Rance McKinney seemed to shrink in his chair, like a balloon with the air leaking out of it. For a split-second, he’d felt a flicker of hope when Conrad said he had only a pair as well. There was only one hand that would beat McKinney’s two kings.
Conrad’s two aces had done it, and McKinney was wiped out.
Cheers went up from many of the men in the room, indicating that McKinney wasn’t well-liked among the group. They were happier to see a relative stranger win. Several of them pounded Conrad on the back in congratulations.
Conrad watched McKinney across the table, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. The hate-filled gaze he gave Conrad was even darker than before.
Conrad pushed the chips to the side. “You’ll take care of this, won’t you, Bat?”
“Of course,” Masterson replied. “Do you prefer a bank draft or cash?”
“A bank draft will be fine. Send it over to Ellery’s office tomorrow, will you?”
“Sure, if that’s the way you want it.”
The casual way Conrad talked about nearly a million dollars impressed the crowd. He went on, “Drinks for everyone, and take it out of my winnings.”
“You heard the man,” Masterson said, raising his voice. The spectators surged out of the private room to head for the bar, leaving Conrad and McKinney alone except for Masterson and a few stragglers.
“I believe you owe me something,” Conrad told the rancher.
“You bastard,” McKinney said. “If I had a gun—”
“You’d be dead,” Masterson cut in, “because if you were armed, Conrad would be, too. Even if he wasn’t, I am. There’ll be no gunplay in here. The Palace may not be my place anymore, but the owner is a friend of mine and I won’t have it shot up.”
“No gunplay,” Conrad agreed. “But you’re going to have to pay off your bet, McKinney. Otherwise you’ll be known from one end of the frontier to the other as a welsher.”
“Fine,” McKinney snapped. “I don’t know what business it is of yours, but Pamela Tarleton had those two kids with her, along with a nurse. A boy and a girl, like I said. They weren’t much more than babies.”
Trying not to let McKinney see how deeply the news affected him, Conrad went on, “Do you remember their names?”
“Yeah. The little boy was Frank. The girl was called Vivian.”
Conrad felt like he had been punched in the gut. Would Pamela really be that cruel? Would she really have named the children after Conrad’s parents?
But she must have, because McKinney had no reason to lie about it. He might know that Conrad’s mother was Vivian Browning, but he wouldn’t have any idea that Conrad’s father was Frank Morgan. That information wasn’t strictly a secret, but it wasn’t known to very many people, and no one who knew would have told McKinney about it.
“What else can you tell me?”
McKinney shook his head. “That’s it. I saw the kids and the nurse one time, and Pamela didn’t explain anything about them. I didn’t figure it was any of my business.”
“They went with her . . . when she left for San Francisco?”
“As far as I know.”
“Were they happy? Well cared for?”
“Happy?” McKinney repeated with a scowl. “How the hell would I know if they were happy? They were little kids. But that nurse seemed to be taking care of them just fine.”
Conrad nodded slowly. “Anything else?”
“I can’t think of a damned thing. Are you satisfied, you son of a bitch?”
“Take it easy,” Masterson warned.
Conrad said, “Why wouldn’t you tell me any of this before?”
“Why the hell would I want to? I don’t owe you anything.” McKinney’s mouth twisted bitterly. “At least I didn’t until now. I can’t believe you beat me with a pair of aces.”
“You were trying to beat me with a pair of kings,” Conrad pointed out. He shoved his chair back.
“Are we done here?” McKinney demanded.
Conrad nodded. “We’re done.”
Masterson said, “Look at it this way, Rance. All you really lost was the ten grand you used to buy into the game. Winnings come and go.”
“Yeah, that makes me feel a hell of a lot better,” McKinney snapped as he got to his feet. He stalked out of the room.
Everyone else had drifted away. Conrad and Masterson were alone in the room. Masterson took out a cigar, clamped it between his teeth, and asked around it, “Do you believe him?”
“I think so.”
“Was it worth it? You spent days playing poker and risked a small fortune, and what did you really learn?”
“That I haven’t reached the end of the trail yet. I didn’t overlook the place where Pamela hid the children. She left here with them and headed on to San Francisco.”
“There’s still lots of rough country between here and there,” Masterson pointed out. He snapped a match to life and set fire to the cigar in his mouth.
Conrad nodded. “I know. And I plan to check at every place along the railroad, just to make sure I don’t overlook anything. But my gut is telling me that I won’t find the twins until I reach the coast.”
“San Francisco is a big town. Lots of places to hide a couple young’uns.”
“That’s true.” Conrad smiled. “But I have nothing but time to look for them.”
Masterson extended a hand. “Good luck.” Conrad shook with him, and the former lawman went on, “What now?”
“As soon as Arturo is in good enough shape to travel, we’ll head west again.”
“You could leave him here,” Masterson suggested.
“I know I could. But he’s come this far with me and risked his life to help me. I reckon he deserves to be in on the finish.”
“That’ll give you a while to rest up after this tournament, I suppose.”
“I could use it,” Conrad admitted. “Playing for such high stakes will wear a man out. I think I’ll go back to the hotel, have a good meal, and then sleep for another twelve hours or so.”
“I’ll walk over to the Lansing House with you.”
Conrad lifted an eyebrow. “Worried about me, Bat?”
“I’m sure the word’s already getting around town that you won almost a million dollars tonight.”
“Which you’re going to have delivered in the form of a bank draft to my lawyer tomorrow.”
“Wrong. I’m not going to have it delivered, I’m going to hand it over to Ellery Hudson myself. I don’t trust that much money to anybody but me.”
“That’s fine. I’m glad to hear it.”
“Not everybody who hears about your big win will know that you don’t have the cash,” Masterson continued. “So we’re not going to take any chances.”
“Fine. I won’t argue with you.” Conrad tried not to yawn. “Anyway, I could use the company. It’ll help keep me awake.”
The two men got their hats and left the Palace. Conrad knew he should be glad he had finally gotten more information from McKinney, but he felt strangely empty inside. Masterson was right; he hadn’t really learned all that much, especially considering the strain of the past few days. And he had no way of knowing that McKinney had told him the truth, even though the rancher hadn’t seemed to be lying.
“You said that McKinney has a pretty good-sized spread?” Conrad asked as he and Masterson walked toward the Lansing House.
“That’s right. The Double Star is northwest of Boulder.”
“Pretty rugged country?”
“Some of it.” Masterson shrugged. “McKinney’s range runs from the plains through the foothills and on up into the mountains. He’s got a mighty tough crew and runs the place like it’s his own little kingdom.”
“In other words, you could hide a couple small children there without much trouble.”
Masterson looked over sharply at him. “What the hell? You think Pamela stashed the kids with him?”
“I can’t rule it out. I know there was a
connection between the two of them. Maybe his reluctance to talk was just part of Pamela’s game. Maybe he was trying to fool me all along.”
Masterson frowned and shook his head. “No offense, Conrad, but you’re thinking too blasted much. You talk about Pamela like she was some sort of, I don’t know, evil genius.”
“You’re not far off the mark there, Bat.”
“When you think like that, you wind up just going around and around in circles. You can’t ever trust your instincts, because Pamela might have anticipated that and made allowances for it.”
Conrad rubbed his chin and frowned in thought. “You’re right,” he admitted. “But she’s been two or three steps in front of me the whole way, Bat. How can I not consider every possibility?”
“Well, consider this possibility,” Masterson said as they reached the Lansing House and paused in front of the hotel’s entrance. “If you start poking around McKinney’s ranch, you’re liable to get yourself shot full of holes.”
“That’s a chance I may have to take.”
Masterson looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “If you decide to take a ride up there, let me know.”
“You want to come with me?”
“Damn right I do. I don’t like McKinney much, either. If he’s got those kids stashed away, then he deserves whatever he’s got coming to him.”
Conrad smiled and clapped a hand on Masterson’s shoulder. “Thanks, Bat. I’ll let you know.”
“You do that.”
Masterson tipped a finger to the brim of his hat as Conrad went into the hotel. He got his key from the clerk and went up to his room. He walked past a gray-haired, stoop-shouldered maid and had his key in the door of his room before he realized a maid probably wouldn’t be working that late at night.
He turned swiftly, but he was too late. Rose Sullivan stared out at him from under the gray wig, and the little pistol in her hand was pointed right between his eyes.
Chapter 24
“Don’t make me kill you, Conrad,” Rose warned.
Instinct made him clamp down on his nerves. He didn’t want to do anything that would startle her into pulling the trigger. She was just out of easy reach, but not far enough away that he could dive out of the line of fire. A little more pressure of her finger on the trigger would put a bullet in his brain.
In the back of his mind, he was cursing himself for getting caught. The strain of the poker tournament and the things Rance McKinney had told him had filled up his head to the point that, while he hadn’t forgotten about Rose, he hadn’t taken the threat she posed seriously enough.
Coolly, he said, “I thought you wanted to kill me, Rose. You’ve been trying hard enough to do just that ever since I’ve been in Denver.”
A faint smile curved her lips. “Things have changed.”
That was interesting. He couldn’t think of anything that had changed since the last time he’d seen her, but if there was something that kept her from pulling the trigger, that was fine with him.
“What do you want?”
“Go ahead and unlock the door, then go into your room. Don’t make any fuss about it. If you raise a commotion and anybody sticks his head out to investigate, I will kill him. That person’s blood will be on your hands.”
“Take it easy.” He started to turn toward the door.
“Carefully!” she ordered.
Taking it slow, Conrad finished unlocking the door and turned the knob. He swung the door open. The room inside was dark.
“Go on!” Rose ordered in a low voice.
As Conrad stepped into the darkened room, he sensed her rushing up behind him. He knew she probably wanted to knock him out, so he threw himself forward into that darkness and twisted aside at the same time. He flung an arm out behind him and snagged the sleeve of the nondescript dress she wore in her disguise as a maid. Closing his hand on the material, he dragged her with him.
She cried out as they went sprawling on the floor. Conrad kicked the door closed, figuring she wouldn’t start blazing away blindly. The shadows were his friends. He rolled over onto his belly, then held his breath and lay absolutely still.
Silence greeted his ears. Rose knew any noise she made would tell him where she was. And yet they couldn’t lie there forever, trying to wait each other out. Sooner or later, somebody would have to move.
A little light from the gas streetlamps outside penetrated through the tiny gap in the curtains over the window, and more light seeped under the door from the corridor. Conrad’s eyes began to adjust. He could make out the vague shapes of the sitting room’s furniture.
His guns were all in the next room, but he couldn’t reach them without betraying his presence. Still, he needed to be closer so he wouldn’t have as far to go to get them when the showdown came. He slid a couple inches in that direction, the carpet on the floor making his movements silent.
A carriage team suddenly clattered by in the street outside. Rose might use that noise to cover up any sounds she made, Conrad thought. He lifted his head to look for her and saw a flicker of motion to his right. That gray dress she was wearing! It loomed in the air as she leaped at him.
Conrad whirled to meet the attack, surging to his feet and lifting his hands to grapple with her. He reached for her arm and tried to grab the wrist of her gun hand so he could keep the pistol pointed away from him.
He caught hold of empty fabric.
He heard the springs on the divan sag under a sudden weight, then something crashed into his back and drove him forward on his knees. In the split-seconds as he was falling, he knew Rose had slipped out of the dress and thrown it in the air to lure him into moving, then leaped onto the divan and from there onto his back. As he landed on the floor with her solid weight on his back, the impact drove the air from his lungs. The next instant, one of her arms looped around his neck and closed on it with incredible strength, keeping him from drawing a breath.
“You think a woman can’t fight?” she said in his ear. “You think we’re all weaklings?”
He didn’t recall ever saying that, and he certainly wouldn’t say it about Rose Sullivan, or whatever her name was. She obviously took her job as a hired killer seriously and was in superb shape. The lack of air was making his head spin as unconsciousness threatened to overwhelm him.
But he was bigger, heavier, and stronger than her, he told himself. He had to be able to break loose from her grip. He got a hand under him, then a knee, and heaved himself off the floor, taking her with him. Pitching to the side, he sent them crashing into the writing table against the wall of the sitting room.
Rose cried out in pain and her arm came loose. Conrad dragged air into his body as he twisted around and reached for her. A small but hard fist slugged into his face as she struck out blindly. Her other hand tried to claw at his eyes, and her knee dug at his groin. She was constantly in motion, and it was like trying to fight a wildcat.
The wig had come off, and he could tell she had tied her blond hair up in a tight knot on top of her head. He grabbed her hair to hold her still. Before she could pull away from him, he hit her.
She went limp, and even after everything that had happened, he felt bad about hitting a woman. As she sprawled onto her back and her arms fell out to her sides, he pushed himself to a knee and stood up over her.
Her foot came up with blinding speed and slammed into his groin.
Pain exploded through him, bringing with it the knowledge that Rose had been pretending to be stunned. She had fooled him, and he cursed himself bitterly as the agony forced him to double over and fall to the floor.
He heard the door of the suite open, and a harsh voice asked, “What the hell happened in here? You were supposed to get the drop on him.”
It took a moment for Conrad to realize through his pain that the voice belonged to Rance McKinney.
“Don’t worry about that,” Rose snapped. “Just take care of him.”
“Oh, I’ll take care of him, all right,” McKinney said with ob
vious anticipation.
Conrad wished he had a gun. Although he might not have been able to see straight to fire it, he would have tried anyway.
But he didn’t get the chance. A dark shape loomed over him, and the world fell on his head, making everything else go away.
Sometimes just being alive came as a great surprise, which was how Conrad felt as awareness seeped back into his brain, along with a great deal of pounding agony.
He had been knocked out before, so he knew what it was like to feel as if a band of demons was inside his skull, slugging away at it with balpeen hammers. That was actually his pulse, and pain shot through his head with every beat of it.
But that meant his heart was beating. When he’d passed out, it had been with the grim acceptance of death. Rose and McKinney would probably slit his throat while he was unconscious.
Instead he was alive, and he gradually became aware that he was moving. The rough surface on which he lay swayed back and forth underneath him.
A musty stink filled his nostrils, and something scratchy rubbed against his face. After a few moments, he realized he was wrapped up in a blanket and probably lying in the back of a wagon. The roughness of the ride told him the vehicle wasn’t rolling over Denver’s paved streets.
So he was out on the trail somewhere, he thought. The fact that McKinney had been in his hotel room along with Rose Sullivan gave him a pretty good idea where he and his captors were headed.
They were on their way to McKinney’s Double Star ranch.
Despite the pain in his head, Conrad forced himself to concentrate on the predicament in which he found himself. He remembered how Rose had slipped into the hotel in disguise and gotten the drop on him. The exchange she’d had with McKinney proved the two of them were working together. Conrad didn’t know if that had been the case from the start, or if Rose had gone to McKinney for help after her true identity as a hired killer had been discovered.
It didn’t really matter, he told himself. What was important was that two very deadly enemies of his had teamed up . . . and he was now their prisoner.
So far he hadn’t budged as awareness came back to him. He remained as motionless as possible. The wagon’s bumps and jolts made him move a little, but he kept his muscles limp so that would look natural. The longer he could keep them from realizing he had regained consciousness, the better.
The Loner: Killer Poker Page 15