Chris agreed, inclining his head toward Victoria. "I needed her account before I could file a report. I heard Miss Murphy had left the hotel and only recently learned that she works here now." Chris glanced back, calling to her.
Victoria looked up, cloudy water dripping off a sheet. He was turned so Becket couldn't see his expression and his dark gaze swept her like a rough caress, a vivid reminder, before he tugged at the brim of his hat. "Be seeing you 'round, ma'am." He winked, then faced Becket and shook his hand before striding past.
"You wanted something, sir?" She hoped her immediate
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dismissal of Chris's presence squashed any suspicion that Ivy League might have.
He glanced around the laundry, his distaste souring in his expression. "About the new clothes." "Yes sir?" she said patient, bland. "Disregard it." Her expression didn't shift a fraction, "No one of value sees you during the day, and I've decided your attire is not worth my expense."
She tilted her head regally, making it clear she was not offended, poor ugly creature that she was. "As you wish, sir." He left before her last word was out. So, no new clothes. Good. Victoria would rather walk barefoot through broken glass than wear something he provided. She went back to work, wondering if he was hard up for money, then she remembered a conversation with Vel. He wanted to sell the Pearl to her. Was Ivy League leaving for fresher prey?
Chapter Eighteen
It was the book, Victoria thought, chewing the inside of her lip. Something valuable had to be in the book she caught Ivy League writing in the other day. And she needed to get a look at it, maybe even take pictures and tried to remember if she'd tossed her micro camera in her pack, the cheap disposable job she used to catch license plate numbers that she never failed to forget. Back in her century, she mused, letting her thoughts wander.
"Well, you're a bundle of laughs tonight," a voice called and Victoria looked up, startled for a instant as to where she was, her mind trapped in her time, in painful memories. She blinked, looking around the room at the women lounging on piles of large pillows, their bodies draped in lace and silks and seduction.
Victoria offered an apologetic smile. "Daydreaming, I guess." She shrugged, taking a sip from the cup clutched in her hands. She made a face. "God, this is awful," she said to the coffee and stood, crossing the room and pitching the contents out the window. A man howled, cursing her and Victoria looked sheepish. "Oops."
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The room erupted in feminine laughter, and Victoria joined in, releasing a days worth of tension in the husky sound. The girls were like a secret sorority, and she'd been invited in, accepted, even though she wasn't a working girl. This nightly rap session was a ritual. They revealed secrets and spoke of their customer's ineptness or finesse, and sometimes mentioned their brutality.
To Victoria, it was a lesson in being totally female. They were the experts and Victoria studied them carefully, remembering what it was like to have few worries and no pain—to simply be wild and play. Be a woman.
"I had a live one tonight," a slim blonde said, leaving her cushions and walking over to the low table. She plucked a chocolate from a tray and popped it in her mouth. "That boy thought he'd come to my bed wearing spurs and his hat! Woulda tore my spread all to hell," She licked her fingertips, then added with a smile, " 'Cept he was so fast, he was done before he had me on it."
Giggles floated, then another girl spoke up, her voice childlike and breathy.
"Mine all treat me like I'll break." Disappointment laced her voice.
"You look like you would," Victoria said. She couldn't be more than sixteen and looked like twelve.
"Wish they'd treat me like that. Hell, I got the hard riders," Vel put in, stretching languidly. "And if I can walk tomorrow, I'll be lucky."
"But what did they leave you," one asked and Victoria
turned her gaze to the plump redhead. f
"Leave you, Vel?"
"Not what yer thinkin' girl," Velvet said, grinning. "I got one that slips into my room and leaves me stuff."
"Stuff? Come on Vel," Victoria said, honestly curious. "Out with it."
Vel twisted away and reached under her pillow, coming back with a delicate silver bracelet.
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Everyone leaned close, in awe over the fine curling filigree flickering with marcasite. "Who was it?" Vel shrugged. "I've tried to find out, but none of my regulars
will admit to it." "It's beautiful." Vel tossed.it to her and Victoria caught it. "It's yours,
honey."
"No, I couldn't. I didn't—"
"Earn it?"
Victoria looked at her feet.
"Don't worry, hon, neither did I, but if those fools want to waste their money, who am I too argue?"
Laughter spilled again, agreeing and comments heightened the noise, but Victoria went still, her ears tuned. She hushed
the group.
"Shhhh!" she stressed again and they went silent. Victoria
frowned. "Did you hear that?"
"All I hear is my bed callin' me—" Victoria slashed the air, then her eyes suddenly widened. She tossed the bracelet to Vel and strode swiftly to the door, walking down the hall, then running. She rapped on a door, heard a grunt, then something hitting the floor.
The girls were behind her now and she glanced at the faces to see who was missing. "Lila, you all right?"
Nothing. She tried the knob and found it locked, then heard the unmistakable sound of a slap. Hiking her skirts, she kicked at the door. It sprang on the first shot, banging against the wall. A man held Lila by the hair, his arm drawn back.
"Don't even think about," Victoria warned and he sneered, bringing his arm down.
Victoria lunged instinctively, ducking between Lila and his blow, blocking it with her forearm. Then she drove her fist into his stomach. The wind left his lungs and he folded. She grabbed his head and brought her knee up to connect with his nose. It fractured with a horrible crunching sound. Blood splattered,
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and when he tried to grab for her, she clapped her hands sharply against his ears. He howled, dropping to his knees and Victoria grabbed Lila, pulling her from the room and thrusting her at the others.
She whirled on the man struggling to his feet, keeping her gaze on his as she inched up her skirt to remove the knife strapped to her calf. She adjusted her grip and his bleary gaze moved from her face to the blade.
He swiped his sleeve beneath his bleeding nose, his small eyes boring into her.
"I know what you're thinking. A woman—I can take her. But am I worth going to prison for?''
He snickered as if that would be the last outcome he'd consider, swaying on his feet. He took a step, and she flipped the knife hilt up, gripping the blade point.
"Think again, pal." Her eyes narrowed. "Because if I go, you come with me."
He grinned, showing bloody teeth an instant before he lunged. She threw, the blade sinking into his shoulder. He screamed, staggering and just as quickly she advanced, her hand closing over the handle and using it to force him back against the wall. "You're never going to strike a woman again. Are you?" He panted, wide eyes shifting from the hand wrapped around the blade handle to her face. "You bitch." He grabbed her arm. "I'm gonna—"
She twisted the knife in his flesh ever so slightly and he whimpered, his touch loosening. "An inch downward and it's your heart, buster."
"You're crazy," he sneered, sweat beading on his face. "She's just a damn whore."
"She's a human being!" Victoria hissed. Which is more than I can say for you. Remember little man," she said with a sweep down his body. "There's always going to be someone stronger and quicker than you. And next time you try beating a woman, she just might kill you." With her last words she yanked the blade out. He shrieked like a wounded animal and behi
nd her, the girls gasped like a choir.
Victoria backed away as he covered his wound. "Get out." She motioned to the door. He moved, clutching his wound, side stepping, stumbling once. "The marshal'll hear of this." "Good, you do that."
The ladies gave him an escort down the hall and out the door. And over the rail, if she had to guess, but she was trembling too hard, the rush of adrenaline singing through her body. She looked at her knife. It scared her, how easily she drove it into his shoulder. Am I like him? Like Ivy League?
No, her conscience battled. You don't prey on the weak. You didn 't take his life. You didn 't stalk him until he was so terrified he couldn't fight back.
Releasing a slow breath, she methodically cleaned his blood off her apron and put it away.
Vel hadn't moved, her arm supporting Lila, but she was looking at her strangely. "You're something else, Clara."
"Exactly what, I'm still trying to figure out," Victoria smirked, helping Lila to her bed. The other girls rushed back, hovering at the doorway as Victoria and Vel cleaned Lila's wounds and gave her a powder for the pain. The murmurs died suddenly, and Victoria felt the hackles rise on her neck as she twisted to see why.
Ivy League stood in the doorway, his gaze swiftly taking in the broken crockery, Lila's face, and Victoria. Dee clung to his arm like a frightened child. He dismissed the girls to their
rooms.
"Thank you." His expression deepened slightly. "We seem fortunate to have you in our town, Miss Murphy."
There was a cryptic inflection in his tone that made her wary.
Victoria shrugged, looking bashful. "A girl alone learns things, sir." She turned her attention to Lila's swelling face and didn't take a decent breath until she knew he was gone.
"You all right, honey?" Vel said, reaching out to cover her hand. "You're trembling."
She met her gaze. "I don't like him." A weak statement considering what she really felt.
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"Me either."
Victoria arched a brow.
"I mean, he's a good fella and treats us all real nice—" she cast a glance at the door, frowning. "—but I can't put my finger on it."
Victoria appreciated the sixth sense of the madame, but weighed her options and deciding it was best not to confide in anyone. The less they knew, the safer they were. But a little insight wouldn't hurt.
"What makes you say that?" Victoria asked, sinking down onto the bed and applying a compress to Lila's swollen jaw. Vel shrugged, trying to put words to her feelings. "It's like he thinks we're all fools, beneath him, but doesn't come right out and show it. Granted, I'm no prize, but I know where I am in the way of things." Victoria noticed that when Vel was thoughtful, she lost her accent. "But he sees this," her gesture encompassed the saloon, "as a game. Not a business where you'd count damages, needed repairs." She shook her head, trying to understand what Victoria already knew.' 'He's meticulous, wants everything prefect and clean. Can't tolerate the slightest wrinkle in his routine. But he's good to us, like getting Dee to the doctor the other day 'cause her cramps were so bad she couldn't move—or work."
At the mention of cramps, Victoria's abdomen clenched. Her period would come in a few days and she had nothing to help her through it. For that matter, she didn't know what women did in this century. Whatever it was, it wasn't hygienically safe nor as simple as a tampon. She'd have to deal with that when it came, she decided, her mind dull with fatigue even as she tried to figure a way into that office without Ivy League around. "He's done something, hasn't he?"
Victoria's gaze flew to Vel's. "He's ... just be careful, okay?"
"Want some help?"
"No! Absolutely not," she hissed, gripping Vel's arm. "Don't do anything for me." When Vel simply stared, Victoria
shook her. "Swear to me you won't get involved! And no matter what you see, don't cross him."
Vel searched her gaze, the panic and warning clear enough for a hick like herself. "I swear, honey." She patted her hand and Victoria relaxed. "Now you go on to bed," Vel said, watching the girl's brows furrow tightly. "You been up longer than the rest of us."
"I've grown accustomed to little sleep lately," she said, but handed over the compress and left the room anyway. She moved sluggishly down the hall, fishing in her pocket for the key and inserting it in the lock. She paused in opening the door, the sensation of being watched sending a chill over her arms. She didn't look up, suddenly aware of the man at the far end of the hall near the saloon's inner staircase. She stepped inside, closing the door.
Sagging against the wood, she clamped her eyes shut and prayed he'd leave, prayed she didn't screw this up and get herself or anyone else killed. Tiredly, she stripped off her clothes, leaving the padding in place and as she leaned over the commode and made to remove the mask, she stilled, deciding she was just too tired to go through the meticulous ritual and slipped into the bed, drawing the satin coverlet over her shoulders. She was asleep in seconds.
And a few hours later, close to dawn, she didn't hear the door open, nor the figure moving into her room. But suddenly, with heart-stopping clarity, she was awake and keenly aware that she was not alone. She heard breathing, smelled a scent, bay rum, then felt the cloying presence of a body hovering over her. She fought to keep still, to maintain even sleep-like breathing. Terror like she'd never experience raced along her bloodstream. She could feel his gaze, and for an instant wondered if it was Chris. Had Becket called him in? No, it was too close'to morning. And to suppress her fear she turned her mind to the practical. What could he see? Her wig was still securely in place she assured herself, her few hours of sleep so hard she hadn't moved. But if he touched her face?
She moaned, shifting sleepily and he jerked back suddenly.
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But he didn't leave, standing in the center of her room. Then she felt him fade before she heard the creak of the door closing. She opened her eyes a fraction, a still closed look should he still be near, and when she realized he was gone, she slipped from the bed and very quietly vomited into the basin.
Chapter Nineteen
Victoria dipped the pitcher into the steaming kettle of water.
"Do you ever get a day off?"
She flinched, letting out a yelp and dropping the pitcher into the water.
Immediately, she spun on her heels.
"Don't sneak up on me like that!" she hissed, giving hima shove.
Chris smiled. "I never could before."
'What do you want?''
His brows rose at her sharp tone and she sighed, brushing damp tendrils off her forehead and offering him a small smile. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little edgy today."
"It's a wonder, going around stabbing everybody."
"One man, one man," she reminded, holding up a finger in case he couldn't count. "And you don't think he deserved it?"
"I wasn't there."
"Take a look at Lila and you'll see why the son of a—" She clamped her lips shut and turned away, fishing in the pot for the pitcher with a stick. She was working herself ragged. Her lower back throbbed, her breast ached and her temper and
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nerves were unusually short. And she didn't want to take it out on Chris. She hadn't slept well last night, the image of Ivy League hanging over her bed preventing anything but nightmares and horror to intrude on her dreams.
"What's the matter?" Chris asked, softly, frowning his worry.
"Nothing." She set the pitcher aside and with both hands grasped her lower spine, arching her back. Her shoulders drooped. "Christ, I'm so tired I can't think straight."
There was a shiver in her voice he hadn't heard before, defeated.
"I just want this to be over with." Pulling her beyond the hanging sheets and into privacy, Chris took her in his arms, holding her. It was exactly what she needed, wanted. Then his hands slipped
to the base of her corset, strong fingers rubbing the small of her back in tiny soothing circles and she moaned quietly, laying her head on his shoulder and sinking deeply into his strong embrace. "How did you know?"
His lips curved against the top of her head. "Life." "Hmm?" She snuggled her arms around his waist, holding him with a desperation he couldn't understand.
"I'm Cheyenne, raised with the tribe. It's very close knit and crowded. There's little a young warrior doesn't learn when it comes to ... nature. All things are within a circle of living, growing, dying. The cycle of a woman is a natural, necessary event.''
"Well, I wish it would leave me out of the loop."
He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling against her ear
pressed to his chest. "Besides, I saw my father io this for my
mother.''
' 'And here I thought you wanted me to think you were sage and wise, oh great mystic warrior."
"With you around?" Another chuckle, self-depreciating.
"Oh, Chris, that feels so good," she moaned as his fingers worked deeper, harder, and the pain left in slow increments.
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But it would be back, she knew. Ever since her Norplant insert, her period always announced itself for days before it started.
He looked down, tipping her head back. He brushed his lips over hers. "Take the day off. Come home with me. Rest."
Home. His home Oh, God, that was tempting.
She started to push away, but he held her. "You're exhausted."
"I can't." She couldn't tell him what she was planning. He'd throw her in jail for sure.
"You promised me some time, alone."
Alone, without the mask, he was saying. Right now, she wanted it so badly she could taste it. She wanted to forget about Becket, forget duty and hide in his arms. But it was impossible to even entertain the idea. "I know, but I'm training the new help." It wasn't a lie. And to confirm it, the sound of footsteps and sloshing water came to them.
Chris released her reluctantly, observing her as she took the pail from the woman. She's fighting her body, her weariness. And him. He could feel the tension in her, see her hands shaking as she poured water into the kettle, then reached for another. The woman, older than Victoria by ten years, her expression offering no nonsense and no humor, spared him a mild glance. And from his perspective, she didn't need any training.
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