by Sharon Ihle
Again she smiled and gave them a short nod. Then Jewel began to climb the long stairway.
After forcing herself to wait until she'd reached the first landing, she finally spun around and glanced throughout the lobby. Mac and Brent were gone. Moving quickly, Jewel hurried back down the stairs and pushed her way through the crowd to the reception desk.
"Excuse me?'' she called to the clerk as she removed a blank piece of paper from her reticule and folded it in half. "I have a message for Mr. Brent Connors. Would you please see that he gets it?"
The harried man snatched the paper from her hand, barely glancing at it or her. "Sure, lady," he said as he turned and pushed it into the slot of room ten.
"Thank you," she said airily. "You'll just never know how grateful I am." Then she waded back through the crowd and dashed up the stairs.
When she reached room ten, Jewel stopped and looked up and down the hall. Satisfied she was alone, she lifted her skirt and removed the pearl-handled stiletto from the leather holster strapped to her right thigh. Moving quickly, carefully, she maneuvered the tip of the blade inside the lock until she heard a click. She turned the knob and slipped inside the darkened room.
Waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, listening for any kind of movement, she stood stock still for a full minute. Then Jewel reached for the wall bracket and turned up the wick on the lamp. She made a visual sweep of the room, noting its impressive size, sparse furnishings, and burgundy flowered wallpaper. A large brass bed with one side table seemed almost lonely against the long back wall. Across the room, an oversized chiffonier stood near a small closet door. The only other piece of furniture was a full-length looking glass in an ornate freestanding frame of dark walnut.
Jewel headed to the closet and opened the door. It was pin neat, with not so much as a handkerchief out of place. She lifted her skirts and replaced the knife, then made a quick search of the suits hanging in front of her. She found nothing in the pockets. She closed the door and concentrated on the high chiffonier. Beginning with the bottom drawer, Jewel started to pick through the assortment of socks and handkerchiefs when she heard the distinct clink of metal against metal. Someone was using a key to open the already unlocked door.
With no time to consider her options, Jewel slid across the floor and under the bed. The intruder stepped into the room just as she pulled her feet beneath the mattress.
Brent sauntered across the threshold, his expression expectant, and began singing. "Oh, Buffalo gals won't you come out tonight, come out tonight, come out tonight, Buff—" He interrupted the song when he noticed the lamp. "Strange," he muttered, his voice unnaturally loud, "I could have sworn I turned that wick down before I left."
He swiveled, taking in all corners of the room, then grinned and approached the closet. With a jerk, he opened the door and peered inside. His clothes stared back at him. After taking off his Stetson, he sailed it up to the shelf and ran his fingers through his thick, coarse hair. Had he been wrong?
Puzzled, he crossed the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. He was positive he'd been set up by the girl and her father, or whoever he was. And if his instincts weren't enough to convince him, the old man had nearly choked when he'd claimed a sudden headache and excused himself from the game before it began. So where was the girl? She couldn't have gone through his things and robbed him that fast. Again he wondered if he had misjudged them.
Drawing a deep breath, Brent collapsed against the pillows with a low groan. Maybe he was getting overly suspicious, becoming incapable of judging anyone since he'd taken up this idiotic search for the scoundrel Harry Benton. Yet, he consoled himself, the girl had presented herself as two different women in two completely different circumstances. What else could she be but a confidence artist or a thief?
Brent took another long breath and froze. Violets. He sniffed the air again. Devon Violet te Eau de Toilette, to be more precise, his trained nose told him. Grinning, he sat up and began whistling the tune he'd been singing earlier. Little Miss Jewel, whoever she was, couldn't resist bathing in her favorite perfume no matter what manner of dress she donned. She'd been here all right, he thought to himself. And if he didn't miss his guess or the strength of the aroma, she hadn't yet left.
Bouncing off the edge of the bed, Brent continued whistling as he crossed the room. Just before he reached the door, he dropped his pocket watch and bent down to retrieve it. A quick glance under his bed confirmed his suspicions. If he strained, he could just make out the heel of a lady's shoe near the edge of the burgundy coverlet.
Coughing to hide a sudden burst of laughter, Brent stood up and removed his jacket. Now what? He ought to just march across the room and drag her out from beneath his bed. He could have her arrested for trespassing. He had every right to threaten to expose her and the old man for what they were and demand they leave town. There were lots of things he could do, but as he rubbed the spot on his inner thigh where her knife had left its mark, he decided none of those things came close to what she deserved.
Grinning broadly, Brent settled on a plan. Before the night was over, this little Jewel with the emerald eyes would think twice before she tried to rob him or stick a knife in him again. Brent opened the door to his room and rang the bell hanging on the jamb.
A few minutes later a young lad appeared at the opening. "Yes, sir, Mr. Connors. What kin I git for you?"
Brent dropped several coins into the boy's hand. "I'd like a bottle of chilled champagne and two glasses. And make sure," he tossed in as he added more coins to the pile, "that the prettiest little gal you can find working in the saloon brings it up to me. Tell her she'll be staying awhile."
"Yes, sir, and thanks." The boy shoved the coins in his pocket and ran down the hall before Brent could get the door closed.
Beneath the bed Jewel stifled a groan, thinking, Dear God, what have I gotten myself into? She listened to the sounds of fabric rustling as the gambler removed some of his clothing and made himself comfortable for his female visitor. She heard him open a drawer of the chiffonier, followed by several sharp slaps. Shortly the essence of bayberry drifted under the bed and assaulted her nostrils. It promised to be a very long night.
When a light tapping sounded in the room, Brent smoothed the sides of his hair and opened the door wide. "Do come in," he said pleasantly to the dance hall girl.
Balancing the tray on one hand, she brought the other to her mouth and giggled. "Evening, sir. Is this what you ordered?" She was clearly referring to her body, not the spirits.
Brent smiled at the girl and said, "You'll do just fine." He closed the door and relieved her of her burden. After crossing the room, he deposited the tray on the side table, sank down on the mattress, and patted the spot beside him. "Come on. Join me, won't you, sugar?"
"'Course honey." The girl skipped across the room, all bouncing breasts and flame-red curls. As she neared the bed, she sprang onto the coverlet beside Brent.
The mattress sagged, coming within an inch of Jewel's nose. She began praying: Just let me out of this one, God. Let me out of this room before they do... it, and I swear I'll never ask for another thing as long as I live.
A loud pop, followed by hysterical girlish giggles cut into her desperate thoughts.
"Oh, honey," the girl cried through her squeals of delight. "If you're near as lively as this here bubbly, you and me are gonna have us some good time."
"I've never had any complaints, with or without the champagne," he said as he filled the glasses.
Then you've never been with a woman you didn't have to pay, came an unbidden thought from beneath the bed.
Brent held up two glasses of champagne and offered one to the dance hall girl. "To you . What's your name, sugar?''
Accepting the drink, she giggled again. "Lilly—but not because I'm lily pure. I'm more the 'gilded' type."
"I'll drink to that." Brent clinked his glass against hers and downed the sparkling wine in one gulp.
Placing his index
finger under Lilly's chin, he regarded her. "Say, you know what? You remind me of someone. A little dance hall gal from Chicago named... named—" Brent snapped his fingers and shook his head. "Funny, her name escapes me, but it was something like Opal. No, that's not it—Ruby? No. Maybe it was Esmeralda. No. Oh, Well. It was some kind of jewel—say, that's it. Her name was Jewel."
"So?" Lilly shrugged. "Why do you mention her when you got me?"
"Why indeed?" Brent said, slapping his knee. "Why, that gal couldn't hold a candle to a beauty like you. She had blond fuzzy hair, but I happen to know," he added, his laugh low and bawdy, "her real hair color is kind of reddish brown, if you know what I mean."
"Oh, I got you all right." Lilly giggled. "You're a bad one, you are."
Beneath the bed, Jewel fumed. And she resumed praying: Please, God. If you'll just let me at him for ten minutes, I swear I'll never ask for another thing.
"And Jewel's eyes—they're really strange," Brent continued, enjoying himself immensely. "They're sort of pea green, but when she wears her glasses, they look a lot like some sowbelly I once had go bad on me."
Five minutes, God, Jewel prayed. Just five minutes and a bull whip. That's all I ask.
"Say, if this gal is such a mess, why do you keep talkin' about her?"
"Oh, I don't know, Lilly. It sure isn't because I found her attractive. It must be because the wretched little thief stuck a knife in me."
"Oh, you poor man," Lilly gasped. "Where?"
"Would you really like to see? It's in kind of a private spot, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to show you. Maybe you can kiss it and make it all better for me." Brent moved around on the mattress, more for effect than anything.
Beneath the bed, the prayers ceased: All right, that's it. I don't care what happens to this assignment, I am not going to lie here and listen to that dandy assault that cheap saloon girl any more than I'm going to listen to her moan and groan and tell him how wonderful he is. Allan, forgive me, but—
A loud pounding at the door cut off Jewel's thoughts and the movement above her.
"Hold your horses," Brent called as he climbed off the bed. "I'm coming." When he opened the door, Mac stood in the entry, his hat in his hand.
"Excuse me, Mr. Connors. I don't mean to disturb you, but you seemed so sickly when you left the table, I thought I'd look in on you."
"Well, that's right neighborly of you, old boy." He slapped Mac on the back, pulling him into the room in the same movement. "Isn't that the most neighborly thing you've ever heard of, Lilly girl?"
Mac looked around the gambler's broad shoulders to the woman perched on the bed. It wasn't Jewel. Somehow he and his partner had managed to miss each other going to and from their suite—or she was still trapped here in this room. He took a quick inventory. If she had been trapped, she would have to be in the closet or under the bed. Whatever had happened to her, he knew there was nothing he could do but leave.
Mac replaced his hat and covered his concern with a friendly smile. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Connors. I didn't realize you had company. I'll just be going."
Lose someone? Brent thought before he trusted himself to speak to the other half of this obvious team of thieves. "Thanks for worrying about me, but as you can see, I'm well taken care of. Lilly here is known for her... massages. If she can't get rid of my headache, nothing will. Have a pleasant evening. See you tomorrow."
"Ah, yes. Good night," Mac sputtered as he backed out of the room.
Suddenly angry, Brent had to restrain himself to keep from slamming the door. After closing it quietly, he wheeled around and stared at Lilly. Now what was he going to do with her?
With a heavy sigh, he started toward the bed. "Tell you what, darlin'. The more I look at you, the more you remind me of that wretched little gal back in Chicago. So much so that I'm afraid I couldn't possibly share anything more than a glass of champagne with you."
Beneath the bed, Jewel gritted her teeth, out of prayers and resolutions, devoid of patience.
"Are you sure, honey?" Lilly asked as she got up off the mattress. "I can work magic on even the most stubborn little ole—"
"That's comforting to know, darlin', but I do still have that headache. Besides, you're starting to sound like that Jewel gal, too, and her voice screeches worse than a rusty gate hinge. Be a dear and run along."
"Well," she pouted, "all right, but—"
"I'm way ahead of you. Time is money, right?" The girl's eyes lit up as Brent pulled several coins out of his pocket and dropped them into her palm. "Maybe some other time."
"All right, honey." Lilly sashayed over to the door and let herself out.
Suddenly exhausted, tired of the game as well, Brent made a decision about the unwelcome guest beneath his bed. She hadn't suffered nearly enough or long enough. His mind made up, he stalked over to the door and began pushing coins into the crack between the edge and the jamb.
The little green-eyed bundle of dynamite might try to escape once he nodded off, but she wouldn't get away without waking him up. She could just lie on the hard floor until that happened. Then he would quite happily have her arrested.
Beneath the bed, Jewel listened as he rigged the door, knew he'd done something to make it impossible for anyone to sneak into his room—or out. She heard Brent return to the bed, recognized the sounds of buttons popping on his shirt and trousers, and realized by the further rustling of material that he'd stripped down to nature's own. Then he pulled back the covers and launched himself into the center of the bed. The mattress sagged and lurched, brushing the tip of her nose on one downswing, before he finally settled for the night.
She heard his exaggerated yawns, weary groans, and heavy sighs. Then, silence.
Jewel lay there for what seemed like hours before the sounds of light snoring finally reached her ears. Bridling the impulse to scoot out then, she waited until the snores became deeper, more rhythmic, before she acted on her revised plan.
* * *
Before the first light of dawn trickled in through the open window, Brent woke up, startled and confused. Something was wrong. He breathed deeply, already sensing there was no longer a hint of violets in the air.
He leapt from the bed and checked the door. All the coins were in place. Perplexed, he turned back to stare at the bed. Was she... or wasn't she?
Impatiently he crossed the room and dropped to his knees. Lifting the coverlet from the floor, Brent peered underneath.
The only thing hiding beneath the bed was a lot of lint.
Chapter 4
A light sleeper by necessity, Harry Benton woke at the grating sound of wood scraping against wood. The rustling of fabric near his window alerted him to the fact that the noises were probably caused by an intruder. Quietly reaching beneath his pillow, he withdrew the derringer nestled there. Then Harry sat up, his catlike eyes searching the darkness.
When a form glided by the foot of the bed, he demanded, "Who goes there?"
"Oh, ah..." Jewel mumbled as she crept across the room. "Hotel security. No need to be alarmed. Everything's all right now."
"Hotel what?"
But by the time Harry got the words out, his door had opened and closed. The intruder had vanished.
Beside him a sleepy female voice said, "Was someone just in here with us, H.C.?"
"Hush," he whispered as he climbed out of bed. "Whoever it was just went out the door. I'm going to have a look around."
Harry tiptoed over near the doorjamb and pressed his ear against the wood. He heard the patter of fading footsteps skipping across the carpeted hallway, then silence. A burglar? Or had the law somehow gotten wind of his return to the States? His eyes more used to the dark by now, he made his way to the window, then slammed it shut and locked it. Feeling uneasy, he crossed back over to the bed and slid beneath the covers.
More awake now, the countess DeMorney sat up and said, "Will you please tell me what that was all about?"
"I'm not sure," he said as he pushed the small
pistol back under his pillow. "The woman said she was hotel security, but I wouldn't bet your jewels on it."
"What on earth would a woman guard be doing in here?" she asked through a yawn.
Ninety percent sure the intruder had been nothing more than an inept member of his own profession, Harry relaxed and sighed. His features well hidden by the moonless night, he broke into a knowing grin and said, "Probably something to do with the poker tournament."
"So they guard us from inside our rooms?"
"My dear, you really can't be too careful these days," he warned as he gently pushed her back down on the mattress. "Why a big pot like that is bound to draw its share of crooks and swindlers."
"Well," the countess said in a huff. "At least she could have knocked."
"I don't think you understand. It is generally unwise for thieves to announce their presence." At her gasp, Harry explained further. "If that young lady was a security guard, I'm the duke of Kent," he laughed, nearly strangling as he remembered he'd once passed himself off as that very member of the nobility.
"Maybe you'd better get up and check your money clip,'' she suggested.
"I doubt she was after anything of mine, dear lady." Barely able to suppress the urge to laugh, he said, "You are the one wearing the jewels. I imagine a person with less than honorable intentions might think you're just ripe for the plucking, Countess."
"Oh, don't be silly," she scoffed. "I don't have anything to worry about as long as you're with me, H.C. And by the way," she added playfully, "you don't have to call me Countess. My name is Penelope."
"I'd be delighted to call you Penelope, my dear. And you may call me... Harry." He leaned over and kissed her bare shoulder. "Now then—where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"
"Sleeping."
"Were we?" he said, feigning astonishment. "I must have been having a very vivid dream. Would you like me to show you what happened in it, my dear Penelope?"
"Oh, Harry, I don't know."