Mallory Rush - [Outlawsand Heroes 02]

Dead or Alive

Outlaws and Heroes

Book Two

by

Mallory Rush

Bestselling, Award-winning Author

Previously titled: Pistol in His Pocket

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ISBN: 978-1-61417-409-7

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Love and gratitude to Trayce Primm,

my fellow wordweaver whose

auspicious talent is eclipsed only

by the depth of her friendship.

You were right, Trayce,

progress is not a linear path;

faith and ability
are
facets

of the same stone.

Also, many thanks to Chris Bock,

for sharing his expertise with such

enthusiasm that I can almost

understand why someone would

actually want to climb

an icy mountain or the brutal

beauty of a mile-high rock.

Prologue

Juneau, Alaska—1898

WANTED

LUKE LASSITER

FOR ARMED ROBBERY AND MURDER

$5000 REWARD

DEAD OR ALIVE

Leaning forward for a better view of the outlaw's roughly sketched face, the rider felt his great stallion prance beneath him as icy raindrops pelted his cheeks.

A soft chuckle passed the hard lips clamping a cheroot, red tip glowing in the moon's pale light. Cigar smoke blended with the white puffs of his breath. In a precise, cultured voice, the rider said, "So tell me, Bitter, do you think the picture does me justice?" At the word
justice,
the horse's snort coincided with the man's low snarl.

"Nor do I," he agreed, neatly ripping the paper from the post to which it was tacked then stuffing it beneath his fur-lined coat. "A memento, Bitter. After tonight, my days of disguise will soon be ended. Ah well, fond as I have become of playing Lucky Luke, there will be no need for him once Noble Zhivago has back what is rightfully his."

Even as he said it Noble knew that unless the dead could be resurrected, he would never have back all that was rightfully his. He felt his hatred surge high and bright, his thirst for vengeance begging to be quenched.

He threw down the cheroot, checked his pistol, then urged Bitter into a lazy saunter. Hat tipped down, Noble nodded to the few stragglers he passed on the main street. It seemed the remaining populace of Juneau had the good sense to favor a fire within over the brewing storm outside.

Such piteous creature comforts, he thought, while images of England played their seductively sweet refrain in his memory. How he missed the simple pleasure of taking tea in an elegant drawing room. And ah, but to bow over the gloved hand of a gentle-born lady, to spend an evening in the company of notorious actors after indulging his frivolous affection for high drama with a Shakespearean play. And a true court of law— now there was real drama, moving soliloquies to make, or to destroy savagely with an eloquent rebuttal.