by Nancy Bush
Slowing her steps, Kelsey held the stranger’s gaze as her footsteps landed on the cracked marble floor of the street level. He didn’t smile at her or approach her in any way. Through the open transom she could hear the beat of the city, and she thought about Drake.
She opened her mouth to call when the man suddenly struck like a cobra, grabbing her hair and clapping a hand over her mouth, taking her completely by surprise. Kelsey bit into his palm and drew blood. He hit her so hard her teeth rattled.
Then he hit her again and she went limp.
¤ ¤ ¤
The blackened remains of what had once been Pacific Shipbuilding Ltd. looked like lonely skeletons in the fading twilight. Jesse stood beside Samuel and stared across the ruins of what could have been a thriving business, thinking of Zeke, thinking of all the things that had brought him here.
Would he have had the courage and lack of conscience to actually burn this place down? he asked himself now. Would it have been a fitting revenge? Though he wanted Montana Gray to pay for his crimes, he saw with the clear vision of hindsight that the methods he’d chosen hadn’t, and wouldn’t have, ever worked.
The ending to his vengeance hadn’t been quite satisfactory either. He felt frustrated and unsettled. He wanted something more. Some kind of finish. A fire and brimstone apocalypse to send Montana and his murdering ways straight to hell.
Damn you, Kelsey.
Jesse lifted his face to the cloud-covered sky, drawing the scent of charcoal and ashes deep into his lungs. He didn’t want to lose her.
He already had lost her.
“I’m taking the train to Seattle tonight,” Samuel said, dragging Jesse’s thoughts back to the present. “The man who worked for Flynne—this Pete person—has a job there.”
“Let Tremaine help you. Christ, let me help you,” Jesse muttered in frustration.
Samuel didn’t bother to respond. Jesse shot his brother a look, struck again, as he had been time and again over the past several weeks, how much Samuel had reverted to the quiet, cold, reserved stranger he’d been accused of being by Portland society. This was the Samuel from Rock Springs. The one who’d fought off Gainsborough with a rifle at age thirteen.
Something had drastically changed since Samuel had learned about Flynne’s involvement, and now Jesse’s little brother was as close-mouthed as a confessional priest.
“I’m leaving Portland too,” Jesse said. “Might as well join you in Seattle.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“What the hell is it, Samuel?” Jesse demanded in frustration.
Samuel shook his head and asked, “Why are you leaving Portland?”
“Because Montana’s gone. Because my whole purpose for being here is finished.”
Because Kelsey’s here.
“Isn’t Lila still in Portland?”
Jesse slid his brother a sideways glance. “So?”
“You said yourself, it isn’t over. I was wondering what you planned to do about her.”
“Now who’s lusting for vengeance?” Jesse muttered, slapping his Stetson against his thigh to shake off some of the black dust that swirled with each fitful breeze. “I don’t give a plug nickel what happens to Lila Gray.”
Samuel kept his own counsel on the buggy ride back to his office building. He’d shut Jesse out as clearly as if he’d slammed a door in his face. They entered the lobby in shared silence, each consumed with his own dark thoughts, but as the door started to close, Jesse thought he heard someone on the street call his name.
He glanced at the open transom as Samuel mounted the stairs. The sounds of the city met his ears: the crackle of electricity and hum and clatter of the trolley; horses’ hooves clip-clopping against cobblestones; people’s voices.
With a shake of his head he mounted the stairs after his taciturn brother and was surprised to find Samuel standing outside his office, staring in puzzlement down at the pile of confetti-like squares of paper that littered the hallway.
“Where’s Kelsey?” Samuel demanded tersely without looking up.
“How the hell should I know? At the house. Or at the Chamberlains, or God knows where else. I don’t monitor her movements,” Jesse reminded his brother flatly. Samuel knew the state of their marriage. He knew about the pending divorce. Hell, he’d drawn up the papers Jesse had signed and given to Kelsey. He also knew that for the past few weeks Kelsey and Jesse had practically closeted themselves in opposite corners of the house whenever they happened to be home at the same time, which wasn’t often since Jesse had taken back his worm-infested apartment—a reminder of the good old days.
“These are your divorce papers,” Samuel enlightened him, scooping up a handful of scraps.
“Let me see that!”
Jesse snatched up several pieces, enough to witness part of his own signature. “Who did this?” he demanded, already aware that it had to be Kelsey. His pulse beat heavily, thunder pounding inside his head.
“Looks like maybe she’d changed her mind,” drawled Samuel.
Jesse gently crushed the papers in his right fist. There had to be some other answer. “If she’d wanted the marriage to continue, she would have said something earlier.”
“Did you give her any clue to how you feel?”
Jesse sent Samuel a scornful look. “She knows exactly how I feel.”
“The hell she does!” Samuel exploded furiously, showing the first spark of emotion he had in weeks. “Because you’re too damn stubborn to tell her. Have you ever told her you love her? No, of course you haven’t. You don’t believe in love.”
Since Jesse had never told his brother his feelings on the subject, he was amazed and thunderstruck at Samuel’s unerring accuracy.
“I’ve got a good idea about you, brother,” Samuel said in the voice of a man who has long since lost patience with the situation. “You won’t trust a woman to play fair. Well, some do. Kelsey does. And you know it, if you’d ever pay attention to your feelings long enough to see the truth.
“But Kelsey doesn’t trust men. She certainly doesn’t trust you to possess any deep feelings about her,” Samuel hammered on. “So you don’t believe in love and she doesn’t believe you can love her. Stalemate. Except that you do love her, and if you told her, you might learn something about your wife: Behind that carefully built wall, she longs for you too. If you don’t want a divorce,” Samuel ordered, striking his index finger against Jesse’s chest for emphasis, “then for God’s sake, say so!”
“After two weeks of near complete silence, you certainly know how to speak a mouthful,” Jesse observed.
“That’s all you can say? That’s the extent of your feelings for Kelsey?”
Samuel’s impatience gave Jesse pause. “No,” he admitted through tight lips.
“Then what the hell are you doing here talking to me?”
They glared at each other. Jesse turned on his heel, furious with Samuel and himself. He needed air, or so he told himself, and he burst onto the street in full stride—and collided with another man’s chest.
“Mr. Danner!” Drake cried in distress as Jesse held on to the smaller man’s shoulders, righting him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jesse growled.
“It’s Mrs. Danner. She disappeared inside hours ago, but hasn’t come out.” He darted a nervous glance toward the door that was closing behind Jesse. “Is she still at your brother’s office?”
“Kelsey came here to see Samuel?” Jesse bit out.
“Yes, sssii—Mr.—Danner—Jesse,” Drake fumbled in distress.
Samuel stepped onto the street, taking in the situation in a glance. “Something’s happened?”
“Did you go into your office?” Jesse was terse. At Samuel’s nod, he demanded, “Was there anyone inside? Kelsey?”
“My office was empty and locked.”
“Then… then…” Drake couldn’t form the thought.
“Drake, take me back to the house,” Jesse ordered tensely. To Samuel, he
said, “You take the buggy. I’ll pick it up at the train station.”
“No, I’ll help you. I can leave tomorrow. I want to make certain Kelsey’s all right.”
Jesse punched his index finger against Samuel’s chest in direct imitation of his brother’s arrogant actions. “You take care of your problems, I’ll take care of mine. Kelsey’s my wife. She’s my responsibility. Besides I love her,” he added with sardonic mirth.
Samuel shook his head. “I never listened to you when we were kids. I’m not listening to you now.”
“Jesus! Drake, let’s go!” Jesse bellowed, jumping onto the driver’s seat of the carriage and grabbing for the reins as Drake scrambled up beside him.
“I’ll go to the Chamberlain’s,” Samuel said, striding toward the buggy. “If she’s there, I’ll send her home within the hour. If not, I’ll take other measures.”
“What other measures?” Jesse cracked the reins against the team of grays harnessed to the carriage.
“I have friends who won’t let it happen again,” Samuel muttered cryptically.
Jesse didn’t hear the rest. The grays jolted forward. Drake hung on to the seat with both hands, his face a mask of horror at the reckless way Jesse drove the team through the streets.
By the time they reached the house, Drake was perspiring freely and when Jesse helped him to the ground he leaned against the carriage for support. Jesse strode inside the house.
“Kelsey? Kelsey!”
He took the stairs two-at-a-time, running down the hall to her bedroom, searching the closet quickly, then standing in the center of the room and turning in a slow circle, seeing her belongings, cataloguing them, while his heart began a slow, funereal beating and dread filled his soul. She was gone.
Gone.
Hearing a noise downstairs he raced back down the steps but it was only Irma and Mrs. Crowley appearing from the back of the house. They stared at him blankly. No, Mrs. Danner hadn’t returned since she left with Drake, they assured him. No, she’d left no message. No, no, no!
“But you received a message, sir,” Irma managed to squeak out when she’d collected her scattered wits. “An invitation. Hand-delivered by special messenger. To Harroway House.”
Harroway House. Jesse froze. Lila’s one-time residence, the home she and Montana had shared five years earlier, the last remnant of her once-wealthy and prestigious family.
Jesse turned on his booted heel and strode from the house without another word.
¤ ¤ ¤
Harroway House had been freshly painted. There was a garland of dried fall flowers adorning the front door, and through the three diamond-shaped windows he could see the veined-pink marble foyer and the staircase to the second floor. The staircase to the cellar was beneath the sweeping stairway. Remembering, he could practically smell the dust and mildew and scent of his own blood.
He opened the door without knocking and stood at the bottom of the steps, envisioning Lila’s bedroom. A maid appeared, dressed in a black uniform with a starched white collar. She gaped at him.
“Lila’s expecting me,” Jesse said, mounting the stairs, dread creeping along his spine as memories assailed him.
He turned toward her bedroom by rote. The door was slightly ajar and inside he could see the same rose wallpaper and pink pillows. Pushing the door wider, he encountered Lila’s somewhat startled gaze as she sat at her vanity, a rope of sapphires held up to her neck, ready to clasp.
Her lips parted. “Jesse!”
“Someone sent me an invitation. You, or your husband?”
“Didn’t you read it?” she asked, her breath fluttering in her throat. At his deadly silence she swooped her lashes over her cheeks and said softly, “I was afraid that—I didn’t really expect you to come.”
Crossing the expanse of thick carpet between them, Jesse lifted the sapphires from her nerveless hands. The last time he’d fastened a necklace around a woman’s neck it had been Kelsey’s. Fighting back the desire to choke Lila, he adjusted the clasp, meeting her gaze in the vanity mirror. Her blue eyes were wary. She didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said fighting to keep his loathing for her out of his voice. Lightly, he rested his hands on her smooth shoulders. “Your husband would like nothing better than to put a bullet in my back, but he can’t take the chance. Because I’ve got him by the throat.”
Lila’s own throat was long and white. “You broke him, Jesse. You did it.” She smiled. “All that money—you got it from him, didn’t you? The rest went up in smoke with Pacific Shipbuilders, and you did it!”
“He needs a bargaining chip,” Jesse went on. “Something that matters enough to me to make me willing to trade.”
“Trade?” Lila asked blankly. “Trade for—the money?” She looked stricken.
“The hell with the money. He wants my evidence.” Jesse’s fingers touched the sapphires flowing against her skin. They were cold. Blue. Lila’s favorite color. “And I think he’s got my wife as a bargaining chip. You’re going to tell me where she is.”
Lila was affronted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” Jesse twisted the necklace around his fingers, pulling it ever so gently up to her white throat. “Maybe your memory’s just a bit faulty. Lila. Think hard.”
Her fingers scrabbled for the necklace. She clutched it desperately. “Jesse, don’t. Please.” Her chest heaved and light refracted off the sparkling blue stones.
“Where is she?’
“I’ve already told you I have no idea what you mean! If you can’t keep track of your—”
Her words ended with a jerk of the sapphires. Gasping, horrified, she gazed up at him beseechingly. Relaxing the pressure, Jesse said, “He’s got her, doesn’t he?”
Lila coughed in exaggerated pain. Her eyes flashed with hurt and anger. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t make me hurt you. I will.”
She believed him. Initially she thrilled to the prospect, but something made her hesitate. He had the same look of determination Montana sometimes wore. “I don’t know where she is, but Montana’s back in Portland,” she added hurriedly before Jesse could increase the pressure. “Honestly,” she added in a vexed voice when he relinquished his hold on the gems. “You’re scaring me.”
Twisting on the stool, she faced him. “Tell me where Montana is, Lila,” Jesse ordered, his patience all but gone.
A smile teased her lips. “Oh, come on now, Jesse.” She slid her hands up his chest. “All you have to know is that he isn’t here.”
Jesse pulled her hands off his chest. “Your vanity amazes even me, Lila.”
From far below, a door softly closed. The cellar door. Men’s booted footsteps slapped across the marble foyer and headed for the stairs.
“Montana?” Jesse asked sardonically.
“No… it’s Gardner… And Al…” she burbled. “Jesse, don’t leave. I’ll stop them. I’ll say you’ve left! You can hide!”
Jesse turned in disgust, meeting Al and Gardner at the top of the stairs. Anticipation lit their mean, crevassed faces.
“Mr. Danner, you don’t learn too good,” Al said with an ugly smile.
“Oh, yes, I do.” Jesse pulled Kelsey’s derringer from the pocket of his jacket and aimed it at Gardner’s wide chest. “It’s a Danner curse.”
¤ ¤ ¤
She’d left the house without her gun, lulled into the belief that Montana was gone and she was safe, too upset over delivering the divorce papers to check the chamber and put the damn thing back in her reticule.
Her cheek hurt. He’d lit her hard and now she lay against a plankwood floor where the nails were working their way out of the wood. Her line of vision encountered two pairs of boots and a polished set of men’s shoes: her abductor who was complaining bitterly about the teeth marks she’d left in his palm.
“She’s awake,” an unfamiliar voice said.
“Put her on her feet
.”
That voice she recognized: Montana Gray’s.
Kelsey’s head cleared as if she’d been given smelling salts. Rough hands pulled her to feet that danced beneath her as if detached from her ankles. With an effort she balanced on those feet. Her black skirt was covered with dust, and the once-white sleeve of her blouse was gray and torn.
“Your husband’s been bedding my wife,” Montana said emotionlessly.
The sting of his words was followed by the realization that he wanted only to hurt her. Kelsey didn’t gratify him with an answer. Instead, she glanced around, trying to discern her whereabouts. This room looked like the back room of a bar. Briny’s? No. She couldn’t smell the river, and the wood paneling was rich and refined even if it looked decayed from neglect; Briny’s had been roughly hewn, a sailor’s haven. She surmised she was closer to the heart of the city, probably in a part of town that had once been upscale but had slipped into squalor over time, a part she generally avoided.
“Did you hear me?” Montana demanded.
“You said my husband’s been bedding your wife,” Kelsey responded calmly. “I’m not surprised. And if any of the rest of you would be lucky enough to have a woman”—she passed her eye over the other men in the room, her tone suggesting this was entirely doubtful—“he’s probably proved to them what a real lover is like as well.”
Silence rained down upon them. Kelsey fought the trembling in her hands and the pain in her cheek and concentrated on her false bravado. It had taken a lot to make that speech, but it had been even more effective than she’d hoped for. The other two men in the room, the man who’d captured her and another she’d never seen before, looked as if they’d been thoroughly slapped.
Montana almost smiled. “Relax, my friends. Mrs. Danner has a sense of humor, that’s all. I believe that sense of humor’s about to fail you, however. You see, your husband is dead. Jesse Danner is dead,” he reiterated with satisfaction. “I killed him myself.”