Fox a hero? Fox gunning down desperate outlaws? Well, stranger things had happened, Landrum supposed, although for the life of him he couldn't remember what.
He went quickly through the hotel lobby, giving the clerk a nod in reply to the man's greeting. "That Indian of yours just went up," the clerk called after him.
Glidinghawk was in their room. He saw the intense look on Landrum's face as soon as the Texan opened the door. "What's wrong?" Glidinghawk asked.
"Don't know," Landrum said. "Let's go see Celia."
They went down the hall toward her room, both men moving quietly out of habit. Landrum knocked on her door, and a moment later came the soft question, "Who's there?"
"Me and Glidinghawk," he answered. He glanced up and down the hall. "Open up. It's clear. There's nobody around."
He could see the excitement on Celia's face as she opened the door to let them in. There was something else there, too. Something that — if Landrum hadn't known better — he would have sworn was love.
Fox was standing inside the room. He looked worked up about something, too, although Landrum could tell it wasn't romance. As Celia shut the door, Landrum said to Fox, "What are you doing here?"
"Haven't you heard?" Fox asked smugly. "I'm a hero."
Landrum had been afraid he was going to say that.
The puzzled looks on the faces of Landrum and Glidinghawk gradually went away as Celia explained what she had been doing since they left. It had been an eventful two days.
Celia omitted part of the story, however. She didn't go into detail about her dinner with Devlin Henry or the choice that was facing her. She did tell Landrum and Glidinghawk about her decision not to accept Madam Henrietta's offer of employment.
"Glad to see you're making sense," Landrum grunted. "I don't know what possessed Amos to send you in there in the first place."
Celia didn't reply. Actually, she was thinking, it would have been a good idea if she had worked at the parlor house. She would have been in the best position of all of them to obtain the information they needed.
Now, of course, that was out of the question. With the way she and Devlin felt about each other, there was no way she could submit to the degradation of an inmate's life, even in the line of duty.
"I'm going to Madam Henrietta's tonight to tell her my decision," Celia went on.
Landrum nodded. "I reckon I can be there, too. Gerald and I have been pretty busy, but I reckon I can manage a night at Madam Henrietta's." Quickly, he told Celia and Fox about the raid on the camp and the stolen maps.
"But you're tired, Landrum," Celia protested when he was finished. "Besides, they'll probably remember you from the other night. They won't even let you in after the drunken scene you made."
"She has a point, Landrum," Fox put in. "Besides, I'm going to be there myself. I can keep an eye on Celia."
Celia turned toward him. "You hadn't told me that."
"I hadn't gotten around to it. Warren Judson invited me to accompany him to the house tonight. I'm to consider it partial repayment for the favor I did him this afternoon."
"I did hear something about that," Landrum said.
Glidinghawk spoke up. "Well, I haven't. What the hell happened?"
Quickly, with as many flourishes as he could work in, Fox told them about the attempted holdup at Judson's bank. He told the truth about his own actions but left out any mention of the paralyzing fear he had felt during most of the robbery. When Fox finished his recitation, Landrum grunted and said, "You'd better be careful, Preston. You'll get a reputation as a fast gun if you keep this up."
"And what's wrong with that?" Fox demanded.
"You'll have every two-bit punk and would-be gunslinger in the territory looking you up," Glidinghawk told him. "They'll all want to be known as the man who shot down Preston Fox."
Fox paled, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed nervously. Clearly, he had not thought of this possibility. He said. "It . . . it wasn't like a regular gunfight or anything —"
"That won't matter," Landrum said. "What's important is that you've got a couple of notches on your gun now. I'd watch my back, was I you."
Although there was some truth in what Landrum and Glidinghawk said, most of it was just ribbing on their part, trying to take the self-satisfied Fox down a notch. Celia could tell that, even though Fox couldn't. And they seemed to have succeeded, to judge from the trepidation visible on Fox's narrow features.
"When are you supposed to get together with Judson, Preston?" Celia asked him to get his mind off the subject.
"Ah . . . at eight o'clock." Fox pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. "I should be moving along, I suppose. Mr. Judson told me to meet him at Madam Henrietta's. I don't want to be late."
Landrum made a ribald comment about remembering that once he got inside the house. His face red, Fox slipped out of the room.
"I'd better be going soon myself," Celia said. "I don't want to put this off any longer." She put a hand on Landrum's arm. "Why don't you and Gerald go get some rest?"
"I don't know," the Texan said dubiously. "I'm not sure about relying on Fox to protect you if anything happens."
"Nothing's going to happen, Landrum." Celia's voice was confident.
He gave a reluctant nod. "You come right back here when you're through, hear?"
"I will," Celia promised.
Actually, she was supposed to meet Devlin here for a late supper. Nothing was going to delay her and keep her from that.
Celia checked the hall. A drummer was going into one of the rooms down the corridor. As soon as his door was closed behind him, she motioned for Landrum and Glidinghawk to slip out. They started back to their room.
Celia felt the emotions building within her as she got ready to go out. This was going to be an important night. It marked the end of her phase of this assignment.
And the beginning of something much bigger, she hoped.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Preston Fox felt an undeniable surge of excitement as he descended from the carriage in front of Madam Henrietta's. At the same time, he was nervous. He knew what kind of place this was, and despite what had happened at Robber's Roost, he was still pretty inexperienced with women.
He couldn't help but wonder what kind of companion he would wind up with this evening and how he would handle the situation. There was also the worry that he might run into one of the officers from the commission who could recognize him from the days when he was still in uniform.
But in spite of those anxieties, Fox was looking forward to this.
He was wearing a more elegant suit than the one he had purchased for his work in the bank. He had bought it this afternoon, after Judson had issued the invitation to join him here tonight, and while Fox wasn't sure how Amos Powell would feel about the expenditure, in Fox's mind it was perfectly justified.
After all, he was on the verge of moving into Judson's inner circle. If the banker liked him and trusted him, there was a greater likelihood that Fox would discover something valuable.
An expensive Homburg was perched on his slicked-down hair, and he carried a silver-headed walking cane. These items had been paid for with his own carefully hoarded funds — Powell couldn't complain about them.
The door opened as he approached. The burly man who stood there to welcome him smiled. "You'd be Mr. Fox," he said. "Mr. Judson told me to expect you and gave me your description."
"That's right, my good man," Fox replied casually. He expected people to recognize a man of his stature, abruptly acquired though that celebrity was. "I take it Mr. Judson has already arrived."
"Yes, sir. Come right in. He's at his private table."
Fox followed the man through the foyer and into the parlor. There was a buzz of conversation as he entered, and he imagined that it was all about him. At least that was what he wanted to believe.
His guide led him through the parlor and into the dining room. As he left the parlor, Fox felt several pairs
of eyes watching him and glanced' over his shoulder to smile at the beautiful, daringly clad girls who were following his progress. They were a far cry from the whores who had frequented Madam Varnish's place at Robber's Roost, just as this house was infinitely more elegant and stylish than that frontier saloon and brothel.
Still, Fox felt a momentary tug at his heart as he remembered Ching Ping. The Chinese girl had been every bit as beautiful as any of these women; to him, in fact, she had been far lovelier.
But she was gone now, forever out of his reach, living a new life. He had to content himself with the knowledge that he had helped her out of a horrible predicament.
And for a time, he had loved her. . . .
"Well, hello, Preston!" Warren Judson's voice boomed in greeting. The banker stood up from a large table that was somewhat isolated from the others in the room by a partition and several good-sized potted plants. Judson went on, "So glad you could make it to my little celebration. Not every night a man has as much to celebrate as I have tonight."
Fox shook the hamlike fist that Judson extended to him. "Thank you for inviting me," he said.
"Wouldn't be having a party without you, my boy. In fact, I'd probably be mourning the loss of more money than I can afford! But you did for those robbers, son, and I'm proud of you."
Fox felt a passing twinge in his belly as he remembered how that gun barrel had been jammed against his nose. He swallowed and smiled and said, "Thank you, sir."
"Sit down, sit down!" Judson bellowed. He waved at the other people at the table. "I'll introduce you to all these folks."
As Fox sat down, he glanced around at the table's other occupants. There were four of them, three women and a man. Fox paid little attention to the man, a thin, almost colorless individual wearing spectacles. The women were the ones who drew his gaze.
Sitting at the other end of the table from Judson was a beautiful brunette, the oldest of the three females. She was only around thirty, however, and her maturity only added to her loveliness.
"Son, meet Madam Henrietta LaBoeuf," Judson said. "She runs this place, and you won't find a sharper businesswoman in the country."
"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mr. Fox," Madam Henrietta purred with a smile. "I've heard so much about you."
"And it's an honor to meet you, ma'am," Fox replied. He didn't mention that he had also heard a great deal about her — some of it in the dispatch from Colonel Amos Powell.
"That fellow beside her is Roland, Madam Henrietta's right-hand man," Judson continued.
Fox nodded to the man, who seemed unimpressed to be meeting the hero of the bank holdup.
"And now for these two lovelies," Judson said gustily. He had a girl on each side of him, and he reached out with both hands to caress their bare, creamy shoulders. As he patted the blonde to his right, the one seated next to Fox, he said, "This is Melinda, Preston. I've chosen her especially for you. And this raven-haired beauty over here is Jasmine. She's mine, at least for the night!" The banker laughed boisterously.
Fox felt a flush of embarrassment at the man's bluntness. Even though he was well aware of what purpose these girls would serve, there was no need to bellow it out like that.
He turned to Melinda and said, "I'm pleased to meet you."
Her voice was low and throaty as she replied, "And I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Fox."
Her hair was long and golden, and as Fox stared into her eyes, he thought that they were the deepest, richest blue he had ever seen.
He felt a pang of pure desire go through him.
The girl called Jasmine was equally beautiful. Her thick, wavy hair was as midnight black as the bird to which Judson had compared it, and there was an exotic cast to her features which spoke of some mixed blood in her veins. She regarded Fox with sleepy-lidded eyes.
"Here now, Jasmine," Judson said to her. "Don't go staring at the boy like that. You're with me, remember?"
She turned her attention back to the banker. "Of course, Mr. Judson. It's just that Mr. Fox is such a handsome young man."
Judson frowned, and Fox felt uncomfortable. Melinda was leaning closer to him now, and he suddenly felt the feather-light touch of her hand on his leg. She ran her fingers over the fabric of his pants. The fingertips seemed to leave white-hot trails that burned through the material.
"Jasmine is such a flirt," Melinda said softly. "But she's right about one thing — you are handsome, Preston. You don't mind if I call you Preston, do you?"
Fox swallowed. "N-no. Not at all."
As much as he was enjoying the sensation of Melinda rubbing her hand over his inner thigh underneath the table, he wished she would stop. There was a time and a place for such things, and this was neither.
Evidently Madam Henrietta felt the same way. She said in a quiet but firm voice, "There's no need to get carried away, ladies. We're here to have dinner, remember?"
Melinda pouted slightly. Jasmine gave the blond girl a haughty look. Fox admittedly had little experience with this sort of thing, but he felt that there was some sort of long-standing friction between the two girls.
A pair of red-jacketed waiters appeared, bearing silver trays full of food. No one had asked Fox what he wanted, so he assumed that the choice was out of his hands. As the meal was spread out on the table, he certainly had no complaints. The roast beef looked to be tender and succulent, the vegetables crisp and fresh. All in all, he discovered as he dug in with the others, an outstanding meal.
His glass was kept filled with champagne, and the liquor was almost as dizzying as the conversation between Judson and Madame Henrietta. Fox tried briefly to join in the repartee, but he knew immediately that he was out of his depth. The banker and the madam were obviously old, intimate acquaintances. It was highly possible, Fox thought, that Judson owned this place, or at least a share of it.
The time went quickly. Fox had trouble remembering that he was here in the line of duty — this part of the assignment, at least, had been highly enjoyable. Melinda was quiet for the most part, but Fox could smell the heady scent she wore, and the shy, seductive smiles she gave him completed the assault on his senses.
When the meal was over, the waiters reappeared with after-dinner brandies. Judson lit a cigar and leaned back expansively in his chair. He reached out and idly caressed Jasmine.
"My compliments, Henrietta," the banker said. "As always, you know how to treat a man."
"Thank you, Warren," Madam Henrietta smiled. She stood up. "Now, as much as I have enjoyed this evening, I do have a business to tend to."
As Henrietta got to her feet, Fox scraped his chair back and also stood, the habit too strong to break in him. Henrietta smiled at him.
"You're a gentleman as well as a daring thwarter of bank robbers, Mr. Fox," she said. Glancing at Judson and Roland, she went on, "Perhaps some others around here could learn some manners from you."
Judson barked a curt laugh. "You and I have known each other too long for such courtesies, my dear. We're like an old married couple."
Madam Henrietta's smile held daggers. "Not completely, Warren, darling." She looked at her assistant. "Come along, Roland."
Roland got to his feet and followed her without a word. That left Fox and Judson alone at the table with Melinda and Jasmine.
"Well, ladies," Judson said, grinning around the cigar in his mouth, "shall we adjourn upstairs?"
"Whatever you want," Jasmine replied sweetly.
Melinda leaned against Fox's arm. He could feel the soft thrust of her breast pressing into his side. "Are you ready, Preston?" she asked.
Fox smiled nervously. "Of course," he said. "Whenever you are."
Arm in arm, the two couples went into the parlor and then started up the broad curving staircase to the second floor. Fox was well aware that many eyes were on him, and he tried to look nonchalant as he squired the beautiful Melinda.
He wondered where Celia was and if she had had her meeting with Madam Henrietta yet. Fox knew he was supposed to have come t
onight to keep an eye on her, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do about the things that had interfered with his plan.
After all, this little celebration was Warren Judson's idea, and Fox had to stay on the banker's good side.
Yes, indeed, Preston Fox told himself. Anything that went on tonight was strictly in the line of duty.
* * *
Celia was nervous when she arrived at Madam Henrietta's. She wasn't sure how the older woman would react when she heard the decision Celia had made. At the same time, there was an undeniable excitement and anticipation within the attractive young redhead.
Tonight was one more step in her relationship with Devlin Henry.
The doormen recognized her from two nights earlier and had leering grins of welcome for her. Evidently they thought she was going to be working there and that they might get to enjoy her company at some time.
If that was the case, they were going to be sorely disappointed, Celia thought. But she smiled at them anyway and said, "I've come to see Madam Henrietta."
"Figured you'd be back," one of the men said. "And so did Madam Henrietta. She's been looking forward to seeing you."
"Should I go on up to her office?"
The other man shook his head and tugged on a silken bell pull. "Just wait here a minute," he said.
Celia speculated that the bell pull rang a signal in Madam Henrietta's office. Sure enough, a few moments later the man called Roland appeared in the foyer. He looked at her with his usual lack of expression and said, "Madam Henrietta wondered when you'd be back. Have you reached a decision?"
"Yes," Celia replied with a nod. "I have."
Roland turned his back. "Come along with me, then. I'm sure she'll want to see you."
This time, instead of going through the parlor and up the broad staircase, Roland led her through a small door at the side of the foyer. The door opened into a narrow hall, and there was another staircase, this one strictly functional, at the corridor's end.
Celia and Roland went up the stairs and through another door that opened into the hall she remembered from her previous visit. Without knocking, Roland swung back the door of Madam Henrietta's office and then paused to let Celia precede him. Over Celia's shoulder, Roland said, "Someone to see you, Madam Henrietta."
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