Footsteps sounded, glass crunching. Someone approached. His throat tightened and he glanced around his office. Filing cabinets, mahogany desk, cushioned chair. None of those would work against an attacker.
No one should want to attack him. It had to be a mistake.
He needed a gun.
He didn’t have a gun.
Clark would have had a gun. Garth would have two.
Eric snuffed his oil lamp and ducked behind the closest filing cabinet, his heartbeat so loud it almost drowned out the click of his knob. The door opened on soundless hinges.
“Saw him in here,” a man grunted. “Know the light was on.”
A second man chuckled. “Scientist thinks he’s so smart, hiding around in here. Come on out, Professor.”
Eric squeezed his eyes shut, although the darkness already suffocated him. A window… his office needed a window.
“You think all the antidotes are in here?”
“Got to be.”
They wanted the antidote. Bloody gears, he did have some of it in the supply room next to his office, but more of it he’d left in the secret room of his home. They wouldn’t find it there.
If they tried to hurt Judy—
“Gotcha, Professor!”
Something hard smacked the side of his skull, and the darkness decided to steal his senses.
“You’re sure?” Velda frowned at Garth. “Eric Grisham was attacked as soon as the article ran across the country.” She tapped the stack of papers on Garth’s desk. “All this information incriminates the president.”
Garth leaned toward her. “I have proof the president tested fortune-telling serum on two babies. My daughter has spoken to one of those babies, now grown, and she claims the other baby is trapped in an asylum. The president used government funds to ruin two lives and kept it all a secret.”
Velda gulped. Eric had sworn she was excited to use journalism to better the world.
“Don’t be scared,” Garth whispered. “I can give you a bodyguard.”
“I’m not scared,” she squeaked.
“The president is now using toxins in the water to try the prince and queen for treason. Something tells me that’s all a ruse.” Garth tapped his head. “The president is doing this to get rid of the royal family. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling he doesn’t want the antidote known.”
Velda stared at her journal. “Captain Treasure —may I call you that? —it has been known for some time that the royals are still popular. I don’t know if that is grounds for terminating them. You must realize the country is furious over this poisoning. Over three hundred people have died. The country will terminate the royals if the courts find them guilty.”
“I know. That’s why I want you to run this. We have to show doubt on the president immediately.”
“Why do you care about the royals?’ She chewed her lower lip as she looked up.
“I care about what’s right, and framing them is wrong. Cursing two children is just as wrong.” He pictured Clark, suffering because of the potion that had turned him into a creature-less human. “Will you write the article?”
“Oh, I’ll write it. I just want you to know this might start a rebellion.”
“So be it.”
“Imbecile,” the president growled at his counselor. “You did not have my permission.”
The man glared at the president through his spectacles. “You told me to apprehend the antidotes. I did that.”
“Sending men to attack Eric Grisham only throws suspicion.”
“Not on us,” the counselor said. “His medicine made the national papers. Anyone could have assaulted him for it.”
The president huffed through his nose. “Have a public statement made about how sad we are that the antidote is lost and set out a reward for the return of it.” If people recovered, the citizens might lose interest in the trial.
The country had to thrive on their bloodlust for the prince.
Samantha’s vision of him regaining his throne could not come true.
Clark tapped the heel of his boot against the floor. Jonathan Montgomery had better arrive soon. The prince had already gone with the soldiers. Jonathan Montgomery had to finish interviewing the servants soon. Blast it all, the man had placed armed guards around the border of the plantation and Clark couldn’t find another way.
Jonathan entered the pantry-made-interrogation office with his top hat removed. No smile touched his clean-shaven face.
Clark rubbed his scruff. Amethyst would have licked it and then begged him to kiss her neck so she could feel it against her shoulder. Brass glass. His pants tightened.
Jonathan closed the door and sat at the small table across from Clark, the brass microphone facing the back shelves to catch both of their voices. A rhythmic tick sounded from the base.
“Hey.” Clark leaned back on his stool. “Sorry to say, but there’s not much I can tell you. I only worked for Prince Dexter about a month, if that. Before, I worked for ranches out west. I wanted to try something fresh in the south.”
“The weather, right?” Jonathan pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket, but didn’t open it. “I’ve heard from a lot of servants they only stay here for the mild weather.”
Clark grinned. “It sure doesn’t hurt a man’s spirit.”
Jonathan pressed the button at the back of the speaker and a soft buzz sounded before it silenced.
Clark forced his muscles to relax.
If he had to fight, he could take the man out with a few punches, and he could use the stool if he had to, even the heavy microphone. No lock had sounded from the pantry, but guards might wait outside. Clark would need to use surprise to overpower them.
“I actually have three arrest warrants.” Jonathan met Clark’s gaze. “The third one was given to me in secret.”
Brass glass. Clark kept his expression frozen in place, an awkward half grin to make him seem less imposing.
Jonathan opened his notebook to extract a folded paper. “Apparently the president feels a certain man is as much a threat to the country as the prince, although I was given no proof. I assume that will come out at trial.”
“Sure thing. Trial. Can I get going? I’ve got family wondering where my paycheck is.” Clark nodded toward the pantry door.
Jonathan unfolded the paper and smoothed it across the table. “You can’t hide. Your face has been all over the news, Clark Grisham. The third arrest warrant is for you.”
lark pushed back the brim of his tweed cap so he could better study Jonathan Montgomery’s face. The man didn’t smile, a line forming between his eyebrows. He remained still, nothing more than that line a movement on his body.
Clark stretched one arm over the back of his chair, angling his body toward the doorway, and rested his other hand on the table. “What was that?”
“You are Clark Grisham.”
Clark inhaled and exhaled slowly to calm his nerves. That fact could be proven. “I am.”
“You were wanted by the government because of a potion you drank.”
Clark considered reclining so he wouldn’t look on edge, but he needed to be able to move fast. “Sure thing.”
“Tell me how the Treasures didn’t recognize you from the wanted posters.”
Perspiration coated Clark’s neck and he adjusted his scarlet cravat. “I don’t know.”
Jonathan lifted one eyebrow. “I don’t believe that statement for a moment.”
“Amethyst wasn’t around, and I don’t think the others cared about wanted men. They run a ranch. They aren’t bounty hunters.”
“Here’s what I think,” Jonathan murmured. “You’re angry at the government for everything they put you through. You thought finishing off Senator Horan would do it, but it didn’t, so you decided to help the prince poison the water system.”
“No.” Clark coiled his fist and unclenched, flexing his fingers.
“How do you know the prince?” If Jonathan had smirked, Clark would have punched him.
; “Old acquaintance.”
“An old acquaintance who hates this government as much as you do. I used to marvel at you, Mr. Grisham. You had a wife, wealth, and you were tough. You didn’t let life get you down. I wouldn’t have thought you’d murder people.”
Clark and Jas would win nothing by poisoning the river. It wouldn’t make the people hate the president. It would only make innocents suffer. “We didn’t do anything.”
The man had a pistol at his belt —Clark had seen it when Jonathan walked into the pantry —but it might not be loaded, and besides that it would take him a minute to release it from the holster. Clark set one heel on the edge of his seat and placed his hand over his ankle. The hidden knife pressed against his palm.
“You went from hero to villain.” That statement sealed Jonathan’s fate.
Brass glass. Clark pulled the knife free and lunged over the table to land at Jonathan’s side with the blade against the man’s Adam’s apple. Behind Clark, the microphone slid off to smash onto the floor.
Jonathan gulped. “Don’t.”
Clark angled the knife to nick the skin enough to draw a droplet of blood. The pain would be fierce from the cut, though, stinging, reminding Jonathan he didn’t have the upper hand.
“I’ve slit a throat before.” Clark eyed the man’s hands to make sure he didn’t move toward the gun. “Fellow was trying to murder me out on the plains for my cycle. Couldn’t have that. I said a prayer over him, you can be sure, and the wild cats ate good I bet. I lived off from civilization most of the time, but I’m not a criminal. I survive by not looking for fights.”
“Place the knife on the table and lift your hands.”
“Brass glass, I won’t be doing a thing you say.”
Color continued to drain from Jonathan’s face. “Place the knife—”
“No.” Clark chuckled. “That kind of talk might work in the east and south, but I’m a Westerner, and I don’t have to do whatever little bit you tell me.”
“Mr. Grisham—”
Clark kept the knife in place while lowering his hand to the holster. Without dropping his gaze from Jonathan’s, Clark freed the pistol and lifted it from the leather. He rocked back on his heels to spin the barrel. “Nice. All loaded.” He aimed it at Jonathan’s forehead. “Are your men trained to protect you or sacrifice the team for the greater good?”
The line in his brow deepened. “Place the weapons—”
Not that again. “Get up and open the door.” Clark would have to trust they wouldn’t shoot Jonathan to get to him.
She could have been a ghost. Amethyst straightened the lace collar of her white dress, but the old mirror distorted her image into something blurred. Shimmering. Her hair in its rolled chignon seemed to glow.
An old mirror in an old mansion, with the sad spirit of an elderly woman who never left the cellar. Amethyst would have thought more ghosts would haunt the brick walls of the senator’s estate.
She stroked one painted fingernail over the glass, surrounded by a tarnished brass frame that needed polishing, and stepped into her father’s office.
“I need you to watch Jolene. Not a nurse. You. I don’t trust nurses anymore.”
Her father jolted before looking up from his paperwork. Endless paperwork. “What?”
“I’m going to New Addison City.”
The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked off the minutes of silence.
He set down his automatic stylus. “Why would you go now?”
“Because I must speak with a Captain MacFarland. Clara Larkin will take me to him.” She raised her voice in hopes the ghost would hear.
He swallowed although he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink that she could see. “You can take Jolene to the ranch and your mother can watch her if you feel this is something you need to do.”
Not her mother. Georgette would ask millions of questions, forbid Amethyst from going, and in the end maybe go, too. Amethyst wouldn’t take no from anyone.
Her father, on the other hand, made the perfect candidate.
“I’ll bring Jolene in and she can play in her playpen near you while you work.” The servant would have to help with the gigantic wooden pen. “I need to go at once and I want Jolene safe. I know you’ll protect her.”
“I will.” Her father swallowed again.
She turned toward the door, but he called, “Amethyst?”
“Yes?” She kept one foot in the hallway lest he forbid her.
“I love you, Amethyst.”
Warmth formed in her chest and she smiled. “I love you, too, Father.”
“Jolene, sweetheart, I have to go away for a little while.” Amethyst searched through the rumbled blankets on the bed for the cloth doll her father had purchased in the town. “You’ll stay with your grandfather and I’ll be back as soon as I can I promise.” A nest of tangled yellow yarn hair poked up near the pillow and Amethyst grabbed it, twisting around. “Got it!”
Her Great-uncle Albert hovered behind her.
“Uncle Albert!” She stumbled toward him for a hug, but he floated back from her before her arms could pass through him.
“Hello, Am.” The ghost smiled. “I want to help you connect with Clark.”
Uncle Albert. The man who’d taken care of her for so many years. “I have so much to tell you. I wished you’d come sooner.”
He floated toward Jolene with the love look she remembered well. “I can help you connect with Clark. No one will see me carry messages to him.” Uncle Albert looked up at her. “What do you want him to know or what would you like to know about him?”
lark kept his gun pressed to Jonathan’s temple and pushed him toward the door. “Open the pantry and tell them not to shoot.”
Jonathan gulped and closed his eyes. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Like brass glass I do. Git!”
Jonathan placed his hand on the doorknob. “Only one person is out there. I don’t think he’ll be armed.”
“You didn’t have men waiting to arrest me?” Clark smirked. After all those years of outsmarting the army and Jonathan thought he could take him down?
Jonathan opened the door and stepped into the kitchen with his hands raised. “Do not shoot. Do not attack.” His voice held an emotionless calm. Clark had to give it to him; the man had training.
A soldier had slumped near the stove, picking dirt from his fingernails with a pocketknife. He jolted upright, hands poised at his sides.
“That’s right,” Clark said. “No sudden moves. Now, go nice and slow into the pantry.”
“This will have you wanted tenfold,” Jonathan whispered.
“Ah. You think I haven’t been wanted before?” Clark grinned at the soldier across the kitchen. “Get into the pantry. Now!” He pressed the barrel deeper into Jonathan’s head and the soldier jogged to obey. “Don’t come out.” Clark eased the weapon back so he could kick the door shut. “So, the others?”
Jonathan stared forward, toward a cabinet with a glass door revealing dishes. “They’re waiting in the study for my word.”
“Then we go this way.” Clark grabbed Jonathan’s arm and yanked him toward the back door. “Keep your hands up.”
Their boots echoed off the wood of the back porch. Clark kept his grip tight on Jonathan’s arm, leather glove upon blue tweed.
With each step, he sealed his fate against the government befriending him. No, he’d sealed that when he’d stolen the tonic. He couldn’t fall into them. If he allowed Jonathan to take him in, that would be it.
Clark glanced back at the mansion, but nothing stirred. Vines had begun to crawl up the trees around the garden. Weeds overtook the pebbled path to the garage. No one chased after them from the house, so either the soldier hadn’t left the closet —idiot —or they plotted. The drawing room sat at an angle where the occupants shouldn’t be able to see them.
Clark shoved Jonathan toward the garage. “Open the door.”
“If you’re going to shoot me, do so. You
don’t have to hide your crime.”
“If I wanted to hide a body, I would find a better place than around some vehicles.” Clark smirked as he stepped over a briar to get inside after Jonathan. That comment had been something he would have said.
The open buggy wouldn’t work, so it would have to be the long steam. The rest of the garage lay empty, sunlight from the windows showing only dust motes.
“Where is everything?” Clark gestured to the stalls.
Jonathan cleared his throat. “Some of the, um, servants took a ride along with them.”
“So they stole from the prince and queen?”
“One of my men gave the approval.”
“Hate to be you when Jas gets out. He always had a fancy for cars, but then he’s an easy sort.” Clark shrugged and crossed his arms, one finger still on the trigger. “Open the main door.”
Jonathan licked his lips. “What are you going to do?”
“No fun if I tell you. Get to it.”
Jonathan walked with stiffened limbs and rolled the door up into the ceiling, affording an exit big enough for the long steam. Clark snapped open the entrance to the black limousine. “Get in. You’re driving.”
Jonathan smacked his hands as if he’d gotten dirty. “I’m not driving you anywhere.”
“You are if you want to live.” Clark stroked the pistol’s trigger. Jonathan had to see him as a villain, so he could play that card. “Here’s the thing, Montgomery. I know some gangs out in Hedlund who would be more than happy to hunt down your pretty little wife. They wouldn’t stop to think about the evilness of that.” Clark turned the barrel toward his own chin and laughed. “You know I play with the dead? Even if you kill me, I can still get word to the gangs.”
Jonathan paled more. He didn’t need to know Clark bluffed.
Still laughing, Clark slid into the long steam’s backseat. “Get in front, Montgomery. We’re going for a ride.”
“Hey there.” The attendant at the gate tipped his hat to Jonathan. “Where you heading?”
“Have to go to town.” Jonathan didn’t dare nod toward the back of the long steam where Clark hid in the shadows. Coward crook.
Wicked Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 3) Page 15