by Lisa Bingham
He didn’t answer immediately, and she wondered if he meant to ignore her, until he answered softly, “Ghosts.”
The word was so starkly painful for him to utter, she found she couldn’t press him for more answers. To her surprise, he continued: “Do you have ghosts, Fiona? Past events that return to haunt you?”
“Don’t we all?” she echoed, thinking of how hard she’d worked these last few days, how hard she’d tried to bury her immigrant status, only to have the past rise like a specter.
He remained still, so still.
“Well, I’ve made quite a few enemies in my time.”
“I suppose your job demands it.”
They faced each other, neither moving. Jacob was the first to shift, resheathing his weapon and prowling toward her. “Do you consider yourself one of those enemies, Fiona?”
His words took her by surprise. As did the expression he wore. One that was intent. Serious. Hungry.
“I used to think so.”
“And now?”
He stopped mere inches in front of her, cupping her cheeks.
“The Beasleys,” she breathed in warning. “What if they’re—”
“There’s no one here.”
“How can ye be so sure?”
“There’s no one here.”
Then there were no more words. His head bent, his mouth taking hers in a searing kiss, one that searched for the answers she had been so reluctant to give. Answers to the true depth of her feelings, her uncontrollable needs.
He drew her close, and their brush with death caused her to cling to his shoulders, his arms, needing his strength and heat much more than she could ever admit. When his hands fumbled with the buttons of her suit, she moaned deep in her throat, pulling away to whisper, “Yes, yes.”
Finally he managed to free the fasteners enough to reveal the next layer of clothing. His sigh of frustration brushed across her lips. “What in the hell do you have on?”
“Only the true trappings of a lady.”
“Right now I would wish you into your washerwoman costume.”
“You just can’t seem to make up your mind.”
The teasing light faded from his eyes, replaced by a seriousness she could not ignore. “I think my mind is set.”
She could barely breathe at what she saw deep in his gaze.
“I want you, Fiona. I don’t know when all this happened, I don’t know how. I only know that I spend too much time thinking of you, wondering what you’re doing when I’m not here.”
The words hung in the air, bold, powerful.
When she didn’t speak, he asked, “Does that surprise you?”
“No.”
“It does me.”
When her eyes averted in hurt, he forced her to look at him. “It surprises the hell out of me that I could feel this way about any woman. In the past, my overriding concern has been my job. Only my job. I never allowed anyone close enough to care.”
She touched his chin, his lips, her fingers trembling noticeably. As much as she wished she didn’t have to be the voice of caution, she knew she had to think of where all this would leave them. “Don’t indulge your feelings, Jacob.”
His eyes narrowed in confusion. Obviously, it wasn’t the answer he was expecting.
“I can never be enough for you.”
“You’re more than I’ve ever wanted.”
“I’m not good enough for you.”
“Like hell.”
“I’ve lied, I’ve stolen, I’ve cheated.” Those were the ghosts she had to contend with. She knew that Jacob didn’t want to be influenced by such things, but she saw the way his eyes dimmed. “You’ve spent your whole life putting people like that in jail.”
“The governor is willing to pardon you.”
“But are you, Jacob?” There it was, her greatest fear: Could Jacob Grey, lawman, forgive the fact that she had a past? One that he had spent a lifetime pursuing? “Can you forget what has occurred, can you drive it from your mind, can you give me a fresh start, living each day with no regrets?”
“Of course.”
“Such a simple answer, but said without a moment’s thought.”
He tried to brush her concerns aside, but now that she’d started, she refused to quit. “What will you do when someone recognizes me? When someone realizes that you, a U.S. marshal, are openly consorting with a known criminal? What will you do when you have to introduce me to your colleagues, your governor, knowing that all along they are quite aware of what I’ve done?”
“You’ll be pardoned.”
“But can a pardon erase what has passed?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. The confusion written on his face was enough for her.
Bit by bit, she slipped from his grasp. “I suppose I have my answer, then.”
“Fiona—”
“No.” She held up a hand. “Don’t apologize, don’t try to explain. Right now, I don’t want to hear the words. I don’t want to hear that I’m right in my assumptions. You might not say so out loud, but I’d hear the pity in your voice. The silent recriminations.”
Reaching behind her to sweep her train out of the way, she retreated several steps. “I suppose we were only fooling ourselves into thinking that a mule in horse’s clothing could be anything but a mule.”
Dub Merritt moaned and roused himself from sleep. In the time he’d been at Holy Mercy Hospital, he’d learned to recognize the staccato footsteps of the woman who served as his nurse, the grumblings of the medics, the slow, weary gait of the doctor. But something had awakened him. Something not quite right.
His lashes opened. Dawn had not yet come; night had not yet passed. Of all the hours he had grown to dread in his life, this was it. During his stint at Exeter, the gloom of midnight lingered far too long, reminding him that it would be hours until his shift ended. In the hospital, his dislike of this portion of the day had not dimmed. In fact, it had increased. He often woke to such overwhelming darkness, that pressed upon him like a woolen shroud, reminding him too eloquently that he was mortal. Weak. Alone.
“Hello, Dub.”
The words melted out of the shadows beside his bed, startling him. He jumped, his heart beginning to pound unaccountably.
“Who’s there?”
“A friend. An associate.”
But the tone of the words was far from congenial. A chill lingered behind them. A threat.
Dub’s fingers clenched at the blankets, drawing them beneath his chin. Blinking, he tried to see a face, a shape, anything to help him pinpoint the identity of his visitor. But the curtains had been drawn around his bed, blocking out what little light might have seeped into the ward from the hall. His chest ached, his body throbbed, but the presence would not leave him alone.
“Who?”
“I told you… a friend.”
When he received no name, no reassurance, Dub released one hand, slowly inching it across the bed and curling it beneath the mattress.
“Searching for something?”
The query was low, nearly feral. Quiet. Long before he reached the spot where the knife should have been hidden, Dub knew what he would find.
Nothing.
In an instant, he recognized the man who stood beside his bed. He’d heard that silky tone in prison.
“Judge… Krupp.”
“Very good.”
Dub’s strident breathing filled the silence. “What… do you… want of me?”
“How much did you tell him?”
“Who?”
“I don’t play games, Dub.”
Dub licked his lips. He felt weak, so weak. His body was on fire; the beating of his heart settled in the pit of his stomach. But he didn’t dare surrender consciousness. Not with the threat of this man so near.
“I didn’t… tell him… a… thing.”
“Neither am I a fool.”
The keen bite of a blade pricked his nec
k, and Dub gasped.
“What did you tell him about the prison break?”
“Your… name.”
“And?”
“I … described the man… who shot me.”
“I see. Tell me: What information do you intend to offer me in return?”
“I … don’t know… anything.”
The knife bit deeper. Dub could feel a trickle of blood seep down his throat.
“What’s on the lawman’s mind?”
“I—I… don’t—” He bit off the excuse when the blade slid a fraction of an inch to one side. “I don’t know!”
“There’s a woman with Marshal Grey. What is her name?”
“I don’t… know about… woman.”
“Give me her name.”
“I don’t… know!” Krupp cruelly grasped his hair, jerking his head back and causing his neck to grow taut beneath the blade. Dub sobbed. “I… don’t know! I… swear!”
“Surely you’ve heard something of Grey’s current case.”
“No!” The knife sliced, burned. “I’ve told… every… thing!”
Krupp stepped away, the blade lifted. Sobbing, Dub pressed a shaking hand to his throat, feeling the warmth of his own blood. His consciousness wavered, a weakness closing in, but he couldn’t surrender. Not yet.
“You’d better not have lied to me.”
Dub shook his head, having no energy for more of a response.
“Oh, and Dub…” Krupp slapped something on his chest, something that rattled suspiciously like a stiff piece of paper. “Pass this on to your lawman friend when next you meet.”
Dub reached to take it, but his hand never touched the spot. There was a rush of air, a slight whistling, then a pain, an overwhelming pain, as the knifeblade plunged into his chest. Then there was nothing but the haunting threat of death. Here. Alone.
In a darkness that was not quite dawn. Not quite night.
Chapter 12
The halls of the Walloby Bank and Trust were quiet, eerie. Without customers and employees, the establishment inspired a cool, unsettling feeling to wriggle into Jacob’s gut. Much like tiptoeing through a crypt.
Ignoring the unsettling comparison, Jacob made his way resolutely through the tangled corridors until he saw a thin brushstroke of yellow from beneath the door to the president’s office. Holding his revolver at the ready, he stepped noiselessly inside.
“It’s about time you got here.”
Ethan McGuire turned, holding aloft two glasses of amber liquid. “Pull up a chair.”
On the surface, he spoke the usual banalities expected of a man who is about to entertain his brother-in-law, but Jacob sensed the undercurrents wrestling beneath the surface.
“You heard?”
McGuire’s startling blue eyes grew even deeper in color. “Imagine my surprise: I go home for a little tea and sympathy, only to discover my house as empty as a ghost town.”
“I—”
Ethan waved away anything he might have said. “You did the right thing. I appreciate the deputies you sent with my family.” He stroked the side of his glass with his thumb. “I just wish all this hadn’t happened so close to the baby’s arrival.” His tone became steely. “So we’d better get this counterfeiting mess wrapped up, hadn’t we?”
Jacob’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. Although he and Ethan had developed a grudging sort of friendship and respect over the last few years, he couldn’t deny Ethan’s love for his sister. That same love that had convinced Jacob to believe Ethan’s avowals of innocence so long before.
“Let’s get to work.”
Ethan set his glass down and rolled a map onto the blotter of the desk. “I’ve marked in blue all those areas where I was able to find strong evidence that Kensington is the man responsible for the spread of counterfeiting. Those circled are the areas where I’ve found bankers who would be willing to come forth with information and testimony if he’s tried.”
“So all we have to do is catch the man red-handed.”
“Exactly.” He pointed to the other markings on the map. “I traced the train’s path, here, in red. Those areas shaded in yellow are the spots where stops will be made, as well as the approximate routes the horse-and-buggy excursions will take.”
Jacob leaned close. “I’ve got men stationed in most of these areas already. I’ve been trying to get them all in position the last couple of days.”
“How many will go on the train itself?”
“Nearly a dozen.”
“Good. I’ve taken care of my own passage. As you’d requested, I’ll board a separate car, be seen with Fiona one or two times at dinner as if we are distant acquaintances, then casually introduce her into one of Kensington’s card games.” He grinned. “I’ve already developed a bit of a… losing reputation with the man, so I’m sure to be given an invitation. But I warn you: Once she’s been admitted into his magic circle, I plan to leave the train and return to my wife.”
Jacob nodded in understanding. “I appreciate the fact that you’re still willing to come at all. Kensington has met Fiona and expressed some interest, but whether or not he’ll allow her to play cards with him is another thing. We need someone like you, someone who’s already been a part of his games, to help ease her into his serious bouts of poker.”
“Do you think she’s ready for the job?”
A reluctant smile touched the corners of Jacob’s lips. “You know, I think she is—if we can just remind her to stay calm enough so that she’ll refrain from speaking with that Irish brogue of hers.”
“What about your expenses?”
“The government has picked up most of the tab. I’ve used a bit of your own money for the rest.” His brows lifted. “The Beasleys have a rather expensive taste in clothing.”
“Goaded on by my wife, no doubt. I’ve seen her cutting pictures out of her ladies’ magazines to copy.”
“They’ve kept most of the purchases hidden away in the Beasleys’ room, but what I’ve seen of the results is well worth the expenditure.”
“Are you sure you have enough money to cover any extra expenses?”
“Plenty. Thanks. I also appreciate the use of the private railway car you’ve put at our disposal. I think it will give her ruse an air of authenticity.”
“What about your own men? How will they travel?”
“I’ve arranged for a boxcar to hold mounts and ammunition. The rest will be scattered throughout the train itself.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “A boxcar…” he murmured more to himself than to Jacob. “Did you know that Kensington also arranged for a boxcar?”
Jacob felt a shiver of unease trickle down his spine. “Whatever for?”
“Well?” Stone asked as Krupp stepped inside the abandoned tenement complex.
“Dub Merritt won’t be telling tales.” Krupp moved to the grimy window and peered out to ensure he hadn’t been followed. Because of its position below ground level, he could see little more than the boots of passersby, but he didn’t care. There were no bars to obstruct his vision. Night had closed in, casting a beautiful sooty depth onto the rough stones. The blackness eased into his soul, soothing him after so many months in prisons where at least one gas lamp was kept eternally lit.
“Were you able to find out anything about the woman Jacob has holed up in the Grand Estate?” While he’d tended to business, Krupp had sent Stone on a ferreting mission of his own.
“According to the chambermaid I bribed at the hotel, her name is Fiona McFee. She’s a wealthy British widow, and the gossip being whispered through the staff at the Grand Estate has it that she’s a gambler as well.”
“A gambler? Consorting with Jacob Grey?” Krupp’s finger rubbed the side of his nose. “Doubtful. The man wouldn’t openly associate with anyone of that nature.”
“That’s all I’ve been able to ascertain so far.”
“McFee… McFee. You followed one of Jac
ob’s deputies to a hotel in the middle of town. Wasn’t that the name of the prisoner being held there?”
Stone grinned, nodding. “I’d say our Mr. Grey is using the man as a hostage of sorts.”
Krupp’s features lightened ever so slightly. “Of course! Use a gambler to trap a gambler! He must be holding the old man over the woman’s head, so to speak, hoping that she can entice Kensington into her confidences. Unless she does what he wants, he’ll probably punish the old man somehow.”
“What do you intend to do?”
Krupp pursed his lips, but he couldn’t contain the smile that curved at the edges of his mouth. Laughing softly to himself, he moved to the far cupboard. There he withdrew a knife, which he slid into his boot, and a pistol, which he tucked into his waistband beneath his coat. Grinning, he turned to his partner.
“I think it’s time we raised the stakes a bit.”
“In what way?”
Krupp leaned close. “Grey is using that old man as leverage. What would he do if that source of influence were suddenly removed?”
Stone’s mouth twitched in an answering smile. “A man in his custody.”
“A man he’s sworn to protect.”
Stone laughed. “He’d have a devil of a time explaining himself to the powers that be.”
“Come along, Stone. We’ve got a little job to do.”
He’d only taken a step when Stone caught his arm. “All of this is well and good for trapping Grey, but what about his sister and her husband? They helped to land us in jail.”
“Patience, my good man. Patience. First we take care of Jacob. His loss will be devastating to them both. People in mourning make mistakes. Once we’ve taken care of him, we’ll move on to less important targets.”
It was morning when a scream erupted from deep inside the Liberty Hotel. Across the street, Stone was casually walking away, but Krupp lingered in the shadows of the alley, listening with great glee as the hotel staff found the two bodies that had been dragged into the corridor, lawmen who had been guarding a mysterious old man with a penchant for good whiskey and fried eggs.