Satan's Angel

by Candace Camp

  Victoria drew a shaky breath and forced herself to look at Slater. She didn’t want to be caught staring. “Slater, there’s a man across the street. Don’t be obvious,” she warned as he started to turn his head. “He’s one of Brody’s gang.”

  Slater went as still as she had. His eyes bored into her, silvery green in the bright wash of sunlight. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I saw him! I’ll never forget standing there watching them ride down on us. And the man across the street is one of them.”

  Casually, Slater turned to face the street. The man in front of the hotel looked faintly familiar. But he also look like hundreds of other men Slater had seen in his life—hat, boots, and nondescript shirt and trousers, weathered skin, unshaven face, a general look of having lived hard. He could easily be a member of Brody’s gang. He could also be a ranch hand in for a night on the town.

  “I can’t say I recognize him. But I didn’t get a good look at the men.”

  “Well, I did, and, believe me, he was one of them.”

  Had it been another woman, Slater would have been disinclined to trust her judgment. She had, after all, been scared, and everything had happened quickly. But he knew Victoria would have kept a cool head, even in the midst of danger and surprise.

  “All right. I’ll follow him.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Slater shot her a look of patent disbelief. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “I’m not being absurd. I’m going with you.”

  “You’re going back to your hotel to wait in your room until your father gets here to take charge of you.”

  “Nobody takes charge of me, including my father. And it doesn’t make a lick of difference whether you want me to come or not. I’m going. I’m the one who knows what he looks like.”

  “I think I can recognize his face now, thank you.”

  “And,” Victoria rolled on, as if Slater hadn’t spoken, “I can identify the others, too. Don’t you think he might meet them?”

  “Maybe. But you won’t.”

  The man in front of the hotel stepped out into the street and began to amble down it.

  “I have to go after him.” Slater wrapped his hand around Victoria’s wrist and squeezed it none too gently. “If you go with me, he’ll see us. In case you haven’t noticed, you stick out like a sore thumb around here. Ladies don’t stroll around this part of town.”

  “They don’t know I’m a lady.”

  He rolled his eyes. “All they have to do is look at you to know. Our friend would be bound to notice you sooner or later, and then he’d figure out we were following him. You’d give us away.”

  Much as it galled her, Victoria knew Slater was right. She had been attracting stares all afternoon. Mrs. Gandy had known immediately that she was a lady. She sighed. “All right.”

  “Good.” Slater started away.

  “But, Slater…” He turned back. “You’ll let me know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Promise.”

  “I promise.”

  Victoria watched him walk away, then turned and started back toward her hotel in disappointment. She wished she could have gone with him. She wanted to follow that man and see if he met the others who had helped Brody escape. Was it possible that even Brody might be here in Austin? Victoria’s heart began to race. After the gang had split up and Brody had managed to lose his pursuers, he and Amy could have turned and ridden to Austin to rejoin the others.

  Her hopes spiraled. By following the gang member, Slater might find Amy soon, even tonight or tomorrow. As Victoria’s eagerness grew, so did her desire to follow the men. She really should be there, she reasoned. She had recognized the man when Slater hadn’t; Slater might not recognize the others in the gang, either. If Amy should be with them, Victoria would spot her immediately, but Slater probably wouldn’t. He had only seen Amy once, and he had been busy arguing with Victoria.

  By the time she reached the end of the block, Victoria had decided that it would be for the best if she helped Slater follow Brody’s man. What made it impossible was the fact that she looked like a lady. Victoria tried to remember what the woman she had seen in the saloon looked like. Hadn’t there been a garish feather stuck in her hair? She remembered that the woman’s dress had been indecently low-cut. She could change her hairstyle, but she certainly had no clothes that would suit. How could she acquire the sort of tawdry dress she needed?

  She paused at the street corner and glanced down the side street. It must have been fate, she thought, for just then a woman emerged from a small tumbledown house and started up the street toward her. The woman wore a blue satin dress that shimmered as she walked. It was far too short, ending above her ankles, and its neckline was cut in a low V. It was cinched in tightly at the waist. Black lace ruffles adorned the hem and neckline.

  Victoria stood and waited for her. As the woman drew closer, she glanced at Victoria uncertainly, and when she was a few feet away from Victoria, the woman stepped out into the street as though to avoid her.

  “Hello.” Victoria hurried toward the woman. “Please, don’t be frightened. I only want to ask you a favor. Well, not a favor, really, because I’ll pay you for it.”

  The woman stared at her.

  “I, well, this may sound a trifle strange, but I would like to buy your clothes.”

  “My clothes?” the woman repeated blankly.

  “Yes. The dress and things you have on. I would like to purchase them from you.”

  “You’re havin’ fun with me, ain’t you?”

  “No. Truly. I swear to you, I’m not joking. I need a dress like yours, and I need it now.”

  “Well.” The woman glanced around as though expecting someone to pop out and accuse her of something. She gave Victoria another narrowed glance and said, “I reckon it’d be all right. Could you come back to my house? I cain’t take it off in the street.”

  “Yes, of course.” Victoria followed the woman down the street to her house. It didn’t enter her mind that what she was doing could be dangerous. She had always been too capable of taking care of herself to worry about something happening to her. Certainly not in a city with people all around.

  They reached the woman’s battered house and went inside. An old woman sat in a chair, her chin on her chest, snoring. A baby played on the floor, and an older child watched it from the other side of the room.

  Victoria’s companion gestured toward the older girl. “This here’s my daughter Hazel. My name’s Gemma.”

  “How do you do? I’m Victoria Stafford.”

  Gemma looked at her for another long moment, then disappeared into another room, shaking her head. She returned moments later with the clothes. When Victoria asked if she could change into the dress now, Gemma gaped at her, but agreed.

  Victoria went into the woman’s tiny bedroom and quickly peeled off her clothes. She pulled on the blue dress, but she had to call Gemma to fasten the buttons up the back. Then, at Victoria’s request, Gemma fixed her hair in an upswept tangle of curls that resembled her own and pinned a clip of paste jewels and a blue feather on one side.

  Victoria looked at herself in the spotted mirror above the small chest. Her breasts swelled indecently above the top of her dress. The bodice was so tight it pushed them up; she could hardly breathe. Gemma’s cheap shoes were a little too small; her feet would soon hurt. And more leg than she had ever shown anyone stuck out below the hem of the dress, clad in patterned black stockings that looked like sin itself.

  Victoria sighed. Did she have the nerve to go out on the street looking like this?

  Gemma looked at her doubtfully. “Why you doin’ this?”

  “I—well, I’m trying to find someone. Maybe you could tell me where I’d be likely to find a man around here.” Since she hadn’t followed the outlaw with Slater, she would have to find him all over again.r />
  Gemma let out a bark of laughter. “Honey, you don’t need to dress like this to find a man.”

  “This is a particular man.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know.” Victoria suspected Gemma was beginning to think Victoria was crazy. “I mean, I’ve seen him; I just don’t know his name. I need to go to an establishment where a rough sort of man, a criminal sort would feel at home.”

  Gemma looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Well, I work at Charlie Coney’s.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “West of the First Ward.” She seemed amazed by Victoria’s ignorance. She turned and pointed. “Down there.”

  “I see.”

  “Charlie runs a big saloon. And two or three times a week he has fandangos—dances, you know. There’s always lots of men, and all the girls go there. I mean, ones looking for men.”

  “That’s where I’ll go, then.”

  Gemma frowned. “Sometimes I carry a little Smith & Wesson with me, in my bag. Maybe you ought to take it, too.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Victoria smiled. She had no doubt that she could protect herself now.

  The woman brought the bag with the tiny gun inside. Then she rouged Victoria’s lips and cheeks a little, so that she would blend in better with the other women. Victoria paid Gemma, adding more than she had asked for. There was something about the two women and children that made Victoria’s heart ache.

  Victoria left, and followed Gemma’s directions to Charlie Coney’s saloon. It was a harder thing to do than Victoria had bargained for. When the idea of exchanging clothes with a “scarlet woman” had occurred to her, she had thought only of acquiring a costume that would allow her to pass undetected through this part of town. She hadn’t considered the embarrassment of walking along a public street in less clothes that she would normally have left her bedroom wearing.

  Every man she passed gave her a long once-over, his eyes lingering on the expanse of her creamy bosom. It was all Victoria could do not to cover her cleavage with her hands. Her face felt puckered and strange beneath the makeup. She ducked down an empty side street and wiped most of it off, but her cheeks and lips were still stained unnaturally pink, and she smelled of the cheap perfume that scented the cosmetics.

  When she arrived at the saloon, she stopped outside and peeked in. She saw a large room with walls and floors of rough, unpainted lumber. A bar ran most of the length of the room, and countless men stood at it. Spittoons dotted the floor, and smoke hung like a pall in the air. At one end, a mariachi band played, though it was difficult to hear them over the noise of the crowd. Couples and even some single men danced energetically across the floor. The rest of the room was given over to tables and chairs occupied by men and a few women dressed like herself. Glasses of beer and hard liquor sat on the table in front of them. Some of the men and women were kissing with an abandon that made Victoria blush.

  She hesitated outside the door, her courage slipping at the sight of the rough, noisy crowd. Could she go in there and face those men? She reminded herself of Amy, helpless in the hands of men like these—and worse.

  She drew a deep breath and stepped inside.

  ***

  Brody glanced over at Amy from where he was cleaning the afternoon’s catch. She was leaning over the fire to stir the beans. He watched the curve of her hips and the gently sway of her breast beneath her blouse. A smile touched his mouth. He enjoyed looking at her, just as he enjoyed the fire it always started in his loins. It was a sweet ache now, for he knew it would be satisfied.

  If he called to her, he knew she would come to him, ignoring their supper and everything else. He found it the most amazing thing in the world, but Amy seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. Since they had first made love, they had lain together again and again. Nothing mattered—the time of day, the hardness of the ground, not even the fact that they were being hunted by Amy’s family and the Texas Rangers—nothing except their love and desire for each other.

  Amy straightened and turned. When she saw him watching her, she smiled. “Hello.”

  “Hello.”

  “The beans are almost done. Are you ready to broil the fish?”

  He nodded and knelt at the water’s edge to wash off his hands and knife. Amy came up behind him and began to massage his shoulders. Brody sighed, and every muscle in his shoulders went limp. “Mmm, that feels good.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She often rubbed his shoulders or back. She seemed to want to touch him. Brody had never been caressed with love before, and he absorbed it like the sunshine, hardly able to believe his good fortune. Every time she touched him or smiled at him or offered her sweet lips to him to kiss, he felt as though another dark, brittle piece of him broke off and fell away. He knew he wasn’t a good man, but somehow Amy made him feel good.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Sam began slowly. “We ought to head for the hideout. It’s been a week now. I’ve been keeping watch and nobody’s followed us. I think we’ve lost them.”

  “All right.” Amy accepted his decision without complaint, as she always did. She trusted him implicitly. Her faith in him was a scary thing. Sometimes he wondered how he could ever live up to it. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

  He stood, wiping his wet hands off on his trouser legs. “I hate to leave here,” he admitted, glancing around at the secluded area that had been their home for five days. It held memories that he knew he would never forget. He thought of the first time that he and Amy had made love. He thought of lying in the shade with her and lazily watching the turtles sunning themselves on the rocks. He thought of standing naked with her beneath the waterfall, the water spraying over them and Amy’s skin slick beneath his hands.

  “I do, too.” Amy wrapped her arms around him from behind, leaning her head against his back. “It’s been like a home of our own, hasn’t it?”

  “The hideout will be like that, too. You’ll see. It’s tight and secure. I have a house there, just a shack, really, but at least it has a bed.”

  Amy giggled. “That’ll be nice. I think my backside is permanently bruised.”

  He smiled, reaching behind him to link his arm around her.

  “Then we’ll leave tomorrow morning.” Strangely, there was a sadness in him. In the past, he’d always been eager to return to the hideout and escape from the world. Now it was different. He had known a feeling of freedom here, of hope and joy. They couldn’t stay, of course; they needed the protection of the hideout. But for the first time, it seemed less a refuge than a prison.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Remembering the role she was supposed to play, Victoria sauntered across the saloon floor with what she hoped was a come-hither sway and sat down at an empty table. Almost immediately, two young men pulled back the other chairs at the table and plunked themselves down, grinning at her.

  “Can we buy you a drink, Miss?”

  Victoria smiled with relief. She knew she could handle these two. By her guess, they were young ranch hands in for a night on the town. She dealt with men like them every day and had danced with them at social events, and she’d always been able to keep them in line. “Sure, but why don’t you boys call me Vicky?”

  They beamed, and one of them went off to purchase her drink. The other asked her if she’d like to take a twirl around the floor. Victoria agreed readily. That would be the safest way to occupy herself. Plus, it would give her a chance to see more of the people in the saloon. She danced twice with the boy, who was energetic, if not terribly graceful, and all the time she looked around. By the time she sat down again, she was sure that the outlaws weren’t there.

  She sipped at the drink the boy had brought her, almost choking on the raw taste of the bourbon, and watched the entrance. The young men seemed happy to dance and talk with her. They paid her extravagant compliments and spoke in a free-and-easy manner that Victoria would never have allowe
d at home, but they did little more than hold her too close on the dance floor or trail a hand across her shoulder and arm.

  She spent over an hour with them before one of them worked up the courage to suggest that they go upstairs to one of the rooms that Charlie rented out. Victoria turned him down gently, and soon afterward they drifted away in search of more willing game.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t alone long. Another man, older and harder than her two former swains, sat down beside her, scooting his chair closer to her. “I been watching you. Those pups aren’t enough for a woman like you, are they?”

  His gaze dropped suggestively to Victoria’s breasts, and she had to fight the urge to tug up on the top of her dress.

  “Actually, I’m waiting for someone.”

  “I know. I’m him.”

  Victoria smiled feebly. “No. You don’t understand. I’m meeting a man here, and, uh, I’ll be leaving with him.”

  “We could sneak out and be back before he ever gets here.” He ran the tips of his fingers down her chest and delved into her cleavage.

  Victoria couldn’t repress a shudder. She grabbed the man’s hand and pulled it from her dress. “No. My, uh, friend, is a very jealous man.”

  “I suspect he has a lot of occasion to be, with a woman like you.”

  He draped one arm around her and bent his head to nuzzle her neck. He smelled of sweat and whiskey.

  “No.” She raised her hands between them and pushed at him. “Stop that.”

  He made no answer, still leaning against her hands as he reached for her breast. Victoria knocked his arm away, but his hand dropped down to her legs, tugging at her skirts. Victoria pushed against him and turned to rise from her seat.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he protested, grabbing her arms and pulling her back down to her chair. “You think you can tease me and up the price, huh? I’ll tell you, girl, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “You don’t understand!” Victoria snapped. “I’m not trying to raise my price. I don’t want you!”

  His mouth inched closer to hers. “I bet I can change your mind.”