That was true enough. Celia put Henrietta's age in the late twenties or early thirties. There appeared to be no gray at all in her thick, luxuriant hair. It was a rich brunette shade that went well with her lightly tanned skin. She was undeniably lovely, although Celia could see cunning and a certain hardness in her brown eyes.
"All right," Celia said. "What shall I call you?"
"How about Henrietta? It is my name. My actual name, I might add. Unlike some women in my line of work, I've never felt compelled to change it." She looked shrewdly at Celia. "You do know what my line of work is, don't you, Celia?"
The young redhead nodded and licked her lips. "I know," she said. "I'm not quite as . . . unworldly as I might appear, Henrietta."
"Excellent! A certain amount of experience always comes in helpful."
Celia let herself sound slightly offended. "I am a young lady of good breeding, however," she said stiffly.
"Relax, Celia," Warren Judson told her. "No one has said otherwise, have they?"
"Well . . . no."
Henrietta leaned forward. "All of my young ladies are quite genteel, Celia. I daresay you won't find a more elegant group of girls anywhere west of the Mississippi. Or east of it, for that matter." She waved a hand at their opulent surroundings. "A place like this requires a great deal of money to operate. Therefore our prices might seem, to some, to be exorbitant. But I promise you, we deliver value for value received. My young ladies are beautiful and well mannered. The cream of the crop, so to speak. And now you wish to join them."
"I . . . I had that in mind," Celia admitted. "I'm rather financially embarrassed at the moment, and I'd rather my family not know about my problems. You understand."
"Of course." Henrietta glanced at the two men. "What do you gentlemen think? Should I offer Miss Burnett an opportunity to reverse her fortunes?"
As the gazes of Judson and Roland played over her again, Celia tried to keep the smile on her face and not allow the groan she felt to escape her throat. This was all going too fast! Madam Henrietta was about to offer her a job here at the parlor house, and this first visit had been intended only to test the waters. What was she going to do?
She wished she could talk to Landrum or Glidinghawk.
But she was on her own, and the choice would have to be hers.
"Indeed," Judson murmured. "I think it would be a fine idea to employ Miss Burnett, Henrietta. I told her downstairs that I would give her my personal recommendation, and so I shall. And as your banker, I think it would be a wise business move as well."
Henrietta cocked an eyebrow inquiringly. "Oh? Are you and the young lady already, ah, acquainted, Warren?"
"Not in the way you mean. I hope to be shortly, however," Judson answered bluntly.
"And what about your opinion, Roland?"
The slim man moved in front of Celia, still looking her over intently. Again she felt the sinisterness that seemed to ooze from him, and it was all she could do to keep the pleasant expression plastered on her face. She was suddenly as frightened as she had ever been.
Finally, Roland slowly bobbed his head up and down. "She'll do," he announced flatly.
Henrietta stood up behind the desk. "Well, my dear, that leaves it up to you, doesn't it?"
"What sort of financial arrangement would we have?" Celia asked.
"The house sets the fees and takes half," Henrietta answered, her tone businesslike. "In case you didn't know it, that's very generous. Most places take a lot more than half."
"Yes," Celia murmured, "very generous. But I . . . I may have need of a great deal of money."
"What you earn depends on how hard you work." Henrietta looked speculatively at her. "And what you're willing to do."
"I'm . . . willing to do almost anything," Celia said boldly.
"Then I'd say you'll do quite well. Do we have an agreement?"
Celia steeled herself. The situation had gotten out of hand, but that didn't mean she had to let herself be carried along in its flow. She said, "I mean no offense, but I would like to think about it first."
Henrietta shrugged. "That's up to you, but I can promise you that you won't find a better deal anywhere in Denver."
Judson leaned closer to Celia and said in a stage whisper, "I'd jump at the chance if I were you, Miss Burnett."
"I . . . I really have to think about it."
"Whatever you wish," Henrietta said sweetly. Celia thought she saw a hint of disappointment in the older woman's eyes, though. Henrietta went on, "I've enjoyed talking to you, Celia. Why don't I have Roland show you out the back way? That will be easier."
And it would keep Celia from distracting any of the customers in the parlor again, she thought. Celia was not happy about being turned over to Roland, but surely nothing would happen right here in the house.
"Thank you," she said, extending her hand to Henrietta. "I'll be in touch with you."
"I hope so," Henrietta replied, returning the handshake. "I'd like to see you working here, Celia."
Celia took a deep breath. "I have a feeling you will."
Roland took her arm. She let him turn her toward the door, and as the slim man opened it, she heard Henrietta say, "Stay for a few minutes, will you, Warren? There are some other matters I want to discuss with you."
"Of course, my dear," Judson replied.
Roland closed the door behind them, cutting off the conversation. Celia glanced at him nervously, hoping he would not want an advance sample of the merchandise Madam Henrietta hoped to be selling.
He seemed rather detached, however, and showed little interest in her as he led her down a rear staircase and showed her to a side entrance. "Do you have a carriage waiting?" he asked. "If you don't, I can summon one for you?"
"Thank you," Celia replied. "My driver promised to wait for me, so I'm sure I'll be all right."
There was sudden commotion behind Roland in the corridor leading to the side door. Two men of the same sort as the burly doormen appeared, holding a struggling figure between them. As they dragged him toward the door, the man yelled, "You can't do this to me, you bastards! I ain't drunk! Ain't never been drunk in my life!"
The man's slurred speech and staggering walk testified differently, however. He appeared to be as drunk as a lord.
Celia flinched.
Roland saw the reaction and took her arm, gently moving her out of the way as the bouncers hauled the sot out of the house and past them. "Don't worry," Roland assured her. "Things like this happen — men often have too much to drink — but it's nothing to concern yourself with. Our men are well trained and quite capable of handling any problems. And they're never more than a moment away while you're in the house."
Celia nodded somewhat shakily. She watched as the husky employees took the man through the small garden at the side of the house and deposited him somewhat roughly on the street. They walked back toward the house, brushing their hands off, as the drunk slowly and unsteadily raised himself onto all fours. He climbed groggily to his feet and staggered off, singing softly to himself and disappearing in a patch of shadow.
Roland shook his head. "Disgraceful," he muttered, in the strongest expression of opinion that Celia had yet heard from him.
"Yes," she agreed.
It sure as hell was disgraceful, and the next time she saw Landrum Davis, she was going to have a few things to say to him about this disgusting performance.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Celia was furious by the time she got back to her hotel. Landrum had insisted on being at Madam Henrietta's at the same time she was, and then he had gotten stinking drunk! He would have been a great help if she had wound up in trouble, Celia thought bitterly.
The clerk gave her a surprised look as she came through the lobby with a stormy expression on her face, but Celia paid no attention to him. She went up the stairs, anxious to get back to her room and think over everything that had happened. She should find Glidinghawk and tell him about Landrum, she knew, but at the moment, she just wasn't
in the mood.
Celia took the key to her room from her bag and unlocked the door. The hall was deserted at the moment. As she turned the knob and began to open the door, it was suddenly jerked out of her hand.
Gasping in surprise, Celia automatically pulled back slightly. A figure came barreling out of the room. Celia had time to see that it was a man with a slouch hat pulled down over his eyes, concealing much of his face, before he slammed into her with his shoulder and sent her reeling.
She staggered backward. Her head cracked sharply against the opposite wall of the hall. Her vision blurred for a moment, and then as it cleared, she saw the intruder running down the hall toward the staircase.
Celia's hand dove into her bag, the fingers closing around the butt of the two-shot derringer she carried there. As she pulled the little gun out and started to lift it, another man suddenly appeared in front of the fleeing stranger.
Landrum Davis took in the scene — Celia down the hall in front of her door, a gun in her hand, and a strange man dashing away from her — and reacted immediately. As he reached the top of the stairs, he dove forward, throwing himself in front of the running man.
The intruder couldn't stop in time. His legs hit Landrum's body. His balance gone, the man pin-wheeled forward, over Landrum's back, to smash heavily against the floor of the landing.
Landrum rolled and came up reaching for his Colt .44. He yanked the gun from its holster and lined it on the stranger, earing back the hammer and barking, "Hold it!" He heard Celia's rapid footsteps as she hurried down the hall to join him.
Celia kept her derringer out and ready as she came up beside Landrum. He didn't appear drunk at all now. In fact, to judge from the way he had handled the intruder, he was stone cold sober. The barrel of his .44 didn't waver as he covered the man.
Landrum flicked a gaze at Celia and said in a voice loud enough to be heard downstairs by the clerk, "What happened, ma'am? Was this varmint bothering you?"
Celia was glad he had the presence of mind to try to preserve their cover identities. She said, "He . . . he was in my room. He must be a thief. I was so frightened — " She didn't have to try very hard to make her voice sound shaky.
Landrum glanced meaningfully at the derringer, and Celia stuffed it back in her bag just as the clerk came out from behind his desk and started up the stairs. "What's wrong?" the clerk asked anxiously as he saw the gun in Landrum's steady hand.
Landrum nodded toward the stranger. "I was just going up to my room when I saw this fella running away from the lady. She says he broke into her room."
The clerk paled. He turned to Celia. "I assure you, Miss Burnett, this is a respectable hotel. We never have trouble like this. I'll summon the authorities immediately."
Celia didn't much like the idea of getting the local police involved, since that might draw more attention to her than she wanted, but she didn't see any way out of it. The clerk would certainly be suspicious if she told him not to bother.
"Thank you," she said. "I had better check to see if he stole anything from my room."
"Good idea," Landrum grunted.
Celia hurried down the hall to her-room and went inside. The lamp was lit, and she could tell in its glow that while the room had been searched, nothing appeared to be missing.
A shiver went down her back. A sneak thief would have taken something. Was it possible that someone suspected she was hiding something and had sent the man here to try to discover her secrets? Could Madam Henrietta be behind this?
She would have had to work quickly if she was, because Celia had only left the parlor house a short time earlier.
She rejoined Landrum in the hall. The clerk was gone, no doubt to find a deputy. The intruder had moved into a sitting position, his back leaned against the wall. His hat had come off in his fall, revealing a thin, beard-stubbled face. His head was hanging dejectedly now. He was making no attempt to explain or defend his actions.
"Nothing is missing, sir," she said to Landrum. "I must have interrupted the man before he had a chance to steal anything."
As Landrum glanced at her, she gave an almost unnoticable shake of her head to let him know that there was more to this than a simple aborted robbery.
There had been no time to wonder about his changed demeanor, but now Celia began to speculate that perhaps she had been too hasty in judging him. It was possible, she suddenly realized, that he hadn't been drunk at Madam Henrietta's at all. The whole business could have been a pose.
After all, he had been nearby when Roland was escorting her out of the place, and for all she knew, he could have stayed close once he was concealed in the shadows after having been dumped in the street.
He could have been keeping an eye on her all along.
Well, she thought, slightly mollified, the least he could do would be to tell her his plans next time, so that she wouldn't think he was such a besotted lowlife.
"The clerk should be back in a few minutes with a badge toter," Landrum said. "Until then, ma'am, with your permission, I'd like to ask this man some questions."
"By all means," Celia replied. "Go right ahead."
Landrum prodded the man's leg with a boot. "Look at me, mister."
The man raised his head slowly. His gaze was stubborn and hostile.
"What the devil were you doing in the lady's room?" Landrum demanded.
"Go to hell," the man shot back.
Landrum kicked him.
Celia couldn't repress a gasp as the toe of Landrum's boot thudded into the man's thigh. The man let out a yelp of pain and grasped his leg with both hands.
"I'll go after ribs next," Landrum said stonily. "After that . . . well, let's just say you'd better talk now while you've got the chance."
The man gritted his teeth against the pain and said, "I ain't tellin' you a damn thing. You're no lawman."
Landrum tensed to launch another kick, but Celia caught his arm. "Really, sir, that's not necessary. Nothing was taken."
The intruder's eyes were downcast again, so Landrum met Celia's gaze and shook his head quickly. There was a warning look on his face, and Celia knew he wanted her to stay out of this.
She wasn't going to stand by and let him assault the man, though. No matter what he had done, that just wasn't in her makeup. She went on, "The law can handle this."
"All right," Landrum growled. "Let the law handle it. But you're making a mistake."
Celia just shook her head.
The door of the lobby opened and the clerk came in, followed closely by a thick-waisted man in a suit and Stetson. The man had a star on his coat. They hurried up the stairs, and the clerk said, "There he is, Deputy. That man there is the thief."
The deputy reached down, caught the intruder by the arm, and hauled him to his feet. "All right, you, come along." He glanced over at Celia. "You do want to press charges, don't you, ma'am?"
Celia's head was aching where she had struck it against the wall, and she could already tell that there would be a bruise on her side where the man had run into her. "Yes," she said firmly. "I want him locked up."
Vindictiveness wasn't the only thing that motivated her decision to press charges. As far as she knew, there was nothing in her room that the man could have discovered to compromise her cover identity, but just in case he had found something suspicious, she wanted him out of circulation for a while.
"I've seen this fella around town before," the deputy said. "He's probably wanted a few other places. We'll check him out, ma'am. You'll have to come down to the sheriff’s office and sign a complaint."
"Will tomorrow be all right for that?" Celia asked.
"That'll be fine." The deputy started down the stairs with the would-be burglar in tow, the man's thin body looking even more frail next to the lawman's burly figure.
Landrum had holstered his gun. The clerk was still standing on the stairs, so when Landrum turned toward Celia, he asked, "Are you sure you're all right, ma'am?"
"I'm fine," she replied. "Just a bit
shaken up. Thank you for your help, sir."
Landrum retrieved his hat from the floor and put it on, touching the brim and nodding to her. "Landrum Davis, at your service, ma'am."
"I'm Celia Burnett." She extended her hand to him.
He continued the pretense, taking her hand and saying, "Glad to meet you, Miss Burnett. If I can be of any further assistance . . ."
"I'll be sure to let you know, Mr. Davis. Thank you again."
The clerk spoke up. "I hope you won't hold this against the hotel, Miss Burnett. Like I said, we just don't have this kind of trouble — "
"You did tonight, sonny," Landrum cut in. "I reckon you'd better keep a closer eye on the folks coming and going around here."
The clerk bobbed his head. "I will, sir. You can bet on that." With a nervous smile, he went back down the stairs to his post behind the desk.
"Well . . . good night, Mr. Davis," Celia said, still loud enough for the clerk to hear.
"Good night, ma'am."
They went to their rooms, and each of them shut their doors firmly and audibly.
Celia leaned back against the door once she was inside her room. She closed her eyes. The throbbing in her head was easing somewhat now. A drink would probably clear it up completely. Maybe Landrum would bring a bottle with him when he slipped over here a little later.
She was sure that he would be coming to see her. They had had things to talk about before. Now, following this incident, they had even more to discuss.
There were some baffling undercurrents in this case. Could it be that someone had discovered the truth about Powell's Army? There was a great deal at stake in this mission, and if the enemy knew who she and Landrum and Glidinghawk really were, there was one very ominous possibility.
They could be heading right into a trap — a deadly one.
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