by Caroline Lee
Sure, she could level the thing and step out of the shadows, but then what? Demand they get back on their horses? Shoot them dead?
She swallowed, certain she wouldn’t be able to do that.
Not once, during her time as the Ace, had she had to protect herself from King’s goons. Not like Hart, who’d killed three over the years, with at least two in self-defense. But could she do it?
No, that wasn’t her style.
Her hands shook as she slowly transferred the rifle. She’d wanted to rally the town, not kill men.
But the closer they got, the more she realized she didn’t have a choice. The only thing she could do was step out and threaten them, and if they called her bluff, shoot them.
Damn.
Taking a deep breath, she braced her heels and began to push herself upright, inching up the wooden walls in the shadows, praying for a miracle.
When it arrived, it wasn’t what she’d expected.
“Gentlemen?”
The languid voice came from a fourth figure, who’d just stepped out of the darkness pooled on the other side of the alley. Finnie sucked in a breath when she realized the man had stepped in front of O’Grady and his men, exactly the way she had been planning to do.
And then stopped breathing all together when she saw how he was dressed.
The man was dressed all in black, from his black trousers to his black hat, and was that a... Was that a cape? A black cape? Or just a large duster?
He wore a bandana, the same as her, and in one hand he carried something long and skinny, like a rifle.
She froze, crouched halfway, her attention on the stranger, the same as King’s men’s.
O’Grady shook himself from his shock, then began to laugh harshly. “Been a little while since I met up with the Black Ace! You boys ever seen him?”
Behind him, Erstwhile shook his head, his mouth hanging open, while Ziggy just cracked his knuckles.
The stranger gave a little bow, the simple dipping of his head more elegant than anything Finnie had ever managed as the Ace, and spoke again. “I have it on authority, gentlemen, you are here to rob this store.”
His voice seemed familiar, but he was also trying to disguise it, she was sure. She squinted against the dim light, trying her damnedest to see who it was.
O’Grady’s laughter abruptly halted and he stepped towards the stranger, who didn’t back away.
“Hell yes. We’re going to rob the store, show that upstart what he gets for tryin’ to poison someone like Mr. King. Now, I’m right glad for whoever squealed our plans, ‘cause it means I get to beat your ass. But when I’m done, you’re going to tell me who it was so I can kill him too.”
“ ’Too?' ” the man repeated, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “As in, kill him as well as Mr. Gomez?”
Ziggy chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, son. It’ll be an ‘accident.' ”
“Yeah, when he discovers mysterious robbers downstairs.” O’Grady nodded.
Nelvin Erstwhile spoke up. “I’ve got an idea, boss. What if we leave this hombre’s body beside Gomez’s so he looks like one of the robbers?”
O’Grady grinned evilly as he nodded to his friend. “That’s a fine idea. Let me just—”
The stranger moved faster than Finnie could blink. In one moment, he had whipped the stick around and slashed O’Grady across the face with it. The large man staggered backwards into Ziggy, and the fake Black Ace lunged for Erstwhile.
It wasn’t a rifle, nor a stick he was holding. As he spun away from O’Grady, his black cape billowing out behind him, Finnie watched the man tug with each hand, until suddenly, he was holding a sword in one hand and a scabbard in the other.
Augustus King carried a sword cane, but she didn’t think he’d ever used his like this.
The man twisted around Erstwhile, who was yanking his gun from his holster, and quick as lightening, slashed the man across his throat. As Erstwhile sunk, gurgling, to the packed snow of the alley ground, the stranger spun to face the others.
O’Grady had his revolver out by then, but as he lifted it to fire, the fake Ace ducked and rolled, coming up behind Ziggy. O’Grady’s shot went wide, the loud retort enough of a shock to shove Finnie upright, her rifle falling from numb hands.
He’d just killed Erstwhile. As easy as breathing!
She didn’t have time to be shocked, because before Ziggy could turn to face him, the stranger slammed his sword through the man from behind. Ziggy staggered forward as the tip of the sword protruded from his chest, and the stranger used his momentum to carry them both towards O’Grady, who was still searching for a target.
Finnie felt the scream gathering in her throat, but before it could be released, Ziggy slammed into O’Grady, who went down under his former henchman. The stranger, easy as could be, reached down to pull something from Ziggy’s waist. When he shifted, Finnie saw it was the man’s long knife.
Without hesitating, without blinking, without a prayer, the stranger slammed Ziggy’s knife deep into O’Grady’s chest. The mysterious man spun, as agile and lithe as a dancer, and kicked O’Grady’s gun out of the way as the man gurgled beneath him, then twirled back around and pulled his sword from Ziggy’s body.
The entire thing had taken only a moment. A few heartbeats, and three men were almost dead. And not just dead, but easily dead. O’Grady had fired one shot, but the others hadn’t had time to even pull their revolvers. One man had done all this, with blades. And he’d moved like an angel while doing it.
Still standing above his dying victims, the fake Black Ace removed a white handkerchief and wiped the blood from his long blade. He moved gracefully to the side, scooped up the scabbard and sheathed the sword, all in one smooth motion, as if it came naturally to him.
“This town is under my protection.” He spoke to O’Grady, although Finnie doubted the goon could hear. “And I’m coming for your master next.”
Then the man, the terrifying, elegant man, turned to the dark shadows where Finnie was standing, and although she hadn't thought he could have possibly known she was there, gave a little nod of acknowledgment.
As he turned away, Finnie’s nerves finally gave out, and she bolted in the opposite direction.
She ran as fast as she could manage in Quint’s over-sized boots, her heart pounding and her mind whirling.
Oh God Oh God Oh God.
He’d killed those men as easily as breathing. He’d done it to send a message, she was sure. But the Ace had never killed anyone like that before!
A tiny voice in the back of her mind asked, Yeah, but didn't they deserve it?
O’Grady and his men were going to rob and burn and kill tonight, and the masked man had stopped them. With extreme force.
Maybe King would finally get the message.
She realized her legs were pounding along the route she’d taken earlier, heading towards the boarding house. Yes, the boarding house! She needed to make sure the Gomezes were safe. The stranger—
No. No, the stranger wouldn’t have hurt them, would he? But after what she’d just witnessed, she had to check on them.
Yeah, yeah, that was it.
She needed to make sure the Gomezes were safe. That was why she was running as if her life depended on it, as if her lungs didn’t burn, and her mind wasn’t blank from shock.
And maybe it would’ve worked…if she hadn’t ran smack into a hard wall of man.
14
When the first man clomped past Quint’s post outside the boarding house, he snuffed out his cheroot—one of the surprisingly spot-on Christmas presents from Finnie—and followed, only to just about swallow his tongue when he realized it was Blake, the livery owner. The way the man moved told Quint that Blake wasn’t the Black Ace.
Besides, by then, Quint had spotted movement across the way. And he was damn sure Millard Caplan wasn’t the Black Ace either.
Just what the hell was going on? None of these men were dressed in the tell-tale disguise and ba
ndana, but they were clearly watching the front of Gomez’s store.
Were they protecting it?
Unbidden, Quint’s lips twitched. Finnie would be proud of her town, he supposed, if she weren’t safe in her room above the saloon. He’d kissed her goodnight earlier, and had watched her climb the stairs, weary, but blushing. This was what she’d always wanted; to see her friends and neighbors come together to protect each other from King.
Quint had heard Millard’s accusations that evening in the bar. If King really had sent his men to burn and rob Gomez, then Quint had a reason to arrest the man. Unfortunately, all they had to go on was Millard’s claim of hearing King make the order. If O’Grady really did show up tonight, and Quint was able to apprehend him, at least he’d be able to build a case.
That is, if all these would-be helpers didn’t get in his way. All he needed was a bunch of fake Black Aces getting in his way. Hell, if the real Black Ace was out here tonight, trying to protect Gomez, that’d be different. Quint wouldn’t mind another chance to have a talk with the man, now that he was more certain King was the bad guy here in town.
But even if the Ace was out here, Quint also had a responsibility to the law. And the law said Gomez and his property would be protected.
Shaking his head, Quint melted back into the shadows and stepped into the alley behind the buildings. The snow was thicker back here since the townspeople had only focused on the main roads that morning. Still, he wasn’t the first person back here, or even the second. There was a path stomped through the snow, and he kept his eyes at his feet so he didn’t stumble.
Which is why his attention was caught by the familiar boot print.
The moon broke through the clouds just as he happened to be looking in the right place, and he sucked in a breath. He dropped to a crouch, and his gloved fingers instinctively reached for the print in front of him.
A lose nail in the left heel, in exactly the place he’d suspected. And dreaded.
Oh, shit.
He exhaled.
He knew that print. That was his print. Or had been, at least. Now…he’d seen it again that afternoon, in the snow behind the saloon when he’d teased Finnie about wearing his boots. His fingers hovered over the prints. Had she walked this way recently?
Frantically, he tried to remember if she’d had any reason to be heading towards Gomez’s store that afternoon. Because the only other explanation was…
She was out here tonight.
No. No, surely she wasn’t that stupid, was she? She wouldn’t be out here with the rest of these do-gooders, trying to protect Gomez’s store from King’s men...would she?
He cursed under his breath. She would. Only, she wouldn’t think it was stupid. And he couldn’t either, to be honest.
The whole time he’d known her, she’d been trying to convince her friends and neighbors to stand up for one another, to protect one another. This whole thing had been set into motion at her saloon that very evening, so of course she’d be out here.
The thought of Blake or Millard, or whoever the hell else was out here, facing down armed thugs—whether or not they were from King—didn’t bother him nearly as much as the thought of Finnie in some gun’s sights.
He cursed again and thrust himself to his feet, just as a loud crack split the air.
Instincts born from long years as a marshal had him throwing himself headlong for protection before comprehending the shot had come from afar. From the alley behind Gomez’s store.
“Finnie!” he hissed as he pushed himself to his feet. He was running before he realized it.
As he ran, he listened for more shots, for screams, for anything indicating Finnie was in trouble.
The minutes seemed to stretch—had Gomez’s store always been this far away? He was panting by the time he heard footsteps pounding towards him. Someone was running away from the store, running towards him, and they were following the same path in the snow he was.
As the figure, dressed all in black, became visible, Quint had just enough time to brace himself. It was the Ace! The hat, the bandana...he’d recognize the man anywhere.
As the Ace slammed into his chest, Quint grabbed the man’s upper arms, bracing them both in the snow so neither toppled. Why was the man so panicked? So distracted?
Quint tightened his hold and opened his mouth to demand an explanation…
And damn near choked on his tongue when the Black Ace lifted soft brown eyes to his.
He sucked in a startled breath...and smelled rosewater.
“Finnie?” he choked, his hold loosening. “Dear God, Finnie, is it you?” His whisper was harsh, unbelieving. “Are you hurt? What are you doing?”
The figure in his arms shook its head frantically and stepped back, knocking his hands away. He remembered how he’d stood outside Gomez’s store earlier that month, waiting for the Ace to emerge. He remembered the one-sided conversation he’d had with the man. The Ace had never spoken a single word.
So Quint wouldn’t recognize his voice?
He remembered a lot more.
How Finnie had known which cheroots he smoked.
How he’d admitted a weakness for peppermint candy to the Ace.
How she was as tall as most men, and wore a curious combination of men’s and women’s clothing.
How she was one of the few good enough to have made the shot which had saved Hartwell from lynching.
How she’d worn his boots.
Dear God.
Finnie Pompey was the Black Ace?
He shook his head and stepped towards her. “Finnie? What the hell?”
Was it possible he’d been living under her roof—falling in love with the woman—while she was the very criminal he’d been sent to capture?
She was breathing heavily, still stepping away from him. She was panicked about something, and when she glanced over her shoulder at the alley behind Gomez’s store, Quint’s senses went into high alert. Whatever she was frightened of, she thought it was still there.
“What is it?” he whispered.
Between the hat and the bandana, her eyes had gone even wider, and no matter what she’d done, no matter how confused he was, part of him still itched to pull her into his arms, to declare everything would be fine.
But she only shook her head once more, and finally said, “Gomez,” and took off running towards Bluff Street.
He started after her, but remembered her look of fear. What had happened at the store?
Squeezing his hands into fists, he forced himself not to follow her, and instead, to head towards the source of the gunshot. His mind created all sorts of scenarios, jumping from one to the next in a desperate attempt to exonerate her.
Maybe tonight was her first time pretending to be the Ace? Just as there were other townspeople out tonight, maybe she’d gone out tonight for the first time to save her neighbor from harm?
But he knew that wasn’t true. She’d been the Ace he’d met behind Gomez’s store weeks ago. Had that really been the key she’d been holding? Or had she broken in and poisoned the coffee, which led to King’s men being so sick, they couldn’t keep the townspeople away from the mining camp?
Quint pulled his gun from his holster with a curse, acknowledging the truth. The reason he’d thought Finnie would approve of the Ace’s methods was because she was the Black Ace. He’d fallen in love with the very criminal he’d been sent to capture.
Damn.
He skidded to a stop as he rounded the corner, and a much harsher curse slid from his lips. Three bodies lay in the snow, the blood still pumping from their wounds. He kept his gun ready as he crept forward to see if anything could be done.
One man lay off to one side, his throat cut, dead. Two more were lying in a tangle, and Quint used his foot to roll one over to his back. The man had a bloody hole in both the front and back of his sheepskin coat, and was also quite dead.
The third was a heavy-set man, the handle of a large hunting knife protruding from his chest. His brea
thing was a labored gurgle, and Quint knew he was just about out of time.
Keeping his gun ready, he scanned the shadows, his mind refusing to make sense of what he was seeing. Carefully he squatted beside the man.
“Who did this?” he asked gently, knowing the man had only mere moments left.
The dying man’s gasp was an ominous rattle as he stared up at the clouds. “Ace,” he managed.
That’s what Quint had been afraid of. He closed his eyes briefly. “The Black Ace did this?”
Laboriously, the man switched his gaze to Quint’s face and struggled to speak. Quint leaned forward, but as he watched, the man’s struggles eased, and the breath leaked from between his lips in a sad little sigh.
Shuddering, Quint stood and took a deep breath. He was a US Marshal, an agent of the law. He’d seen death in many forms. Hell, he’d caused it more than a few times himself, while hunting down bad guys. And if these men had come here tonight to rob, burn, and murder, they weren’t the good guys.
But rarely had he seen such efficient and gory deaths. Whoever had killed these men, had done it before they’d had the chance to get off more than the one shot, and all three had been killed with blades.
He shook his head once more, still refusing to accept the evidence.
Fact: The Black Ace was a criminal, wanted in connection to several murders in town.
Fact: He’d seen the Black Ace running away from the scene of a crime.
Fact: Someone had killed three men tonight, and a victim had identified the Ace with his dying breath.
Also fact: Finnie was the Black Ace.
He swallowed. The facts might add up, but he knew there was no way in hell the woman he loved was the one who’d just killed these three men.
Still, his treacherous memory reminded him of how terrified she’d looked as she’d run from this scene.
She was terrified because she’d seen three men killed!
So she was a witness?
She favors her rifle! The Ace has never used a blade before!