guts to shoot me.”

  Quint shifted forward, his right palm itching to go for his gun. “I’ll do it to protect innocents,” he growled again.

  The sheriff waved his gun at the surrounding men. “Well, one of them is guilty!”

  Before Quint could speak, Douglas lifted a finger as if they were merely discussing the weather. “It’s me,” he offered helpfully.

  “No, it’s me,” Gomez said. “I’m guilty.”

  McNelis’s aim wavered, and McHaffie spoke up. “Nay, ‘tis me!”

  That’s when, suddenly, a sm
allish shape burst out of the crowd. “It’s me! I’m the Ace!”

  Maybe it was the shock of seeing Millard Caplan—who was supposedly firmly in King’s back pocket—defiantly declaring himself to be the enemy. Maybe it was just the sudden movement, or maybe the stress of the situation had just gotten to be too much.

  Whatever it was, McNelis’s revolver twitched towards Millard and fired.

  Quint’s own gun was in his hand by the time the sheriff’s finger was squeezing his trigger, and as the loud retort shattered the unnatural stillness, and the townspeople began to dive for cover, Quint shot the sheriff’s knee out.

  He’d known there was no way to shoot the man any higher on his body when he was upright, as there was too much of a chance to hurt a bystander. But now that he was down…

  As the sheriff’s gun swung around towards him, a grim expression of determination on the man’s face, Quint dived for the ground, ignoring the screams around him, and praying Finnie would be safe. His second shot, from ground level, took McNelis through the arm, passing into the side of his chest.

  The man made a gurgling noise, still struggling to lift the gun, as Quint rolled into a kneeling position and fired again, at the now ex-sheriff’s throat. The retort was unnaturally loud, but the man went still immediately.

  Quint kept his gaze on the threat for a few extra seconds, making sure McNelis was really dead, before shifting his eyes to Burton. The hired gun—always careful and meticulous—stood frozen, his palm on the butt of his gun. Quint gestured with his barrel, and the man moved his hands away from his body.

  It was only then that Quint’s gaze shifted to King, and he was surprised to see the man holding his right hand in his left palm, his expression equal parts anger and pain. His revolver was no longer in its holster, but on the ground.

  As the man cradled his wounded hand, Quint figured out what had happened. King had gone for his gun, but someone had shot it from his hand. That would explain the unnaturally loud sound of Quint’s third shot; it had actually been two shots in one.

  Without moving, Quint glanced at Douglas. The man was the only one of the brave idiots who’d stood up to McNelis not under cover. Doc Vickers and the Widow Hoyle were crouched over Millard, but Quint couldn’t tell if the man was alive or dead.