Never Love a Lawman (46 page)

“Yes. We went to his room after dinner.” She hesitated slightly. “At least I thought it was his room.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it might have belonged to someone else.”

Rachel still didn’t understand. “Why do you say that?”

“A man came in much later, close to dawn, and ordered James out. He was very angry.”

“James?” asked Rachel. “Or the man that sent him away?”

“The man. I tried to leave with James, but I had more clothes to gather and no wish to be tossed into the hallway in my drawers, so it took time and I was clumsy and the gentleman just got more impatient.”

“Is that when he hit you?”

Adele nodded. “I was half in and out of my dress. I couldn’t lift a hand when he struck me. He knocked me off my feet.” She absently raised a hand and touched the back of her head. “I fell against the nightstand.”

“A fist to the jaw,” Rachel said quietly. “Then a kick to your ribs?”

Adele regarded her with surprise. “How did you know?”

Rachel didn’t answer. “Your hip?”

“There, too.”

“When you curled up to protect your ribs.”

“That’s right.”

Not wanting Adele to see that her fingers were trembling, Rachel quickly set her cup down and folded her hands in her lap. Her heart hammered, and she closed her eyes briefly. “I’m so sorry, Adele.”

“Why should you be sorry? You didn’t do anything.”

Shaking her head, Rachel said, “But I think I did.” She carefully described Foster Maddox and saw in Adele’s increasingly curious expression that she had drawn the correct conclusion. “Did he hurt you in any other way?”

“Rape me, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“No.” Adele’s fingertips whitened on her teacup. “For a moment…his hands were on his britches like he meant to take them off; then he looked at me real odd, sort of puzzled, sort of sickened, and told me to get out. To get the hell out.”

“Sickened?” asked Rachel. “Do you mean remorseful?”

Adele’s laughter was bitter. “I mean like I was something he wanted to scrape off the bottom of his shoe.”

“Oh, Adele.” Rachel knew that look, remembered too clearly what it was like to be on the receiving end of a glance that ran both hot and cold. She’d always suspected that Foster was more satisfied using his fists on her than he would have been if she’d ever once surrendered. He might revile whores, but they also darkly fascinated him. Uncertain she would ever understand, Rachel sighed. “Finish your tea, and I’ll walk you back. Wyatt asked me not to stay here while he was gone.”

“Because of him,” said Adele. “We were warned about Foster Maddox.”

“That’s right. Rose wouldn’t have allowed him in. She knew who she was looking for because Will gave her a description.”

“Rose told me to do my performance and leave.” Adele hung her head. “I suppose she trusted me to listen to her. She might not even know I didn’t go home last night.”

“Well, I’m sure she’s worried sick now, and with Wyatt and Will both gone, there’s no telling what she’s planning to do to find you. I think we should get you back as quickly as possible. But first, we’re going to make a photograph.”

Wyatt slowed Raider to a walk and waited for Will to come abreast. “We should stay here awhile. We’re close to catching up with them.”

Will nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.” He pointed to the narrow trail ahead of them. Pine trees cast their shadow across the snow. “They’re not making it difficult to follow. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Could be because they don’t know we’re back here.”

“Maybe.”

“Could be because they expect us to follow and want to make certain we can.”

“Maybe.”

“Or,” Wyatt drawled, “it could be that they just don’t know any better.”

“I like that one best.”

“Thought you would, but I wouldn’t count on it being right.”

“They already passed the open mine,” Will pointed out. He leaned forward to pat his mare when she started nudging Raider.

“There’re still places up ahead where they can get a good look at it.” He turned his face toward a small patch of sunlight through the trees and squinted into the blue sky overhead. “Good day for photographs, though. C’mon. Let’s go. If we take Potter’s trail, we can follow their route from above.”

“I hate Potter’s trail. It’s like climbing a steeple.”

“It sure is.” Grinning, he urged Raider to veer sharply to the right. “Let’s go.”

Sighing heavily, but still game, that no-account Beatty boy followed.

They sighted the surveying party an hour later and from a couple of hundred feet higher. They removed their mounts to a place of safety behind an outcropping of rock and concealed themselves fairly well by hunkering down in the midst of some scraggly limber pine. Wyatt took out his field glasses to observe the movement of the riders below.

“How many did I tell you there were?” asked Wyatt.

“Seven. You said Joe told you they took seven mounts.”

Wyatt passed the glasses. “You see seven down there?”

“I’m counting four.”

“That’s what I saw.” He fell silent as he considered what that meant. He recognized Daniel Seward among the riders. The other men made no particular impression on him except that none of them was Foster Maddox. Joe Redmond had been right about that. Wyatt traveled over the trail they’d taken, this time in his mind. The entire time he and Will had followed their exact path, no one had left the trail. Had three riders broken away later or never set out with the others? And if they hadn’t set out, why did they need mounts in town?

“I don’t like this.” Wyatt tipped back his hat with his forefinger and broadened his view to include more than the surveyors. Sunlight glinted off the virgin snow. There were no trails leading away from the group.

Will turned and focused the field glasses farther up the mountain. Only animal tracks disturbed the crust. “No one’s above us.”

“Look,” Wyatt said. “They’re stopping.”

Will brought his attention around. “Why there?” The riders dismounted beside a shallow stream. Two of them waded in and began poking among the rocks. Daniel Seward started loosening the ropes on the equipment strapped to his horse. “That’s definitely for surveying. He’s taking out the chains.” He handed back the field glasses.

Wyatt only needed to raise the glasses for a moment to see that Will was right. Seward appeared to be speaking to the man at his side. It wasn’t long before a map was removed from a saddlebag. The pair began poring over it and pointing to where they wanted to set up the equipment for triangulation.

“There’s no reason for them to survey here,” said Wyatt. “This area is clearly within the property borders. If they’re looking to confirm the northern perimeter, then they’re six miles short. Seward has to know that.”

Will drew his muffler a fraction higher to cover his chin. “Do you think the men with him know?”

“Hard to say.” Wyatt rose slowly from his crouch, raising the field glasses one more time. “There’re two reasons I can think of why Seward would ride out this far, then make a mistake like this. The first is that he has plans to deceive Foster Maddox. The second is that he was sent here to draw us away from town.”

Will stood and shook out his cramped legs. Without a word, he began moving toward his mare. He took up the reins and mounted. He didn’t have to look back to know that Wyatt was right behind him. The second reason that Wyatt had provided was too compelling to ignore.

Faint, but unmistakable in pitch and the sustained power of its initial blast, the sound of an engine’s whistle traveled through the mountain pass. Wyatt and Will both paused, cocking their heads. Even the horses stilled to listen.

“Can’t be the Admiral,” Will said. “Nothin’s scheduled until tomorrow. Kirby doesn’t make a run until Tuesday. Anyway, No. 473 has a whistle that’s pitched half an octave higher.”

Wyatt hadn’t felt the need to say it aloud, but his line of thinking was exactly the same. “It’s Foster’s train. He’s preparing to leave.” The pronouncement was somehow as mournful and hollow as the whistle that preceded it.

Ezra Reilly had no chance against the trio that stormed the jail from the alley side. They backed him up against the wall, stuck the barrel of a Remington pistol in his belly, and took the keys to the cell, then felled him with two sharp blows to the head that left him unconscious and bleeding on the floor. Once Franklin and Ross were free, they took it upon themselves to move Ezra to a cell. Ross kept the keys.

Now five in number, the men moved quickly up the alley from the jail to the bank. Two of the horses were teamed to pull a sled. The third horse carried supplies. When they reached the bank’s rear entrance, one of the men removed black powder charges from a saddlebag and placed them carefully around the door. They backed up and turned away after the fuse was lighted. The door did not explode out of its frame but splintered at the hinges and lock so that it was easily removed.

Franklin and Ross remained in the alley, alert for anyone who heard the noise and came to investigate the cause. They had assurances that a lot of folks were attending late services and wouldn’t hear a thing above the Bible thumping, but their recent turn in jail made them cautious just the same.

They were both braced for an explosion from inside the bank, so when time passed without any noise, they grew increasingly restless and traded talk about taking two of the horses and bolting. They were on the verge of separating the team when the other men emerged from the bank, straining like draft horses pulling a loaded wagon. The pair of cattle thieves and occasional guns-for-hire stared openmouthed as a Hammer & Schindler safe crashed down the stairs behind them.

They didn’t wait to be told what to do. They moved the team hitched to the sled closer to the entrance and then helped right the safe and roll it through the door and onto the sled. The leather straps that had aided in the removal of the safe were transferred to the sled to hold it in place. The horses required very little encouragement to get under way.

One of the men consulted his pocket watch. From storming the jail to removing the safe, the time was under twenty-two minutes, well within the parameters that had been established for success.

Rose LaRosa was having none of it. She set her hands hard on her hips and stared fiercely at the two men who had entered her establishment against her wishes. The fact that they both produced badges held no sway with her.

“If you are who you say you are, then you should have identified yourselves to Sheriff Cooper. Pinkerton men have no authority here.”

“Afraid we do, ma’am.” The fair-haired gentleman regarded her with some sympathy. “We have a warrant.”

Rose’s hands dropped to her sides, where they balled into fists. “That warrant means as little as those badges. I don’t believe either of them, so go shake them at someone else.”

“Afraid I can’t do that,” he said. “Now go and fetch Rachel Bailey. Mr. Pennway and I need to talk to her.”

Rose didn’t give ground. “There’s no Rachel Bailey here.”

“Rachel Cooper, then.”

“She’s not here, either.”

James Pennway took over when he observed his partner’s frustration. “You’ll have to excuse Mr. Barlow. He’s used to people being impressed by his credentials. We know Mrs. Cooper’s here. We watched her walk in from across the way. She was accompanied by one of your girls. A young woman named Adele, I believe.”

Rose’s features revealed nothing except her frustration. “Then you confused her with another of my girls.” Rose went to the foot of the stairs and called up. “Adele, can you come down? Bring Virginia with you.” She turned to wait, effectively blocking the Pinkerton men from advancing. “I don’t appreciate you disrupting our Sunday.”

Neither man spoke, though they acknowledged the admonition with a mildly apologetic smile.

Adele held the banister as she made her way down the steps. Virginia watched her, prepared to assist her if she faltered. Rose stopped them before they reached the bottom and then addressed her visitors.

“Are these the women you saw?”

Barlow pointed to Adele. “That’s Miss Brownlee. I recognize the hair. And she was limping. But that’s not the woman who was with her. That’s not Mrs. Cooper.”

Rose glanced over her shoulder and regarded Adele. “Do you have anything to say?”

Adele merely shook her head.

Frowning, Rose asked, “You don’t know either of these Pinkerton men?”

Adele looked them over closely. “I might have seen him before,” she said, pointing to Pennway. “I think he was at the Miner Key last night, bucking the tiger.”

“Is that right, Mr. Pennway? You play faro?”

Before James Pennway could confirm that he did indeed like to make wagers on the game, Adele’s knees were giving way. She lowered herself to the stairs, ignoring Virginia’s efforts to keep her upright. “That’s not James Pennway,” she said, drawing back her hand. “He’s not the man I had dinner with.”

Pennway regarded Adele more closely, seeing the bruise on her cheek for the first time. “Indeed, I’m not,” he said. “But I am James Pennway.” He exchanged a glance with Barlow, communicating an understanding that was not necessary to share aloud. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Miss LaRosa. I have my orders, a warrant, and the means to enforce it.” He opened his coat so she could see his gun. A moment later, Barlow did the same.

“Wyatt took your weapons,” Rose said, staring at the Colts each man had strapped to their thighs. “He took everyone’s weapons from the train.”

“And we took them back,” Mr. Barlow said.

Rachel appeared at the top of the stairs. “That’s enough, Rose. I’m going with them.”

“Why didn’t you leave by the rear door?”

It was Pennway who answered. “She probably saw the men we put there.” He stared up the steps. “A wise decision, Mrs. Cooper.”

Adele pulled herself to her feet again. “Who the hell was he?” she snapped, pointing at Pennway. “If you’re James Pennway, then who the hell was he?”

Pennway merely looked past her and gestured to Rachel. “Come down, Mrs. Cooper. It’s time to go.”

Rose backed up onto the stairs to make certain that Adele didn’t fall forward. Virginia also looked prepared to haul her back if she stumbled or leapt. “You’re cowards,” she accused the men. “Coming here to take Rachel when her man isn’t around.”