Capture The Night

by Geralyn Dawson

  A ghost of a smile flickered in Julian’s eyes. “Pierre, you have my most profound thanks for your superior work. If it will ease your mind, I’ll tell you that Bernadette is now confined to St. Anne’s convent. A lifetime of prayer is just what the woman needs. And as far as Mary Smithwick is concerned, I care not what her motives might have been. The fact remains that she stole my child. For that, she will pay.”

  “But, Julian, it will help my men trace her if they understand—”

  “They don’t need to understand, Pierre. Now that you’ve told me where my daughter is, I shall see to bringing her home. I wish to deal personally with Mary Smithwick. I am going to Texas.”

  His eyebrows lifted as he looked at Corot and asked, “I trust you brought sailing information with you?”

  Pierre nodded. “A ship sails for Galveston in three days.”

  “Good.” Entering his bedroom suite, Julian stepped straight to the liquor decanters as he called to his valet, “Henri, pack my bags.”

  GALVESTON, TEXAS

  SINCLAIR SPOTTED his brother as he rode his horse into the stable at his home south of the city. Brazos stood on the captain’s walk at the top of the house, peering through the telescope Tyler used to watch ships at sea. Brazos, however, had the telescope pointed toward town. “Probably peeking through windows,” Tyler muttered aloud.

  He wondered just what was going on with his brother. Brazos never had come by the office, although Trixie had stopped by with the message that Brazos would see Tyler that evening at his brother’s home. Until then, Madeline had waited in his office for her husband to arrive and sign the papers ending their marriage. As time passed, she’d grown agitated, and eventually Tyler had questioned Brazos’s commitment to seeking an annulment. Madeline had smiled stiffly and said, “Your bother has insisted on a daily basis that his first order of business upon arrival in Galveston would be to contact an attorney at King and Associates.” The following sentence she had whispered to herself in French, and Tyler carefully masked both his comprehension and his astonishment. The woman certainly possessed a broad, if not necessarily polite, vocabulary.

  They’d gone on to discuss a wide range of topics, and he had begun to wonder if Brazos wasn’t making a big mistake. Madeline Christophe Sinclair seemed like just the sort of woman to whom his brother should be married.

  With his horse cared for, Tyler entered his home through the back door waving a greeting to his housekeeper, an Irish widow named Bridget Callahan, and ruffling the hair of her young son, Sean. “Supper will be ready in half an hour, Mr. Sinclair,” Bridget called.

  Not for the first time, he noted the way the calico stretched across her bosom. One of these days, he’d do something about that. Not today, however. This afternoon he had his brother to deal with. “Why don’t you head on home, Bridget. Brazos and I will manage all right by ourselves tonight.”

  She looked doubtful. “Are you certain?”

  “Yeah.” He pulled a coin out of his pocket and gave it to Sean. “Here, scamp. Make your mama take you by Cooper’s Mercantile and buy you a rope of licorice.”

  The boy beamed at him, and Tyler ruffled the child’s hair once more before climbing the stairs to meet his brother.

  Brazos heard Tyler thumping up the stairs. Not lifting his eye from the telescope, he said, “I congratulate you on your taste in housekeepers, Ty. I imagine Mrs. Callahan is a right fine cook.”

  In the manner of brothers, Tyler suggested Brazos do something anatomically impossible. Brazos grinned and shifted the scope toward the left, seeking a clearer picture of the garden party taking place at one of the mansions on The Strand.

  Tyler asked, “Do you want a drink?”

  “No, thanks,” Brazos replied. “I had one—or was it twenty-one—earlier with Trix.” He’d been on his way to get unmarried at King and Associates when he stopped by The Gentleman’s Club long enough to get a little loop-legged. Then he’d stumbled his way over to Powhattan Hotel in time to discover that Madeline had come and gone. All Lillibet would say was that Rose had been nursed for the final time that day and that a man who drank too much didn’t deserve to know where his wife spent the night.

  He’d not been at all happy to return to the Club and the news that his soon-to-be-former wife had been waiting on him at his brother’s offices. Especially when Trixie couldn’t tell him a thing about Emile.

  Brazos considered asking first about The Flower, but he realized other matters came first. “So, how’s the family?”

  Tyler folded his arms and looked toward the harbor and the collection of masts and sails reaching toward the sky. He said, “The folks delayed this trip to Georgia for a year while waiting for you to come home. Pa finally convinced Mama they could put off visiting his family no longer. I’d hate to be Pa when she learns you managed to drag yourself home only two weeks after they left.”

  “She’ll be spitting knitting needles,” Brazos replied, wincing at the thought as he stepped away from the telescope.

  “Or worse.”

  “I was sorely disappointed when I learned they’d left Magnolia Bend. But I’ll be around for a while, at least until they return. It’ll take me that long to finish my business.”

  “And what business is that?” Tyler asked as the wind picked up and sent a loose shutter banging against the side of the house one floor below them. “Something to do with your wife, I imagine?”

  Brazos followed Tyler inside, saying, “Listen, Ty, I’ll tell you the entire, ugly story, but first I want to hear about Juanita and the children.”

  Tyler paused on the stairway’s landing. He lifted an eyebrow. “You swear?”

  “My word on it,” Brazos said, following his brother. He stood in the doorway of the upstairs room that Tyler used as an office and watched as Tyler secured the shutter. “Tell me about Nita, Ty.”

  “She’s safe, but not very happy. I have her stashed in Brazoria with Cousin Jeffrey.”

  Brazos frowned. “Jeffrey…Jeffrey…hmm. I don’t rightly place him.”

  “Jeffrey Henderson.” Tyler sat at his desk and laced his fingers behind his head, elbows outstretched, as he added, “Mama’s second cousin Lucy’s third husband’s stepbrother. Runs the dry goods on Commerce Street.”

  “Oh, yeah. Wasn’t he the one who got drunk at Sam Houston’s inaugural ball?”

  “And yanked off that bald woman’s wig.” Tyler nodded. “That’s him.”

  Brazos sprawled on the horsehair sofa. “Well, hell. No wonder Nita isn’t happy. You know how proud she is of her hair. Ol’ Jeffrey best not be touching it.”

  Tyler scowled. “He was the best I could do on short notice. Salezan’s men had nabbed her in Marshall, and it was just dumb luck that Cousin Linda’s oldest boy managed to foil their plan.”

  “I’m not criticizing, Tyler, I’m thankful you were able to help. I thought for sure she was safe in East Texas. I’d like to know just how the hell they found her.”

  Disgust laced Tyler’s voice as he replied, “She took to singing during mass on Sundays. As if that voice of hers wasn’t enough, the padre at St. Mary’s brought her down from the choir loft and stuck her at the front of the church for people to gawk at. I asked him why, and he claimed that she was the closest thing to an angel his parishioners would see on earth. Truth was, according to one of the nuns, collections tripled with Juanita singing hymns up near the altar. Word got around, and Salezan’s men obviously listened.”

  “Damn,” Brazos cursed, cracking his knuckles and scowling. “If I’d known she’d pull a stunt like that, I’d have sent the padre a load of silver and told him to keep the woman’s mouth shut. I swear, that Juanita is as stubborn as a two-headed mule. She promised she’d behave herself. Damn me for a fool for believing her.”

  “Well, she’s behaving now,” Tyler said drolly, opening a desk drawer and taking out a bottle. “The thirty minutes she spent with Salezan’s henchman managed to put the fear of God back into her.”

  Brazos sh
ook his head as his brother offered up the bottle. “Not the fear of God, Ty. The fear of Damasso Salezan. What news do you have of him?”

  “He never leaves that castle of his. But his men are all over Texas looking for you—even after all this time.” Tyler poured himself a drink, sipped it, grimaced, and said, “In fact, brother I hate to mention this, but it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if one of his people watched you leave the boat this morning.”

  “No one would have recognized me; I was just another European traveler. Besides, my looks have changed in the past couple of years.” He flashed a wide smile. “I’ve gotten prettier.”

  “Hell,” Tyler responded, “I’d forgotten how obnoxious you are. If I were you, I wouldn’t stake my life—which is exactly what you’d be doing—on your arrival going unnoticed. After all, one of his men noticed Juanita, right?”

  “Yean, but then a man would have to be blind, deaf, and half dead not to notice Nita.”

  Tyler nodded and sipped his drink. “I almost swallowed my tongue the first time I saw her. I thought you’d won the grand prize when you brought her home. Come on downstairs,” he continued, standing up. “Bridget left us supper, and I’m getting hungry.” As he led the way from the room, he glanced casually at Brazos and added, “This time, I figure you got second or third place.”

  “Madeline is beautiful,” Brazos defended automatically, following his brother down the circular staircase. “Maybe not as beautiful as Nita, but I think—” He broke off abruptly and scowled. “Stop it, Tyler. I told you I’d explain it all later.”

  The younger Sinclair brother shrugged as he reached the ground floor and entered the dining room. Brazos stopped on the second-floor landing. Fishing in his pocket for a marble, he called out, “What makes you think Salezan’s henchman would recognize me?”

  Tyler reappeared a few moments later, carrying a single sheet of paper. He held it up for his brother to see. “This.”

  The broadside bearing Brazos’s likeness had been sketched in pen and ink. “Who did that?”

  “Uncle Philbert. They told him it was for a newspaper story of your travels in Europe. Salezan wants you bad, Brazos.”

  “Damn.” Brazos balanced a shiny green marble in a groove on the banister then sent it rolling. The brothers watched silently as the marble gyrated down the handrail and clattered against the yellow pine floor. “He doesn’t want me,” Brazos said flatly. “He wants the silver. And I’ve been toying with the idea of giving it to him.”

  Tyler’s gaze followed the marble until it rolled to a stop against the carved mahogany hat tree. He nodded his head slowly and said, “That might be the answer. Even after building the children’s home and funding the other charities as you instructed, you still have a substantial amount.”

  Brazos started down the stairs. “I’m anxious to visit the home and see the children. Mother kept me apprised of their progress through her letters. She told me we’ve gained a few since I’ve been gone.” Glancing back at his brother; he asked, “How are the children, Ty? Has Salezan made any move against them? Do you think he’s made the link between St. Michael’s Children’s Home and me?”

  “No,” Tyler said without hesitation. “I’ve buried the connection so deep, he’d have to be in hell to find it.”

  Brazos gave a mirthless laugh. “If that’s the case, Tyler, you’ve put the information right in his hands. Salezan is the prince of Perote Castle. If that place isn’t hell, I don’t know what is.” Instinctively, he touched his sleeve and the armband that lay beneath it. “When I mentioned offering Salezan the mine, I didn’t mean I thought to give him our cache of silver bars. I know where the mine is, Ty. I figured it out almost a year ago.”

  “What?” Tyler asked. “You mean the mine itself? I don’t understand. I thought the only information Miguel found was where the priests had buried their silver bars when the Indians attacked.”

  Brazos nodded. “Those old church documents pinpointed the location of the cache, but Miguel found something else—a map of sorts that leads the way to the El Regalo de Dios mine. My idea is to—” he paused, noting the sharp look his brother sent his way. “What?”

  Tyler appeared to choose his words carefully. “You said a year ago. Just when did Miguel tell you about this map?”

  A yawning sickness spread through Brazos’s gut as he remembered those moments he and Miguel shared in the dungeons of Perote. He didn’t know which bothered him more, that he recalled the atrocities committed against them, or that he couldn’t recall much else. Whatever it was he’d forgotten must’ve been really bad. “Miguel had it all the time. Remember that armband he wore?”

  Tyler nodded. “I always thought it a strange thing for a priest to wear jewelry like that.”

  “Not jewelry so much as a puzzle. You put all the pieces together and it gives you El Regalo.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Tyler said, holding up his hand. “You know the location of the mother lode of all that silver, and you’re going to give it to your worst enemy?”

  Brazos scoffed, “Of course not. I’m going to use the secret to lure Salezan from his lair.” He bent and scooped up his marble. Tossing it from one hand to the other, he added, “And then I’m going to kill him.”

  Tyler’s gaze followed the green sphere of glass. “It just might work,” he agreed.

  “I believe it’s got a decent chance. First, though, I have to make sure that Nita is safe and that the children won’t be endangered.” Brazos tucked the toy into his pocket as he said, “Salezan wants more than the silver, Ty. He wants the woman I stole from him.”

  “Yeah, he wants Juanita.” Tyler rubbed the back of his neck as he asked, “Who is she, Brazos? Trying to figure out the relationship between you and that Mexican beauty has given the family a collective headache. Why have you married a European and not your Mexican lover? Why did you bring her home with you?”

  “My relationship with Juanita is complicated, Ty, and private.”

  “Is she somehow connected to Miguel? Is that why you won’t explain what’s between the two of you?” Tyler Sinclair’s softly spoken words hit Brazos like grapeshot to the gut.

  “Be quiet, brother” Brazos warned, lifting his hat from the rack and opening the front door. “Go ahead and eat your supper. I’m not hungry anymore.” He stood on the porch creasing the felt brim with brisk, angry movements.

  But Tyler, having broached the subject, was obviously unwilling to let it go. He followed his brother outside, saying, “Every time anyone mentions Miguel Alcortez, you run. Why, Brazos? From the time you were boys, you were best of friends. You were the one who pleaded his case to his folks when Miguel decided to become a priest. You were the one he came to when he stumbled across church records that referred to the silver. By God, Brazos, you were his friend!”

  Tyler’s voice rang with passionate appeal as he asked, “Why do you pretend as though he never existed? What happened to him, to Juanita, to you? Are you guilty of something, brother?”

  Brazos whirled around, swinging. His fist caught Tyler square on the jaw and sent him sprawling against the whitewashed porch planks. “I told you to shut the hell up,” he said through set teeth. “It’s not like that at all. You don’t know, Tyler.”

  Tyler sat up, rubbing his jaw, his gaze reflecting the anguish Brazos knew lived in his own eyes. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I don’t know. When you returned from Mexico, all you ever said was that Miguel was dead. You offered nothing more, even to Miguel’s family.” Climbing to his feet, he dusted himself off and fastened a compassionate gaze upon his brother. “What happened, Brazos? It’s eating you alive, I can tell.”

  Eating him alive. Brazos inhaled deep breaths, gasping for air as though he’d run for miles. In truth, he’d been running for years. The terror clawed at him, even here on his brother’s front porch, beneath the wide open Texas sky. He shut his eyes, fighting a silent battle against the monster lurking within him.

  In his mind, a
scream echoed, Oh, God. Miguel.

  He shivered violently, his hands fisting repeatedly at his sides. Then, as if from far away, he felt a touch on his shoulder Brazos lay his hand atop his brother’s, and the warmth Tyler Sinclair shared spread through him, replacing the icy, evil cold. When he could speak, he said, “Please, let it go, Ty. I can’t talk about it.”

  “I want to help you.”

  Brazos sighed explosively. “I wish you could, brother, but I’m handling this the only way I know how. C’mon, I’m hungry again. Let’s go see what your Miss Bridget left us for supper.”

  They were halfway through the meal when Brazos buttered a roll and said, “You offered your help. I reckon you know by now that I could use it regarding another matter. I gather you’ve met my wife?”

  “Feisty little thing. Pretty, though.” Tyler gave his brother a hard look. “I’ve the papers she asked for in my jacket pocket. She’s already signed them; all we need is your henscratch to make it legal. But as your attorney, brother, and since an annulment is a legal document, I have to ask you one thing. Did you truly not bed the woman during seven weeks at sea?”

  Brazos bent his attention to the roasted pork on his plate and asked gruffly, “She give you any details?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t bed the woman during seven weeks at sea.”

  “Pull the other one, brother.”

  “Pass the gravy, would ya?”

  Tyler gave him both the sauce and a dubious look. Brazos pretended not to notice and waited until they’d both finished their meals to ask, “So, what’d you think of her fiancé?”

  Tyler’s brows lifted in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  “Madeline. Didn’t she bring Emile with her?”

  “No. She was alone, except for the baby, that is. The little girl is awfully cute, but I wish she hadn’t chewed an arm off the doll I keep in my office.”