by Penny McCall
“I don’t like it,” Tag said, even though it worked in his favor. Maybe Matt just wanted to see her because he was infatuated. Maybe Harper had bought him off—that might be a stretch, but from this point on Tag was putting everyone under a microscope. Starting with Matt Harrison.
Several hours later he wasn’t as sanguine about the decision. The insides of his legs, from the knees up, felt like raw meat, and he’d begun to look forward to the times they got off and walked to give the horses a rest. His back hurt, his feet hurt, his head hurt, and the weather had warmed up enough for the bugs to start hatching. Yeah, the scenery was spectacular, but he was really beginning to hate springtime in the mountains.
It was nightfall—dinnertime for the mosquitoes—by the time Casteel appeared in the next valley. Tag was actually glad to see the place, even though he could already tell it was worse than it had been when they’d left. Campers were parked everywhere, tents were pitched on front lawns, and people were getting themselves arrested just so they’d have a place to sleep for the night.
“Prices are ten times what they were when you left town,” Matt told them when they got to his office. “George down at the diner tried to charge me twenty-five dollars for breakfast the other day. I had to threaten to arrest him before he’d be reasonable.”
“Sounds like an abuse of authority to me,” Tag observed.
“Just ignore him,” Alex suggested, which was enough to make a lapdog like Matt Harrison toe the line.
“It’s a damn gold rush around here,” he said. “National news crews were here yester—”
There was a clatter at the front door. They all looked around and saw a face peering in at them through the little window.
“It’s her,” the face said, the words muffled by the closed door but still depressingly clear. “She’s back in town.”
Matt got up and checked out the situation.
Alex joined him. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, adding for Tag’s benefit, “there’s already a crowd gathering.”
Matt stated the obvious. “They’re convinced you know where the Lost Spaniard is.”
“Well, they’re wrong. We narrowed it down, but we still can’t pinpoint the treasure.”
“So you changed your mind?” Matt wanted to know. “You’re going out there to look for it?”
“Yeah.” Alex sent Tag a warning look—as if he’d had any intention of launching into a spontaneous rundown of her reasons for going treasure hunting.
They were already dealing with Frick and Frack, Pierre’s handful of wannabe thugs, and a knife-wielder who might not be a member of either group. The last thing Tag needed was Barney Fife bumbling around in his business.
Matt poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Alex, offering the other to Tag.
He shook his head and stayed put, leaning against the wall where he could see out the front windows and still keep track of the conversation.
“I’ve been to your cabin,” Matt said to Alex, settling behind his desk again while she took the chair in front of it.
Alex went still, but Tag knew her well enough to see the anger iced beneath the calm. “Is it a total loss?” she asked.
“Only two walls burned, but the roof caved in and the animals got to what wasn’t destroyed in the fire. I managed to dig out your steel fire safe, which was halfway through the floor.”
“I thought there was dirt under the floor.”
Matt shrugged. “Dirt’s had a century to settle. I brought the safe back. There wasn’t anything else worth saving, but I figured the important stuff would be in the safe anyway.”
“Like the deed to five useless acres of woods.” Alex took a long sip of the bitter coffee, looked up at Matt’s face, and smiled faintly. “I’m sorry, Matt. The rest of my research was in the safe, too. Thanks for going out there, especially with everything going on around here.”
“I deputized Tom Mackey,” Matt said, but a pleased flush was creeping up from underneath his collar.
“That’s why you dragged us back here?” Tag said. “So you could be the big, strong sheriff who rescued her paperwork?”
Matt jumped to his feet, but Alex was faster, putting herself between them, a hand planted on each chest.
“I don’t want Alex out there wandering around with all the crazies,” Matt said. His tone included Tag in that category. He held Tag’s gaze for another fun-filled moment, then looked down at Alex. “I thought if you saw firsthand what’s going on around here… I mean, it would be great if you found the treasure—”
“So you could rebuild your cabin and stay,” Tag muttered.
Alex glared at him, jerked her head toward the door, and watched long enough to make sure he went before she turned back to Matt. “Thank you,” she said, “for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you. You’re like the big brother I never had—well, not at first, of course, but you’ve been the best friend…” Across the room she saw Tag’s shoulders hunch and realized it was about the worst thing she could have said to Matt. But she was so hopeless with her feelings. “You know what I mean, Matt.”
“Yeah.” He gave her hands a squeeze. “If I don’t think of you as a sister, you won’t mind.”
She laughed softly. “That’s the most flattering thing any man has ever said to me. If I had half a brain,” or heart, “well, anyway, thanks for everything.”
She didn’t get a whole lot of time to feel bad. The minute she and Tag opened the door there was a mad rush from the crowd outside.
Matt came to stand behind Alex, looking over her shoulder at the eager faces, and the curious faces, and the calculating faces. And the ones who looked like they were contemplating violence. “You sure you don’t want to stay here?”
“No way am I sleeping in a jail cell.”
“At least you’d be safe.”
“With this crowd following me around, what could happen?” She’d be safer than she’d been since Tag Donovan had landed in her life. What she wouldn’t be able to do was look for the Lost Spaniard and get rid of the threat once and for all. “I’m not leaving Jackass alone to get sabotaged again,” she said.
Alex gave Matt a peck on the cheek that Tag chose not to notice—easy since she was leaving with him. “Any idea how we can get out of town without an entourage?” Tag asked.
Alex slid him a sidelong look. “Why are you asking me?”
“These are your people.”
“My people are uptight, East Coast, tea-drinking snobs.” She glanced over her shoulder. “These people are one step away from a circus sideshow.”
“The bearded lady isn’t usually armed to the teeth,” he pointed out. “I’d rather they didn’t follow me around until their patience wears out.”
“That’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“If we don’t want them to follow us, maybe we should give them a head start.” Alex stopped, scowling at the front rank of the crowd, pressing close to hear what they were saying. They took a collective step back. “I think you should let it slip that we’re leaving tonight,” she continued, setting off again and keeping her voice down. “In the opposite direction we’re actually going.”
“Why me? Why don’t you let it slip?”
“Because these are my people. They won’t believe it if it comes from me.”
Tag gave it some thought, seeing the possibilities. “Okay, Charlie McCarthy, how do you suggest I let the cat out of the bag?”
“Charlie McCarthy was the dummy,” Alex said.
Tag grinned. “I know. C’mon, genius, put some words into my mouth.”
“I’ve only known you for four days, but I haven’t noticed you having a particular problem coming up with words. Sometimes they even sound believable.” Alex patted his arm. “This should be one of those times.”
“Ouch,” Tag said, but he was smiling.
“It might help to pretend you’re drunk. And you should probably tell a woman.”
“A
woman?”
“That way you can romance her,” Alex said, “make it seem like secrets just pour out of you because she’s so beautiful. You know, con her.”
“I should probably be insulted, but I’m feeling like I have to prove I can rise to the challenge,” Tag said.
“And I feel like I should apologize to the female population of Casteel.”
“Now that’s insulting.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Pick the right woman, get her to believe she knows where we’re going, and it’ll be around town inside of an hour. A bunch of these people will try to get a head start.”
“But not all of them.”
“Do you have any other suggestions?”
Tag looked over his shoulder and sighed. “I’ll go off and plant misdirection. What are you going to do?”
“I’ll get the supplies.”
“I have the money,” Tag reminded her.
“You heard Matt, the merchants around here are scalping.”
“But they won’t overcharge you?”
“When this thing is over, we all have to live in this town together. I have a better chance of getting them down to reasonable prices than you do. Besides, I know what to buy and how much we’ll need.” Alex held out her hand. “And I don’t have much time before the stores close.”
Tag reached into his front pocket and pulled out the wad of cash Harper’s goons had given him when they took his wallet on the plane. He was careful to keep his back to the crowd so no one got the idea of making a fast killing. Literally.
He handed about half to Alex; she stuffed it in her pocket and held her hand out again. Tag gave her about half of what he had left, shaking his head and muttering, “Women.”
“You should say that with a little more gratitude,” Alex said. “Without women you wouldn’t get away with half the stuff you pull.”
“Present company excepted.”
“Unfortunately,” Alex muttered as she walked away, “that remains to be seen.”
———
“YOU’RE LATE.”
Pierre Dussaud plucked a paper napkin from the table-top dispenser and fastidiously wiped the chair across from Tag before taking a seat. “In Europe, we understand the importance of making a fashionable entrance. We also consider it unforgivable to go where one is not invited.”
Tag rolled his right shoulder, reassured to feel his pack slung over the back of his chair. He’d chosen a corner table in the diner, and taken the side that put his back to the wall, but there was something about Dussaud that made him wish he had eyes in the back of his head.
It might be seen as a less than intelligent decision to bring the map to a meeting with the man he’d liberated it from, but there really hadn’t been any other choice. Alex was already a target, and the only other potential safe harbor in town was the sheriff, hardly the best person to entrust with stolen property. “I hear you go where you’re not wanted plenty.”
Pierre waved that off. “Rumor, innuendo. If there was at any time proof that I had done as I was accused, I would be in prison.”
“I could say the same.” Tag kept his voice down. He’d needed some place neutral to meet with Junior, a public place where it wouldn’t matter if he had backup because Junior and his goons couldn’t pull anything in front of witnesses. The downside? Word of the summit between the two top treasure hunters was bound to get out in no time flat; everyone in town would flock there, including Alex. What Tag had to say to Junior, however, wasn’t going to take that long. “Why didn’t you go to the sheriff?”
“I do not need a… a country gendarme to handle my problems.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It was intended as such.”
“I guess that means there’s no hope we can find some common ground—other than the fact that we’re both working for Bennet Harper.”
“Pour quoi? Who is this man… Harper?”
Tag didn’t move a muscle, but his mind was racing, and the headline was Pierre, telling the truth. Dussaud might delude himself that he played his cards close to his chest, but a man who traveled with five enforcers really didn’t need to cultivate a poker face.
So who was he working for?
“Clearly, this is a surprise for you.”
“I’ll get over it,” Tag said.
“Will you?” Pierre looked around the diner.
Tag didn’t need to do the same to catch his meaning; he already knew two of Pierre’s goons were in there with them, and two more were outside. The fifth was awol, probably lying in wait for him. Or Alex. Tag hoped to hell she was staying in plain sight, that she hadn’t found a way to ditch the crowd following her around, and that Matt was anal enough to keep an eye on her, like Tag had counted on him to do.
“The map,” Pierre said. “I want it back.”
Tag’s gaze swiveled back to him. “Tell me who hired you.”
“I think not. I was instructed to keep that information private.”
“I never took you for a bootlicker.”
He could all but hear Junior’s teeth grinding, but he didn’t take the bait.
“So this guy who hired you,” Tag said, “is he going to understand that you kept his name a secret at the cost of finding the Lost Spaniard?”
Pierre shrugged, very continental, totally unconvincing.
“I guess you could use that line about how it’s fashionable to be late in Europe.”
“The map for information?” Pierre fired back. “You must want this man’s name very badly.”
“About as much as you hate coming in second.”
Pierre made a purely Gallic, purely derisive sound in the back of this throat. “Do not offer a bribe you are not prepared to pay, Donovan. And do not make the mistake of counting me out so quickly. I had the map in my possession for some time. I have already managed to re-create a good portion of it from memory. And let us not forget that ownership can change hands with very little notice.”
“You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to carry it on me.”
“I think you would be stupid enough to care about your partner.”
“Alex is perfectly safe.”
“For the moment.”
“I think we’re done with each other,” Tag said.
“No, Monsieur Donovan, we are not.” But Pierre pushed away from the table and walked out, his goons following along behind him like the trained apes they were.
Tag stayed put and finished his coffee. On the surface it might seem he hadn’t learned very much. Truth was, the only hard fact he’d come away with was that Junior hadn’t been hired by Bennet Harper.
Junior was afraid of whoever had hired him, though, afraid enough to keep the man’s identity a secret, even after he’d been insulted. It didn’t follow that it was one of Harper’s investors, or that it was the same investor who “knew how to deal with law enforcement.” But it was a hell of a coincidence otherwise, and Tag didn’t believe in coincidences.
Besides, why else would Harper make it look like he’d hired Junior, unless he was scared of whoever had?
Tag stood, dragged a bill out of his pocket, and dropped it on the table, angry and frustrated. This case was supposed to be child’s play, but he was tired of taking baby steps.
He fought his way across town to the Casteeley Inn and went straight to the bar. Alex had suggested he find a woman and slip in some bogus treasure hunting tips among the flirtation and flattering. That was too risky; he might stumble on a woman who wasn’t prone to gossip, probably a long shot in this town—or the solar system for that matter. The way his luck was running, it was more likely he’d choose a woman who wanted to keep her inside information to herself. Not only would that be a waste of his talents, it wouldn’t get them anywhere.
If he was going to sow the seeds of misdirection, he needed the most fertile ground possible. For his money, that spelled bartender. Since the bartender also owned the inn, he was likely one of the few people in Casteel who wouldn’t
be going after the treasure personally. Why would he when he was making a fortune selling cheap booze and basic rooms at five star prices?
From what little Tag gathered in the few minutes he had to observe before the man took his order, Hooker—that was his name—wasn’t very discriminating about what he repeated, or to whom. Tag ordered Bushmills, straight up, double, putting enough of a slur in his voice so it would appear he’d gotten a head start before he walked into the inn. And he pretended not to notice when Hooker substituted something that only resembled Irish whiskey because it was brown and wet.
It was no surprise when Hooker started asking questions or when the nearest barflies inched closer so they could hear the answers. And it was pathetically easy to pretend he thought his answers were clever while at the same time appearing to be confused about what lies he’d told. After about a half hour he wobbled his way to the door, betting himself that the word would make it up one side of the street and down the other before he’d walked the four blocks to the stable.
Unfortunately that meant he had to continue pretending to be drunk. He stumbled through the big stable doorway, laughing his ass off at all the hicks who’d bought his act— and then he was grabbed from behind. There were two men. One ripped the pack off his shoulder, and both of them dragged his arms back. He fought to get free, knowing it was hopeless. But before darkness closed in, he had a split second to congratulate himself on one more accomplishment; coming back to Casteel had been about smoking the cockroaches out of the woodwork.
It looked like he’d been successful.
Chapter Eighteen
ALEX PICKED UP MOST OF WHAT SHE AND TAG would need in the way of nonperishables. A tarp for tenting if the weather turned bad, bedrolls—two—a coffeepot, a fire grate, a couple of pans, water purification tablets. Picks and shovels. Each time she made a purchase a few more people would be convinced she was actually leaving town and her entourage would shrink, competitors going off to make their preparations. That was a nice side benefit, but she was pretty proud of the fact that she hadn’t overpaid— much—for anything.
She’d already dumped her supplies at the stable, and she was at the market waiting for her order to be filled when she decided to call her mother. It wasn’t exactly a sudden decision. There’d been moments of guilt over the past five days, and moments of dread. She’d been pretty abrupt to her mother on the phone; Cassandra hadn’t called back, but even a thousand miles away Alex could feel her stewing, and that was never good.