The flatness of his tone told her there was more to the story. “So what did you do?”
“I called his goons together.”
Oh God.
Tavie shut her eyes on a sigh. She knew Jack believed he wouldn’t be able to punish King while he had so many protectors in place, but she hated—hated!—the way he seemed to lose control.
“You killed them?” she whispered.
“They attacked first,” he said hollowly. Then he lifted the glass to his lips, and she watched the way the cords of his neck, gleaming dully in the lamplight, moved as he swallowed.
“Of course they did,” she hissed, angry at herself, as much as at him. “You were trespassing, dressed as—as—” She flapped her hand, encompassing the cape, and the sword still buckled to his hip, “As some kind of hero.”
At her words, he turned to her and raised a sardonic brow, propping his hip against the cabinet, as he lifted the glass in front of his mouth. “Is that what you think of me?” he drawled, dragging the crystal against his lower lip seductively.
She threw her hands up in a muttered curse. “What I think? I think you’re a noble man, who’s fighting a losing battle with his demons. I think you give up control far too easily, and I hate it.” She stalked toward the door, then whirled to him once more. “There will be a time, Jack Hoyle, when you will go too far. You’ll give up everything. And when you’re ready to come back to yourself, there won’t be anything left. Then what?”
He’d straightened, his stance and his tone now stiff, instead of charming. “King is almost broken. I’ve broken him. The only way to beat a man like that is by being stronger, harder.” His hand clenched the glass, his knuckles turning white. “I’ve chipped away at his support, I’ve undermined his power, and I will bring him to justice.”
“Where ‘bring him to justice’ means allowing yourself to become a monster? Killing him?”
“Death would be too good for what he’s done here. What he’s done to my mother.”
Finally, something they agreed on.
She dipped her chin and her shoulders, exhaustion catching up with her. “You’re right, Jack,” she said softly. “Death would be too good for him.” She swallowed. “Goodnight.”
When she turned again to leave the room, she paused for a moment, hoping he’d say something in return, even if only to bid her a good night as well.
But he said nothing.
4
There won’t be anything left.
Jack tugged his fine hat—thank God he didn’t have to wear that ridiculous cowboy hat all the time—lower to try to hide his scowl. But it was a difficult thing to do, because Tavie’s words had been running through his head for the last week, ever since she’d uttered them.
His side still ached, but was healing well. Mother had insisted on taking over his doctoring, since he’d insisted she not send for Doc Vickers. It also meant he didn’t have to worry about Tavie’s arms around him as she changed his bandage.
Because he’d been remembering that little scene far too much.
Of course, it was more pleasant for him to focus on that—the feel of her in his arms, the way she’d sucked in a breath and her lovely chameleon eyes had gone all hazy when she’d felt his desire—than her words.
Lose control. There won’t be anything left.
Thordis used to say something similar after they’d sparred. Since he’d usually been bruised or bleeding at the time, Jack had taken it as bitterness instead of concern. But stuck in the house over the last week while he healed, he had a lot of time to think about it.
What if they were both right?
Over the years, as he pushed himself to train and practice and excel, he’d let the red haze, the mania, take control more frequently. And he couldn’t deny how drained he always felt after.
Was his friend right? Was it getting worse?
Each time he gave himself over to the demon, did he lose a little more of himself?
Bah.
He pushed open the door to the post office and stalked to the counter with his large stack of letters. There was someone ahead of him, so he frowned down at the address on the top letter.
He’d spent the last week going over the evidence he and Tavie had put together and had written to his lawyers. His many, many lawyers. Thanks to the jobs he’d done in Europe since his acceptance at the Aegirian court, and to his success at the gaming tables, he had more than enough money to pursue justice for his mother. One way or another, Augustus King would lose control of the Bicycle Mine and Black Aces.
If only murder weren’t so frowned upon in these parts.
“You hear what happened out at King’s place last week?” the clerk behind the counter asked the man ahead of Jack, who nodded.
“I did. Word is, he’s hunkered down out at his ranch these days, and he has his new hired gun strutting around town.”
The clerk bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Yessir, Mr. Ryan. That man was in here just yesterday, collecting our rent. ‘Course, you gotta be downright nasty to collect rent from a gov’ment building like us, but that Dick Stevens is a nasty piece of work.”
The blond man—Mr. Ryan—whistled low and shook his head, stepping back from the counter as he concluded his business. “Stevens, eh? He is nasty. I thought he was still in jail?”
The clerk shrugged. “Guess he got out early.”
“On good behavior?” Mr. Ryan asked, with a wry grin. Then, before the clerk had a chance to do more than snort derisively, he turned to Jack. “You’ve certainly got a stack of letters there, Mr. Douglas.”
No one in town besides Mother and Tavie knew Jack’s real name. They all assumed he was Jonathan Douglas, the investor who’d come to Black Aces to examine the mine. But since he was the one who’d stood in the middle of a shootout back in December, and announced to everyone the mine was played out, there hadn’t been much opportunity for him to socialize. Still, he thought he remembered this man from an introduction a few months back.
“Lucas Ryan, right?” he said, offering his hand to the blond man. “You have a ranch outside of town?”
“Sunset Valley, yep. Prettiest land this side of the Mississippi, and the family makes it so. Two beautiful little girls, and my wife is expecting again,” the younger man said with a smile, as they shook hands. “Pleased to be remembered.”
Jack wasn’t in the mood to talk, but he also didn’t want to lose this chance to glean some useful gossip. “What’s that you said about Mr. King’s place?”
Lucas shook his head and blew out a breath. “The way I heard it, the Black Ace struck again, killing a bunch of King’s men.”
The clerk spoke up. “Yeah, but Marshal Diamon went out there to investigate. He said it looked like it’d been a fair fight, ‘cuz Burton and Brauer and Haney all had their guns out and shots were fired. But no one knows what happened to that kid, Pimples.”
Jack pretended to be surprised, but felt a flash of relief when he heard the kid really had gotten out and was, hopefully, safely back home with his mother. “And he thinks it was the Black Ace?”
“Who else would it be, mister?” The clerk leaned over the counter, as if imparting an important secret. “Haney was all chopped up. Like with a knife or something. The Ace used a blade on O’Grady and the others back at New Year’s, remember?” He straightened again, nodding in satisfaction. “It was the Ace alright.”
Jack hummed and nodded in agreement, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Lucas Ryan saved him. “I’ll let you get on with your mailings. Looks like you’ve been writing plenty.” He nodded again to Jack’s letters.
The man was only being polite, and Jack remembered how to be charming, even as his mind churned with this new information.
“Nothing interesting, unfortunately,” he said with an easy smile. “Just letters to my lawyers, chastising them on their apparent inefficiencies.”
Lucas hummed. “About the mine being dry, I guess. I’m sorry tha
t fell through for you, although folks around these parts don’t mind seeing King taken down a notch, I can tell you.”
“Yes.” Jack’s expression hardened. “The man’s a waste of air.”
The clerk snorted in agreement, but Lucas cocked his head and studied Jack. “You know, if your lawyers aren’t having any luck with whatever task you set them on—hopefully one which’ll make King unhappy—I can recommend one to you.” He jerked his chin toward the clerk. “I just sent a letter off to my—well, probably safest to just call him a relative. You ever hear of a man named Verrick?”
Jack blinked. He and Daniel used to pretend to be the deadly gunslinger, back when they were boys. The man had been a legend for almost twenty years. “Verrick? The Verrick? He’s a lawyer now?”
Lucas’s lips tugged into a wry grin, but the clerk answered first.
“Yessir, and a damn good one, from what Mr. Ryan says. Mr. Verrick comes through town a few times a year, you know, to visit Sunset Valley.”
“He’s married to my wife’s sister,” Lucas offered.
Jack shook his head. “I’ll be damned. Verrick is a lawyer?”
Lucas nodded, chuckling. “And the qualities which made him such a good hired gun now help him win in the courtroom. He’s a cold, methodical, scary sonuvabitch.”
Jack felt his lips twitching in response. “I can imagine.”
Taking on another lawyer would mean having to tell his secret to yet another person, but his solicitors thus far had proven incapable of hunting down the proof he needed. If Verrick was as good in the courtroom as he’d been with a gun, maybe he was the man who could prove King had acquired the Bicycle Mine through nefarious means, and thus had no claim.
Besides, what was one more lawyer?
His mind made up, he nodded. “I’d like his contact information, please.”
Lucas smiled and jammed his hat back on his head. “Just take a look at the address on my letter over there. You should have plenty of time before the mail coach comes through, but make sure my letter’s on it. My— I mean, Verrick will want to know Shannon’s expecting again.”
As the other man said his goodbyes and left, Jack watched him with narrowed eyes. There was more to the story of Lucas Ryan and Verrick, but he’d be damned if he could figure it out.
Still, Verrick was a legend, and having his help on this investigation couldn’t hurt. There had to be some way to prove that, despite his ownership of the Bicycle’s deed, King wasn’t the rightful owner.
Jack had seen his father’s will. If he’d died still in possession of the deed to the mine, ownership would’ve been split between his wife and sons. Daniel was dead, killed eight years ago in a cave-in while Jack was moldering in a Malaysian prison. And Lord knows he didn’t want the mine…but he couldn’t let King have it either.
And if Father had lost the deed before his death and turned it over to King, then the man’s claim was legal, if unethical. Surely Verrick could understand the dilemma.
His mind made up, Jack paid for his letters to be sent, then took the time to copy out Verrick’s new address. As much as he hated the thought of sitting around and waiting for something to happen, it would take awhile to write his letter to Verrick.
He tucked the address into the breast pocket of his fine wool suit, then buttoned up his coat against the early spring wind. As he pushed open the door and stepped out onto Blind Avenue, Jack inhaled deeply, surprised he could still recognize the smell of snow on the breeze.
Winters in Aegiria were wetter than in Montana Territory, with the Baltic Sea surrounding the nation on all sides. Snow there smelled different; saltier. But Jack had to admit, with the knowledge gained from fifteen long years away, nothing quite compared to the beauty of a Montana winter.
“Hullo, Mr. Douglas!”
The call came from one of the many passersby, and although Jack couldn’t tell who had spoken, he offered a tight smile and a tip of his hat in the caller’s general direction, then turned to the north end of town. Perhaps he’d have luncheon in the restaurant, before strolling back to his mother’s house to write to Verrick.
It was a sound plan, had he not been delayed again and again. There really were an excessive number of people strolling about town today, weren’t there? He’d returned a greeting to the schoolteacher, a Mrs. Blake, when she’d been herding a group of children out of the mercantile toward the new school building. And Mr. and Mrs. Gomez had called him in and offered him a choice from their selection of cigars, then Reverend Trapper had stopped him and shaken his hand, as he asked if Jack was planning on attending services on Sunday.
Jack assumed all these people were just out enjoying the rare sunshine before the weather turned bad again, but after the third time he was stopped to shake a hand, he realized the difference. When he’d arrived, he’d been a stranger in town.
But now, he was welcome. These people knew him only as an eastern investor, rather than the returned prodigal son. But even so, they welcomed him as one of their own and seemed to genuinely care for his well-being.
Hmm.
As he nodded a polite hello to Mr. Wheeler, Jack reflected on his last months here in Black Aces. No one knew he was actively planning on ending King’s reign of fear, but even so, they’d become…friends?
No, surely not friends. Friendships were forged in battles and blood and desperation. Men like Thordis and Hito, those were friends.
But perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to be friends with some of Black Aces’ citizens.
Again.
“Mr. Douglas! You look like you need a drink!”
The teasing call pulled his attention from his maudlin musings, and he nodded politely to the mismatched couple standing arm-in-arm outside the High Stakes saloon.
Mrs. Finnie Diamon was the saloon’s owner, and was taller, wider and stronger than most men, as well as passionate about the town’s well-being. Upon his return to town, it had taken Jack little time to determine she was the Black Ace, or at least the current one. Which must’ve been difficult, considering the man by her side—the serious-looking, dark-skinned man wearing a US Marshal’s badge—had been sent to Black Aces to track down the mysterious vigilante.
Still, it looked as if the two of them had worked things out, and their adopted son Cinco had been in the crowd Mrs. Blake was even now ushering back to school for afternoon lessons.
Jack was surprised when his feet carried him in their direction. “Mrs. Diamon, Marshal,” he greeted politely.
Finnie’s grin was teasing. “Whatever’s got you looking so glum, a glass of my whiskey will cure it.”
“I doubt it not, madam,” he quipped with an elaborate bow, as if he were back at court. “Your establishment will always be my preferred watering hole.”
Finnie chuckled and shook her head. “It’s either the High Stakes, or the Three Queens. That’s where King’s men hang out, but with most of them dead now, I dunno who will keep the Queens in business.”
“That’s not your problem, love,” Quint Diamon said, as he lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “You worry about your saloon.”
“Why should I?” She sent a wink toward Jack. “Now that I’ve ensured the richest man in town will be drinking at my place, forever and ever, I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”
Forever? Was he seriously considering staying in Black Aces once he’d gained his father’s mine back?
Damn.
He watched Finnie give her husband a quick kiss on the cheek, then bid both of them goodbye. Suddenly, Jack realized he liked them. It’d been a while since he’d genuinely been interested in anyone besides himself, or Thordis, or a few other close friends, but now…?
The people of Black Aces had wormed their way under his skin somehow.
There won’t be anything left.
He frowned as Tavie’s words popped back into his head. If she was right, and if one day the red haze cleared, and he discovered there wasn’t enough of Jack to return to, then what?<
br />
What would this town, these people, mean then? Would they be enough?
“She’s right, you know.” The marshal was studying him with much too-perceptive eyes. “You look like you need a drink.”
Jack forced a carefree smile. “I need all sorts of things, including a working mine in these parts. But perhaps I’ll return after a meal for that promised drink.”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” the dark-skinned man replied in his deep, calm voice. “You look like a man with a weight on his shoulders.”
“Don’t I just?” Jack muttered, falling into step beside the other man.
In silence, they crossed the muddy street and climbed up to the sidewalk on the opposite side. When they reached the jail, Jack nodded his goodbye and turned for the restaurant. To his surprise, he recognized the two people stepping out the door.
Tavie.
Tavie and his mother.
As always, when they were in town, the younger woman wore the drabbest gown she had, her hair pulled back tightly and bundled under a dull hat, her shoulders hunched to make herself look smaller.
A damn shame.
He was only a few steps away when they looked up and recognized him, as Tavie was attempting to close the restaurant door. Four things happened simultaneously.
One: His mother’s eyes lit up with excitement, as they always did when she saw him. And the flash of disappointment, when she remembered she wasn’t allowed to acknowledge him in public, made Jack’s stomach clench uncomfortably for some reason.
Two: He reached for the brim of his hat, intent on greeting them as if he really were Jonathan Douglas, investor.
Three: The door stuck, and Tavie pushed on it to get it to shut properly.
Four: A man, his broad shoulders encased in a sheepskin coat, and his head uncovered, chose that inopportune moment to rush down the sidewalk toward them. The edge of the door slammed into his face.
Although he was clearly at fault, the man snarled and reacted swiftly, shoving the door away from him and knocking it into Tavie. She was already falling as Jack leapt toward her.
It was Ruth Hoyle who turned to give the stranger hell. “Now, see here, young man! You just—”
Wild Card: Black Aces, Book Three Page 4
