by Brenda Joyce
New York—just a short train ride from the capital.
He smiled, his expression hard and cynical. Coincidence was the great joker in life, a wild card; one never knew when it would be dealt. But he'd just gotten it.
Because it was the funniest coincidence that he should be summoned to Washington now, when he'd spent the past months in Cuba, only making one brief trip to Death Valley. It was a helluva coincidence that he would be just in time to make another side trip—this one north. That he would be just in time to celebrate Lucy Bragg's birthday—and her second marriage.
Shoz and Lucy hadn't had a chance, not once they were surrounded by the Braggs and their private army; a dozen agents had instantly descended on him, cuffed him, and thrown him on a horse. He had barely managed to retain consciousness on the hard ride across the border, and the gallop to Brownsville, the closest American town, had seemed endless. Shoz knew it was only his anger and his pride that kept him upright in the saddle. He didn't see Lucy; she rode far behind him, protectively surrounded by her family.
He was thrown in jail and tended by the town doctor. Although he was weak and had lost a lot of blood, the doctor assured him that the bullet had only creased his neck, lucky man that he was. Shoz would have laughed at the doctor's choice of words, except that he was in too much pain.
But soon Shoz had other things to distract him, like the tall, thin man with the cold blue eyes whose presence he suddenly became aware of. The man was no regular Pinkerton. He had "government" written all over him, and Shoz didn't like it. If things could possibly get worse, he sensed they would.
"We're going to have a little chat," the man said, leaning comfortably against the bars of Shoz's cell. "I think you'll be very interested in what I have to say."
"I don't think I'm going anywhere."
The man smiled. "On the contrary, I think you are. My name is Lloyd."
Shoz shifted to try and gain some comfort, which was impossible because he'd refused painkillers and the ache in his neck was getting worse. But before Lloyd could start, the door to the jail flew open, and his wife ran in.
Shoz sat up, all physical distress forgotten.
She looked like hell. She was dusty and dirty, her hair loose and snarled, her nose and eyes red from crying.
"Shoz!" She ran to the cell and grabbed the bars. "Are you all right?"
"I'm okay.'' He forgot Lloyd's presence; he heaved himself to his feet. "Lucy ..."
Her expression wrenched at him. She waited for him to continue, pale and trembling. But he didn't know what to say. For some crazy reason, he wanted to reassure her that everything would be all right, that they would be all right, but he couldn't, not when their world was being ripped apart right in front of them. Not when he had just lost his freedom, which was the same as his life. Not when he knew there was no hope, not for him, not for them. Not anymore.
She reached out her hand through the bars. "Don't worry. Shoz, I—"
Lucy could not finish what she was saying, because the door behind her opened with a bang and her father strode in, looking enraged enough to murder. He was followed by his sister, Storm. "Lucy!"
Lucy didn't turn around. The look she gave Shoz was at once tear-filled and full of desperate, unspoken promises. Then Rathe grabbed her from behind and dragged her away from the cell. "I want you to stay away from him!"
"Let me go. I want to talk to him. You can't stop me. After all, I'm sure Aunt Storm told you, he's my hus—"
Rathe actually clapped his hand over her mouth, propelling her outside, Lucy's aunt protesting and rushing after them. The door slammed behind them; it was the last time Shoz saw Lucy.
His heart was thundering and he was gripping the bars of his cell for support. Sweat trickled from his temple. Lloyd spoke, drawing his attention. "Why did you marry her?"
Shoz didn't look at him and went weakly to the cot, sinking down on it. He had no intention of answering.
"She's a beautiful girl," Lloyd said. "Lust? Somehow, I don't think so. Let me warn you, Mr. Cooper, even though your wife cannot testify against you, we can put you away for the next hundred years, even without her testimony."
Shoz laughed weakly. That particular point of law had never occurred to him. "Don't bother trying to convince me," he said harshly. "I've already tasted American justice. I believe you."
"Good. That makes my job easier." Lloyd approached to take up the position Lucy had vacated. "I have a proposition for you, Shoz. One I think will interest you."
"The only thing that interests me is my freedom."
"Good. Then listen to this: You keep on smuggling guns to the Cubans, only you do it personally and successfully. And when you are thick with the thieves, so to speak, you begin to spy. You report everything to me—every detail of the war, every move the rebels make, every move the Spanish make."
"What's in it for me?"
"Your freedom, of course."
And suddenly there was hope.
Shoz was barely able to believe his good fortune. All he had to do was continue what he had been doing, with the little hitch of actually transporting the weapons to Cuba himself, making contact with the rebels, and involving himself more deeply in their affairs. In exchange for this, he would receive a presidential pardon for all of his crimes.
His record would be wiped clean. It would cease to exist.
There was a kink or two. There was no time limit on his services. He would spy for the United States government until there was no need to do so anymore. Without the intervention of a country like America, the Cuban war for independence could drag on indefinitely. Also, the criteria for the presidential pardon were vague—he must spy and do it well. Still, there was no choice. Shoz was being delivered from the very gates of hell. He was not going to go back to prison, something he had sworn to himself long ago that he would never do. And just as important, he had a chance to put his past behind him, and once this affair was finished, he could start over as a new man.
Would Lucy wait for him?
She was his wife—she would have to.
He was desperate now to see her again, because this time he could reassure her, this time he could promise her a future. Suddenly, where there had been only pain, there was excitement; where there had been blackness, there was light.
It was only a few hours after his "talk" with Lloyd that some of his peace was shattered. He had been dozing despite the steady pain of his neck. He heard the door to the jail slamming open, then he heard Rathe Bragg's furious voice. "Wake up!"
Shoz opened an eye.
"If you think you're going to get away with this, you're dreaming!" Shoz sat up.
"I don't know how the hell you married my daughter, you son of a bitch, but you're going tp pay for it, do you understand? You're going to spend the rest of your life paying for what you did!"
"I didn't force your daughter to marry me."
"You seduced her!"
Shoz laughed. He decided not to let Bragg in on the truth—she had, in fact, seduced him.
"You think this is funny? You won't think it's so funny when you're back on a chain gang."
Shoz went very still. "There won't be any chain gang."
"No?" Bragg grinned. It was taunting. "You think you can get away with kidnapping my daughter—and using her?"
Bragg didn't know about his deal with the government, and warning bells began to go off. Rathe Bragg was very powerful, and with his family behind him, more so. If they chose to oppose the government, then what? "I didn't use your daughter, Bragg."
"You bastard! When I think of you touching her, I could kill you!"
"Nobody's going to kill anyone," Lloyd said, entering with Derek. "I don't want you in here."
Rathe drew a roll of papers from his jacket. "Let him out, or let me in," he said. "I have something for him to sign."
"You shouldn't be in here, son," Derek said. He was grim. "Rathe, we have to talk." "I have something for him to sign," Rathe repeated stub-bornly. "And I su
re as hell am not leaving until he does."
Shoz wanted to know just where the Braggs stood—where Derek Bragg, the family patriarch, stood. He sensed that Derek would hold the family together in the position he chose. He stared at him. "Has he told you? Has Lloyd told you about our deal?"
Derek winced. "Yes, he told me."
"What deal?" Rathe cried, looking from Shoz to his father. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
No one answered. Rathe looked at Lloyd. "This had better not be what it sounds like!"
"Rathe, Shoz is not going to be tried for kidnapping your daughter. He is going on a mission for the United States government."
Rathe stared for a split second. "You lousy double-crossing bastard!" Derek put a hand on his shoulder; he shook it off.
"Use your head and think," Lloyd said. "America has interests to protect in Cuba. Shoz is in with the rebels. Who better to spy for us and protect our interests? Protect your interests? Protect Maravilla—and you and your family's other investments? Who—"
"I don't believe this!"
Derek grabbed Rathe. "Unfortunately, son, this is out of our hands."
Rathe threw him off. "You're siding with him!"
"I'm not siding with him. We're not being given a choice here, Rathe, and I've given it some serious thought. Lucy is all right. We'll fix this marriage and take care of her so that no one will ever know anything. I will never permit the scandal that would come from a trial for Lucy's abduc¬tion, never. If the government wants to send him to Cuba, it doesn't change how we're going to take care of Lucy so that she isn't hurt any more than she is already."
Rathe was silent.
"Would you permit the scandal of a trial, Rathe? Would you? Dammit, son, use your head!"
Rathe cried out in frustration. He turned on Lloyd. "All along you knew about this, didn't you? You lied to me, used me and my family and our resources—to capture your ready-made spy!" "That's right," Lloyd said easily. "I'm sorry." In the cell, Shoz relaxed. The Braggs were not going to go up against the government and use their considerable power to thwart the deal of his lifetime. He was going to Cuba.
Rathe whirled. "You may think you're getting off, but you're not. You are going to pay for what you've done, and I'll make sure of it. I'll make sure they keep you in Cuba so long, you'll forget what America looks like. Cuba will be your prison, you son of a bitch—you wait and see."
"After doing real time in New York, Mr. Bragg, Cuba will be paradise."
Suddenly Rathe smirked. "Is that so? I was just there. Once upon a time it was paradise—now it's sheer hell!"
"Enough!" Derek said. "This isn't getting anybody anywhere. Do you have the papers?"
Rathe nodded, unrolling documents. "I don't care if I have to put a loaded gun to your head, but you're signing."
Lloyd unlocked the cell door, and Derek and Rathe entered. Shoz sat up straighter. Derek pulled a pen out of his vest. Rathe smiled coldly and held the papers down on the cot. "Sign on the X."
"What is this?" Shoz asked.
"You'd better sign," Derek warned.
"I've promised them you'd sign, Cooper," Lloyd said. "Or no deal."
"They're divorce papers," Rathe gritted. "Sign. Sign or I blow the whistle on this goddam deal."
Shoz froze. Even his heart had stilled. He said, "I'm not signing." He didn't think it through, he refused to think it through, refused to consider the consequences—prison. He knew himself well enough to know he meant what he said with every fiber of his being.
Rathe Bragg went crazy, lunging for him, with murder his obvious intention. He was dragged away by both Lloyd and Derek, the two men reassuring him that Shoz would come around. Shoz smiled, a hard sneer. But he was sweating.
Later Lloyd returned to convince him that his freedom was more important than his marriage, and that if he did not sign, he was going to prison for the rest of his life. Shoz knew he was right, he should sign—but he never lifted thai pen. Derek Bragg also returned, grimly reiterating what Lloyd had stated, then adding even more arguments, but Shoz did not budge. He had made up his mind.
Very late that night, Lloyd entered the jail, carrying the papers. Shoz had been unable to sleep, his mind wrestling futilely with some means of escape from this impossible predicament. He hadn't found one, but now, at the sight o Lloyd, he sat up and began to sweat.
"I thought I made it clear," he said, never taking eyes from Lloyd, "I'm not signing."
Lloyd unlocked the door to his cell as if he hadn't heard him. "I think you're going to change your mind, Cooper."
Shoz smiled. "Think again."
Lloyd unrolled the papers, holding them in front of him, area "She doesn't want you, Cooper."
Shoz blinked, the typed words of the document coming into focus, a signature at the bottom of the page, near where he was supposed to sign, becoming distinct. Ugly, black comprehension started to set in.
"She didn't need any convincing; it was just a lark aftet all."
Lucy Bragg. Her dainty signature danced across the page, blurring. He whitened, shocked. Full understanding hit him, hard. She had signed.
She doesn't want you anymore. Lloyd's word's echoed . or was he repeating them? His heart began to pound, his ™ blood surged. She had signed. She had signed away her half of their marriage.
Damn her. Damn her!
"I'll leave this with you," Lloyd said, throwing the doe uments on the cot with a pen. "No point in holding out he' now." He left.
Shoz didn't move. Not for a long time. But when he did, it was to sign his name with a flourish.
Chapter 37
New York City, December 1897
Tomorrow she was going to be married. Lucy did not know whether to laugh or cry. She sat at her dressing table and stared grimly at her reflection. She did not look like a happy bride. She looked more like a widow.
Abruptly Lucy got up to pace around the room that had been hers since she was a child. It was very large, with one dominated by the canopied bed, the other given over to a plush sofa and several armchairs. The room was decorated in shades of ivory and white. The four double windows on the far wall looked out on Central Park. Lucy pushed one open. It was a cold winter day, and the park, carpeted thickly with snow, sparkled in the sun. The chilling air seemed to invigorate her. At least, it eased some of the awful apathy that possessed her.
Today was her birthday, her twenty-first birthday. She should be happy, considering how lucky she was. Already over the hill, she was about to wed one of the finest catches New York. She should be thanking her father. She should grateful.
The problem was, she wasn't any of those things. His image loomed, dark, mocking. Aghast, Lucy tried to shove it away. He no longer invaded r thoughts so frequently; indeed, there were times when did not think of him at all for an entire day—and then she would remember, and in the remembering, know she d not forgotten him at all. And probably never would.
The hurt was long since gone. There was only anger it its stead.
Her parents had been right. He was not the man for her. He was a bum and a bastard. There was only one person he cared about, and that was his mercenary self. She was better off without him, and she knew it. If he had cared at all for her, he would have never signed those papers.
It had been a shock.
Lucy barely remembered the ride back to Brownsville. She had been in a state of hysteria, thinking Shoz was dying from the gunshot wound. There was so much blood. Once in town, she was hustled to a hotel room with her aunt Storm. Lucy had begged her aunt to let her find Shoz. Storm had grabbed her roughly. "What is going on, Lucy? What is it?"
Lucy didn't give a thought to the consequences of revealing the truth. "I don't want him to die!" she sobbed. "Please let me go to him!"
"I don't understand." But Storm was pale with comprehension.
"I love him! He's my husband!"
Storm held her and rocked her while she wept, assuring her that he would not die, and that she would bring word
of his condition—but under no circumstances could Lucy see him. She left after Lucy promised to wait for her return. Lucy had done no such thing. The instant her aunt had disappeared, Lucy had fled to find Shoz.
Now she knew part of the truth. While she had been at the jail, her aunt had gone to her father with the news of their marriage. Setting off her father's determination to keep them apart and see them divorced. And as always, Rathe Bragg succeeded in whatever he decided to do.
Lucy had been weak with relief to find Shoz bandaged and awake, if pale, but so clearly alive and recovering. She had been so afraid he would die!
Her father's sudden furious entrance ruined her chance to speak with him and comfort him, which she so badly wanted to do. Rathe dragged her from the jail, across the street, and back to her hotel room.
She watched Derek sit by her feet and hand her the mug. "How is he?"
Derek grimaced. "He's sleeping. No fever, strong as ever.''
Lucy could at least relax on that score. "Please help me, Grandpa. Please don't let him go to prison."
Derek could not lie. "He's not going to prison, Lucy.
Lucy gasped. "What has happened!" For one inane moment, she thought that Derek had somehow managed to save the man she loved.
"The government is sending him to Cuba, Lucy."
"Cuba!"
"We support the rebels—and Shoz has been supplying them with guns."
Lucy turned her face away. So that was what he had been doing, smuggling guns to revolutionaries. When she looked up, she was smiling. "So he's actually a hero?"
"How dare you!" Lucy was furious. "I'm going back there, damm it; I have every right—"
"You have no rights!" her father shouted, raising his hand.
Lucy shrank against the wall. Never had she seen her father so enraged—and so close to violence. She did not move, understanding that he was fighting for control—and that the violence he so barely restrained was directed at her.
He recovered. There was no sound in the small room except for their harsh, uneven breathing. "Daddy?"
Rathe turned away, covering his face with his hands. "My God! I almost hit you!"
