Both of them got to their feet. The one who had been creased held a hand to his wounded side and cursed in pain. The other one massaged his chest, which was aching from Celia's kick, and said, "You shouldn't have done that, girl. We didn't mean to hurt you. We just wanted a little fun."
"But now we're going to kill you, you goddamn doxie!" the other man growled.
"Stay back!" Celia warned them. "I'll shoot."
The wounded man laughed coarsely. "You've only got one bullet left in that popgun, and it won't stop either one of us."
Slowly, they began to advance. Celia swung the derringer back and forth between them as she backed up. The wall of the warehouse stopped her. As the shadowy figures tensed to leap forward at her, she drew a deep breath. She might have time for one scream —
A shape suddenly loomed in the darkness behind the man to Celia's left, the one she had kicked. Someone grabbed the man, spun him around. A fist crashed against his jaw, snapping his head to the side. The man dropped limply, out cold.
The other man said, "Wha—," but that was all he had time for. Major Devlin Henry lunged across the alley at him and slammed into him. Devlin's hands found the man's throat and tightened. He drove the man's head against the wall of the building opposite in a savage attack.
Celia cowered against the wall of the warehouse and watched open-mouthed as the blue-uniformed rescuer disposed of the second attacker. She winced as the man's head struck the wall with a soggy thud. Devlin released the man's throat and stepped back. The man sprawled on the alley floor, and his limp fall signified death.
"Scum," Devlin said quietly, gazing down at the man's body. He was barely breathing hard. Abruptly, he turned, and two quick steps put him at Celia's side. He asked anxiously, "Are you all right?"
She had let the derringer sag to her side when she recognized Devlin. Now it slipped from her fingers entirely as she moved into his arms and buried her face against his broad chest. His arms went around her and tightened in an embrace.
"I'm fine," Celia said, "now."
"They didn't hurt you?"
She was crying again and she knew it, but there was nothing she could do about it. Reaction was really setting in now. For a long moment, she sobbed into his rough blue uniform, then took a ragged breath and said, "They roughed me up a bit, but I'm all right, Devlin, really."
"They didn't . . . ?"
Celia shook her head. "You got here in time to stop that." She leaned back slightly and tilted her face back to look up at him. "What are you doing here? Where did you come from? We weren't supposed to meet until later."
He glanced at the bodies of the two men. The one he had knocked out might be coming to soon. "Let's go somewhere more pleasant to talk," Devlin said. "We can leave these bastards right here."
"That . . . that other one is dead."
"I know." The tone of his voice indicated that he didn't find that fact particularly distressing. "He was trying to hurt you, so I think he got what he deserved."
Celia found herself unable to argue with that. With Devlin's strong arm around her, they left the alley quickly, putting the violence behind them.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, they were in a small tearoom that was still open even at this hour of the evening. They were the only customers at the moment. The little elderly lady who ran the place had looked somewhat askance at Celia's rumpled appearance, but Celia and Devlin had not let that stop them. Now they each had a cup of steaming tea, and as Celia sipped hers, strength seemed to flow back into her along with the hot beverage.
"Oh, that's wonderful," she exclaimed softly. Although her nerves had settled down somewhat, her hand still shook slightly as she put the cup down on the saucer. "Thank you, Devlin. For the tea . . . and for everything else."
"I'm just glad I arrived in time to help you," he said solemnly. 'What were you doing walking down there in the first place?"
"I could ask you the same question." Although Celia no longer considered him a suspect in the case to which Powell's Army had been assigned, there was something strange in the way Devlin kept turning up.
He sipped his tea, and she could tell he was trying to put his thoughts in order. Finally, he said, "I was watching you."
"Watching me?" Celia frowned. "Spying on me, you mean?"
Devlin shrugged. "Call it what you will."
"Then you know I went to Madam Henrietta's."
"I know you left there, too. I was going to try to catch up to you when I saw you walking off, but I lost track of you. I suppose when those two pulled you into that alley, it all happened too quickly and I lost sight of you. I was searching all the nooks and crannies in the area when I found you."
Celia's gratitude to him balanced somewhat her resentment that he had been following her. "I went to Madam Henrietta's for a good reason, Devlin."
"I'm sure you did."
"I went there to tell her I was not at all interested in her offer of employment. And I don't expect that I'll ever return to the place again."
A look of relief passed over Devlin's strong face. "That's good to hear," he admitted. "I care for you deeply, Celia."
She reached out and rested her hand on his. "I know. And I feel the same."
Now the proprietor of the tearoom was smiling, the eyes in her wrinkled face twinkling with the knowledge that young love was blossoming in her establishment. She ducked back into the kitchen so that the handsome couple could be alone.
"I'll take you back to your hotel when we're through with our tea," Devlin said. "I don't really feel like eating right now."
Celia nodded. "I'd like that."
She wanted to tell Landrum and Glidinghawk about the mess Fox had gotten into at the parlor house, but that could wait until morning. Both men were probably asleep by now, considering the rough couple of days they had just been through.
When Celia and Devlin had finished their tea, he left a bill on the table and linked arms with her again. This time, as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, good luck arrived in the form of a carriage for hire. The ride back to the hotel was accomplished quickly.
As they entered the lobby, Celia saw that the clerk was not behind the desk. In fact, they were alone in the room. Emboldened by the privacy, she turned to Devlin and said simply, "Come up to my room with me."
He took her hand, twining his fingers with hers. "That's what you want? Honestly?"
Celia nodded.
Devlin bent forward, brushing her lips with his. She leaned closer to him, raising her mouth and kissing him.
"I never refuse a lady's request," he murmured a moment later.
Celia left the lamp off when they entered the room, not out of modesty but simply because it seemed right. Enough light seeped through the gauzy curtains over the window for the two of them to see. Devlin's hands moved gently and deftly, stripping her clothes away until she stood revealed before him, a pale but lovely shadow in the darkness.
She undressed him then, knowing she was being quite bold and daring but wanting this anyway. When he was nude, she moved into his arms, shivering in the exquisite sensation of being enfolded into his embrace.
She felt him picking her up and carrying her to the bed. He put her down ever so gently and lowered himself beside her. His lips found hers again.
The kiss became more urgent, more demanding. Their lovemaking began slowly, even a little tentatively, but soon both of them were lost in each other and the flood of emotion washing over them.
Celia murmured his name, over and over.
The night was long — but not long enough.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"You look downright happy this morning, Celia," Landrum said.
"One might even say satisfied," Glidinghawk added.
Neither man was smiling, but Celia knew they were making fun of her. She blushed furiously, wondering how they had found out that she spent the night with Devlin Henry.
"How I'm feeling isn't important," she told them. "What matters is th
e mission."
"Of course," Landrum agreed. "And we ought to start making progress soon."
Glidinghawk nodded. "Fox seems to be doing the best of any of us, as much as it pains me to say that. So far Landrum and I haven't turned up much."
"We suspect that either Colonel Porter or that civilian Rainsford might be selling out the commission," Landrum mused. "But we sure as hell don't have any proof. If we could tie either one of them up with Judson or Madam Henrietta . . ."
The three of them were in Celia's hotel room. Even though it was fairly early, the morning sun still slanting in through the window, all of them had already had breakfast. Celia had eaten alone. Devlin had left her room, and the hotel, when the sky was gray with dawn.
"I suppose I'm out of the picture now," Celia said as Landrum lounged against the dresser, his hat in his hand.
The Texan shrugged. "You followed orders. Amos said for you to go to the house and look into the situation. You turned up the connection with Judson, and there were several hints that you could earn extra money by doing something special. They were probably talking about worming information out of any commission members who, uh, purchased your services. I'd say you did a damn good job."
"We'll have to handle it from here, though," Glidinghawk put in.
Celia shook her head, her green eyes flashing. "It's not fair. I'm as much a part of this team as anybody. Why, even Preston has a job now."
"But he didn't at first," Landrum pointed out. "And he was grousing then just like you are now."
Celia's lips tightened. "You're comparing me with Fox."
"You brought him up," Landrum said flatly. He clapped his hat on his head and stood up straight. "Gerald and I have to get over to the Colorado House. Porter and Rainsford will be waiting for our report."
"And then it'll be back out on another of those expeditions, is that it?"
"Probably," Landrum nodded.
"Fox is already at the bank this morning, carrying out his assignment. And I'm supposed to sit here in this hotel room twiddling my thumbs."
Landrum grinned. "Reckon you and the major can find some way to pass the time. From what I've seen he's not doing a whole hell of a lot of work for the commission. Fact is, I'm not even sure why the army sent him out here."
"Devlin is a very intelligent man," Celia flared. "I'm sure he has a great deal of responsibility."
Landrum glanced shrewdly at her. "You wouldn't be getting serious about him, would you?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
Glidinghawk said in disbelief, "An army man?"
"My father was an army man, remember? My mother was certainly happy with him."
Landrum and Glidinghawk glanced at each other. Obviously, they had known of the romance between Celia and Devlin, but they had been unaware of its seriousness. "You'd best be careful, Celia," Landrum warned her. "There's still something about Henry that strikes me as funny."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Celia replied coldly. She had not told either of her partners about the dangerous situation from which Devlin had rescued her the night before. She had broken off the story after telling them about Fox's problems at the parlor house and her own decision not to work there.
If they knew that Devlin had been following her, that fact would probably just make them more suspicious of him.
"Let's go," Landrum said to Glidinghawk. With a last look at Celia's taut, angry face, the two men went out.
When they were gone, Celia sighed heavily and went to the dresser, sitting down in front of it. She halfheartedly began to brush her hair.
She was going to meet Devlin for lunch in a few hours. Until then, she would just have to wait and try not to think about the fact that she was now just a fifth wheel on this mission.
* * *
Tom Rainsford was waiting for Landrum and Glidinghawk when they reached the headquarters of the commission. "Ah, I was wondering what had happened to you gentlemen," he said as they were admitted to the commission's suite. He was seated at the big table, documents and maps spread out in front of him.
"We didn't get back in until late yesterday afternoon," Landrum said. "Figured you wouldn't want to be bothered with bad news that late in the day."
Rainsford frowned. "Bad news? Nothing too bad, I hope."
Landrum put his map pouch on the desk and drew out the rough ones that Glidinghawk had made. "We had a little trouble," he said. "These aren't the maps you sent us out with, but they're the best I could do."
Rainsford glanced at the sketched maps and asked, "What happened?"
"Some fellers stampeded our horses to draw us off, then raided our camp and took the real maps," Landrum said. He and Glidinghawk had decided to stick to the truth in this matter. If Rainsford was behind the theft, he would already know what had happened; if he was innocent, telling him the truth wouldn't hurt anything. Landrum went on, "I did the best I could at redrawing the maps from memory. Maybe you can get some use out of them."
Rainsford shook his head for a moment, then said, "Please don't misunderstand, Mr. Davis. I think you did a commendable job under trying circumstances. I was just shaking my head at the misfortune that has seemed to plague this commission. I don't know how much information seems to have been mislaid or disappeared suspiciously since we've started our work. I'm upset about it, and I know Colonel Porter is, too."
"Colonel Porter is what?" The new voice came from the doorway and belonged to the officer in question, Landrum saw as he glanced around. Porter came striding into the suite.
"We've had some more trouble, Colonel," Rainsford said quickly. He explained about the theft of the maps while Porter nodded, a bleak expression on his face.
When he swung to face Landrum and Glidinghawk, he said, "I'm sorry this happened, Mr. Davis. Would you like me to assign a couple of troopers to travel with you and your assistant on your next expedition?"
Landrum shook his head. "That won't be necessary, sir. Now that we know there's a chance of trouble, Glidinghawk and I will keep our eyes open a little better."
"As you wish," Porter said curtly. "Can you start out again today?"
Landrum repressed the sigh of weariness he felt trying to get out. "I suppose we can."
Rainsford put in, "I know this is awfully quick to expect you to undertake another expedition, but I'm afraid Washington is putting some pressure on us to reach a decision."
Porter shot a warning glance at Rainsford. Landrum didn't miss the look. So things were getting tight, he thought. That was interesting. If the commission was under pressure to wrap up their job, that meant the plotters would also have to hurry. Otherwise, the decision would soon be common knowledge, and without advance warning of the new fort's site, the men Powell's Army were after would have no chance to make their illicit fortunes.
Colonel Matthias Porter didn't want word of that pressure leaking out, though. Which could mean anything — or nothing.
Not for the first time, Landrum wished this assignment had been more clear-cut. All this intrigue was damned hard on a man.
Rainsford pushed a sheaf of the army-prepared maps across the table to Landrum. "Those are the areas you need to survey next," he said. "The sooner we get this information, the better. We're very close to reaching a decision now."
Again Landrum saw the sharp glance that Porter gave the civilian. Evidently the colonel believed in keeping his subordinates as much in the dark as possible. Landrum had run into that kind of thinking quite often in the military.
He picked up the maps and stuffed them into his pouch. "We'll get started," he said.
"Try to hang on to those maps this time," Porter snapped.
"We'll try," Landrum replied, carefully keeping his voice flat. No use taking offense — even if the colonel was a dyed-in-the-wool bastard.
They took their leave, striding out of the Colorado House, and turned toward the stable where they had rented horses before.
"Well?" Glidinghawk asked.
"I gue
ss we go back to looking at rocks," Landrum said.
* * *
Preston Kirk wood Fox felt like hell.
It wasn't just that he had gotten very little sleep the night before. Nor was it the prodigious amounts of rich food and liquor he had consumed. It wasn't even the strenuous acts of passion in which he had engaged with first Melinda and then another young lady named Jane.
It was all those things combined.
No one had ever told Fox that a life of debauchery was so exhausting — and him still with sore feet!
Still, he reported on time for his day's work at the bank. Although his eyelids were heavy and his eyes themselves were streaked with red, he stayed awake somehow through a morning that seemed to last forever.
Occasionally, his knees would threaten to buckle and his vision would blur. When that happened, he held on for dear life to the counter of his window and waited for the awful sensation to pass.
For breakfast that morning, he had been able to stomach only coffee, and he had had plenty of the strong black brew at the boardinghouse. So far, it didn't seem to have helped him very much.
Warren Judson, on the other hand, seemed disgustingly cheerful this morning. He was his usual hearty, booming self, greeting his employees and customers with laughter when he came strolling in a few minutes after nine. That was his only concession to the previous night's celebration, Fox supposed. The morning before, when Fox first began working at the bank, Judson had been there quite early, before anyone else, according to the guard.
Not long before lunch, Judson came out of his office and over to Fox's cubicle. Fox felt a bit nervous as the banker stood behind him while he completed a transaction with a customer.
The customer, a middle-aged man with the large, hoary hands of a farmer, leaned forward and peered at Fox. "Say, you're that hero feller, ain't you?" he exclaimed with a sudden grin.
Fox tried to smile back, but it came out as more of a grimace. At least a dozen times already this morning, someone had said something to him about the robbery. He was discovering quickly that celebrity wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
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