“You’re right.” He took a deep breath and attempted a smile. “I’ll still seek justice for my father, but not at the expense of your wellbeing. When you go home tonight, pack a bag with whatever you think you can’t live without.”
“What are you saying?”
“Get ready to run.”
Louis had been dangerously quiet on the ride home from the Ratchford ball. Emily knew from experience that did not bode well for her. She thought about making small talk to see what his mood was, but sometimes it was better if she remained silent.
Martin opened the door and Emily moved to step out. Louis yanked her back by her hair. “I’m going out for a little while. Be ready for me when I come home.”
She nodded and left the vehicle, her heart in her throat. It had always been bad when Louis came to her, but now that she’d felt such tender and caring attention from Hunter, the thought of Louis’s hands on her body made her stomach roil.
Hurrying to her room, she closed and locked the door,then looked frantically around. She pulled a suitcase from her closet and opened it. She was throwing things randomly into the suitcase when there was a tap at the door.
Oh God, not already.
She walked to the door on shaky legs. “Who is there?”
“Mrs. Smith. Is everything all right?”
Emily breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of Maria’s voice. “Yes, Maria, I’m fine. I have a headache and I am going to retire early.”
The doorknob rattled. “Please let me in, ma’am. I’ll get you settled for the night and have Cook fix warm milk for you.”
Rather than cause more questions, Emily slid the suitcase under her bed and opened the door.
“Ah, I can see you are not feeling well. Turn around so I can help you out of your gown.”
Hoping to make quick work of the entire process, Emily turned herself over to the maid for the requisite undressing, washing, night clothes, hair brushing, and finally, the warm milk. Once she was tucked into bed, with Louis still not at home, the maid left. Emily threw off the covers and dragged the suitcase back out.
She laughed at what she’d thrown into the bag. Hunter had told her to pack whatever she couldn’t live without. Slowly, she pulled out a bottle of perfume, two scarves, a packet of hairpins, one shoe, two pencils, and an invitation to afternoon tea. Apparently, she’d been a bit distracted when she’d packed.
With a clearer mind, she returned those items to their respective spots, and re-packed essential items. Feeling a bit calmer, but still on edge knowing Louis was coming to her, she returned the suitcase to the closet.
Two hours passed while she jumped at every little sound. It was odd how the noises the house made at night had never caught her notice before. She’d been lying in the darkness, hoping when Louis did come home he would think her asleep. Of course that wouldn’t necessarily stop him, but one could wish.
The grandfather clock downstairs had chimed three o’clock when she heard the front door open. Her heart began to pound and she closed her eyes, like a little girl who tried to make herself invisible. If I can’t see you, you can’t see me.
Louis’s climb up the stairs seemed to take forever while her heart tried to escape her chest. The sound of a crash, followed by a string of foul language made her jump. He must have banged into something in the dark. She pulled the covers over her head, praying he would forget his promise and go right to bed.
The door to her bedroom slammed open. “Where the hell are you?”
He was drunk. From the sound of his voice and the stumbling he made toward the bed, very drunk. She lay very still like a rabbit hoping his prey wouldn’t see him. Cold air rushed over her as he yanked the covers off. “Ah, there she is. My beautiful, devoted wife.”
Emily cursed the moonlight streaming through the window. Its brightness almost cast the room into daylight. She stayed curled up, her back to him. Praying.
“I want to know who you spread your legs for in Guthrie.”
“No one.”
“Liar.” He swung, striking her on her shoulder. “I’ll show you what happens to women who walk out on me.” She broke into a sweat at the sound of his belt slipping from his pants. Arms crossed, her hands fisted tightly against her chest, she waited for the first blow. It came, but with very little power behind it. She held her breath. Within seconds she was crushed beneath the weight of his body sprawled on top of her.
She remained still until she heard the sounds of snoring. Tears of relief spilled from her eyes. After giving herself a few minutes to calm down, she eased out from under him. She wiped her wet cheeks and took a deep breath.
What she needed was a strong drink. She slipped into a robe and padded downstairs to the library. The sounds and shadows no longer frightened her, but eased her fears. Now grateful for the moon’s rays, she easily found the liquor bottles on the sideboard in the library. Hands still shaky, she poured a tiny bit into a glass and downed it—coughing and wheezing for a good five minutes afterward.
Early the next morning, Hunter entered the Galveston Police Station. Several officers sat at desks writing reports, a man was being questioned by another officer, and two young girls, one with a black eye, sat sulking on a long bench along the back wall, handcuffed to each other. Hunter approached the man at the first desk. “I’d like to report a crime.”
The officer, whose badge read Officer Mallory leaned back in his chair and tapped his lips with a pencil. “This crime happen to you?”
“No. To my father.” He glanced around at the attention he was gathering and said, “Can we go somewhere a little quieter?”
“Sure.” The officer stood and led him to the back area, passing by several unoccupied desks next to where the girls sat. One of them winked at him, and he couldn’t resist smiling. The officer opened a wooden door with a glass pane in the top area stenciled with the word Interview Room. He waved Hunter toward a seat at a small scarred table and closed the door. He settled into the seat across from him, then grabbed a pad and pencil off a shelf behind him and looked up. “What’s your father’s name?”
“Henry Henderson.”
“Age?”
“Deceased.”
The officer laid the pencil down and stared at him. “What sort of a crime was committed against your father?”
“Murder.”
“Murder?”
“Yes.”
“Here in Galveston?”
“No. Ellsworth, Kansas.”
Officer Mallory rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb. “Why are you reporting a crime as serious as murder in Galveston, if it was committed—according to you—in Kansas?”
“Because the man who murdered my father lives in Galveston.”
“Is that right?” The man sighed and took up his pencil once again. “When did this murder take place?”
Hunter watched him carefully, almost predicting his response. “Eighteen years ago.”
The officer closed his eyes and shook his head. “All right, mister. I know there is no statute of limitations on murder. But if the murder was committed in Kansas, you have to talk to the people there. If they determine the person you allege actually committed this murder, they will notify us and we will arrest him and see that he’s transported.”
Hunter gritted his teeth and tried to hold onto his temper. He was getting mighty tired of police treating him with this condescending attitude. He hadn’t run into a cooperative officer since Emily had first disappeared.
“This man is committing fraud against the citizens of Galveston as well. Apparently he’s been doing this for a while. If you arrest him for that, I will have time to wire the authorities in Ellsworth.”
“And you have proof of this man’s fraudulent activities here?”
“Some. I’m still wor
king on it.” He knew no officer of the law would arrest someone for criminal activities if there was no proof, but he was desperate to get Louis behind bars and away from Emily.
Mallory leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “You a bounty hunter?”
“No. Ten years with the Texas Rangers, but I’m out now.”
“Why? For mental instability?” He smirked, making Hunter want to wipe the look off his face with his fists. But that would get him nowhere except in a jail cell.
“No.”
The officer stared at him for a full minute while Hunter tapped his foot, waiting for the next insult. He would take any number of slurs if it would protect Emily.
“I know I’m going to be sorry I asked this, but what is the name of this man who committed murder eighteen years ago in Kansas, but is now committing fraudulent business practices in Galveston?”
“Louis Smith.”
The officer pushed his chair back and glared at him. “Okay, Mr. Henderson, our interview is over.” He stood, threw the pad and pencil back on the shelf, and headed toward the door.
“Wait! How can you, an officer of the law, ignore my charges?”
Mallory turned back, fisting his hands on his hips. “I’ll tell you how. You just named one of the most well-known citizens in Galveston. He’s been doing business here for more than five years. He’s respected in the community and gives a lot of money to charity. If you were going to make these charges, you should have picked a different man to accuse.”
“I accused the man who did it,” Hunter shouted.
“And you have witnesses to this murder?”
“Yes.” He stabbed his chest with his thumb. “Me.”
“You?”
Hunter gave him a stiff nod.
The officer’s eyes widened and he looked as though he was about to burst out laughing. “And you waited eighteen years to report it? Or did the Ellsworth police chase you off like I’m about to do?”
“I was thirteen years old. I was shocked, unable to talk about it for years.” He began to pace. “I spent the last ten years in the Rangers looking for Smith.” He paused. “Not that I knew his name.”
“How are you so sure he’s the same man? Eighteen years is a long time.”
“Eighteen years ago, I sat huddled under my father’s desk when a robber came into the bank where my father was manager and demanded money. At my father’s instructions, the teller handed the money over. Then the thief turned and shot the teller and my father in cold blood. He never saw me under the desk when he looked around the room, but I saw his face clearly. It was Smith.”
Mallory shook his head. “I find your story hard to believe.” He held up his hands in surrender when Hunter opened his mouth to speak. “I don’t doubt your father was killed in a bank robbery, but a young boy witnessing a murder—that he told no one about—and then eighteen years later thinking he saw the man . . .” He shrugged.
Hunter leaned forward and banged his fist on the table. “I’ve been looking for him way too long. I intend to make sure he pays for his crime.”
“Now hold on there, boy. Don’t you go doing anything that will make me put you behind bars.”
Hunter turned on his heel and left the room. Their shouting must have reached the outer area since everyone stared at him as he barreled past. As he’d suspected before he even entered the place, this had gotten him nowhere. If he couldn’t get Smith behind bars, he’d have to find another way to get Emily away before she was seriously injured.
He yanked on the doorknob when the officer’s voice stopped him. “Don’t you forget what I said, boy. I don’t cotton to having people take the law into their own hands. You stay away from Smith.”
Chapter 13
Jeremy Steele stepped off the train at the Galveston station, then turned his head aside and winced.
Damn, who needs all this fucking sunshine?
He turned up his jacket collar and lowered the brim of his hat. Head down, he picked up his satchel and headed away from the depot. A chatty woman on the train with two children had told him of a hotel only a couple of blocks away. He’d soon cursed himself for asking because it had opened a floodgate of conversation in which he had no interest.
A short walk brought him to the hotel the woman had recommended. The place seemed decent enough. After waiting for a sleepy-eyed clerk to register him, Jeremy was handed a key to room three forty-two. The climb to the third floor wasn’t too bad, but he was getting close to needing another injection. He would take care of that, and then mosey on over to the boardinghouse where Hunter was staying.
He tossed his bag on the bed and sat to catch his breath. He sure wasn’t in good shape anymore. He hadn’t received a Ranger assignment in a while, and he felt it in his bones. Once this business in Galveston was taken care of, he’d have to contact his superior and find out what was going on. Despite the morphine, there was no reason he couldn’t work. Hell, he was taking on an assignment for Henderson, wasn’t he?
The climb down was much easier, and Jeremy hit the street feeling like himself. He wasn’t sure when he’d eaten last, so he downed a bowl of soup at a restaurant along the way. He had to start eating more, his clothes were beginning to hang off his large frame. Soon he would cut down on the morphine. The pain for which he’d originally been given the drug by the doctor had ended months ago, but he still seemed to need morphine to get through the day.
Not that he was addicted, of course.
Once on Strand Street he glanced at the paper Hunter had sent him, and checked for two thirty-four. Five houses down was the correct number. Ballinger Boardinghouse. The building was a large home that must have housed a single family at one time, but now catered to those needing a room and unwilling to stay in one of the many hotels on the island.
The clapboard exterior was painted white with black trim. Four wicker rocking chairs sat on the porch, along with several planters with colorful fall flowers. As he climbed the steps he noted the well swept boards that looked as if they’d recently been painted. Whoever owned the house took very good care of it.
The doorbell sounded, echoing inside, easy to hear with the neighborhood being so quiet. No dogs barking or children squealing with laughter. Since it was early afternoon, most likely kids were in school.
A stout woman of middle years answered the door, her ample figure wrapped in an apron covered with some type of food. She smiled and pushed back the curls that fell over her forehead. “May I help ye, lad?”
“I’m Mr. Jeremy Steele and I’m here to see Mr. Henderson. Is he at home?”
“Aye, he’s been expecting ye. Step in, and I’ll let him ken you’re here.” She moved backward allowing him to enter the house. The inside was as well-kept as the outside, and delicious smells drifted from the back of the house.
The woman lumbered up the stairs, wiping her hands on her apron as she climbed. He took a survey of the area. The entrance hall opened to a pleasant parlor on his left, with striped wallpaper and a worn, but clean carpet on the floor. The area was filled with clocks, knick-knacks, and books. Several oil lamps sat on tables next to numerous folded newspapers, which would provide a comfortable retreat to spend time after supper.
The place reminded him of his childhood home, where he had been so anxious to leave. He was hit with a feeling of despondency, knowing with his parents dead and his brother off to who-knew-where, he’d never see his home again, or have that feeling of security it had brought.
He shook off the strange feelings just as footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“Jeremy.” Hunter gripped his hand with a firm shake, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s so good of you to come.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, partner.” He grinned, happy to see the only real friend he’d ever had.
“We can go in here and talk, things will be quiet until the rest of the boarders return from work.” Hunter led him into the parlor Jeremy had just been admiring.
“Mr. Henderson, would ye like some coffee for ye and yer guest?” The woman who’d opened the door reappeared, still wiping her hands on her apron.
Hunter looked at him, but Jeremy waved his hand. “Not for me, I just had breakfast.”
“Not right now, Mrs. Pettiford. Thank you, though.” He turned his attention to Jeremy. “It looks to me like you’ve lost some weight.” Hunter studied him carefully.
“Just a few pounds. I was sick recently, but I’m fine now.” He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with Henderson’s scrutiny. “What’s this problem you want me to investigate?”
Hunter sat back, resting his booted ankle on his bent knee. “There is a man in Galveston who has an investment firm. From what I’ve heard, he’s well respected and has been in business here for over five years. However, I have firsthand information that he’s been cheating his clients for years. He takes their money to invest and then does very little with it except spend it. He pays his earlier clients with the minor amount of interest he gets, plus the money from the more recent clients.”
Jeremy let out with a low whistle. “Sounds to me eventually it all has to collapse.”
Hunter leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, and linking his fingers loosely together. “I agree. But I have reasons to want to have that collapse happen sooner rather than later.”
“Does this involve a woman?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve never known you to request help before. Hell, it was hard enough trying to do my share when we worked cases together with the Rangers.”
Anyplace But Here (Oklahoma Lovers Series Book 5) Page 12