Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) (49 page)

“Mr. Lawyer Man, are you threatening me? Me, a sworn officer of the law?” Dylan demanded, moving to block Garrett’s entrance into the sheriff’s office. He angled
the twin barrels of the shotgun up just enough so that they
were now pointed at Garrett’s knees as he approached. Only
a few ounces of pressure on the triggers and Garrett would
be cut down.

“It’s not a threat, it’s a commitment,” Garrett said, walking forward slowly, his eyes on the deputy’s face, not the
shotgun aimed at him.

“You threaten me and I’ll lock you up with the lady.”
The deputy chuckled then, glancing around to see who was watching his performance. “That is assumin’ she’s a lady,” he added before he laughed outright.

Garrett walked past the deputy, not all that surprised he
hadn’t been stopped. After all, he had the legal right to visit a client in jail.

His heart seized up the second he saw Pamela through the
iron bars, sitting in her cell on the cot. At least she had a cell to
herself, and the other three cells were unoccupied. Garrett
had too much experience with men behind bars for him to have any illusions about their character.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

On seeing him, Pamela shot off the jail cot and rushed to the iron bars. She placed her hands over his on the bars and
squeezed her eyes tightly shut for an instant, visibly fighting back tears
.

For a long moment they stood in silence. A rage unlike
anything Garrett had ever known before was boiling inside
him. But he knew he must keep his temper in control, for
angry men are stupid men, and this was not a time when
he could afford to behave stupidly.

“What happened?”

“I was in the barn. When I walked out, the deputy put a gun to my back. I thought it was for trying to steal the
Darwell Cattle payroll, but I was being arrested for the murder of Richard Darwell. Then he went through the cabin and
found that cape and mask you made for me, so I’m also arrested for being the Midnight Phantom. Kind of ironic,
don’t you think?” She actually managed a philosophic
smile. “I just can’t believe this has happened to me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of this.”

“I didn’t kill him, Garrett. I hated Richard, but then,
everyone hated him.”

Though he’d never believed her capable of cold-blooded
murder, it reassured Garrett to hear Pamela’s denial.

“I never should have made that cape and mask,” he
whispered, inwardly damning himself for his contribution
to Pamela’s incarceration. “I did it as a lark. I thought you
would enjoy it.”

“Don’t start blaming yourself,” she cut in, her head
snapping up. She fixed a determined green gaze on Garrett.

“Blame won’t accomplish anything now. What’s past is
past.” She reached through the bars to lightly place her
hand against Garrett’s cheek. “And don’t even think of con
fessing to being the Midnight Phantom. Even if you did that,
I’d still have the murder charge to contend with. I need
you as my lawyer, Garrett, so don’t do anything heroic like
giving yourself up. That won’t help me at all.”

“Give myself up?” Garrett asked, raising his eyebrows
theatrically. “I never even thought of it.” But his tone ad
mitted this as a possibility for getting Pamela freed.

Staying with her until confidence shone in her eyes
once again, Garrett made her promise never to lose faith that all would turn out right. Only then did he leave the
sheriff’s office.

He found the deputy talking with several women just
outside the jail. Dylan McKenzie was making the most of
his deed. From the bits of talk Garrett overheard, capturing
Pamela alive was testament to the deputy’s genius and courage,
the likes of which Whitetail Creek had never seen before.

“Deputy, can I talk to you privately?” Garrett asked
evenly, recognizing that at present Dylan wielded much
more power than he did. Humiliating the deputy in front
of these young women wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“Why certainly, Garrett,” the lawman replied with a
smile. It was the first time he’d used Garrett’s first name,
and he noticed the reaction it drew from the women.
He stepped away from his ad
mirers, giving them a parting smile.

“If anything happens to her while she’s in jail, I’ll kill
you,” Garrett promised quietly.

The statement caught Dylan off guard. For a moment
he
stared at Garrett in disbelief. Then he raised his shotgun,
still holding it near his hip, until the barrels were pointed
straight at Garrett’s chest.

“Are you threatening me? You dare to—”

“Shut up, you insignificant worm,” Garrett said, the
words coming out through clenched teeth. “I’ll tell you
this just once. I’m holding you responsible for Pamela’s safety
while she’s in jail. That means if she hangs herself, I’m
holding you responsible. And if she has a visitor at night—
like you, for instance—who decides he wants to rape her,
I’ll take your skin off in strips then kill you. No one’s to
touch her, and if someone does, I’ll kill you.”

Garrett turned and walked away from the deputy. To stay
any longer would tax his patience further than he could
stand. Striding down the boardwalk, his eyes not really focusing on where he was walking, he
paid just enough attention to his surroundings to keep
from knocking anyone down.

“Garrett, can I speak with you? It’s important.”

The civil voice came to him from behind. It took several
seconds and several more strides before Garrett realized
someone was talking to him and speaking politely. Garrett
stopped, not wanting to talk to anyone, but sensing that
he had to.

“I’ve heard what happened,” Gerald Washburn, a local
businessman, said in an oh-so-serious tone
.

Garrett said nothing, sizing up the man. Washburn, un
fortunately, was one of his most vocal supporters for
mayor of Whitetail Creek. Everyone knew the man lived and
breathed business and would never let anything get in the
way of making a profit.

“There’s something you’re not saying, Gerald. What is
it?” Garrett asked flatly, in no mood for Gerald’s political
double-talk.

Gerald looked away a moment, running his fingers
through his salt-and-pepper hair. He pursed his lips, as if
the next words were difficult for him.

“I’m awfully busy, Gerald,” Garrett pressed. “If you have
something to say to me, do it.”

Gerald reacted by stepping back from Garrett. He was openly shocked to be spoken to with such disrespect
.

“I’ll be plain with you, Garrett. Me and the boys have
been talking. We’ve all heard about Pamela, and we know
she killed Richard Darwell. We—”

“That’s an allegation, nothing more,” Garrett cut in, an
noyed by this ludicrous conversation.

“It’s a fact as far as me and the boys are concerned,”
Gerald Washburn said sternly. “And if you’re as smart as
we’ve always thought you were, you’ll sail clear of that
young gal who’s in jail right now. Me and the boys heard all about what you and her did at that dance a while back.
We didn’t say a word about that because we know a young
man’s blood flows mighty hot. But you defend that gal in
court, you fight for her, and there’s just no way we can
support you for mayor.”

Garrett wondered how much longer he could hold his
temper. His desire to strike out physically, violently, was
becoming so strong. How unimportant it seemed now to
worry over his political career and the impact Pamela might have on it! Prior to her arrest, Garrett had spent some time
considering what various factions of the citizenry
would think of seeing Pamela beside him on the political platform when he ran for mayor of Whitetail Creek, but
now politics seemed so inconsequential.

“You can’t be serious,” he replied, the heat of his anger
escalating.

“You’re damned right I’m serious. We can’t afford a
mayor who makes a goddamned fool of himself over a woman. That’s what I’m saying. Hell, Garrett, we don’t be
grudge you having your fun. All of us know what that
little gal looks like, and there isn’t a one of us who
wouldn’t hop in the haystack with her if we got the offer. But you’ve got to know that whoever we back for mayor
and territorial governor—and by back I mean not just with
money, but with considerable votes—that man’s locked
in.”

Gerald Washburn was warming to the subject, Garrett decided, because it illustrated just exactly how much real power
he held.

“Now if you’re as smart as me and the boys have always
thought you were,” he continued, “you’d just go on a little
vacation. Go to New York City and have yourself a good
time while the trial takes place. There’s nothing you can
do to save her. She’s guilty as hell, and you don’t want to
be anywhere around when she starts pointing the finger
of blame at others or when her pretty neck swings in a
rope.”

Calmly, Garrett reached out and grabbed Gerald Wash
burn’s necktie. Then, choking the man, he pulled Washburn
toward him until their noses were nearly touching.

“Her pretty little neck,” Garrett repeated, as he tightened
the necktie, which had become a noose, “will never be touched.
Even if I have to burn all of Whitetail Creek to the ground, I’ll
see to it that Pamela goes free.”

When Garrett finally released his hold on Washburn’s neck
tie, the plum-faced businessman stumbled backward sev
eral steps.

Clearly shaken by Garrett’s implied and explicit violence,
he croaked, “I’m shocked, Garrett. I expected better of
you.” He swallowed and coughed. “But if you insist on
behaving this way, then the boys and I will simply have
to find another man to support. You aren’t the only
man in Whitetail Creek with a future.”