The Only Gold (42 page)

“Let us be sure of that.” Barton went ahead into the office, Alice unresisting in his arms. Scroggs gestured with the gun for Reid and Jonah to follow.

In the firelight, Gil slumped, his burned hand curled in his lap, his other unsteadily supporting a cup of tea, which Liam seemed determined to make him drink. Gil raised questioning eyes as Scroggs prodded Reid and Jonah into the room. “We taking them?”

“Just the girl.” Scroggs tucked Sewell’s gun under his coat, keeping his own in hand. “She’ll be trouble enough, in this weather.”

Gil turned to his brother and the silent communication between them brought Liam wearily to his feet. “I’ve said it once already. We want no part of this. We came here for the money. We’ll leave with that.”

Scroggs appeared ready to argue, but Barton raised a hand. “Think on it a minute. You came here to strike at the heart of the man who left your father broken and lost to drink. You’re set on absconding with a pittance that may amount to nothing when the directors step in to protect the bank. Rob Mr. Bennet Grandborough of something more precious, even for a day, and he will truly know what you’ve endured.”

Liam looked at Alice, huddled in the corner of the sofa, and the hard gleam in his eyes faded to something like shame. “She’s done me no harm.”

“And what of Mr. Hylliard?” Barton returned with an edge of exasperation.

Liam did not glance Reid’s way. “We’re leaving with the money.” His gaze shifted to Scroggs. “And we ain’t taking any lives. Tie them up and we’ll be on our way.”

Scroggs brandished the gun, grip tightening convulsively. “Like hell—”

Barton cut him off again. “Mr. Abbott, if we leave them alive, we won’t reach the boat before Mr. Hylliard has men after us. I appreciate your charitable frame of mind, but in this instance, we cannot afford the risk.” He moved to the middle window and spread the shutters, letting in cold morning light. “Besides….” As he turned back, his dark eyes glittered with cheer. “Nothing enhances a bank burglar’s reputation like leaving behind a dead Pinkerton.”

Liam’s face darkened—at the reminder of Reid’s lies, Jonah thought. Though Reid’s battered features gave away nothing more than calm assurance, Jonah knew rescue was not forthcoming. Barton was keeping strict watch on the street and would have seen it. He only abandoned the window when Liam lifted one of the satchels weighted with cash and set it on the desk. “Mr. Abbott—”

“I’ll give you your share. You can go on ahead.”

“Ending our association so soon?” Barton seemed unsurprised. “Come, sir. You knew what would be required.”

“Liam, he’s already killed one Pinkerton.” Reid’s gaze stayed on Barton. “He’ll hang—”

“I’ve been left to hang for twenty years,” Barton said, as if it astonished him that anyone was ignorant of the fact. “The final drop may prove a respite. Mr. Abbott, if you haven’t the courage to see this through, then by all means, take your share and be off. But do not imagine I will leave matters unfinished.”

“Mr. Barton takes pride in his so-called work.” Reid’s mocking note roused a warning flash in Barton’s eyes, but Reid only seemed pleased to have cracked the man’s amused veneer. “You’d think he was the first man to ever rob this bank.”

“The first to succeed at it,” Barton returned coolly.

Scroggs scowled at that, but Reid merely shrugged as if Barton’s accomplishment was no great feat. “Mr. Woolner was better armed last time.”

Bewildered, Jonah looked at him, to be captured by the expectant light in his eyes. When Reid’s gaze dropped briefly to the desk, realization struck so swiftly that Jonah had to stifle a gasp. He
had
been better armed last time—with James Carson’s revolver. But if the gun was in a drawer, little good did it do. He couldn’t go rummaging through the desk, not with Liam on the other side, counting the contents of the satchel. Reid appeared alert to that consideration. “Care for some help?” he asked Liam. “I’m a hand at quick calculation.”

Liam’s jaw tightened, and he only worked faster. Reid smiled ruefully. “You said Alice has done you no harm. Have I?”

Liam threw one last bundle of securities onto the desk. “You put yourself in the middle of this. Don’t expect I’ll get you out.”

“You took stock in what I had to say, once—”

“When I could trust you. You ain’t the same man.”

“You know that’s not true. I don’t like what you’re doing, but I understand your reasons. Isn’t that why you trusted me?”

Liam’s half-buried grief found new life. “You don’t understand. Not a one of you. It ain’t the money. I don’t even want the damned money.”

He dropped the satchel on the carpet, and turning to the hearth, pulled a charred length of tinder from the flames. He got no further before Scroggs pointed the gun at him. “You don’t want the money? You can pass it over to me. And pass it quick.” He turned the gun on Gil. “I’d as soon shoot all of you, if it’ll goddamn finish this—”

Liam swung the burning stick, and Scroggs flinched as it struck his arm a glancing blow. The flaming end split away, falling on the hem of Alice’s cloak, and caught instantly. She gave a cry and started to rise, but Gil was faster, dragging the cloak off her shoulders. He stomped out the flames—then staggered back, going so white, Jonah wondered that he did not faint where he stood. Alice caught his arm as if she could prevent him from falling, and he stared at her, the color coming swiftly back into his face, the damp shine in his eyes brightening. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m real sorry.”

Alice
started to shake her head, but Liam intervened, getting hold of Gil to guide him to the sofa. Jonah took the opportunity to sink into the desk chair, a maneuver that went unnoticed as Scroggs grabbed the satchel and turned the gun on Reid. “We’re done here. And the pleasure of tying up loose ends is all mine.”

Reid, to Jonah’s everlasting disbelief, broke into his most maddeningly cocksure grin. “Seven years of misery and you’re satisfied with a bullet to the head? Or am I too much to take on, without Liam backing you?”

It would be a costly effort to buy time, in Reid’s current condition. Scroggs barely hesitated before succumbing to a harsh grin of his own. “I said I’d take every one of those years out on the first Pinkerton to come along. You’ll do.”

“Mr. Scroggs—” Barton began, but Scroggs only grinned wider at his impatience. Reid let Scroggs come forward with the first swing, a blow to the jaw that sent Reid staggering. He swung and snapped Scroggs’s head to one side, knocking him off his feet. Scroggs was up and barreling at him with a force that made Jonah fear for Reid’s already bruised ribs. Though he dreaded looking away, he dropped his attention to the desk’s bottom right-hand drawer. It was where he would have stored Carson’s gun. Knowing he didn’t have time to search every drawer before he alerted Barton to his intentions, Jonah felt his way from pull to pull until he reached the bottom drawer and gingerly drew it out.

On an oil-stained handkerchief lay Carson’s converted Remington, a relic of a war that seemed, at least for some of the participants, to have no end. Jonah gained hold of the grip, the wood smooth against his palm. At Reid’s half-stifled gasp, he jerked his head up, to see Reid cornered between wall and mantelpiece, an arm pressed to his side to shield his ribs from Scroggs’s fist. When Reid lashed out, landing a blow that sent Scroggs crashing into the fire irons, Scroggs came back with poker in hand. “You’re dead, you son of a bitch,” he rasped. “I said I’d kill you—”

“You won’t.” Jonah rose, and heedless of whether the gun might be loaded, took resolute aim. “Not in my bank.”

Something between a smile and grimace eased the pained lines in Reid’s face. Scroggs turned on Jonah. “Finally got your nerve up, eh?” He slammed the poker down on the desk before swiftly drawing his gun. It came to Jonah in an instant that he couldn’t shoot for the bank’s sake. But he had more to protect. He firmed his grip, pulled the trigger—and the chamber turned with a hollow click.

Behind Scroggs, Liam stood. “Leave him.”

“I’ll leave him dead.” As Scroggs thumbed back the hammer, Reid lunged at him. Gunfire resounded, deafening to Jonah’s ears. At first too dazed to comprehend how he could still be standing, he realized Scroggs had never fired.

The gun slid from Scroggs’s grasp as he sank to his knees. “Abbott, you goddamned….” Bright blood stained his lips, and he collapsed. Jonah stared at the twisted heap that remained of the man, disbelieving someone as volatile and cold-blooded as Scroggs could be done in so easily. Most unfathomable was the fact that Liam had killed Scroggs—to save him.

Shoulders bowed, Liam sank beside his brother on the sofa and laid down the gun. “Goddamn,” he echoed wearily, sagging forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Gil leaned in close to him. “Liam?” he said, soft and frightened.

Liam shook his head. “I’m not doing you any damned good.” He exhaled and lifted his head, fixing a dulled gaze on Reid. “You can. Let him go, and I’ll give up.”

“No,” Gil said in alarm.

Liam scowled. “I didn’t look after you any better than he did, but I got sense enough to quit before I get you killed.” He turned back to Reid. “Well?”

“Gentlemen.” Barton picked up the nearer satchel and drew his gun in one graceful motion. “I must take my leave, I think, before the morning becomes any more eventful. I would advise you all to stay where you are. The first man who draws on me will consign Miss Grandborough to an early grave.”

His
gun trained on Alice as he sidled toward the door, Barton spared a glance at Reid. “I suspected keeping you in the game would prove ruinous. Still, it’s been fascinating. You’ve shown yourself more adept than Mr. Wheeler—if still not quite up to the challenge.”

Remembering Reid’s interest in watching Barton at work, Jonah realized Barton was as aware of it. Reid said nothing—only kept a sharp eye on him until Barton stopped behind Alice. When Reid started toward them, Barton cocked the gun. “Stay where you are, Mr. Hylliard. Miss Grandborough is going to accompany me downstairs. Just as a precaution, you understand. My dear, if you will.”

Alice
, with a frightened glance at Reid, rose. When she was slow to follow, Barton hooked an arm around her. Gil surged to his feet. “Leave her alone!”

Liam, in front of his brother before Barton could pull the trigger, took the bullet and fell without a sound into Gil’s arms. Gil hung on to him, somehow standing until Reid went to his aid and, together, they got Liam to the sofa. As Reid pulled open Liam’s coat, Jonah, nearing, saw the stain that had spread between collar and waistcoat, and he wondered if the bullet had hit too close to the heart to spare Liam’s life. He had never expected to feel regret for Liam Abbott’s sake. Perhaps it was enough to understand a man’s reasons, whether or not those reasons led to a conscionable choice.

The unyielding lines of Liam’s face softened with pain—and grief, Jonah realized. Liam got a white-knuckled hold on Reid’s wrist. “Tell me you’ll do it. For God’s sake. You were there—through all our meetings. You know. He’s just a goddamned kid.”