"I saw Emma with Devil Blackmoor."
Sam swore under his breath. "Dakota and Trey were supposed to protect Emma."
"It's true then," Angela said softly, her heart hammering her fear against her ribs. Devil Blackmoor was dangerous. She knew firsthand just how dangerous he was.
"Perhaps. I'll look around. I mean to find out where he's taken Emma.'' Sam turned Angela in the direction of the hotel and nudged her forward.
"I'm going with you." She was determined.
"No." Sam was more tenacious.
"But--"
"No." With that said Sam once again nudged her toward the hotel and watched her walk down the street, away from the red-light district. When she looked back, he watched her still.
~ * ~
"You have a hell of a lot of nerve coming here."
The voices in the other room woke Angela. She brushed the hair from her eyes, blinking the sleep away. Even though she'd tried to wait up for her father, she'd fallen asleep without seeing him and finding out what happened to Emma or where Dakota was.
Now she heard the clink of glasses, the slosh of liquid.
The quilt covering her slipped silently to the floor. Angela swung her legs off the bed then made her way to the door. She leaned against the wall. Her fingers trembling, she opened the door a crack.
She saw her father hand Devil a drink.
Devil nodded his expression cold. "I promised Emma I'd check out her story. I have, and I'm disturbed by what I found out."
Absorbed in the conversation, Angela wiped her sweaty palms on her nightdress. She inched closer, the floorboards creaking under her weight.
"But you turned her over to the bastard anyway." Dakota stepped in front of Devil. His jaw was clenched, his fists tight.
Angela sucked in her breath. He didn 't. Angela" s words were spoken only to herself, but silence suddenly filled the room. And she knew deep down in her heart Devil had betrayed them all.
Devil tensed.
"I'd given my word to Lawrence Stevens. He is her stepfather, and I did believe he had her best interests at heart. The lady is wanted for murder. Stevens promised me he'd protect her. Besides, Emma left me no alternative when she refused to explain her part in this matter. I gave her ample opportunity. She could have told me what happened, why her face adorned wanted posters all over the state. Instead she chose to remain silent. Emma didn't trust me until I was in the process of handing her over to the man himself. By then her words of innocence were uttered too late."
He did. Angela slipped to the cold, hard floor, her back pressing against a table leg. A shudder began deep inside and worked its way out until she could barely control her limbs. A bittersweet ache lodged in the back of her heart.
He did.
"Now I'm asking you: if I was wrong, tell me and I'll help in any way possible. Who killed Emma's mother? And why was there a wanted poster on Emma Barringer?"
"Stevens killed Emma's mother," Sam said.
"He poisoned her and blamed it on Emma, hoping to install Emma in one of his whorehouses." Dakota paced back and forth in front of the door, his muscles flexed with tension and primed for a fight.
"I will help right this wrong," Devil said, his voice strong and determined.
Angela couldn't see Dakota but she heard him stop, felt the tensions escalate. "Ask the devil to help? I'm not a fool."
Devil sat still, showing no emotion when Dakota turned on him. No one seemed eager to further the explanation.
"Lawrence's man shot Jacob. He's going to be all right in a couple of days," Devil said.
No! Angela felt the floor drop out from under her. Jacob has been shot?
"I think he discovered something." Devil showed no emotion, his stoic features still hard and unreadable. "I would keep an eye on Emma and watch the house. What better man to give aid than one who is trusted by the opposition?" he asked. "If you keep me informed of the truth, I can make sure no real harm comes to Emma."
Suddenly Angela meant to find a way to help Emma. Emma could hang. Jacob had been shot. The Pinkertons were after Emma, as was every bounty hunter this side of the Mississippi. Dakota and Emma needed all the allies they could find.
"Lawrence is keeping her drugged," Devil said.
"Son of a bitch!" Dakota's fist hit the wall beside Angela.
She flinched, her startled gasp echoing around the room she was in.
Once more Dakota paced. His long, sleek strides back and forth got him nowhere.
Wild and untamed, Dakota had always been one to act first and think later. Angela knew he wanted to barge into the bordello and drag Emma out. He couldn't. If he did, the two of them would be hunted fugitives once more. Or dead. Emma was wanted by the law, dead or alive. No, the time had come to find proof against Stevens and Madame leBon.
If the sheriff discovered Emma before they had any facts that would prove her innocence, Emma could very well hang. Dakota's hands were tied until they had something to hold over Lawrence Stevens's head.
Devil's fingers rested on the butt of his gun. They drew Angela's gaze. Oh, Lord, She heated from the toes up. It was all she could do to concentrate on the conversation instead of remembering the touch of his hands upon her, the way they made her body come alive.
His mouth against hers, his lips--the liquid heat he evoked.
His caress had been strong and sure and so very tender. With his touch came pure bliss and heavenly satisfaction.
"An auction is being planned for Friday night." Devil spoke again, his voice low. The sound wrapped around her heart and stole her breath. "Emma is the main attraction. Lawrence is advertising heavily and holding peep shows three times a day."
"I'll kill him!" Dakota slammed his fist against the palm of his hand.
Despite the outburst Devil continued. "Men gather to watch her bathe. Tomorrow he plans on letting those who will bid in earnest take a closer look, examine the merchandise."
"I'll kill Stevens with my bare hands." The words emanating from Dakota came as a low growl. Dakota yanked Devil to his feet.
Devil's gaze turned murderous. "Let go," he said. "If I didn't have so much respect for you, Dakota, you'd be a dead man right now. I suggest you don't push your luck. I'm here to right a wrong. I suggest you be at the bordello tomorrow."
At the bordello? Oh, Emma. Fear for Emma shook Angela to the core.
"Stevens knows who I am," Dakota said.
"Find a way."
Dakota let his hands fall to his sides. Devil relaxed. Angela breathed more easily now. Dakota's jaw wasn't quite so tense, nor were his hands still flexed. There wouldn't be a fight here in the parlor.
Emma needed someone trustworthy inside the bordello.
Once again Angela sat back, leaning against the nightstand, her eyes closed. Her father would be adamant, his no final. She would have to take this into her own hands. Dakota loved Emma; that much was obvious. But Dakota needed to know Emma would be watched over or he'd ruin the carefully laid plans they'd been constructing all evening. Angela prayed Devil's presence at the whorehouse would be enough to hold Dakota back.
If Dakota went flying into the bordello with bullets ricocheting, it was a sure bet he'd land himself in jail and Emma with a noose around her neck. When someone Dakota loved was threatened, restraint was not something he could handle. That fact would make the situation even more dangerous for anyone inside.
She could handle a gun and a knife better than most men. No one inside the brothel would recognize her. As a housekeeper or maid, her own safety was not in question.
Faced with the obvious, Angela no longer had a choice. She'd have to disobey her father. It was the only way to protect Emma. Somehow she would get off the train Sam meant to put her on tomorrow morning, and then she would think of a way to get inside the bordello.
~ * ~
Standing on the platform at the train station, one valise in hand, Angela realized this was her last chance to tell her father about her plans. She couldn't.
Angela had gone over everything in her mind. There was no other way to keep Emma safe.
She was afraid, but not for herself. She feared for Emma.
"I love you, Papa." Angela didn't like herself very well at the moment, but she squared her shoulders, stiffening her spine and her determination in the process. Her knife, newly sharpened, lay in its sheath. Strapped tightly to her leg, the weapon was easy to reach, and she had a derringer in her valise.
"I love you, too."
Sam Chamberlain kissed Angela's forehead and stepped back, his hands resting on her shoulders, his eyes memorizing every inch of her. Guilt was a powerful force to reckon with, and right now it had a stranglehold on her heart.
She nodded. "I know," she said.
"Write to me, and I want you to send a telegram as soon as you reach Boston."
"Yes, sir." Long good-byes were not her father's style, and right now she thanked her lucky stars for that fact. Her remorse was so powerful that if he spent much more time here, she'd give in and tell him what she meant to do.
The train let out a loud whistle, steam rolled from the engine and the wheels began a slow shudder. She stood on the steps, watching her father walk away as the train lumbered through the center of town. The car she rode in was about to pass by the Wells Fargo station and the livery.
She had seconds to act. Turning away, she stepped to the other side, her valise in hand, and jumped from the train. The impact jarred her, stealing her breath and stopping her heart. Dazed, she lay on the ground for a few minutes. Low, gray clouds covered the sky, a slight mist dampening the ground where she lay. Where there should have been two buildings, there were four.
Angela closed her eyes. When she finally opened them and tried to sit up, nausea forced her back. She thought for a moment that she would be well and truly sick. A few minutes later she tried to rise again, this time more slowly. The ground moved beneath her and the sky spun crazily, but she held still and the motion slowly stopped.
This was not what she'd anticipated, but she'd had to wait longer than she'd intended. And now that she was off the train, safe and sound, she didn't want to think about the fear she'd felt moments before she'd jumped or the second thoughts that had rushed through her head.
She stayed behind the livery for over an hour before she ventured out. She had dressed plainly, hoping no one would notice her movements through town. Her dove gray dress buttoned to her throat, and her hair pulled back in a snug bun at the nape of her neck gave her a somber look. Cautiously, she stepped onto the sidewalk in plain view. Her knees wobbled. No one saw.
Now she had to devise a plan to get inside the bordello. Bravado and bluster had always worked for her before. Perhaps it would again. She inhaled once for courage then started forward.
The sound of Devil's voice reached her. Pressing back against the building, Angela held her breath and waited for him to move on. She remembered Devil's pronouncement that he meant to find her again. Not today. Not until she was ready.
With her heart pounding erratically, she waited until Devil disappeared. Then she set her mind to finding a way to the beautiful mansion outside of town that had become a whorehouse only a few months before.
The coach she hired dropped her off at the front door of the bordello, and Angela watched the vehicle sway down the long driveway. She schooled her nerves and inhaled one long, deep breath. The cold metal of the knocker seeped into her fingers, bringing with it a sense a glimpse of grim reality.
Just as she was about to knock, the door swung open and a huge man stared down at her. His eyes swept the length of her prim gray dress with the white lace collar. He grunted and began to close the door.
Angela stepped forward, her booted foot catching the door before it shut in her face. Her voice shook. "I'm here for the maid's position."
"There's no maid's position," he said, his voice thick, deep and gravelly, his stance immovable.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir"--she curtsied politely--"but I've got the ad for the job right here. I've come all the way from Rapid City. See?"
"There was no ad for a maid," he said.
Emma held out the yellowed newspaper, her fingers trembling so the paper shook. "You're wrong. It says"--she cleared her throat in a ladylike fashion--" 'An experienced woman needed for the upstairs rooms in the mansion just east of town.' That's me, experienced."
"You've got the wrong address," he said.
"Zeke?" a sweet voice called from somewhere inside the darkness. "Zeke, darling, who is it? Anyone interesting?"
"An upstairs maid, Miss leBon."
"Well, just don't stand there; let her in," came the breathy reply. "I've been trying for two days now to find someone who could take care of our guest."
"See, I told you there was a job."
Shaking his head, Zeke moved aside as Angela, with her chin held high, swept past him. He pointed down a long, dark corridor to a spot of light. "Go on," he said. "Velvet will be waiting, seein' as she's expectin' someone."
Pausing a moment to let her eyes adjust to the right and the strange, erotic sights in front of her, Angela let out a little gasp of surprise. Two of the banister posts were carved into private male parts, and the walls were covered with plate-glass mirrors.
Trying not to let her mouth gape open, Angela moved on wooden legs toward Madame leBon's office, a surge of fear pounding through her heart.
The parlor was deathly quiet, and the clock's chiming sounded like a death knell. A cloud of hazy smoke hung in the corridor, and even the incense floating from the madam's office didn't alleviate the musty odors clinging in the .air.
"Hello." Angela stepped forward, her hand extended in greeting. "I came for the job. The one upstairs. I'm very qualified." Angela flashed the biggest smile she could manage and hoped it was enough.
The madam didn't move, nor did her expression change. She was, Angela thought, the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. Angela let her hand fall to her side; then, not knowing what to do she wound both hands tightly together in front of her.
Madame leBon's fingers were tucked under a perfectly shaped chin, an amused smile gracing her lips. Her shiny blond hair arranged in a coronet circled her face halo-like. The dress she wore was buttoned tightly to her chin, yet the bodice accentuated the lush, full- curves of her breasts.
What struck Angela as singularly expressive were the lady's eyes. They were huge, round and a little slanted, and they were exquisitely blue. The madam's eyes sparkled like the high mountain lakes when the sun glistened on the rippling water.
Madame leBon scrutinized her for a few long seconds. Then, sitting upright, her hands resting on the desk, she said, "You'll do, but not for a maid. I've need of another girl to work the floor. Have you ever done that before?'' Her eyes searched.
Angela nodded, her breath quickening. "Yes, ma'am."
One dark blond brow rose in skepticism. "Where? You're awfully young." The madam stood then proceeded around the desk, never taking her eyes from Angela's bosom. Angela refused to squirm under Madame leBon's perusal.
The madam's question was to the point, and Angela didn't know what to say. Feigning ignorance with a bit of bravado seemed the best path.
"Aunt Mathilda's boardinghouse," she said. "I worked the main floor. Aunt Mathilda insisted on doing the bedrooms. But Auntie promised that when I turned nineteen, I could help out upstairs, too."
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