As the carriage rolled to a stop, Delia leaned forward to look out her window as the driver hopped down to open the door. “Who in the world is that handsome man standing on the steps?”
Abby looked up as she stepped down, and then froze.
“Ben! What are you doing here?”
Chapter Eleven
“He’s your brother?” Delia looked from Abby to Ben and back as they walked to the porch. Luke did the same, although he remained silent.
Ben gave a little bow. “I am. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“I’m Delia Blake—”
“And I’m Luke Cameron,” Luke said. “Your sister’s business partner.”
“Ah, yes.” Ben shifted his gaze to him. “My sister wrote me about you.”
Delia tilted her head. “Are you sure you’re related?”
“That’s what they say, ma’am,” Ben replied with an easy shrug.
Delia giggled.
“But you might ask my sister just to be sure.”
Abby nodded when Delia turned to her. It wasn’t the first time people didn’t believe they were siblings. Ben was as dark as she was fair. Ironically, their difference in coloring had made it easier for them to escape the long arm of the law. Since they didn’t look alike, no one had looked for a brother and sister pickpocket team.
“We’ve different fathers,” Abby replied. “Ben’s was killed in the War between the States.”
“I’m sorry,” Delia said, looking back at Ben. “It must have been difficult for you to lose your father at such a young age.”
He gave Delia the rakish smile that had so often helped distract their marks on the street. “It was much harder on my mother.”
“What a considerate and thoughtful thing to say.”
“It’s only the truth. A man should always respect the woman who gave him birth.”
Delia looked a bit dazzled, a reaction Abby had often seen when her brother decided to be charming. Luke, on the other hand, had narrowed his gaze. “Our mother married Ben’s father when she was just fifteen and was widowed at seventeen,” Abby said quickly, “and then, two years later, I came along.”
“And a better sister no brother could ever ask for,” Ben said congenially as he came down the steps to give her a hug. “Abigail has helped me out on many occasions.”
She discreetly checked her pockets as he released her, not surprised that the folded wad of money in one of them had disappeared. She raised a brow slightly and received a cheeky grin in return. That had always been his signal that whatever loot they were after had been lifted. They were going to have a long talk as soon as they were alone. “Ben does have a knack for getting into trouble.”
“Did, Sister, did. I’m older and wiser now.”
She wanted to question how much wiser, since he’d just demonstrated that he hadn’t lost his skill while in jail. Heaven only knew how many things disappeared in that prison.
“I certainly hope so.”
“What brings you out West, Ben?” Luke asked.
“Yes, you never did answer my question,” Abby added. “You always said anything west of the Mississippi was uncivilized.”
“That was before you moved out here.” He gave her a wistful look, another of his ploys to distract. “You are my only living relation. We should be together.”
“How sentimental!” Delia shook a finger at Abby in mock indignation. “You never told me your brother was so devoted to you.”
Abby wondered about that. She and Ben had always been close, mostly out of necessity to survive the streets in the Bowery, but after he’d been sentenced and she’d made her decision to be a mail-order bride, she’d made it clear to him that she wanted to start over. She’d never expected him to follow her. Before she could answer, Ben did.
“Why wouldn’t I be? We should always appreciate family.”
“I agree,” Delia said, her expression much like a cat who’s just discovered an open door to the creamery. “How admirable.”
“And,” Ben added, “I did do some research before I started out. San Francisco is booming. It’s a city ripe for…entrepreneurs.”
Abby gave him a wary look. She certainly hoped he wasn’t thinking of teaming up with her to work the streets again. She was finished with that life. Completely finished. If her brother thought differently, he’d be taking the next train back East.
“What kind of a business are you thinking of starting?” Luke asked, his wolf-colored eyes trained on Ben.
Ben had never been stupid, and Abby knew he’d understood the silent challenge from the slightest of a muscle twitch in his jaw, but his tone was cool. “I’m going to have to look around, get an idea for what’s profitable.”
“For now, you could probably help Abby run her general store,” Delia said. “Mr. Cameron has investors that want to do an expansion since business is good, and we need all the hands we can get.” She smiled. “I help out there, as well.”
Ben returned her smile. “That would certainly be an incentive.”
Delia all but purred. Abby looked from Ben who blinked at her benignly to Luke, whose expression had turned predatory. She sighed inwardly. She had a feeling that having Ben and Luke together in the store was going to be more like keeping a school yard fight from breaking out rather than amiably working together. For now, though, it didn’t seem she had much choice.
But she and her brother were going to have a long, long talk first.
♦◊♦
Luke dismissed the carriage that he’d hired, deciding to walk back to the Occidental and let off the steam that had been building in him like a fully-stoked locomotive since he’d met Abby’s brother.
Ben reminded him of too many card sharps he’d faced over a number of gambling tables in saloons across the country. Smooth-talking, affable, yet with eyes that missed nothing. Luke had noticed Abby running her hands discreetly over her pockets earlier. He already knew the brother was a pickpocket from the Pinkerton report, but would he actually steal from his sister? If so, then he probably would have no trouble swindling old ladies, either. Was he planning to launch some scheme with his sister? Which only made Luke circle back to his original dilemma about how much knowledge—or involvement—Abby had with Travis Sayer in the first place.
He was going to drive himself completely loco if he kept this up.
Abruptly, Luke changed his direction and headed for the general store. The hour was late and John should be gone by now. It was a good time to examine that step that Abby had tripped over. He’d been directly behind her and he could have sworn he saw the board slide as she started to fall.
A few minutes later, Luke approached the store. The light from the street lamp shone into the window, and he detected no movement inside, but for good measure he walked around the building to see if the back was locked. Then, he returned to the front and knelt beside the steps.
One side of the step moved easily when he wiggled the ends. The other side remained fastened to the frame, which accounted for why the board didn’t completely slide off. He pushed it back into place, then used the palm of his hand to push it forward, much like a foot would. The board slid out again. He repeated the movement several times and, without fail, the board slipped each time.
Luke frowned. He had used the back entrance today, but as loose as the step was, why hadn’t any of the other ladies tripped earlier this afternoon? Nearly two dozen of them had arrived and departed using the front entrance.
He ran his fingers along the board, noting the fresh wisps of wood threads protruding from the holes. His hand swept the ground, searching for the nails but he found nothing. That was odd if the board had come loose after the ladies had departed. Nails didn’t just disappear if they’d been torn out by accident.
The sixth sense that alerted him to danger flared like dried kindling struck by lightning. Something was wrong.
And then, he got the feeling he was being watched. Without moving his head, he scanned the
streets for any type of movement and detected nothing. He attuned his hearing, but he only heard the normal sounds of a horse clopping on cobblestone and the distant barking of a dog. Still, the feeling persisted, and Luke had learned along ago to trust his instincts.
Slowly, he rose and moved away from the light and into the shadows. His mind was on high alert, his body ready for action as he waited.
And nothing happened. After a good half-hour of staring down an empty street and keeping an eye on anything that moved in the dusk, he finally turned and left, but the feeling of danger stayed with him.
Something was wrong.
♦◊♦
Was the bastard never going to leave? John had not moved from behind the counter since he’d first heard footsteps approaching. He’d been about to go but thought perhaps one of his opium buyers needed to see him. They’d started coming around after hours since there were too many nosy women milling about the place since that damn tea room had opened.
He’d nearly been to the window when he caught sight of Cameron, and scuttled quickly out of view. He’d doused the oil lamp already so the store was dark, but he supposed he could come up with an excuse for his late presence if Cameron actually came in.
But the man hadn’t. Instead, he’d remained by the door, scraping and scratching around the steps. That could only mean one thing.
The bastard suspected the board had been loosened on purpose. It had been stupid of John to take the nails, but he’d had to hurry after the damn gaggle of geese finally left to get the board loose before the New York bitch finished cleaning up.
He didn’t like having to hurry. He preferred to be methodical, to double-check, and to always cover his tracks. He was proud of his ability to be think things through logically. Laundering money was his special talent. He and Sayer had been about to embark on another scheme until the idiot had gotten himself killed.
The plan Cameron was proposing wasn’t a bad one. Getting the widows to invest and then having the expansion scheme somehow collapse—most likely the “investors” would bow out—after the women’s portion had already been supposedly spent on blueprints, permits, and supplies could work.
As lucrative as the opium trade was, it never hurt to diversify. The list he’d studied earlier told him there was a rather tidy sum just waiting to be laundered and he’d be the man to do it. First, though, he had to find out how legitimate Cameron’s “investors” really were... if they existed at all. The general store was a great cover or, at least, it had been before that mail-order bride showed up. He could have handled her if she hadn’t insisted on learning to run the business.
She hadn’t been bitten by the scorpion he’d put in the drawer. She hadn’t fallen off the step that he’d loosened. John narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and then he smiled.
There were lots of accidents just waiting to happen.
Chapter Twelve
Abby looked at her brother from across the table at a small tavern down the street. Even though the food was much better in the public room at the boardinghouse, the problem was that it was…public. Delia would have wanted to sit with them and Mrs. Bartlett, after checking Ben into a room on another floor, hovered. Even though she pretended not to be curious, her ears had practically perked up when they’d been in the lobby.
“So why did you really come all the way out here?” Abby asked.
Ben popped a bit of steak into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then shrugged. “There wasn’t much reason for me to stick around the Bowery.”
“New York City is a big place. You could have found work.”
He grinned. “I’d need a partner to return to work.”
Abby glanced around, hoping no one was listening to their conversation. She didn’t recognize anyone and the noise level from other conversations was loud enough that they shouldn’t be heard. Nevertheless, she leaned forward and dropped her voice. “I am finished with that kind of work.”
Ben gave her a skeptical look. “As crowded as San Francisco is, the place is wide-open for…” He glanced around as well. “…our particular skills.”
“No.”
“No?” He raised a brow. “Why not?”
“Because I have an opportunity to become an honest, bond-fide businesswoman.”
“That wasn’t what you told me when you visited me in prison before you left.” He jabbed another piece of meat. “You said Sayer was rich and you were going to take full advantage of his bank account.”
Abby flinched. She had said that. In retrospect, it sounded harsh. But then, Travis had been a stranger. It wasn’t like she’d come West because she was in love. “I meant that I wouldn’t have to worry about money.”
“For you and me, growing up like we did, there’ll never be enough money.”
She knew what Ben meant. His father had been on the wrong side of the war, so there’d not been any compensation from the Army. Her own louse of a father had flitted off without a thought of support. Their mother’s meager wages as a laundress barely paid for a single room in the tenement. She remembered distinctly the day she’d overheard their landlord offering to reduce the rent in lieu of personal “favors” from her mother. Abby hadn’t known what that meant at the time, but Ben did. It was shortly afterward that they’d started their “careers” as pickpockets.
“I understand, but the store is actually doing very well.”
He studied her. “Well enough to risk whatever profit you’re making by expanding?”
“I’m not really risking anything. Mr. Cameron has a group of investors—”
“Have you met them?”
“Not personally. They’re from the East.”
“Are you sure?”
Abby frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What do you actually know about running a business?” Ben took a swallow of tea, grimaced, and set the glass down. “That guy could be a confidence man.”
“Luke?” Abby shook her head. “I mean, Mr. Cameron?”
Ben gave her a sharp look. “You’re on first-name terms? Has he tried to take advantage of you?”
“Don’t be silly.” She tried not to think about their kiss and hoped she wasn’t blushing. “We’re business partners.”
“How did that happen, exactly?” Ben asked.
“Mr. Cameron is Travis’s cousin…or was,” Abby replied. “He showed up shortly after I arrived and told me that Travis had decided to expand the store since it was doing well.”
“That sounds like a scam.”
“It’s not a scam,” Abby said sharply. “He had papers.”
Ben leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “They’re easy enough to forge.”
“The bank accepted them.” Abby glared at her brother. “Why must you always be so suspicious?”
“You’re asking me that when we both grew up on the streets?” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “Being suspicious is what’s saved my hide more than once.”
Abby relented. There had been too many narrow escapes to count and when she was younger, Ben had protected her often. “I really don’t think there’s any kind of scam going on, but if you want to take Delia’s offer to help out in the store, you can see for yourself.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Well, she is a right-pretty little filly as the cowboys out here say.”
“Delia is my friend. Don’t pull any of your shenanigans with her.”
He gave her a wide-eyed look that was a little too innocent. “I don’t do shenanigans.”
Abby wasn’t about to be fooled. “Whatever you want to call it then. She’s off-limits to you.”
Her brother arched a brow. “Like Luke is off-limits to you?”
“Luke—Mr. Cameron—has nothing to do with this conversation. I’ve watched you flirt before. I don’t want to see Delia hurt.”
Ben held up a hand. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
“See that you don’t, then.” Abby leaned forward and lowered her voice again. “And keep your ski
lled fingers off the till, as well. No shoplifting.”
“I wouldn’t even think of it.”
“No? You took that wad of money out of my pocket earlier without any trouble.”
Ben grinned and reached into his vest to bring out Abby’s money. He handed it back to her. “Just wanted you to know I haven’t lost my touch.”
She snatched the bills up. “Consider yourself retired.”
He sighed. “All right, sister dear, I will…at least, for now.”
♦◊♦
“Just put it right there.” Delia pointed to a spot next to the pickle barrel for the trunk-sized wooden box that held pounds of beef jerky.
“All right,” Ben said as he set the heavy item down. “There are a few more things out in the delivery wagon that I’ll bring in.”
Delia beamed at him. “You’ve been such a help this past week.”
He tipped the new cowboy hat he’d decided to start wearing. “I aim to please, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Delia.”
Ben glanced across the room to where Abby stood watching. “I don’t rightly know if that’s allowed in these here parts.”
Delia giggled and Abby rolled her eyes. If her brother put any more twang in his speech, no one would be able to understand him. For some unfathomable reason, he’d decided to play cowpoke in the nearly ten days he’d been in San Francisco. Not that he’d have a clue what to do should a real cow cross his path. She doubted whether he’d even be able to stay astride a horse at any more than a slow walk. Neither of them had ever taken riding lessons. That didn’t stop him from attaching spurs that jangled when he walked in his shiny new boots.
Abby suspected he was playing a part, much like he’d done when they worked the streets and he’d decide which roles they’d act out while fleecing a victim. When they were little, he’d make her pretend to be ill and he’d ask some nice person to help his poor sister. As they’d matured, he’d developed a toothy grin and a cheeky street-urchin way of talking to distract the mark. By the time they’d reached adulthood, he’d learned to flirt and compliment the ladies, often wearing dapper clothing that had been heisted from a rack while Abby garnered the shopkeeper’s attention with lots of questions about various weaves and weights of coats and such. Since she’d refused to act coy and flirtatious herself, she’d actually learned something about clothing. She eyed Ben’s outfit, hoping he’d actually paid for it.
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