Indigo Sky (9 page)

“You betrayed yourself.” He lifted Hank by his lapels and hustled him into the bedchamber, throwing him onto the tester bed. “Sleep it off.” Spinning on his heel, he strode out.

Hank shot up and raced after him. The door to the suite slammed shut, and Hank swung his head, glaring at Leila. “Your lover is too much of a coward to stand and fight.”

“I want a divorce,” she said quietly.

He gaped and gulped. Her father hadn’t yet released all of her finances.
Could the old bastard legally withhold the money if she insists on divorce?
“You want what?”

“You heard me,” she said in a voice somewhere outside herself.

He stared at her. Indifference and determination supplanted the tender love he was accustomed to seeing.
This can’t be happening
. He ran his tongue over parched lips. “I won’t give you a divorce.”

She squared her shoulders and stared into his empty eyes. “Why ever not? You don’t love me. Besides, I’ve had enough of your philandering and drinking—not to mention all the remedies.”

“Those were prescribed for the pain and this incessant cough I suffer.” He had to stop her from filing for divorce. “Please, Leila, I don’t want to lose you.”

She sagged into a chair and waved her hand at him, her eyes half closed. “Go back to your mistress.”

Hank pressed his palms against his temples. His head throbbed. “I’m going to kill Millburn!”

Her eyes flew open. “Don’t do anything stupid, Hank. And he has nothing to do with my decision. I decided weeks ago that I no longer want to be married to you.”

“I need to sleep.” He turned and stumbled to the bedchamber. His last thought before passing out was that Millburn would pay for his treachery.

Chapter 13

Leila leaned on the wall and stared at the door through tear-filled eyes, one hand pressed to her lips, the other to her stomach. Huge sobs wracked her chest. She cried like a child who was lost in the woods. And that was how she felt. Lost. Alone. And terrified. Hank’s snores emanated from the bedchamber.
The
events of the evening replayed in her head. Bile rose in her throat. The image of Sissy’s legs wrapped around Hank were burned into her mind.
He betrayed me in the vilest way
.
But I kissed Rork
. A door opened and closed down the hall, snapping Leila out of her stupor. Her stomach churned.

Footsteps echoed in the passage.

Her breath caught in her throat. She was light-headed with anticipation. She counted the steps, matching her breaths to the heavy tread drawing closer. She could still smell Rork on her skin—a combination of earthy pine, cigar smoke, and something undeniably male that sent shivers between her thighs.

Hank always reeked of alcohol and the sickly sweet odor of hasheesh. She closed her eyes.
How many times has he come to me tainted with the perfume of the women he’s dallied with? How many times have I ignored the truth?
But I have honor. I told Rork I have honor. But that honor dissolved the moment his lips touched mine
. She wanted to wrap her arms around Rork, press her body to his. The passion coursing through her veins was foreign, but so intoxicating.

The footsteps stopped.
If it is Rork, what will I do
?
Dear God, I don’t have the strength to refuse him again
. A wild part of her yearned for the heat that penetrated her body with one brush of his hand. She knew she wouldn’t be able to refuse him. Wide eyed, she stared at the door and held her breath. Seconds ticked by, and Leila waited, a gasp trapped in her throat, her heart squeezed in a vise. She was tempted to open the door. Instead, she waited; she listened.

Nothing.

The footsteps retreated.

She slid down the wall in a crumpled heap. Alone. So alone.

Late afternoon, Hank woke from a troubled sleep and looked around. He drooped his head, as though it were too heavy to hold up. He held his stomach and groaned. “God, I feel like crap, and I’m still in my suit.” Trying to remember what had happened the night before, he struggled through a quagmire of images and slipped from the bed. “I need a drink.” He stumbled through to an empty sitting room and poured a tumbler of whiskey, tipped a few grains into the amber liquid, and swallowed the contents in one gulp. He shivered. “I’ll soon feel better.”

Sagging into an armchair, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damn, Leila caught me with Sissy.” Throwing back his head, he glared at dancing prisms of light from the gas-lit chandelier. “Rork. It’s that bastard’s fault. He poisoned Leila’s mind. If she divorces me, that miserable father of hers will certainly withhold the money.”

He slammed his fist on the arm of the chair and lurched to his feet. He walked with uneven steps to the bedchamber, rummaged around in his valise, and withdrew a pistol. “I’ll kill Rork, that traitorous son of a bitch!”

Hank stumbled to Rork’s suite, but he wasn’t there. He then made his way to the smoking room and the bar, but neither yielded results, rendering Hank more foul-tempered than ever. “Where is the bastard?” he grumbled. “Bet he’s with my damn wife.” He left to search the street. Leila’s threat to divorce him rattled around in his confused brain. He had to make her forget divorce or he’d lose the money from her father.

He saw Rork in the distance walking on Broadway. Hank picked up the pace and reached his enemy, gasping for air. He grabbed Rork’s shoulder from behind. “Got you.”

Rork turned, his own pistol drawn. His eyes narrowed in the fading light. “Hank, what are you doing? I could have killed you.” He shook the gun in Hank’s face. “Don’t ever do that again.” He slipped the weapon into his pocket. “What ails you, man?”

“Like you don’t know,” Hank snarled. “You betrayed me and turned my wife against me. Now she wants a damn divorce.”

“Let’s talk.”

“I don’t fraternize with my enemies.”

“What is with you, Hank? Be realistic. You play around and expect your wife to ignore it. It doesn’t work like that.”

Hank buckled, coughing uncontrollably. He recovered and glared at Rork. “You’re responsible.”

“Responsible for what?”

“For Leila wanting a divorce. You had no damn right interfering in our marriage.”

Rork brushed dust off his lightweight coat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Revulsion welled up in Hank’s soul, and he laughed bitterly. “You want her for yourself. I’m not blind, nor am I a fool. I’ve seen the way you moon after her, watch her.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Leila isn’t stupid. You blatantly flirt with other women and speak to Leila like she’s dirt.”

“Leila was happy before you showed up.”

“You can’t seriously believe she wasn’t aware of your philandering. And she sure as hell wasn’t happy. Did you forget how obnoxious you were at the Mountain House? Why couldn’t you give her a minute to talk? You demean and insult her in front of anyone and everyone. Not to mention the alcohol and substance you consume.”

“My medication is none of your business.”

Rork sighed and shook his head. “Are you stupid? Your alcohol and hasheesh habits are the root of your problem.”

“Crap. And my wife’s happiness or the way I deal with her is not your goddamn business. Why the hell did you have to complicate things? Leila was fine before you.”

“You’re delusional if you believe that. And you’re a fool, Hank. Only a moron wouldn’t realize his wife is frustrated and miserable.”

“Leila frustrated? What the hell are you talking about?”
God, did she confide in this bastard—tell him our marriage isn’t consummated
?

“She has no idea how to cope with what you do, and it frustrates her. Your flaunting Sissy in her face and not giving a damn how she feels is the ultimate insult. You’ve mistreated her over and over.”

Hank stared at the sun sinking behind buildings and the dark cumulus clouds.
How dare this nobody take me, the great Hank Dempsey, to task?
He blew out his cheeks and rolled his eyes. He had to tilt his head up to look at Rork, and that enraged him even more. Drawing himself up to his full height, he stood inches from Rork. “I treat her just fine. She has everything she ever wanted.”

“You forget she’s even your wife. You’re blinded by your own desires, a blustering idiot with no concept of how to value that wonderful woman.”

Hank stared at the angry, sneering face before him. All reason fled, and blood pounded in his head. He pulled the pistol from his pocket and stepped back, firing blindly.

Rork groaned and crumpled. He struggled briefly but then lay still. Blood bloomed on his white shirt and spread.

A woman screamed, and people ran down the street, away from the scene.

Hank couldn’t breathe. He dropped the pistol, clutched his chest, and dropped to his knees. His heart was pounding erratically.
Oh, God. What now?
He glanced up at people surrounding them.

“Has someone fetched an ambulance . . . the police?” whispered a bystander.

“Yes,” said another.

Head hanging, Hank covered his ears to drown out the clanging bells of the ambulance. He glanced at the unconscious Rork.
He was right. I am a blustering idiot. What was I thinking? I better get the hell out of here
. A dull ache throbbed in his head, an ache he knew would soon turn to blinding pain.

He picked up his pistol, stumbled to his feet, and ran without looking back. He ran erratically until he found a place he knew well. He ducked into the doorway and leaned against the wall, panting.
I got to get out of here
.
Screw Rork. Hope the bastard dies
. Sweat slid down his face, back, and between his legs. His tongue was as thick as a water-filled sponge. He gripped the railing and dragged himself up the stairs. He doubled over as nausea climbed up his throat. His stomach heaved, and he retched on his shoes. The thick vomit puddled at his feet in the narrow stairwell. He gagged at the reek of vomit, slipping on it as he stumbled up the stairs, and banged on the first door. He gritted his teeth at the sound of giggles piercing his ears. He rattled the handle. “Come on, bitches, it’s Hank. Open the damn door!”

The door flew open, and two girls grabbed Hank’s arms, pulling him into the heavily perfumed boudoir draped in red velvet. They released him just as hastily and sent him stumbling as they pinched their noses. “My God, Hank, what in the world ya been up to?”

He fell and rolled onto his backside and stared at them. “I-I’m in trouble.”

A redhead put her hands on voluptuous hips. “Didn’t know anythin’ could touch the mighty Hank Dempsey.” She giggled and glanced at her equally curvaceous blond friend.

The blonde wrinkled her nose. “Ya stink, me fine cockerel.” Without waiting for a response, they ripped off his coat and tossed it in a corner. Amid squeals of mirth, they proceeded to strip him of his clothes and any dignity he had left.

He struggled feebly. “Back off, you stupid tarts!”

“Hank, where ya been, an’ what trouble ya in?” The blonde picked up his clothes using two fingers and held them out, her face screwed up in disgust.

Clutching his genitals and trembling with cold as much as shock, he wet his lips, looking around distractedly. “Bath, I need a bath. I don’t feel so good.”

The redhead brought buckets of water and prepared his bath in a tin tub. “C’mon, darlin’, get ya ass in here.”

The blonde tugged his arm. “It’s a real smart idea to sit. Ya look like ya is goin’ to have a heart attack.”

Hank tested the water. “It’s hot,” he whined.

“Ah, don’t be a damn milksop. Get in there.” The redhead gave him a shove.

Too weak to argue, he stepped into the tub and lowered himself gingerly. He hung his feet over the edge and dunked his head. “Ah, that feels better.” He sighed and closed his eyes. The blonde sponged his chest. “There, ya feelin’ better now?” The nausea left him, but what he’d done stuck in his throat, as though he had swallowed shattered glass chips.

Despite his walk through a portal of hell and his stupidity at shooting Rork, Hank gave them his brightest smile. “You’ve both been gems. I need to leave the city, but I can’t go without Sissy. Think you can help me out with fetching her? She’s at St. Nicholas Hotel.”

The redhead’s mouth twisted. “You still messin’ with that tart disguised as a lady?”

“Watch your damn mouth.”

She threw up her hands. “Fine, I’ll fetch the bitch.”

“And tell her to pack our clothes.” Hank pinched the bridge of his nose.

Crap, hope she doesn’t run into Leila.

The whore slid into the hotel foyer and smoothed her mauve satin dress with nicotine-stained fingers. She bit her lip and scanned the opulent surroundings.

Light from the chandeliers gleamed on the manager’s black patent-leather hair as he glided to her, mouth pinched and eyes steely. Blocking her advance, he clasped bony fingers behind his back and looked down his long nose. “How may I assist you, ah, madam?”

She tucked a red curl behind her ear, eyes darting. “What room is Sissy Lanweihr occupyin’?” she rasped.

He sniffed and flicked a speck of imaginary dust off his immaculate jacket. “We do not reveal our guests’ room numbers. Wait right here.” He eyed her imperiously, daring her to take another step on his pristine marble floor. “I will locate Miss Lanweihr. Can’t imagine she knows you.” He spun on his heel and sailed up the ornate stairway.

She pouted scarlet lips and flipped up her hand, making an obscene gesture. “Make it snappy.”

Eyebrows raised, guests gave her a wide berth, husbands shielding their wives and children.

She snorted and tossed her tangle of red curls. “Straight-laced pricks.” She flipped her tongue at an elderly gentleman steering his wife away from contamination. “Want me to help ya get it up for the old lady, gramps?”

They gasped and scooted out of sight.

Sissy appeared, chin held high as she sashayed down the stairs, the train of her dress elegantly brushing the steps behind. The manager was close on her heels. He hovered as Sissy stopped in front of the whore. “What could you possibly wish to discuss with me, woman?”

“Hank Dempsey be in trouble and askin’ for ya.”

Sissy gasped, and her eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”

The whore glanced at the manager, her painted eyebrows dipping. “Tell the watchdog to get his ass out of here.”

Sissy sighed and nodded at the manager.

“Are you sure, Miss Lanweihr?”

The whore flapped a grubby hand at him. “Just piss off like the lady says, ya little prick.”

Sissy sighed and gave him a sweet smile. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, thank you.”

He bowed and walked off.

The whore sniggered. “Gawd strike me blind. Ya could freeze burnin’ coal on his ass.” She ran the back of her hand under a pert nose and sniffed loudly. “Hank said to tell ya to pack up yur things an’ his and come with me. He ain’t far from here.”

“Why all the mystery?”

“I ain’t no mind reader. I’m sure he’ll tell ya. Just move yer ass. How long will it take ya to pack? I ain’t got all day, ya know. I’m a workin’ gal.”

“I’ll only take a few moments. Wait outside.” She turned to a porter. “Please come to my suite in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Leila took a last look in the mirror and adjusted her coiffure. The dinner bell had rung. She sighed and glanced at the rumpled bedding. Hank had disappeared again. She would see Rork at dinner. Her belly fluttered, and she stepped out of her room, running into Sissy. “If you’re looking for Hank, he isn’t here,” Leila hissed.

Sissy’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Not surprising, after your little display of hysterics this morning.” She tossed her head. “However, I am not looking for him.”