Kierin winced at the tight grip of the man who held her. One tree-limb-sized arm was wrapped around her chest, flattening her breasts and cinching her arms at her sides. "Let me... go," she cried. Twisting in his arms, she struggled to free herself but he only tightened his hold on her.
"What a little wildcat you've become, Kierin," Talbot said, grinning at her. "I've always liked my women feisty. The West seems to agree with you."
"You can go to hell, too," she snapped. "Why don't you call off this grizzly bear of yours and tell me what it is you want with me." Talbot threw his head back and laughed. The man holding her gave her a punishing little squeeze and she let out a coughing gasp.
Suddenly, her fingertips brushed the butt of the gun the goliath wore strapped to his thigh. It was just within her reach. Adrenaline pumped through her bloodstream as she considered her chances to grab it before she was discovered.
"I've got what I want," Talbot replied, laconically. "Well, part of it anyway."
"Me." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," he replied, brushing his fingers in an absent gesture over the black patch on his eye. As he drew nearer, Kierin could see the puckered scar that ran across his cheek where the poker had burned his skin.
"And the rest?" she asked, forcing her gaze from the ugly scar.
"Do you see this?" He pointed to the patch.
"It's hard to miss," she taunted with a smile.
Talbot's good eye narrowed. "True. And I have you to thank for it."
Kierin tipped her head cockily and clucked her tongue. "And I thought the patch looked rather rakish."
Talbot's hand snaked out and he slapped her hard across the face. Her head snapped to one side and black spots swam before her eyes. Blinking slowly to clear them, Kierin lifted her head to glare at him. She could taste the blood on her lip.
Kierin let out a harsh breath. "You are a coward, Talbot. What's the matter? Are you afraid of the wildcat's claws? You need a big strong man like this to hold me back from you?" Her fingers poised above the butt of the gun.
Talbot smiled savagely and he gestured for the man to release her. The moment his arms loosened, her fingers closed around the butt of the revolver and she yanked with all her strength. She spun out of the arms of her jailer and pointed his gun directly at Talbot's heart.
Talbot's eyes widened with surprise. "What the—"
The man started to rush her but she'd already cocked the pistol and tightened her finger on the trigger. "Don't!" she warned. "I'll kill him. I swear to God I will."
Talbot jerked his hand up and backed up a step. "Get back, Belson," he ordered. "She means it." At the other side of the room, Talbot's other lackey, Cain, kept his hands carefully away from his gun.
"Damn right I do," she agreed, "and at this range, I could hardly miss." Kierin sidestepped the table and kept her eyes glued to Talbot. "I'm leaving now. Don't try to stop me." Her heart pounded like thunder against her ribs.
"At the moment, you seem to be holding all the cards..." Talbot's eyes flicked for a fraction of a second to a point behind her.
Too late, she saw the violent sweep of pink silk out of the corner of her eye. Too late, she tried to dodge the inevitable blow. She felt a crushing pain at the back of her head and—as if from a long distance off—she heard the shattering of glass. Like sand through her fingers, the gun slipped from her hand and a profound darkness closed in around her. And as she slid into that numbing void, she knew with utter certainty that she had lost.
Chapter 22
Clay and Matthew made a striking pair as they loped their horses down the central corridor of Kearny Street into Portsmouth Square. Dressed in beaded buckskins and riding with the savage grace they'd each acquired at the hands of the Cheyenne, the two ignored the outright stares they drew from the pedestrians crowded onto the boarded walkways of the street. Instead, their focus was directed toward the three-story brick building at the center of the Plaza, a gambling hall called El Dorado.
Clay pulled his Appaloosa to a stop and dismounted. Beside him, Matthew climbed off the pinto and tied his reins to the hitching rail under the gold-painted sign announcing the establishment they sought.
Clay tipped his hat off, raked a hand tiredly through his dark hair, then settled the sweat-soaked band over his brow again. A day or two's growth of whiskers shadowed his jaw. Fatigue etched dark blue smudges beneath his eyes. Gaunt and weary, Clay's body betrayed the evidence of the punishing weeks of travel behind them.
Twenty-four hours in San Francisco hadn't put them any closer to finding Kierin than they had been yesterday. It was obvious they'd either missed Kierin and Asa somehow back on the trail in one of the gold-mining camps, or the pair had beaten them to San Francisco.
Either way, finding them in a city this size was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Clay had been forced to take a room at the Parker House out of deference to an equally exhausted eleven-year-old. Matthew had fallen asleep before his head even hit the pillow. Clay had paced the room like a caged animal until the early hours of the morning when his body had forced him, at last, to sleep.
In the morning, after locating Johanssen's mill on the east end of town, they'd questioned the man Asa had claimed was his partner.
"Ja, he was my partner," Johanssen had replied, shaking his head, " 'til he started losing the company's money gambling—four, maybe five months ago. He wagered his way right out of the business."
"Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" Clay had asked. "Was there someplace he went regularly, where people might have known him?"
The blond-haired man scratched his head. "I ain't laid eyes on him since he left. But if a man's serious about the gambling, there's only one place worth going to. That's El Dorado."
Clay pushed away from the hitching post and headed toward the louvered doors at the entrance to the saloon. Matthew was close at his heels. He'd come to respect Kierin's brother too much to even suggest that he stay behind, but from the sound coming from inside the saloon, it wasn't the place for a young boy.
Evening had only just begun, yet El Dorado was filled with men eager to lose what they'd worked so hard for in the goldfields. Green-topped poker and faro tables crowded the room alongside shiny roulette wheels. Scantily clad women acted as dealers.
Clay and Matthew approached the long polished bar where a heavy man with a well-trimmed beard stood wiping glasses out with a questionable rag.
"What'll it be, gentlemen?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye for Matthew.
Matthew pulled himself up straighter to appear taller. "Sarsaparilla."
"Make that two," Clay added, not wanting to muddle his foggy brain with alcohol.
When the barkeep set the drinks before them, Clay pushed a ten-dollar gold piece toward him.
The man's eyebrow went up. "That the smallest you got?"
"If you've got the information I want, you won't have to change it for me," Clay replied.
"What kinda information?"
"I'm looking for a man by the name of Asa McKendry. I was told he spent a lot of time here. Do you know him?"
"I might," the man answered, stroking his beard. "As you can see, we stay pretty busy here. Lotta folks drift in... drift out. McKendry, you say? Had a fella used to come in here regular until a few months ago by that handle. Reddish hair, not too tall, bit of a brogue..."
"That's him," said Matthew.
"Like I said," the man repeated, going for the coin, "I haven't seen him for months now."
Clay flattened his hand over the gold piece. "What can you tell me about him? Where was he living? Did he meet anyone here regularly?"
The bearded man frowned. "Nope. In a place like this, nobody knows too much about nobody else. Folks like it that way."
Clay cursed under his breath.
"Why are you looking for him anyway?"
Clay sent him a chilling look. "He took my wife."
"Shee-it. You don't say?" The barkee
p picked up the coin and fingered it absently in his hand. "Ya know, come to think of it, you ain't the first to come looking for this McKendry fella."
Clay's head shot up. "We're not?"
"Nope. About the time McKendry disappeared, a fella come askin' for him just like you. I knew right off he was the kinda hombre you don't wanna tangle with. Mean as sin, but smooth as Kentucky bourbon. Wore a black patch over his eye and had a nasty-looking scar on his cheek. Had him a couple of big fellas with—"
Clay straightened abruptly. A sick feeling twisted his gut. "Did you say a patch?"
"Yeah—black patch."
Clay swallowed hard. "What did he look like?"
The other man shrugged. "Tall, good-looking—except for the eye—sandy hair..."
"Oh, Christ—" It couldn't be. His skin broke out in a cold sweat. "Did he tell you his name?"
The bartender scratched his head thoughtfully. "He's been comin' in here pretty regular since then. It's Talbin... or Tolbert... something like that."
Clay's voice was flat, emotionless. "Talbot? John Talbot?"
The barkeep's face flattened with surprise. "That's it."
"Oh, no," Matthew moaned. "Is that the same—?"
Clay nodded. He'd told Matthew all about Talbot and now imagined the boy's pale expression was a perfect mirror of his own. Clay turned back to the man. "Any idea where he lives?"
"I heard he lives somewhere around here, in Portsmouth Square."
"That's it?"
"Yup. That's all I know."
Clay shoved away from the bar. "Thanks..."
"Hey, good luck," the man called after them.
Clay barely heard him as he pushed through the saloon doors again. Once outside, he took deep gulps of air to try to combat the ragged fear inside him. Talbot here in San Francisco? It doesn't seem possible. He must have come through Panama, the bastard. What if he has Kierin already? How will we find her?
"W-what does it mean, Clay?" In spite of the boy's outward calm, his voice trembled.
Clay rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "If Talbot's involved... we've got to find your sister. Fast."
"First, we've got to find Talbot," Matthew returned, staring out into the crowded street.
"Right." Clay glanced back into the saloon at the women dealing cards. It was a long shot, but maybe one of those woman had made Talbot's acquaintance. "I'll be right back, son-"
Matthew's hand on his arm stopped him. "Clay..."
Clay turned around. "What is it?"
Matthew was staring at a drunk old man stumbling up the street. The boy swallowed hard. "It's... it's my father."
Matthew was already off the boarded walkway and into the street before Clay realized what the boy had said. A quick scan of the area told him Kierin wasn't with her father. With his heart pounding in his chest like a fist, Clay was off the portico in one long stride and right behind Matthew.
Asa's lurching run kept him close to the wall of the building beside him and his hand was stretched out at arm's length to keep from careening into it.
"Pa!" Matthew called from a few feet away. "Pa—stop!"
Asa's head came up in bewilderment and he stumbled to a stop. His eyes blinked in confusion as his gaze fell upon his son, but Asa hardly had time to speak before Clay seized his sweat-soaked shirtfront and slammed him up against the wall.
"Where is she, you sonofabitch?"
Asa grunted as he connected with the bricks behind him.
"Where's Kierin, you bastard? Tell me!"
"Clay," Matthew interceded, wrestling with the steely muscles of Clay's arm. "Stop it! He'll never tell you anything if you kill him."
Asa's eyes were wide open and panicked. Clay noticed that the old man's skin was the color of dried mud and wondered dispassionately if he'd already hurt him.
Clay took a deep breath and reluctantly released his hold on the trembling man. He wanted to kill him. But not before he got some answers.
Asa's knees gave way and he slid partway down the wall before Clay swore and caught him, easing him to the ground.
"I don't think he's drunk," Matthew said, unfastening his father's collar, "I think he's sick."
Looking at him, Clay had to agree.
Asa blinked at the beads of sweat rolling into his eyes.
"Matthew?"
"Yeah, Pa, it's me."
"You're alive... Sweet Jesus... I don't... believe it..."
"Pa—where's Kiery? What have you done with her?"
Asa grimaced and rubbed his chest. "Got to help her... can't let them—"
"Where is she, Asa?" Clay demanded. "Tell us."
"Talbot... Talbot's got her." He licked his dry lips. "I was such a fool... I thought he wanted to... marry her."
"Marry her." Clay stared at the man, incredulous. "What's he done with her? Is she hurt?"
"Don't know..." Disoriented, he struggled to get up. "I have to get help... need a gun. I had nothing..."
Clay pushed him back down again. "You're in no shape to help anyone, McKendry. Tell me where she is."
"Not far down Kearny. Tall brick townhouse... picket fence... number forty-seven..."
Clay was already on his feet, sprinting toward his horse.
"There's two men with him," Asa called after him. "They're armed—"
Matthew watched Clay go, torn between helping him and staying with his father.
"Matthew."
Asa's voice brought the boy's gaze around to his father's face. The older man started to reach up to touch Matthew's face, but stopped short of doing it when the boy flinched. "I looked for ye. I swear I did, but... couldn't find ye anywhere. Thought they'd kilt ye. Sorry, boy. I've... made such a mess of things."
Was his father actually asking him for forgiveness? Matthew wondered. As he looked into Asa's eyes, all the pain of those first few months returned like a wave of frigid water. He wasn't sure he'd ever be up to forgiving him. And certainly not now, with Kierin in so much trouble. "I know, Pa. I have to go help Kiery. You stay here, you hear me? You're sick."
"I've got to help her," Asa argued. "She's got to know I didn't mean the things I said. Only said them so I could get out to help her. Give me a hand up, boy."
Matthew shook his head. "Pa, I'm going now. You stay. You only slow us down. When we find her, I'll bring her back to you. That's a promise." He walked backward a few steps then turned and ran to his pinto.
Asa watched him spur the horse down the street, with the certain knowledge that later would be too late for him. Bracing his hand on the wall behind him, he edged up from the ground and headed for the sorrel horse tied not far away on a hitching rail. Add horse stealing to my crimes, he thought grimly, checking the old Sharps rifle cradled in the scabbard. Hauling himself into the saddle, he set his sights for Talbot's house. He'd find the man and kill him if it was the last thing he did. With a grimace of pain, he reflected that it very likely would be.
* * *
Clay flattened himself against the rear door of the townhouse, listening to the unexpected sound of a woman humming in the kitchen. His Colt hovered near his cheek, his finger poised over the trigger. He heard the heavy footsteps of a man enter the room and then the woman's enticing giggle.
"Cain. You scared me," the woman's sultry voice scolded. "Now, stop that, you devil—oohhh..."
"That was some stunt you pulled with that girl," the man growled, his voice muffled against her skin. "You're somethin' else, Suzanne. It made me all... hot... and bothered."
She laughed throatily. "What would your boss say if he saw you with me like this?"
"Like to kill us both, I reckon. Mm-mm... he's got other things on his mind right now," the man answered.
"El Dragón, for instance?"
"That pimp's been waiting two weeks for Talbot's shipment to arrive. From the looks of her, he ought to turn a pretty profit on her, top."
"Is... Belson there with him? Waiting?"
"Mm-mm, yeah, honey. We're all alone h—"
An ominous click beside the man's ear silenced his words. "Not anymore, you're not," Clay told him, pressing the barrel of his gun against the man's cheek.
"Shit."
"Move real slow, both of you, back against the wall." Clay eased his gun away from the man's ear and nudged it against his throat. The brown-haired woman named Suzanne inched away from her lover and flattened herself up against the wall, her brown eyes wide with fear.
Cain stood a good four inches taller than Clay's considerable height and peered down his nose at Clay through slitted eyes. "What do ya want?"
"First, your gun. Hand it to me. Read slow."
Cain two-fingered the stock of his pistol and dangled it in front of Clay.
He took it and slipped it into the wide leather belt at his waist. His voice was low, unmistakably dangerous. "Now... tell me where she is."
The barrel of Clay's gun rippled with the movement of Cain's Adam's apple. "She?"
He nudged the gun harder, cutting into Cain's flesh. "I'd like nothing better than to blow your goddamned brains out, you bastard, and you've got exactly five seconds to change my mind."
Sweat trickled down Cain's cheek.
"One..."
"I—I don't know who you mean, mister."
"Two..."
"Three..."
"If you mean that girl—"
"Four... sometimes I miss five altogether—"
"Wait. I'll tell you. The McKendry girl. Is that who you mean?"
"Keep talking."
"Talbot's took her down to a warehouse—by the docks."
"Who's this El Dragón?" Clay demanded.
Cain's tongue flicked over his lips. "He's a whoremonger from Sonora, Mexico, up here buyin' women for his brothels."
Clay's jaw tightened. "Are you telling me Talbot's planning on selling Kierin to him?"
The big man swallowed painfully. "Uh-huh. Got some kind of personal grudge against her, I think. He don't talk about it, but I think it has something to do with the scar on his face."
Clay took a deep breath. His eyes glittered like blue ice. "How far is it?"
Holt's Gamble Page 30