Jack was frowning down at his hand, but he took a deep breath and discarded one card. “One, please, madame.”
She dealt him a card, and watched his face. His expression gave nothing away, but she could feel the game, the deception, the mission, slipping away.
There was six thousand dollars on the table between the two men, and the room seemed to hold its breath. That was an incredible amount of money, but nothing compared to the real prize; the deed King carried with him.
Jack’s smile seemed forced when he met King’s eyes, and the older man obviously sensed it. He looked just short of crowing, believing he’d foiled Jack’s plan. Maybe that was why Jack seemed dejected; he wanted King to think he had a chance at winning? He wanted King to wager the deed to the mine?
Tavie’s head was spinning. She was good at deceptions and disguises, but hated not understanding what was going on. Without knowing either hand, she couldn’t know how badly her shuffle had ruined Jack’s plan.
All she could do was continue with what they’d discussed.
And pray they weren’t about to lose their chance.
“I’ll wager another three thousand.” Jack reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet. He counted out the bills, but before he placed them in the pot, he quirked an eyebrow at King. “I trust you’re not going to question my honor again and demand to re-count the money?”
“Only if you don’t do the same to me,” King responded, as he too reached for his wallet.
Tavie was watching the wallet as he counted out the bills, and realized he’d emptied it. When he was done placing the three thousand on the table, he had only a few dollars left in front of him.
Had Jack planned that? She wanted to catch his eye, to ask him without words. Had he known King had six thousand dollars on him—his winnings from yesterday and today—and thus maneuvered him to bet it all?
She glanced up to see Marshal Diamon frowning at her. She almost shrugged apologetically, sorry she couldn’t answer his questions for him, until she remembered she was in disguise. Hopefully, he didn’t recognize her as Tavie Smothers, but maybe that was the reason behind his glare.
Hopefully it’s not because he thinks I’m part of this cheating.
Jack cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, drawing everyone’s attention. “I almost hate to do this, King, but…” His wallet was still on the table in front of him, next to his face-down cards. He pulled out another wad of bills and began counting.
“Five…six…seven…eight, nine, ten. Ten thousand.” He tapped the bills against the wood, then held them up by his thumb and forefinger. “Ten thousand, Mr. King.”
The murmurs began again. Everyone watching knew King couldn’t meet that bet. He’d matched the six thousand already on the table, and now had nothing.
A smart man would fold. But whatever he’d received in the first deal must’ve been tempting, and everything he owned was already in the pot. So he couldn’t fold.
Actually, not everything. Not yet anyway.
With an angry grunt, King reached for his wallet again. “I’ve been trying to figure out your angle, Douglas, but now I know. Was this whole game, this whole set-up, just a chance to win the mine? All because I wouldn’t sell it to you?”
Jack shrugged nonchalantly, but Tavie could see the tension in his jaw as he stared at the wallet in King’s hands. “It’s probably worth more than… What’s the pot up to now? Twenty-two thousand?”
“It would be worth much more than that, if the silver wasn’t completely cleaned out,” King growled
“Maybe I don’t want it for the silver.”
King’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yes. You did say you were interested in controlling the town, didn’t you?”
And that’s when, so nonchalantly he couldn’t know how phenomenally important the gesture was, King removed the deed to the Bicycle Mine and tossed it into the pot, atop the twenty-two thousand dollars.
Tavie wasn’t the only watcher who sucked in a breath and leaned forward, eyes riveted on that folded document. Even Quint Diamon’s shoulders twitched, as if he wanted to reach for it himself.
But it was Jack’s reaction which was most telling.
His hands barely shook at all as he picked up the paper and turned it this way and that, looking at the red stains.
Jim’s blood on it.
It was as Caplan had told Ruth, before he’d died.
The deed was stained with blood, and in the middle of it…
Slowly, Jack unfolded the paper, revealing the legal deed to the mine, and three matching slits. When the paper was folded, the slits lined up, and the red stains originated there.
The mark of a blade.
Tavie’s eyes grew wide as she realized what it meant: Someone had kept the deed against his body—in a breast-pocket wallet, perhaps—and been stabbed by a blade. His blood had coated the document as he’d died.
Jim Hoyle had been stabbed to death.
Jack’s gaze was still on the paper in his hand, but she stretched her foot out to place it alongside his. Not a nudge, just a gesture to ensure he knew she was there, beside him.
He didn’t look her way, but she thought he exhaled softly.
Jack’s cold eyes met King’s across the table. “You never asked why I wanted to control the town.”
The older man shrugged. “Because you’re a savvy businessman and recognize the potential. Rent alone has been enough to keep my living in comfort.”
“I didn’t want to buy the deed, King,” Jack all but hissed. “I just needed to see it.”
Before King could respond—and it appeared he wasn’t even sure how to—Jack glanced up at Diamon. “Blood, Marshal. You see it? Looks like someone’s been stabbed.”
Marshal Diamon grunted as he reached for the deed, then flipped it over to examine it closer. He shrugged. “Looks like someone stabbed whoever was holding it,” he said, as he casually tossed it back into the pot.
Jack flattened his palms against the table and leaned in. “Jim Hoyle was stabbed to death, and I have a sworn statement from a witness that you didn’t win that poker game where he bet this deed. You lost, and then you followed him out of the saloon, stabbed him, took the deed yourself, and spread the word you’d won it.”
Tavie kept her attention on King, watching him pale as Jack spoke, but under the table, she reached for Jack’s thigh. It wasn’t much, but she laid her hand there, feeling the coiled rage in his muscles, and willed him to remain in control.
Finally, King blustered, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Douglas—”
“Don’t call me that,” Jack snapped. “It’s my middle name, and I’ve never liked it.”
Judging from King’s frantic glances at the people around him, he was finally realizing the danger he was in. “Middle name? What do you mean?”
Jack snarled. “My middle name. Jonathan Douglas…Hoyle.”
“Jack!” someone in the crowd called out. “Jack Hoyle’s alive, boys!”
Cries came from all directions.
“I don’t believe it!”
“Jim’s boy has come back home!”
“Does Ruth know? Someone fetch Ruth!”
“The investor is Jack Hoyle?”
“Wasn’t he the one who said he was the Black Ace, too?”
“Well, don’t that just beat all?”
Through all the commotion, King sat, staring at the deed on the pile in front of him, growing paler and paler.
Probably thinking he should’ve taken Jack’s offer to buy the damn thing.
No matter what hands they each held, Jack had won. Even if shuffling the deck had ruined his grand plan, even if King had the better hand now, Jack had seen the deed. He’d seen evidence of King’s foul actions, even if the man hadn’t admitted to it.
And now, King knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. And everyone knew he wasn’t going to stand for King remaining in charge of this town.
Jack’s weight rested on h
is palms. “Show me your cards, you sonuvabitch.”
The older man swallowed as he reached for his hand, flipping the cards over quickly.
The nine of clubs, nine of spades, nine of diamonds, three of hearts, and six of clubs.
Three nines. Three of a kind.
Around them, men began to mutter again. It’d be a hard hand to beat.
A remarkable hand, one arranged by Jack. She glanced at him, and was surprised to see him grinning fiercely. Maybe he’d planned on King pulling a fourth nine, to push the betting even higher, but he hadn’t needed that. When King thought he’d foiled Jack’s cheating, he’d been willing to match the wagers.
King’s eyes darted between Jack’s face and his cards, still face-down, as around them, the spectators slowly quieted.
Jack was a showman, alright, Tavie’s fingers dug into his thigh, urging him to put them all out of their misery. If he couldn’t top three nines, they needed to decide how to beat King…and how to take back that mine deed.
The twenty-two thousand dollars seemed a pittance, in comparison.
Marshal Diamon cleared his throat. “Well, Mr. Hoyle? Care to enlighten us?
Jack’s gaze never left King’s face as he reached for his top card and flipped it.
The ten of diamonds.
Another flip.
The queen of clubs.
Another.
The king of hearts.
Slowly, Jack turned to her, his eyes intense, and a smile tugging at his lips as he turned over the fourth card.
The jack of hearts.
How appropriate.
Ten, jack, queen, king. Tavie wasn’t the only one who could count. Marshal Diamon whistled low, and all the blood seemed to drain from King’s face.
Had this been Jack’s plan all along? A straight to beat King’s three of a kind? It seemed likely, up until King had shuffled the deck.
It was a shame too, because King’s three of a kind would beat this hand. A ten, jack, queen, king would be nothing without the last nine or…
Or an ace.
Jack grinned at her, and reached for his last card.
13
He paused, his hand hovering over the last card in his hand. The events of the last few minutes seemed almost incomprehensible, but he was…he was flying.
It was that same feeling he’d gotten while working with Tavie. It was the same feeling he got after a battle, but this time, he was in complete and total control.
It was the same feeling he’d gotten after kissing her.
Slowly, his grin grew, and he heard King hiss impatiently.
All the more reason to drag this out.
King might’ve thought he’d foiled Jack’s cheating, but he hadn’t, not really. Jack had remembered what Tavie and Diamon had told him about doing things legally, and had known that if King could prove he’d cheated, the deed could revert back to him, no matter how the bastard gained it in the first place.
So he’d stacked the deck, yes, but only for the first deal. He’d wanted King to have three of a kind, to think he had a chance at winning the game, and to bet heavily from the beginning. He’d made sure he himself had a questionable hand, a hand which wasn’t so unusual as to be remarkable…one which could grant him a win, or which could be a flop.
Although he’d told Tavie he couldn’t rely on luck, he’d ended up doing so. She’d shuffled before the discard, which hadn’t changed much in his plan anyhow.
And it turned out, he’d gotten lucky.
He was still staring at her when he flipped over the last card, and knew from the sharp gasps around him that everyone was suitably impressed.
The ace of spades.
The Black Ace.
King’s palms slapped against the table. “Trickery! You cheated—he all but admitted it!” he yelled to the room around him.
But Jack, knowing he had the support of the spectators—hell, even Marshal Diamon—shrugged and sat back in his chair. “How? We even broke the rules and shuffled the deck when you demanded it.”
Tavie took her cue and leaned forward, her hand still on his thigh. “Or are you saying I am a cheater, Monsieur King?”
He narrowed his eyes at her, as if wondering if she were part of the deception, but Marshal Diamon cleared his throat.
“Even if he’d stacked the deck ahead of time, Mr. King—and I don’t see how that would’ve happened—we all saw him take a new card after Madame Francoise here shuffled. He won, fair and square.”
With a black ace.
King’s eyes flicked between Jack’s hand—an ace-high straight, which was a bit of luck—to Diamon, standing tall and imposing beside the table, to the spectators who were muttering and eyeing him, to the pile of money in the pot.
And Jack saw his plan, clear as day.
“Look, King—”
But that was as far as he got before the sonuvabitch lashed out, snatching the deed off the pile—and quite a few bills as well—in one hand, and his sword-cane in the other, then lunged for the door. With his shoulder lowered, he moved at a surprising rate of speed, bowling men over in his mad dash.
Marshal Diamon sprang after him, although Jack wasn’t sure what he planned on doing. He wanted to go after King as well, but as he moved, he felt Tavie’s grip tighten on his thigh. Glancing at her, he was surprised to see the worry in her expression, and dropped his hand to cover hers.
“Jack,” she began in a whisper, then shook her head. When she met his eyes, hers were green. “Just make sure you come back to me.”
Come back to me.
She’d said that before, said that when he’d allowed his mania, the red haze, to control him, there’d be nothing to return to. She worried about him.
And in that moment, in her eyes, he saw the truth.
She didn’t just worry about him, she cared for him. She—dare he say it?—might love him?
So he scooped her hand off his leg and brought it to his lips. No matter what, before this day was out, the two of them would have some answers about their future.
Looking into her eyes, understanding what he saw, his lips slowly curved upward.
“Madame Francoise,” he said in a teasing tone, “I think you ought to know I’ve fallen madly in love with you.”
She scoffed, but hesitatingly, as if she wasn’t sure if he was in character or not.
Good. Let her be the confused one for a change.
He squeezed her hand once more, hoping he’d reassured her at least a bit, and pushed away from the table.
Outside, a group of men, spectators from the saloon, had already caught King. A few of them held torches, but the streetlamps had been lit already, giving a surprisingly cheery glow to the alarming scene.
King was holding the deed in one hand—the bills falling to the snowy mud around him—and sweeping his cane around with his other hand, keeping the men away.
“Back! Back up, you scoundrels! You’ll not come near me, I swear it!”
So far, his swings—and the slightly manic look in his eyes—had kept everyone back, but it wouldn’t last. Jack hopped down the steps to the street, then sauntered toward the crowd, his cape falling warmly around his shoulders, and he was still smiling.
It wasn’t a nice smile.
He tapped one man on his shoulder, and when he stepped out of the way, moved into the circle. King spun around to face him, his eyes as wild as his sword-arm was steady.
Excellent.
“Mr. King,” Jack began coldly, “you have some things which belong to me.”
“You didn’t win the deed fairly!”
“I did.” Luck had dealt him that black ace, but Jack wasn’t going to take the time to explain. “And now it’s mine. As the Bicycle Mine has been, all along.” He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to move if King attacked. “You see, as my father’s heir, upon his death, the Bicycle came to me. I’m sure you did your research and thought I was dead, so it was fair game. You tried to cheat my father out of it, an
d when that didn’t work, you killed him.”
King’s eyes narrowed. “You accuse me of murder without proof?”
Jack shrugged, surprised at the way his blood was pumping with exhilaration, without him even holding a weapon. Yet.
“I don’t need proof. Because I don’t intend to try you.”
From one side of the group, his hand already on the butt of his revolver, Marshal Diamon growled a warning, “Hoyle.”
One of Jack’s shoulders hitched, his eyes never leaving King’s. “I’m not going to murder him, Marshal. I’m not going to cut him down in some back alley, the way he did to my father. The way he did to a few other folks around Black Aces, from what I’ve heard.”
Around him, the crowd began to mutter, some even offering suggestions on what to do with King.
“You’ve given this town good reasons to hate you, King. Now I’m going to make sure you won’t bother them again.”
Maybe it was the threat in his tone, but King actually stumbled back a step, his gaze darting from side to side. “You said you wouldn’t murder me!”
“I don’t have to.” Jack’s lip pulled back from his teeth in a grin which might’ve been a snarl. “You’re carrying a weapon.”
There was a moment of stillness as King realized what he was saying, and then he scrambled to shove the deed and what was left of the bills into his pocket.
Jack waved airily, the movement causing his cape to billow around him. He’d been wearing it all evening, but no one seemed to have noticed. Perhaps they all thought he was just eccentric.
“Take your time,” he drawled. “I want this to be a fair fight.”
Finished now, King took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. He lifted his cane in front of him in his left hand, and grasped the ostentatious silver knob with his right. The man had the audacity to sniff and raise a brow mockingly.
“A fair fight, Douglas? When I don’t have a gun?”
Oh, right. Jack had forgotten he’d been wearing his gun. It wasn’t the weapon he planned on using to avenge his father tonight, though. With a shrug, he reached for the buckle on his gun belt, bending down to untie the leather thong around his thigh with the other hand.
Wild Card: Black Aces, Book Three Page 14