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"I'm sorry, Mister Galloway. From what I've heard, Kelly was well loved."
He nodded gravely. "But why was she so stunned? Kelly had backbone," he said, then looked at Chris. "You know that. There wasn't much that scared her, besides snakes."
Chris looked at Victoria, his dark scowl implying that she'd better have satisfactory explanation for dragging his friend through this.
"Who was trying to destroy your business was what shocked her, Mister Galloway. Because it was a friend."
"Raif," Sean hissed, gripping the rifle.
"I found him last night, after you punched him in the bar. He was in the alley, beat to near death, but he didn't get there on his own." She met Chris's gaze and could tell he was pissed she hadn't come to him with this earlier. "Two men bumped into me last night, real hot to get lost. I think they did him, just then." Her eyes shifted back to Sean. "Maybe looking to blame you, since damn near everyone saw you hit him and you left the Pearl at the same time. When I got to him he was putting the gun to his head."
Sean took a step. "Is he dead?"
She shook her head. "I left him with Vel."
He sighed, relieved she thought, and Victoria hoped, for Sean's sake, he could get past his pain.
' 'Why would he do this to me?''
"He owes money."
'Christ, Raif knows I would have given him my last nickle!''
"His pride wouldn't let him, I guess. You'd already given him part of the Dublin's silver."
"He earned every ounce of that!"
' 'Maybe, but he told me he owed the Flat Pick for equipment. When you wouldn't sell the mine, I think they used him to get to you. Losing all the cattle, you'd have to sell the Dublin to stay afloat. Kelly just got caught in the middle."
"What proof do you have?" Chris said. She couldn't decipher his withering stare.
"Beyond footprints and Raif's mumbling? Or this?" She
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lashed a hand to the prints and the bloody club. "None. Raif said he didn't mean for her to get hurt." Her raspy voice lowered to a whisper. "So much that he wanted to die."
Sean stood there, tense as barbed wire, his finger flexing on the rifle's trigger. He wanted to kill Raif, She recognized the look before—in herself—once. "He's tied up and going nowhere, Mister Galloway."
"Good," he growled, lifting his gaze to hers. "He'll be an easy target." "No!"
He scowled and she realized she'd lost her masculine voice, but Sean strode past them to the barn.
She turned to Chris. "It was an accident. Raif was blackmailed. Stop him!" she shouted when he simply stood there.
"He won't kill him, Jake,"
Suddenly she was up in his face. "Don't you see? If I hadn't bumped into those two guys, if Raif had pulled that trigger, Sean would be in jail for his murder. They were setting him up to cover their tracks!"
"I'm aware of that." A dull red crept up his neck, his lips a tight line.
"But what if I'm wrong?"
"You're not and you know it."
She shook her head wildly. "We have to check his boots, his alibi for that night, question him. It's not iron clad! We have—"
"We don't have to do a thing," he bit off, then brushed past
her to the barn where Sean was saddling a horse. He grabbed
Sean by the shoulder and spun him around, his fist connecting
with his jaw. Sean went down hard. *
"What the hell did you do that for?"
He stood near his friend, feeling Victoria move up behind him. "Saves me from shooting him. No! Leave him there," he said when she bent to shake him. "When he wakes, it will give him time to think clearly, and I can get Raif behind bars."
"What about the creeps at the Flat Pick?"
"Don't question how I do my job, Vic—" He dragged his gaze from his fallen friend to her. "—Jake."
Bitter anger faced the single word, the name, her other personality. He hated it, and was despising her for it, too, she realized. He tied Sean's hands to give himself more time, then mounted his horse, not bothering to wait for her. Men, she decided, were pride-packed, hard-headed chauvinists who needed to get in touch with their feminine sides. If they did, women wouldn't feel rotten every time they used their brains.
She'd ridden back at a much slower pace, almost dreading seeing Christopher again and made certain there was at least an hour separating them. God, he looked ready to chew her butt off and she didn't doubt whatever he was holding back was in that knock-out punch he delivered to Sean's tender jaw. He hated her disguise and her secrets—and yes, mostly his pride was in tatters because she'd figured out a method of the crime before him. Well, too bad. She had one hundred twenty five years of experience on him and wasn't about to make excuses for who she was.
If he couldn't handle it, then tough. She had a job to do anyway, and was doing him a favor besides.
He'll never see it that way. He's 19th century, you're 20th.
Hardly matters. She wasn't sticking around to find out otherwise. Reining up before the marshal's office, Victoria slid tiredly from the saddle, slapped the reins over the rail and stepped into the coolness of the office just as Noble slammed a cell door shut. He turned, grinning when he saw her.
"Damn good investigatin', Jake." He crossed the room and pumped her gloved hand as if it would give water.
"It all sort of fell in my lap, Mister Beecham," she said and beyond him saw Raif, his adjoining cell occupied by two members of the let's-pulverize-the-locals gang. Victoria didn't want to be around when Sean showed up.
"Well, with Raif in custody, didn't take much arm twistin' to get the truth outa Pike and Deek."
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Owners of the Flat Pick, she wondered, recognizing one as the man who'd plowed into her last night,
"All we have to do is round up their boss," Beecham added, glancing between the marshal and Jake.
Her gaze shifted to Raif and he met her stare accusingly, as if keeping him from killing himself was a crime of nature. "I was right, with all of it?" she said, cocking a look over her shoulder at the marshal.
"Hell yeah," Noble said before Chris could respond. Feeling uncomfortable with Chris's dispassionate glare carving holes in her back, Victoria adjusted her hat and headed to the door. "Got a job to do," she muttered and grasped the knob. The door flung open, a young woman about twenty-five rushing in. She halted abruptly and remembering she was clad as Jake, Victoria stepped back, allowing her to proceed. The woman flashed her the brightest smile, sweeping inside with an elegance that defied logic. Victoria envied that every man around leapt to their feet, including prisoners, at the sight of her. She waved them back down and addressed the marshal and Victoria folded her arms over her chest, leaning back against the door to watch and listen.
"So sorry to disturb you, Christopher." British, Victoria thought, trying not to envy the woman's gown. Girl clothes. Chris expression drooped. ' Tell me it didn't happen again?" "Afraid so. I'd hired a man to keep watch, since Reid is out of town. But the poor dear ended up getting beaned on the head;"
"What was stolen this,time?"
She fished in her reticule and pulled out a slip of paper. "Laudanum, poppy extract and mesquite, enough for several doses in stoppered dark glass bottles."
"Somebody's either dying or havin' one hell of a. good time," Noble said from his seat and Victoria realized this woman was a physician. She was impressed, considering the year.
"Excuse me, doctor?"
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Jenna MacLaren turned toward the man near the door. "Yes?"
"Jake Farrell, ma'am." Victoria touched the brim of her hat. "I was wondering what all these drugs would do?"
"Why make one oblivious, I'm afraid. I use them only for severe pain and of course, during surgery."
"All anesthetics?"
"What else was taken?" Victoria could feel Chris's butt-out glare as if he'd jabbed her with his elbow.
"Some very expensive laboratory equipment."
"And before?"
"They hadn't the chance. I came in upon them and scared them off."
"Doc Jenna's dang accurate with a knife, Jake."
Doctor MacLaren flashed Noble a brief smile, a blush stealing into her cheeks and Victoria wished she still had the innocence to do that.
"If someone were to use these drugs, what's the manner and effect?" Victoria could feel her century creeping up on her.
"Well, assuming it's the same person, they'd likely distill the ingredients and either dry them to a power or inject them directly into the vein."
"Jeez-zoo! Who'd want to get stuck with a needle ifin' they didn't have to."
"An addict," Victoria and the doctor said at the same time. Poppy was opium, Victoria remembered, the base of heroin and morphine. And deadly in unrefined doses. Great. Users and losers here, too.
A memory surfaced and she focused on Christopher. "Clara Murphy, over at the hotel—" He smirked nastily but she went on **—said one of the guests last week was a tall thin man, who kept pinching his nose, snifflin'. She found some stuff like the Doc mentioned. Empty vials, spoons with a residue."
"The distilling!" Jenna gasped, glancing at the marshal.
"He also left the room in a wreck. Like he'd been oblivious
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to anything for days. The servant, a young boy 'bout twelve can describe him."
"Do you think he's still there?" Jenna asked anxiously, her gaze slipping between the man and the marshal.
' 'If he broke into your place last night, he ought to be close, or even passed out somewhere, enjoying your opium," Chris said. "I'll post a deputy in your area again, Jenna. When is Reid due back?''
She smiled that light-up-the-room smile. "Any minute now.''
"Well, that makes me feel a little better about leaving you alone."
' 'Oh, for pity's sake, Christopher! I can very well take care of myself. It's the drugs in the wrong hands that has me worried."
"Yeah, well, it's what Reid will do to me if you get hurt, that has me worried.''
She laughed, a soft delicate sound that made the men smile, but Victoria stiffened when Jenna rose up on tip toe to peck a kiss to Chris's cheek. Jenna murmured something to Chris in a language Victoria had never heard before and he responded in kind. It made her jealous. The doc could speak Cheyenne. Pressing the list into Chris's hand, Jenna crossed to the cells and questioned Raif about his injuries. She looked at Chris.
"Have this man in my office today, Christopher. He needs medical attention."
"You know I will," he replied.
She headed to the door, acknowledging the men standing for her departure. Jake opened the door for her.
"Thank you, Mister Farrell. You've been most helpful." Victoria nodded as any man would to a lovely woman and Jenna swept out the door. She watched her, wondering how she could walk with such dignity in all that hardware and wishing she had an ounce of the doctor's femininity. Yet she lost every bit of it when a man astride a gorgeous Palomino skidded to a hard stop in the street and slipped from the saddle. With a happy squeal, Jenna ran to him, launching into his arms and kissing him soundly. He was a giant, honey blonde hair
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and shoulders big enough to block out the sun, but it was the long braid, reaching nearly to his waist that surprised her. And intrigued her.
"Well. Looks like oP Jake's been more help than hurt, marshal. Solved two crimes in one day."
"Yes," came in a steely tone. "Congratulations, Jake."
Bet it killed him to say that, she thought, tipping her hat before shoving the spectacles up her nose. "Just tryin' to help." She smiled at Noble, scratched her arm, then left and was half way across the street when the marshal called out to her.
Victoria stopped to face him.
"Are you real pleased with yourself?"
"Excuse me?" She didn't like his tone. "Oh, I get it. You can't handle that I figured out who killed Kelly before you. Or that I happen to be working in the hotel when a drug addict puked all over one of the rooms I had to clean."
' 'What kind of person knows about murderers, hair and blood remains and how opium addicts make their drugs?"
"An informed person."
"Not good enough."
"Too bad." She turned away, taking several steps before he caught her arm and wrenched her around. "Unless you want your nuts kicked up to your throat, Marshal Swift, let go."
His features pulled taut. "Is there anything you can't do better than a man?" He leaned closer and spoke in a malicious voice thick with revulsion. "Christ—" his dark gaze scraped over her body and she felt her skin ripple beneath her disguise "—is there even a woman in there?"
Victoria went still. Deathly still and Chris thought he held onto a statue instead of human tissue. Her features slackened, icy-blue eyes clouding with a pain so deep and vivid he felt it slam into him, gouge him in places he swore were too hard to penetrate.
Oh Jesus.
Then she wrenched free. "Apparently not."
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Chapter Eleven
He might as well have slapped her. It stung that hard, bit that closely and she lowered her gaze, a lump swelling in her throat and threatening to choke her. She wasn't woman enough. Wasn't anything. It wasn't her choice, it just happened. And she let it go on and on until she couldn't blame him for feeling like a jilted bridegroom. She'd left him standing before his friends and took off with the prize. But it didn't change the fact that he was once remotely attracted before and obviously, wasn't anymore. She knew she shouldn't get so involved. And though she'd no one to blame for destroying their friendship but herself, the loss of it, of having grasped the silken edge of some small pleasure and have it ripped away, left her achingly hollow—without a place to fall.
r f
Her head down, Victoria bit her lip, holding back the tears
threatening to spill. She turned away. He didn't call her back.
And the tiny fracture in her heart split a little wider, Victoria
didn't think she could still feel pain any more, not after her
life had been ripped apart five years ago. But she was wrong.
God, was she wrong.
Striding briskly to the back of the barn, she started to open a
wood storage box, then fell back against the barn wall, sniffling, closing her eyes and forcing the tears back. Damn him, she cursed, then rolled around and tugged open the lid, pulling out the satchel concealing her back pack, then heading to the outhouse to change her disguise. It was difficult in the cramped smelly cubicle and perspiration ran in rivulets between her breasts by the time she slipped into her room at the hotel to afix more spirit gum on the seams and pockets of her pudgy mask. She thanked Alexandria again and again for making the things strong enough that she could re-use them so often, but her skin showed signs of irritation. She'd have to give her complexion a rest soon, though it wasn't in her plans just now. Her skirt was sadly wrinkled, but she covered it with a fresh apron from the hotel's supply, then stored her pack in her bleak little room, wishing she could climb into bed and forget about Christopher Swift and his devastating words.
So she concentrated on Ivy League.
And with him seeking a partner for his business, she knew he was up to something nasty.
At least maybe Chris would back off now. He saw her for what she was. Too rough to want, too smart for his century. It's all for the best, she consoled with a residual shudder. She wasn't here to find relationships and make friends. She was here to hunt.
And take her prey back home.
He was a jack-ass.
The instant she strode away he knew he'd been acting like prime mule stock since din
ner yesterday. But it irritated him to no end to look at her and know there was a woman beneath. A woman, who, for some reason, like hiding behind a mask. God,-she never slipped, even when the doc showed up. She never cared what he thought. And she made him feel vastly incapable.
Was that really it? Was that the reason he felt so danged useless around her? He'd admired it at first, when he saw her
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in the woods, when she risked her life to save Lucky, but why did it set his teeth to grinding now?
Combing his finger through his hair, Chris adjusted his hat and sighed. Pig-headed jack-ass. Victoria was a woman, no matter what she looked like on the outside, and he'd been cruel and mean and waited arrogantly by for her to fall on her adorable rump so he could pick her up, hold her, kiss her, and maybe feel like she needed someone. You?
After that? He'd be lucky if she didn't fill him full of bullet holes. Turning back to the office, he flung open the door and moved to his desk, dropping into his chair. Noble had moved the prisoners into the rear cells and Chris was grateful for the solitude. He didn't like the way he was feeling right now.
"What'd you say to that young fella?" Noble accused.
"Now who sounds like he's mothering the strays?" Chris snapped without looking up from the stack of files.
"He's a good kid, and you ain't got no cause to be angry over what he done."
Chris's jaw tightened. His guilt was heavy enough as it was. "Go get some breakfast and sleep, Noble." His tone dismissed, and Noble cast him a half-lidded stare, tossing the keys and not bothering to see if they hooked the peg.
"Don't forget to take Raif to see the doc, this afternoon,"
Chris glanced up, his scowl still firmly in place.
"Her husband's home. Give 'em some time." Husband. Wife.
Just the thought of the happiness Reid and Jenna MacLaren were experiencing soured Chris's mood even further. How could he keep blaming women for their fickled selves when he'd managed to destroy two relationships in one year.
Chris stood outside the hotel room, the heavy scent of lye and the sound of scrubbing drawing him further inside. She was on her knees in a cloud of dingy brown skirts, her hand
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