By Starlight (16 page)

“Never been better!” Seth declared, punctuating his statement by raising a finger into the air so quickly that he nearly tipped onto the floor.

“Do you need help getting to bed?”

“Nonsense, my boy,” Seth pooh-poohed. “I’ll just sit here a minute, catch my second wind, and then retire for the night. Go on. I’ll be fine.”

Jack shook his head. He knew there wasn’t any point in arguing further. It’d already been like pulling teeth to help Seth home safely. He had complained every step of the way. Even if he fell asleep right where he was, at least he was home.

Back outside, Jack considered heading back to the speakeasy to see if Maddy was still there. They’d agreed to meet the next day at the mercantile, but right then he was filled with a desire to be with her again, to revisit what had happened on the bridge. Still, it was precisely because of that desire that he finally decided to make his way back to the Belvedere.

Maddy Aldridge is driving me crazy…

Jack knew he was in a tough spot with the Bureau. He was supposed to be focused on his job, to be immune to every surprise or distraction, but this was unlike any other assignment he’d ever been given. His head was as big a mess as Seth’s, but it wasn’t because of alcohol. Still, Jack couldn’t deny that his famed luck had produced results. In a matter of days, he’d discovered that there was an illegal liquor operation in Colton, successfully infiltrated the speakeasy without raising suspicion, learned that Jeffers Grimm was the man in charge, and now only needed to learn where in Canada the booze came from to tie the whole thing up with a bow and hand it over to Lieutenant Pluggett. Once the arrests were made, Jack could return to the promising professional life he’d taken such pains in constructing. But there was a problem.

Maddy was mixed up in it all.

There was no use denying it; there were plenty of hard questions he’d have to ask.

He hated to think what she might ask of him in return.

Completely lost in thought, Jack looked up to find that he’d already made it back to the hotel. Inside, the front desk was empty; it was late, well past the midnight hour, but he wondered if Mrs. Benoit might be tending to Ross, so he walked down the hall to the recovering man’s room, put his head against the closed door, and listened. He didn’t hear a sound. Carefully, he opened the door.

Only a sliver of the faint light from the hallway fell into Ross’s room, illuminating only the bottom half of the bed. Jack saw one of the man’s hands lying limp, palm up toward the ceiling. Though it wasn’t much, Jack got the strong impression that Ross was weak, possibly clinging to life.

Before he got too pessimistic, Jack reminded himself of what Dr. Quayle had explained: that it would take quite some time before they’d know for certain whether Ross would pull through. He needed plenty of rest. But just as Jack was about to give it to his fellow agent, to close the door and try to get some fitful sleep of his own, a gravelly voice croaked at him in the darkness.

“I guess…you ain’t so…lucky after all…,” it said, “…’cause if you was…I reckon…I’d be dead…by now…”

J
ACK STOOD FROZEN
in place as Ross’s hand rose, trembling from the effort, the hotel room bedsprings groaning as he tried to move. Hearing the older man speak had been startling. Jack had thought Ross was sleeping, that it would be days before he’d come around, peacefully stuck in a drug-induced haze so that his body could heal. But now he was awake, for both better and worse.

“I didn’t mean to wake you…,” Jack managed.

“I bet…you was hopin’…I wasn’t ever gonna…be a bother…to you…again…weren’t ya…?” Ross answered, and then dissolved into a fit of coughs.

“You should lie still,” Jack cautioned. “Dr. Quayle said that you needed to have plenty of—”

“I don’t…​give a…​good goddamn…​what some…​two-bit…​small-town…​quack…​thinks,” Ross interrupted with a growl. “Quit whinin’…​and turn on the…​light so I can…​look at ya…”

Jack did as the man asked and switched on the lamp beside the bed. After the darkness, the sudden light was almost blinding.

Ross looked haggard and worn-out, as if he’d been forced through a knothole. With everything he’d suffered, it wasn’t surprising that it looked as if he’d aged ten years. His hair was a sweaty, disheveled mess. Dark bags hung beneath his wet, narrowed eyes. His skin was a sickly, pale color. Stubble peppered his cheeks and his lips were as dry as paper. Looking at him, Jack was reminded of an old drunk he used to see around Boston, a disaster of a man who sat at the mouth of an alley, spilling whiskey down his chin while getting drenched by the pouring rain. He looked weak, tired, as if he’d been forced to stay awake for days. He looked terrible.

“I bet…​I look…​like hell…,” Ross said.

“With everything that’s happened, you shouldn’t be complaining,” Jack answered, seeing no point in lying to the man. “From what Dr. Quayle said, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“Lucky…I’m…lucky…,” Ross snorted. “I ain’t…so sure…​Right now…things feel so bad…​maybe death…​would be better…” Once again, he had an attack of coughs. “Get me…somethin’ to… drink…”

Jack poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the dresser and brought it to the suffering man. Carefully, he placed his hand behind Ross’s head and lifted him up high enough to put the glass to his lips, tipping it so that he could drink. After a couple of gulps, Ross suddenly gagged, sputtered, and then angrily slapped the glass away, sending it skittering across the floor.

“What’n the hell’re you tryin’ to do?” he complained. “Drown me?”

It was a struggle, but Jack managed to hold his tongue. Though he’d had hopes, it appeared that Ross’s ordeal had done nothing to improve his mood; he remained as surly and unlikable as ever. Jack knew he needed to be understanding, that he shouldn’t hold it against the man.

But that didn’t mean it was going to be easy…

“How long’ve I been out?” Ross asked, rubbing a hand across his chin, wincing as he shifted on the bed.

“A couple of days,” Jack answered. “From what I was told, you weren’t supposed to have awakened yet, if at all.”

“Look at this mess,” Ross said, pulling up the bedsheet and revealing the tubes and stitching that marred his abdomen. Blood and pus stained his skin and Mrs. Benoit’s bedding. “I’m like some damn cadaver who doesn’t have the sense to know he’s dead.”

“It’s going to take a long time for you to get back on your feet,” Jack replied. “Like I said, you’re lucky to still be alive.”

Ross gave no reaction, his head lolling to the side, away from his visitor. For a moment Jack wondered if he hadn’t fallen asleep, still worn-out, slipping to unconsciousness without a fight. But suddenly Ross turned back to face him, his eyes sharp and intense.

“So where was it?” he asked.

Jack stumbled, unsure of what his fellow agent could possibly be talking about. “Where’s…where’s what?”

“The booze,” Ross answered. “If I’ve been sleepin’ for a couple a days, that goddamn luck a yours shoulda led you right to it. So let’s have it…what did you find…?”

Jack felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. This was the moment he’d been dreading but thought he’d have more time to prepare for. Eventually, he knew Ross would ask him about their investigation, whether he’d found a speakeasy or any clue that would lead to the arrest of the crooks behind the illegal booze operation. He’d dreaded the moment it might happen. But just as he had felt in his dilemma with Maddy, Jack didn’t want to lie. Until he crossed that line, he could convince himself there was still some ambiguity to his actions, to the strange situation he’d entered into, and where he wasn’t being derelict to his duty. But now he was going to have to make a decision.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

Jack slowly shook his head. “I haven’t found anything.”

“Nothing?” Ross asked, surprised.

“Nope.” Jack shrugged. “Not yet.”

“Huh,” the other man answered; Jack wondered if, despite his earlier claims to the contrary, Ross hadn’t been as firm of a believer in Jack’s vaunted luck as the rest of the Bureau.

“You been askin’ round?” Ross pressed further. “You been tellin’ people the story like we was supposed to, wavin’ the money in their faces?”

“Some,” Jack answered evasively, fearful of digging the hole for his lie that much deeper.

“Then what’n the hell’ve you been doin’?” Ross snapped.

“What I could,” he shot back defensively. “I’ve spent most of the time worrying about what was going to happen to you.”

“What’n the hell for?”

Jack could only stare silently in answer.

“You shouldn’t give a damn ’bout me,” Ross continued angrily. “ ’Cause I tell you one thing, if our places was reversed, if it was you lyin’ here, poundin’ loud on death’s door, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass whether you lived or died.” At this thought, a thin smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “I’d be out there doin’ what I’d been sent to this shithole town to do, movin’ on up the ladder no matter who I had to step on to do it, you can bet on that!”

Jack struggled to hold back his surprise. He was so used to thinking of Ross as a poor, lazy excuse for a lawman that it was shocking to see him show some devotion to the job, even if it was selfish and mean-spirited.

“What’d Pluggett say when you told him what happened?” Ross asked.

“He doesn’t know,” Jack answered truthfully.

Ross looked as if he were going to complain some more, but he stopped just short, a look of contemplation crossing his tired features. “You know, that’s probably a good idea,” he finally said. “If you’d said anythin’, the Bureau woulda shut the whole thing down. With my damn guts burstin’, it wouldn’ta made a difference if they’d brought the best doctor west of the Rockies with ’em. This way, don’t matter if I keep breathin’ or start pushin’ daisies, you can go right on investigatin’.” Ross’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at Jack. “Probably work out pretty good for your career that way, won’t it?”

Jack didn’t blink or turn away, though he was ashamed that when Ross had first collapsed he’d thought the same thing. But now things had changed. He needed to be able to operate without calling the Bureau for an entirely different reason.

He had to figure out what to do with Maddy.

“How long am I gonna be like this?” Ross asked.

“Dr. Quayle said it could take weeks, maybe longer.”

“When I hit the floor, when I was outta my head from my guts bein’ torn ’part, did I let it slip what we was here for?”

“Almost,” Jack answered, “but no one heard.”

Ross nodded. “You tell anyone the truth why we’re here?”

“No one.”

“Then we can still do what we was sent to do,” he explained. “We stick to the ruse, you start askin’ round, we find out where the booze is at and where it’s comin’ from, and then we call Pluggett and get the hell outta here.”

“You shouldn’t be doing anything but getting plenty of rest.”

“I told you not to worry ’bout me!” Ross snapped. “We do our jobs right and there’ll be medals, I tell ya! Medals!”

Jack nodded in agreement, his head racing to come up with a way where this wasn’t going to end in a catastrophe, where he wouldn’t have to lie and mislead at every turn, where he wouldn’t be fired from the Bureau, where the woman he’d once loved and couldn’t deny he was once again developing feelings for wouldn’t find herself behind bars.

What in the hell am I going to do?

As soon as Maddy entered her father’s bedroom, carrying his breakfast on a tray, she knew something was wrong. Silas slammed shut the book he’d been reading, abruptly turned off the radio program mid-sentence, and stared at her as she rounded the end of his bed and placed his food on the mattress beside him, exactly as she’d done ever since his arthritis had started getting the better of him. However, unlike most mornings, when her father would greet her with a joke, a comment about the weather just outside his window, or explaining something he’d just discovered in his reading, today he was silent.

“I thought you might like some bacon and eggs this morning,” she said cheerfully. “You’ve had oatmeal so much lately that I half-expect it to start coming out of your ears.”

Maddy looked down at him with a smile, but what she saw on his face was anything but pleasant. As a matter of fact, it was a look she found very familiar, though it had been years since she’d last seen it.

He was disappointed, with a dash of anger thrown in for good measure.

“We need to talk,” he finally said.

Immediately Maddy knew there was trouble. Clearly, her father had learned something about her, something she’d wanted to keep hidden, something he didn’t like, not one bit. It had to be the speakeasy. She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he’d learned about what she’d been doing in the cellar of the family business. Her father would be furious, dead set against what she’d done, horrified that she’d do something that flew in the face of his principles. Ever since she’d agreed to Jeffers’s plan, this was the moment she’d been dreading, all the while hoping it never came. Now, it was too late.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

“Let me explain,” she started, panicked. “It’s just that—”

But her father cut her off, his voice laced with disgust. “Why didn’t you tell me Jack Rucker had come back to town?”

Maddy was so stunned that she couldn’t speak, just like she’d been when she first saw Jack standing in front of the speakeasy’s bar. She could only stare at her father, his face creased in an angry scowl, trying to think of something to say, feeling as if she were floundering in a raging river.

“I…I thought it would upset you,” she finally managed.

“You’re damn right it does!” Silas shouted. “And to think, I’d been talking about that worthless cur just a couple of days ago! He must’ve been lurking underfoot even as I spoke! Have you seen him?”

Maddy could only nod.

“When?” he pressed, growing more and more agitated. “Where was it?”

“At the store,” she answered, the strange mixture of lie and truth coming easily to her tongue. “He came by just after he got back to town.”

“And?” Silas pressed. “Don’t make me pull every little detail out of you. There must be plenty you’re not saying.”

Maddy knew her father couldn’t have been more correct. But what could she possibly tell him? The truth? That she’d been so shocked by Jack’s appearance at the illegal tavern she ran in the cellar of the family store that she slapped him and ran away into the night? That she’d met him at the Belvedere and together they’d gone to the bridge that had once meant so much to them, where Jack then took her into his arms and they’d kissed passionately, rekindling memories and feelings she’d spent years trying to keep buried?

She had no choice but to lie.

“We didn’t talk for long,” Maddy offered evasively.

“He didn’t tell you why he left?” Silas asked angrily. “He didn’t explain why he ran off the way he did, abandoning you here?”

“No,” she said simply. “I didn’t ask.”

“What?” her father exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Why on earth not? With all that bastard put you through, the least you could’ve done was make him tell you why!”

“Maybe it’s like you’ve always told me,” Maddy offered, hoping that a small lie might be enough to convince him to let it go. “Maybe I realized it’s better left to the past.”

Silas nodded. She hoped that her answer would be the end of it, but her father’s interest couldn’t be quieted for long. “What does he look like?”

“About the same as when he left, just a bit older,” Maddy explained, seeing no point in telling Silas that she found Jack more handsome than ever.

“Did he tell you why he’s in Colton?”

Maddy took a deep breath and looked away. She knew that her father would keep on pressing her, question after question, relentless in his attempt to wring every last bit of information out of her that he could. But the truth was that she didn’t have many of the answers he sought, most of them things she would’ve liked to have known herself.

“Who told you about him?” she asked, changing the topic.

“Steven Quayle,” Silas told her. “The two of us had quite the conversation last night after you left for choir practice. He told me that Jack’s over at Virginia Benoit’s place and that it’s all anyone in town’s talking about.” He frowned a bit before adding, “Not that either of my daughters so much as mentioned it to me.”

“We didn’t want to upset you,” Maddy explained.

“Fat lot of good it did you.” Her father shook his head, the look of disappointment returning to his face. “I reckon I looked like a proper fool in front of the doctor once I learned you’ve been keeping secrets from me. Makes me wonder what else I don’t know.”

Maddy could only imagine how her father would feel if he knew how right he was to be suspicious. Everything she’d kept from him, from the speakeasy to Jack’s sudden reappearance, had been done to protect Silas; what he didn’t know couldn’t possibly hurt him, could it? She just hadn’t counted on the doctor appearing in the middle of the night and the two of them—

Wait a minute!

“Why was Dr. Quayle here last night?” she exclaimed, suddenly worried that something terrible had happened while she’d been out breaking the law by pouring illegal drinks, as well as trying to fend off Jeffers’s unwanted advances. The thought that she’d been negligent made her stomach turn. “Did something happen? Are you all right? Did you have another bad spell?”