“And a sizable deposit. I believe I failed to mention that to Mr. Ribbons.”
“Won’t you come into my office, where we’ll be more comfortable?” Clark’s elegant office was furnished with a gleaming mahogany desk strewn with official-looking papers. He motioned for his guests to be seated in two leather-upholstered chairs fronting the desk, while he assumed his position of power behind it.
The men engaged in small talk, touching on the lovely weather and territorial politics. The preliminaries over, Mr. Clark turned to business. “What, may I ask, do your valuables consist of?” he queried, eyeing the leather bag resting on Jack’s lap.
“As I told Mr. Ribbons . . .” Banes began. “I have advised the judge not to disclose that information . . . for security reasons. You understand.”
“Certainly.” Clark was magnanimous. “I understand that you represent a prospective mining group.” The inflection of his voice clearly invited Judge Jack to reveal more about their business.
“Correct,” was all Jack said.
This piqued the bank official’s interest as intended. “And the size of your deposit?”
“Twenty-five thousand on this visit. I expect to have a larger sum next time.”
Clark’s eyes grew round when he heard the amount of money to be placed in his bank. His interest in the valuables waned. The bag could be full of nitroglycerine for all he cared. All that mattered was the money. “The security system in our bank is one of the best anywhere. I assure you that your money will be safe.”
Judge Jack opened the leather bag and took out a handful of bills, all of large denomination. He counted them out on the desk, handling them negligently as only the wealthy can do.
“Twenty-five thousand,” the judge finished. “And my valuables will remain in the bag, which, as you can see, locks.” The judge locked the bag and placed the key in his waistcoat pocket. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he continued, “I would like to place it in the vault myself.”
Clark jumped to his feet. “Certainly, certainly. Ribbons”—he shouted through the open door to the clerk—“write out receipts for twenty-five thousand dollars cash and for”—he hesitated, eyeing the bag—“one valise filled with valuables.” He chuckled at the vague description.
It was clear that he considered the acquisition of this new client a banking coup. After the soft-sided valise had been placed in the vault and the receipts had been delivered to Jack, Clark accompanied his guests through the bank to the front door. Just as they were preparing to leave, he held the door closed momentarily and blocked their departure with his body.
“Gentlemen, the annual ball honoring the 1850 formation of the territory of New Mexico is tonight. Our territorial governor and other dignitaries will be in attendance. I would be honored to have you as my guests. The ball begins at eight o’clock in the town hall.”
Jack and Banes looked at each other questioningly. Finally, Jack nodded graciously. “We would be delighted. Until tonight, at eight.”
At precisely nine o’clock that evening Judge Jack and Colonel Banes entered the ball. Jack was dressed in evening wear, a black suit of superfine with a winter-white silk cravat and waistcoat. He carried a gold-topped cane in his gloved hand. Colonel Banes sparkled in his military dress uniform. Their late arrival created somewhat of a stir, as was their intention.
Clark hurried over to greet his esteemed guests. He introduced them to the welcoming board: John Carrington, owner of the White Castle Hotel, Leonard Albert, chairman of the Cattleman’s Association, and Judson Smyth, secretary to the territorial governor.
“Judge Jack”—Smyth threw his head back and adopted an official tone—“I would like to present the governor of the Territory of New Mexico, His Excellency, Mr. Ned Casson.”
Jack listened for the sound of trumpets as Smyth stepped aside, revealing the governor. Casson had a strong-boned face with a hard, sardonic quality to it. He was the ultimate politician, outgoing, warm, and friendly, while at the same time calculating, fake, and slightly arrogant.
As if he were giving his inaugural address, the governor explained the significance of the ball to the Territory of New Mexico, giving minute details of its history. He then shared his vision of the glorious future of the territory, predicting that Congress would soon grant them statehood.
Jack and Banes listened attentively, nodding occasionally to show agreement or surprise. Finally, Casson moved in for the kill. “The future of our territory depends upon men like you. I’ve been told that you’ve struck it big in the mine fields. May I ask what you’ve found? Gold? Silver?”
Colonel Banes looked at Judge Jack and then back to the governor, stalling for time. He cleared his throat and feigned gravity. “You understand our desire for secrecy.”
The governor assured him vigorously, barely able to contain his excitement.
Judge Jack stepped closer and spoke softly. “The group I represent has discovered what appears to be one of the biggest diamond strikes in the world.”
Casson’s eyes snapped with delight and burned with greed. “Does the bag you deposited with Mr. Clark today contain samples?”
“It does,” Jack conceded. “But I would remind you that we don’t want word of our strike to get out until we have verified the gems through an independent expert and have had time to form a corporation for their extraction and disposal. I’m sure you understand.”
“Absolutely,” the governor fawned. “I assure you that nothing you reveal to me or to Mr. Clark will go beyond us.” He paused. “I would like to see your samples, however.”
Jack appeared to consider the matter gravely. When sweat popped out on the governor’s brow, he hid a smile. “Very well. If it is convenient, we will meet you gentlemen at the bank in the morning, say about ten o’clock.”
Governor Casson beamed. “Very good!” He bid Jack and Banes good-bye reluctantly and moved to the other guests.
The colonel turned to Judge Jack. “You sly devil. With your cunning you should be in the Washington diplomatic corps.”
“That’s a thought, my friend. But I understand the pay isn’t so good.”
Jack and Banes chuckled together. A moment later Judson Smyth approached them with a brightly clothed woman slinking along at his side.
Judson might be in his mid-thirties, but he looked older. He was a short, rather nondescript person, slightly balding, with an unattractive paunch, the kind of person whose age is difficult to determine.
“Judge Jack, Colonel Banes, may I present my wife, Rachel Smyth.”
Jack and Banes bowed over Rachel’s hand. Jack decided she was attractive in a showy sort of way.
With long eyelashes fluttering, she enthusiastically greeted the judge, not sparing Banes so much as a glance. Her bois de rose ball gown was cut very low, revealing the high swells of her blue-veined breasts. Masses of red curls were elaborately arranged in a chignon, complete with feathers and a miniature bouquet of dog roses. The feathers looked like a bird in flight each time she flirtatiously tossed her head.
Everything about her seemed calculated to get a rise out of a man. In Judge Jack’s case, she succeeded. A slight flicker of recognition crossed his mind, but he was unable to place her.
“You’re a judge?” she questioned Jack with her heavy Southern drawl. I didn’t know we had such handsome judges out west.”
She stared overlong at Judge Jack’s eye patch. When he glared back, she appeared distressed. “Oh, you must forgive my rudeness, staring like that. It’s just that your patch adds a hint of mystery. Did you lose your eye fighting during the war?” she asked brazenly.
Jack nodded. “At the Battle of Atlanta.” It was a brazen lie. He had never served in the army. Actually, he had lost his eye in a scrape with the law. But the war-hero scenario was much more beneficial, particularly with women.
Rachel affected an exaggerated pout. “You poor thing.”
“You mustn’t distress yourself on my account, Mrs. Smyth. One becomes accusto
med after a while.” He waved her concern away. “I even find it amusing when my friends call me One-Eyed Jack.”
Rachel laid her hand on Judge Jack’s arm. “Just so, you’re a hero. In fact, you’re obviously a man of great accomplishment. I understand you’ve made a big strike in the mine fields.”
Sputtering and coughing, Judson interrupted his wife before she could say more. “My wife speaks a little bluntly at times, Judge.” His face flamed with embarrassment. “I hope you will forgive her.”
“I think your wife is charming, Smyth.”
“How sweet you are,” Rachel oozed, then cast her husband a fulminating glare.
“We should mingle, my dear.” He grabbed her arm, showing more spunk than Judge Jack would have thought him capable of.
“Very well.” Rachel jerked her arm out of his grasp. “I’ll save you a dance, Judge. Later.” Her eyes promised more than a dance.
“It will be my pleasure.”
Smyth led his wife away, talking to her in low tones.
“I believe the lady’s being scolded.” Banes chuckled. “She’s a brazen hussy, I’ll have to say.”
Judge Jack’s response to Banes’s observation was not a smile, but a leer.
During the course of the evening Jack and Banes were questioned time and again about their strike. They always dismissed the issue out of hand.
Satisfied that they had aroused the curiosity of Santa Fe’s wealthiest citizens, Jack decided it was time for him to collect on Rachel Smyth’s verbal promise of a dance . . . and her nonverbal promise of much more. He ambled over to her. “Mrs. Smyth, may I have this dance?”
“I’d be delighted.”
He took her into his arms and led her lightly over the floor. As they floated to the tune of a Viennese waltz, he maneuvered her into an alcove that was blocked from the ballroom proper by a series of overgrown palms.
They continued to sway to the music. Rachel pressed her lips against Jack’s throat, breathing shallowly, flicking her tongue out, causing goose flesh to rise on his neck. “My husband’s work takes him away from home. A healthy woman gets lonely.” She moved against him seductively.
Jack’s passion was kindled by Rachel’s forwardness. The desire flashing in her eyes made her invitation unmistakable. “It’s a shame for such a beautiful woman to be lonely,” he played along. “When do you think your next lonely moment might occur?”
A gleam of triumph shone in Rachel’s fiery eyes. “Right after the ball. Seems there’s an emergency. My husband has to go to Albuquerque on government business tonight. He’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Rachel honey,” Justin’s voice called from the other side of the palms as if on cue.
“I live on San Francisco Street just three blocks from here. You can’t miss it; it’s the big white house on the left,” she whispered before disappearing around the foliage.
Jack and Banes made their way to the hotel. The judge paused at the entrance to the open bar. “How about a drink?”
Banes yawned hugely behind his hand. “Believe I’ll turn in.”
“Okay. You go ahead. I’ll have a nightcap. See you in the morning.”
Fifteen
Jack approached the Smyth home, cutting through the darkness swiftly, like a hot knife through butter. A candle burned in the window, lighting his way up the walk. He smiled in anticipation and rapped his knuckles against the carved oak door.
Rachel opened the door immediately, dressed in a transparent nightgown of scarlet lace. The room behind her was dimly lit by red tapers. The faint glow of candlelight failed to reveal her more obvious physical imperfections. With her flaming hair hovering around her torso like a silken cape, she was a sight to accelerate any man’s heart.
Any man save the blond lawman watching the twosome intently from across the street. He knew Rachel for the hard-hearted, lying, murdering trollop that she was. And if it was the last thing he ever did, he would see her punished for the heinous crimes she had committed.
“I thought you would never get here,” Rachel said flatly, drawing the judge into the room and slamming the door, hiding them from the jewel-green eyes that burned in the shadows.
The seductive mood was shattered. All coquetry was gone from Rachel’s voice. She took Jack by the hand and led him to her bedroom. A bottle of wine rested on a small table beside a flickering candle. Two wineglasses had already been filled. “Sit,” she ordered.
Jack sat down, somewhat bemused.
She perched on an embroidered chair and stared soberly into his eyes. “Tell me, Judge, do you miss Chicago?”
A flash of surprise crossed Jack’s face before he hid his alarm. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Smyth. I’ve never been to Chicago.”
She smiled like a hound on the scent of a hare. “Indeed? Does the name Josh Elam mean anything to you? You remember, the president of the First State Bank of Chicago?”
Jack’s color rose in the dim light. “Go on.”
“It’s not very flattering that you don’t remember me.” Jack searched his memory for a woman who resembled Rachel. The vision of a raven-haired teller came to mind.
“Ah, you do remember. That’s better.” She smiled, the air of seduction evident in her expression and demeanor once again. “I must compliment you. Your scheme was the finest piece of double-dealing chicanery I had ever seen. As I recall, you walked away with one hundred thousand dollars.”
“You have a good memory, my dear. With admirers like you, I regret leaving Chicago.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. If you had stayed around, Josh Elam would have lynched you.” She made a show of reaching for her glass of wine, taking a sip, and staring wide-eyed at Jack over the rim. “When I saw you in the bank this morning, I knew you were involved in another scam. And that masquerade you put on tonight, acting coy about your big strike . . . how shameful.” Her expression said something else altogether. “Those fools hanging around the governor haven’t the sense God promised a cross-eyed mule. Else they would have seen right through you.”
“But they didn’t see through me.” His expression was mildly menacing. “And they won’t unless you tell them.”
“Oh, I won’t tell them,” she whispered huskily. “I want in on the deal.”
“Why should I let you in?”
“I could send you to jail for the rest of your life”—she paused, a hard glint entering her eye—“you wouldn’t like jail. I’ve been there. It’s not a nice place at all.”
“You, in jail?”
She waved his question away. “It’s not a subject I care to discuss. That’s in the past. I’d rather discuss the future. Our future. I have much to offer you. I’m in a position to know the governor’s thoughts on nearly every subject, practically before he even thinks them. Since he obviously fits into your plan, not having to second-guess his next move could be invaluable.” She raised her perfectly arched brows fractionally.
“I’m still listening.”
“I’m also quite adept at using my feminine charms as a means of persuasion.” She smiled and fluttered her dark eyelashes provocatively.
This time Jack was unmoved by Rachel’s flirtations. “What do you want out of all this?”
“A share of the take. And I want out of here. When you leave, I want you to take me with you. Unless I miss my guess, when you pull this off, you’ll have to go far, far away. I want to go with you.” Where Jay Hampton can never find me, she added silently.
“And what about your husband? What if he presents a problem?”
“Then we’ll just have to kill the son of a bitch, won’t we?”
Jack studied her for a moment, considering her proposal. She was correct; prior information regarding the governor’s thinking could prove invaluable. Her feminine charms might also come in handy somewhere down the line. Furthermore, since she already knew who he was, he either had to take her in or kill her. At the moment he didn’t want to kill her. It might raise suspicions. And her
body was tempting. “You’re in.”
He summarized his actions thus far, as the seduction commenced. As he spoke, he reached across the table and took her hand. First, he explained, he had gotten himself appointed district judge of Adobe Wells through the efforts of Willard Banes. This enabled him to raise capital through taxes and fines. Second, he had either bribed or intimidated the mayor and town council until they allowed him to take over Sandy Johns’s land, which was the ideal setting for his diamond mine, far enough out of town to provide privacy, close enough to be readily accessible. He left out the part about having Jeff Johns shot. That act had discouraged opposition from anyone else. If only his men had checked to be sure the breed was dead. . .
“Where did the diamonds come from?” She sighed as his fingers inched up her arm, brushing the outside of her breast in passing.
“Through an acquaintance of mine in South Africa I bought uncut diamonds to entice even the most conservative capitalist.” He placed his fingers on Rachel’s cheek, slowly tracing her porcelainlike skin down her neck. “I’ve hired miners to give the project an air of legitimacy. Two of them had served time in prison for salting mines. The promise of a generous reward persuaded them to try it again. The diamonds are embedded in the walls and ceiling of a hidden chamber. It’ll take an expert to discover the fraud.”
He rose and walked around to her side of the table. Standing, she placed his hands on her breasts, then slid them down over her lace gown to rest on the swell of her hips. His breathing quickened.
“Go on,” she whispered.
“I plan to convince Clark and Governor Casson that the mine is genuine. Using their influence, I’ll sell my interest to the highest bidder, then clear out of town before the scam is uncovered. By the time mining engineers are hired and production has begun, I’ll be long gone.”
Rachel placed her lips on his. Her tongue moved lightly across his mouth. “We’ll be long gone.”
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