Tarnished Angel (7 page)

    As for business, there was no doubt his appearance added to his credibility as one of the richest men in this part of the country. He looked the part, played the part, every inch the man he appeared to be. He was handsome, rich, well known in the financial community, where he was considered shrewd and almost invincible. He had long ago decided he would do anything he deemed necessary to maintain his position and expand his wealth, and he had followed that philosophy avidly all of his life.

    Which brought him to his presently unsettling state of affairs. The fury he had suppressed in deference to his daughter's presence now surged to life, flooding his smooth-shaven cheeks with color. He had evaded Devina's questions about the latest robbery because he had not wished her to see how very frustrated he was by the apparent success of the vendetta being waged against him. Yes, he had enemies, but up until now they had been ineffective against him. The situation was beginning to change. Six payrolls had been stolen, and in the face of Till-Dale's current shortage of liquid assets, he was beginning to feel the pinch.

    But Harvey's fury did not stem entirely from financial concerns. A new dimension had been added to his rage with the realization that a criminal a common thief had actually had the audacity to abuse his beautiful daughter, to threaten her life!

    Harvey took a deep breath and made an effort to bring his emotions under control. It would do no good to allow anger to rule his thoughts. Instead, he would intensify his efforts to identify the men who waged a war against him. When that was accomplished, he would have them hunted down. He would see them imprisoned for the crimes they had committed against him, and for the unpardonable affront of touching Devina.

    Harvey turned onto Third Street. The congenial manner he had exhibited at the breakfast table for Devina's benefit had been replaced by the stiff arrogance that had become his trademark, and he grimaced as the buildings at the intersection of
Toughnut
Street and Third came into view. He would take care of his business in this unpleasant section of town, and then he would meet with, George
Tillson
, his partner and attorney. George was as close a friend as Harvey would allow. Together they had   formed Till-Dale Enterprises and brought it to its present position, and together they would be victorious over the common thieves who threatened them.

    But first things first.

    Stepping up onto the board sidewalk, Harvey walked arrogantly into a small cheese and Chinese delicacies store. He glanced around impatiently, ignoring the various Oriental objects on display. He felt a personal flash of satisfaction as a silent clerk appeared, only to turn and melt immediately back through the doorway at the rear of the shop. Yes, that little Chinese lackey knew Harvey Dale would deal with no one but the person in charge, and that person was doubtless in the back, supervising the organized gambling in the rear room.

    Harvey gave a low snort as his mind was touched by a reluctant admiration for China Mary's business establishment. It offered gambling fan-tan, mostly, amply supervised by unofficial Chinese policemen prostitution, opium dens, work contracts for the five hundred Orientals in Tombstone, and hop for the women of the red-light district, a traffic that had given this section of town its name: Hop Town. One person China
Maryran
it all and supervised Tong affairs as well.

    The curtain to the rear of the store stirred gently, then parted to allow a short, ample feminine figure to pass through. Clad in the rich silks and rare jewelry that were her trademark, China Mary approached with a silent, brisk step. Stopping just short of him, the lamp overhead clearly illuminating the liberal streaking of gray in her dark, tightly bound hair, China Mary smiled, her face creasing into myriad lines.

    "Ah, Mr. Dale, what may I do for you today?"

    Harvey's neglect of the amenities was a calculated insult as he spoke with barely concealed condescension. "My daughter has just arrived from the East. I need a servant for her, a woman who can be trusted. I need someone special, Mary, not the usual run of dirty laborers you provide for doing laundry and other menial chores. I need someone who will be able to function as a personal maid for her. My daughter is well educated and intelligent. She will not suffer a slow, ignorant, unclean person around her."

    Harvey noted with silent satisfaction the narrowing of China Mary's small eyes. China Mary was respected in some parts of Tombstone. Some spoke of her generosity to those in need    Americans as well as her own people but to him, she was nothing more than a Chinese immigrant who had managed to raise herself a step above the muck in which the rest of her people were mired. But he knew Mary could be trusted to keep her word. It was her word, in fact, that had kept her bound to him in payment of a debt that surpassed financial considerations. He had made sure she would be a long time in repaying it.

    Harvey's sharp eyes pinned her. "Do you know of someone who will be able to fill those qualifications?"

    Hesitating only briefly, Mary nodded. "I know just the person you seek."

    Satisfaction twitched at the corner of Harvey's mouth. "I'll need her at my house today."

    "Yes, Mr. Dale. It will be done."

    Harvey was beginning to feel better already. He perused China Mary's face with half-closed eyes, noting and enjoying the hint of subservience in her demeanor, which he knew she displayed for no one other than him. His power over this woman, whose command of the Oriental community was unchallenged, was a heady stimulant.

    "Is there anything else I may do for you, Mr. Dale?"

    Harvey paused, his eyes moving to the narrow staircase at the far end of the dimly lit store. The thought of the small room upstairs, where he had spent many sensual hours, unexpectedly set his heart racing. A telltale stirring in his loins caused him to reach into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdraw an elaborately filigreed watch. He flicked open the cover in an offhand manner that he hoped appeared casual. It would not do to betray his growing physical arousal. He did not wish to allow Mary that much power over him.

    Realizing he had not even seen the Roman numerals on the expensive timepiece, Harvey nodded. "Yes, I think so. I seem to have an hour to spare this morning."

    China Mary's face remained unchanged, her smile fixed, but Harvey was not fooled. Sensing her reaction to his words, he spoke slowly, drawing out the time so he might achieve full satisfaction from the woman's discomfort. "I think I should like to go upstairs."

    China Mary was no longer smiling. "Perhaps a visit to the very comfortable dwelling next door. Mei Ling and Gin Lon would be honored by your presence."

    "I have no use for professional prostitutes, most especially of your race. No, I choose to wander in a more chaste garden. I should like to bask in the beauty of a graceful lily."

    "The one whom you seek is not available in this day."

    "Make her available."

    "She has gone on a personal errand; I know not where."

    "You know everything that goes on in Tombstone, Mary. Get her back here. Now."

    Her eyes holding his in open challenge for the briefest second, Mary gave a short nod.

    "That's better." Turning toward the narrow staircase that beckoned him, Harvey took only two steps, then turned to garner Mary's gaze once more. "I do not expect to be kept waiting for longer than five minutes, Mary. I need not remind you that you will do well not to disappoint me."

    Waiting only a moment longer for her nod of acquiescence, Harvey was soon ascending the narrow staircase.

    His face covered with a sheen of perspiration, Ross glanced up toward the unrelenting sun and muttered a curse under his breath. He adjusted his position as he lay on his stomach on the hard packed ground, sending a quick glance around him to again curse the rolling landscape, which was entirely devoid of trees. Where was the breeze that could usually be counted upon to adequately cool a man before he expired from the heat? This morning, of all mornings, the air was perfectly still.

    Ross trained his spyglass on the Dale house in the distance. Having arrived a short time before, he had tethered his horse on the far side of the hill, climbed to the top of the rise, found a position suitable for silent observation, and made himself as comfortable as possible. He had known he was in for a long siege, but he had not realized how very uncomfortable it would be.

    Damn, he had not figured the haughty Miss Dale to be a recluse. He had expected that she would be moving about town by now. His annoyance flared, and Ross reminded himself that this was but the first day of a surveillance he expected would be of considerable duration. When Miss Dale's routine was established and he had decided which time of day she would be most vulnerable, he would take action.

    Continuing his perusal of the impressive Dale residence, Ross   gave a low snort. The biggest house in Tombstone, in the center of the elegant north-eastern corner of town. Of course, Harvey Dale would be satisfied with nothing less. Dale had no compunction about spending other people's money.

    A sign of movement at the rear door of the house interrupted Ross's thoughts. He adjusted his glass so he might more clearly see the figure that emerged. A low, spontaneous gasp escaped his lips as Devina Dale stepped out into the morning sunlight. The rapid escalation of his heartbeat revealing his affected state, Ross again adjusted his glass in an attempt to achieve sharper focus.

    Firmly refusing to acknowledge his own intense reaction to Devina Dale, even at a distance, Ross watched as she walked slowly down the two steps into the yard. She was perusing the countryside. Her concentration on a point in his direction afforded him an unrestricted view of her face, and his heart leaped in his chest. The tilt of her chin was almost regal, and she wore her hair piled high atop her head. He had never seen hair quite that color before, a peculiar shade of pale blond that was almost silver. It glowed in the brilliant light, a soft, glimmering halo.

    She was standing so still. Her smooth, perfect face was sober. She continued to look in his direction unseeingly, her mind obviously far from the hills into which she stared. What was she thinking?

    Ross gave a short impatient snort. What in hell was the matter with him, anyway? The little tart was probably thinking of her home, wherever that
wasNew
York, most likely. She was probably thinking how unfair it was that she had been forced to associate with the barely civilized residents of this small, uninteresting frontier town.

    Yes, he had not forgotten the cutting words she'd used in her harangue of the guiltless stationmaster prior to boarding that smaller coach in Benson. The poor man's ears were probably still ringing.

    Refusing to lower his glass while Devina Dale looked in his direction, Ross uttered a low, incredulous sound. How could a man as corrupt as Harvey Dale have produced a daughter who looked like an angel? And she did appear angelic, all right, especially in that soft blue dress, which even at a distance he could tell was the same shade as her brilliant eyes. Ross's lips tightened. What a waste the face of an angel, the heart of a   shrew. Well, a little patience and he'd have the opportunity to express his opinion of Devina Dale directly to her face…

    A bustle of movement in the rear doorway of the house interrupted Ross's thoughts as a large woman appeared. Devina Dale turned toward her and shook her head. The woman went back inside the house.

    His eye glued to his glass, Ross followed Devina's slender figure until it disappeared through the rear doorway. Unable to look away, he willed her to come out once more, but she did not. Ross waited a few minutes longer, then finally lowered his glass. Despite himself, he could not shake an inexplicable sense of loss.

    Harvey paced the small, meticulously neat room with annoyed anticipation. He checked his watch with a frown, finally removing his fashionable bowler to toss it atop the circular table in the corner. He disliked waiting. Most especially, he disliked waiting under these circumstances.

    Harvey flicked his glance around the room in careless appraisal. He had been in this room many times, yet he never failed to be amazed at the skill with which it was decorated, despite the foreign flavor of its composition. Silk wall hangings, lacquered furniture, the intimate attention to detail that was characteristic of the Oriental mind, whether in the workplace or in the creation of beauty. The room would have been considered lovely by one who enjoyed an exotic flavor. But he most definitely was not one of them. He silently admitted that the decor of the room reflected the personality of its inhabitant. The admission annoyed him almost as much as did his own presence in the room that morning. For the hundredth time he wondered what he was doing here.

    His fine gray mustache twitched with irritation. He had had no intention of climbing the narrow staircase this morning. His thoughts had been elsewhere, firmly ensconced in other matters, but somehow…