by Tia Louise
Table of Contents
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Sundown
Confidence
Corruption
Conceit
Conclusion
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About the Author
Sundown
The Vault
Tia Louise
Contents
Sundown
I. Confidence
II. Corruption
III. Conceit
IV. Conclusion
Your opinion counts!
More Tia Louise
Extra! Extra!
About the Author
Sundown
The Vault
Strangers on a train, names on a list.
It was a simple job.
In and out, instant karma.
Then he appeared to derail everything.
He’s the boy I haven’t seen in five years.
He’s the boy who wanted to be my hero, who I thought died fighting the demons.
Only he didn’t die.
He survived, and now he’s a man.
Worse, he’s a cop.
He’s gorgeous and strong, and the best sex I’ve ever had.
He’s my dream come true…
But this train has left the station, and there’s no turning back.
Payback arrives at sundown.
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Part One
Confidence
“I was quiet, but I was not blind.” –Jane Austen
Mark
This time it’s different.
I’ve made the annual journey from British Columbia to Juneau and back on the White Pass-Yukon Route for as long as I’ve been a detective. It’s a treacherous route in the winter, one with no direct connection to any other railway.
Tourists will ride it in the summer to see the glaciers, gorges, waterfalls, and steep grades. Now, only a very few individuals with proven business in the remote stops are allowed to travel this line.
Perhaps that’s why I do it each year at this time, for the adventure.
Perhaps it’s nostalgia, missing the dusty clutch of regulars riding these rails for their line of work.
I’d say I’m doing due diligence, keeping tabs on the outer reaches of my territory. This part of the country is so remote and isolated, anyone could get away with anything, and it would take months if not years for the authorities to notice. If it were even reported.
The truth is I’m here for a very specific reason.
I’m here waiting for him to slip up, to give me the reason I need to nail him.
“Confidence.” The slender man’s pronouncement breaks through my musings.
He leans forward on the bar, grasping his chunky shot glass in three fingers. Emerald-green absinthe swirls around inside the cup.
“Confidence is the key to everything,” he slurs. “The best criminals know this.”
Dropping back onto his stool, he slides two fingers along the corners of his thin mustache, pushing down his shifty grin. Aleister is a hustler, and he seems to be feeling the effects of his liquor.
Or it could be a lie… a grift. He could be stone cold sober and trying to get my guard down. He knows I’m searching. He wants to know why, what for.
His brown tweed three-piece suit has the finishing details only a tailor would know, tabs on the lapels, specialty labels. It’s old, but it’s expensive.
“Is that so?” I take a small hit of my scotch, poker face in place.
Unlike this fellow, my suit is off the rack, and I wear a beard, although I do keep it neatly trimmed. He’s a relic from another way of life. I’m the younger generation he feels compelled to educate.
“Yes,” he continues, “no matter what happens, the authorities will walk right past a perpetrator if he acts like he’s supposed to be there. No one questions him.”
I smile at that. “You don’t have much respect for my profession.”
The dining car sways, and I clutch my tumbler to keep it from sliding across the glossy wooden bar. Everything about this line is vintage. It’s filled with highly polished antiques, and the smell of cigar smoke, wax, and days gone by.
“Au contraire!” Aleister places a palm flat against his vest. “I have great respect for law enforcement. I am merely a lifelong student of human behavior.”
“I see.” I take another sip. The alcohol warms my chest on this frigid night. “You’re a profiler. I’m afraid your line of work has fallen out of fashion, my friend.”
“Pah! I’m a profiler of the profilers,” Aleister argues. “Profilers make judgments. I merely watch for patterns. Men see what they’re looking for, and they’re looking for suspicious behavior, fear, defensiveness. The most cunning serial killers—the Unabomber, the Boston strangler, Jeffrey Dahmer—they all walk around in plain sight because they’re confident. They’re calm.”
My lips tense, and I’m ready to argue when the double doors slide apart, and my insides go completely still.
A woman enters the dining car.
I don’t believe my eyes.
It’s her.
She’s more beautiful than ever. Her long, brown hair is perfectly straight, and her skin is as gold as the California sand. I meet her bright blue eyes, a spark flickers, and it’s gone.
Still, she recognized me. My stomach is tight, and I can only imagine she feels the same. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other in five years.
She continues, poker face in place, and behind her is the girl. Stike that, behind her is the young woman. She’s grown and changed, and while I know she’s eighteen, she seems more mature. Her hair is now bleached pale blonde, but her skin is still peachy. Her body is much curvier, and she moves like she’s become accustomed to attracting the male gaze.
They’re both stylishly dressed for dinner. Lara wears tight black pants and a flowing burgundy blouse that reveals her slim neck and elegant collarbones. She still has the body of a dancer, long and willowy, and her skin is as smooth as I remember her voice. My fingers curl at the memory.
Molly is in a short skirt and thick sweater. She’s completely new to me—almost like a different person.
I watch Aleister studying her ass as they go to a table near the window, and I can’t help thinking she’s the wild card in this game of cat and mouse.
Outside, winter white blurs our view of the scenery. It’s all mountains and treacherous canyons, but as they sit, Lara turns to us.
“Our route is appropriately named.” She smiles, and her voice is smoky silk and longing. “White as far as the eye can see.”
My drinking companion is quick to answer. “The White Pass is one of only two train lines running from Alaska into Canada.” He doesn’t try to hide his interest, and his eyes burn with lust. No doubt he’s hoping to find a bunkmate with whom to pass this cold winter night. “You’re from Montreal?”
“I’m American,” she answers, turning her gaze to the menu on the table.
It’s the universal sign she’s finished with us, but Aleister isn’t done. “You’re traveling to Whitehorse?”
The faintest hint of annoyance is in her blue eyes. It disappears when they meet mine. She smiles at me, and I fight the heat flooding my stomach, the tightness across my fly.
I’m not that easy.
It’s been too long. I have too many questions.
“Just passing through,” she says.
The girl across from her lifts a golden locket hanging from a long chain around her neck. It’s chunky and stylish, not delicate, and the gold is dirty, like an heirloom.
When she speaks, her voice is soft and high, deceptively innocent. “It’s almost eight, but it’s still so bright outside.”
“I wouldn’t be so anxious to see the sun disappear,” Aleister says. “At sundown, the weather turns brutal. It’s a deadly night to be out in the wilds.”
“Scaring the women, Fragonard? Hoping to lure one to your bed?” A loud authoritative voice breaks the hypnotic spell of the swirling snow, and Baron Robert Esterhaus pushes through the double doors with his valet Jeffrey following close behind. “Good evening, Fitz,” he says to me. “I trust you’re keeping this swindler on his toes.”
“I am no swindler,” Aleister growls, red rising around his collar. “The Yukon Territory is renowned for its dangers—”
“Keep your shirt on, I’m only yanking your chain.” The older man takes a seat across from the two women and winks back at me. “Still, I left my wallet in my safe.”
Aleister emits an insulted noise, and I break the tension. “I heard we might be in for some weather tonight.”
“Yes, forecasters predict a blizzard, but these engineers know how to navigate it,” Esterhaus says to the room.
Lara turns to the baron, and I’m not sure how she would know him. I remember him, of course. I’ve been following him these many years watching and waiting.
So far, he’s walked a straight line.
“I haven’t heard the weather report. Should we be concerned?” Lara asks.
“As long as this beast stays on the tracks, we aren’t in any danger, despite what this Frenchman might tell you.”
Aleister shifts in his chair, growing angrier by the syllable. Ustinov, our perky Russian porter, cuts off any further interaction as he enters the car.
“Limited choices on the dinner menu tonight, I’m afraid.” He tugs on his starched white jacket and smiles. “We have Duck l’Orange or roast duck.”
I’m turning back to the bar when I hear Molly whisper, “I don’t care for duck.”
“What comes on the side?” Lara asks.
“Ah, yes…” A wink is in Ustinov’s tone. “We have a lovely roasted corn salad with avocado, or a risotto with exotic mushrooms and spinach.”
“Avocado this far north?” Robert exclaims, his hearty voice loud in the small car.
“We received a special shipment from the California coast when we embarked at Juneau.”
“We’ll each have the roast duck with the risotto, please,” Lara says.
The baron selects the l’Orange and corn salad, as do Aleister and I. Ustinov’s mood seems to have assuaged my friend’s irritation at our brash companion.
“Forgive me, I failed to introduce myself.” Esterhaus turns to the women. “I’m Robert Esterhaus, and this is my valet Jeffrey. At the bar there are Detective Mark Fitzhugh, or Fitz as I call him, and Aleister Fragonard, The Grifter of Montreal.”
Lara’s eyes move to each of us as we’re introduced, briefly widening when I’m introduced by my title. She never meets my gaze. Does my profession bother you, beautiful? They pause on a fuming Aleister, waiting for further explanation, which isn’t forthcoming.
I know the baron despises him. They’re still wrangling about a past business deal gone sour, but I’ve never dug deeper into that. I monitor these men once a year when I make the trip from the Yukon Territory to Juneau for my annual police association’s conference. Aleister is returning from making purchases for his retail store, and Esterhaus is inspecting his holdings along the Alaskan coastline.
It’s always the same… until now.
“How do you do,” she says with a slight nod. “I’m Lia Hale, and this is my… sister. Molly.”
It’s a lie.
Perhaps that’s too harsh.
Perhaps “Lia” has a sister named Molly.
Lara does not.
The younger girl’s eyes stay on her plate, and her fingers return to her necklace.
“That’s an interesting chain,” the baron says to her. “It’s early Romanov. Are you traveling from Russia?”
“How did you know that?” Lara’s eyes fly to his, and she seems almost frightened. Interesting.
“I collect antiquities,” Esterhaus explains. “It’s one of my hobbies. Almost all of the Romanov collection was melted down following the revolution. Is it an imitation?”
“I don’t know,” Molly says without looking up. “It was a gift.”
“I’d love to examine it further if possible. You might stop by my stateroom—”
Just then the doors open and another traveler joins us. He captures all of our attention, an African-American gentleman dressed in a dark plum coat with thin grey pinstripes. He doesn’t speak to anyone, and goes to a table in the farthest corner of the room, turning his back on us.
I know Esterhaus well enough to know he won’t let this behavior pass. He presides over the dining car like a lord in his castle, but before he can launch his investigation, Ustinov returns with several additional waiters carrying our dinner.
The young porter directs them on who gets which items before going to the new guest. They speak quietly, and he exits behind the bar, I assume to get another serving.
For a little while we don’t speak. The Duck l’Orange is deliciously rich with a touch of sweetness. The dark-brown meat melts like butter in my mouth, and the corn and avocado provide the perfect accompaniment, crisp and fresh.
The bartender uncorks a bottle of Chardonnay and serves the baron and myself. The diners having the roast duck are given a light pinot. I notice Molly doesn’t eat her meat, sticking instead to the risotto and mushroom side. She also isn’t served wine.
Aleister is subdued, but I see him glancing at Lara. The women don’t speak during the meal. Lara takes several bites of everything on her plate, but she finishes none of it. She does, however, have a second glass of wine.
Our new guest in the back places a tablet on the table and appears to read while having his own serving of the roast duck and red wine.
When Ustinov and his crew return to collect our plates, the baron stands and joins me at the bar, taking out a fat cigar and clipping the end. He holds the leather pouch toward me, but I wave him away.
“Every year I offer, and every year you decline,” he chuckles.
“Never developed a taste for them.” I lean back as the bartender pours the old man a scotch.
“You prefer a pipe,” Esterhaus says, and I shake my head.
“No tobacco for me. Not worth the risk.”
“Life is all about risk,” the baron says.
“Life is about avoiding risk,” Aleister argues. “Detecting it early and doing everything you can to get out of its way.”
Ustinov returns for dessert orders. The other men and I decline. Lara holds up a hand in a no gesture, but indicates she’d like another glass of wine. Molly is the only one who does a little nod.
“I’d like the tiramisu,” she says.
“An excellent choice!” Ustinov exclaims, pleased someone is taking his offer. “The lady fingers are imported from Vienna, the espresso is made fresh, and the mascarpone is light as air.”
He oversells every item on the menu, but I don’t comment. Aleister rises from his seat and gestures to Lara. “Would you join us at the bar?”
She shakes her head, causing her silky brown hair to shimmer in the light. It smells like springtime if I remember correctly, or perhaps Lia prefers another scent. “The smoke gets in my eyes.”
“I’m so sorry,” the baron moves his cigar further toward the end of the bar away from her table.
The bartender flips a switch hidden under the counter and a quiet whirring joins the background noise. “That sh
ould help,” he says.
I see Robert preparing to address our strange companion, when the man rises and takes his tablet. He places a few dollars on the table and abruptly leaves the dining car, rendering us all momentarily silent in his wake.
I’ve decided it’s time for coffee when Lara speaks. “You’re from New Orleans, Baron?”
Her pointed question surprises me. Perhaps she does know him after all… But how?
Esterhaus straightens, seeming uncomfortable. “Why no. Calgary.”
“But you spent time there,” she insists.
“Many years ago.” He clears his throat. “Many, many years ago. How do you know about that?”
“I’m from New Orleans,” she says. “I thought I recognized your face. It just came to me.”
The older man shifts on his stool, and I’m intrigued by this turn of events. I’ve never seen Esterhaus put on guard.
My skin prickles. Perhaps this is the trip I’ve been waiting for. I only need her.
I’ve always needed her.
He squints over his small glasses at Lara. “How would you recognize my face? Have we met?”
“When I was in the city, I worked at a theater. It operated a private club, which I believe you had an interest in.”
The older man’s expression goes from startled to stony in the flicker of an eyelash, and I shift forward in my seat. What she’s saying is true, and I’ve often wondered how he doesn’t recognize me from that… interest. I suppose he was drunk or stoned each time he visited the city. I wonder if tonight will be the night I place this gentleman under arrest…
“I was briefly involved in a nightclub establishment,” he grumbles crossly. “I divested myself after a very short time.”
“Is that so?” Lara’s voice drips with innocence. “I can’t understand why. It was such a vibrant and active place when I lived there.”