Chris couldn't think of one woman who didn't know how to wash clothes. Even his mother, pampered life that she'd been privilege to, knew that.
She was avoiding him, lying. And it hurt. Dammit, it hurt. When was she going to trust him? Then he thought of the telegrams he'd sent all over the country and he decided he wasn't doing himself any favors by remaining silent. But something kept an invisible line between them, something intangible and lost in his strange dream. But whatever kept her heart at bay, Chris didn't think she'd ever cross it enough to confide
in him.
Victoria set the bucket down and turned to Chris, only to catch a glimpse of his broad back before he disappeared out the door.
202 Amy J. Fetzer
Miserably, she dropped down on a stool.
You just keep screwing it up over and over, she railed at herself.
But what was more important? Chris's bruised feelings or a killer running loose? And how long before you're so tired that Ivy League takes you out of the loop?
Velvet Knight lounged against the edge of the bar, watching the crowd, her gaze straying to a miner who'd been giving her the eye all night. Her boss was making his rounds, shaking hands, smiling that strange smile. She thought back to Clara and the way she was around him, tense, wary, and her gaze scanned the room, knowing she wouldn't find the girl, but checking just the same. She was such a lonely quiet flower, Vel thought, seeing a bit of herself, years ago. But Clara wasn't what she seemed, beating the stuffing out of that man the other night told her that. And Vel hadn't lived this life, this long, not to pick out a Pinkerton or a government agent when she saw one, female or not. Jt impressed her, her conclusions, and the woman. And it made her feel she was right about her boss. He was trouble beneath a layer of class, and her eyes strayed to the bulk of a man making his way across the room.
"Ain't Miss Abigale gonna be in a fit?" she said when Noble Beecham stopped beside her, signaling the bartender for a beer.
His bushy brows rose up into his receding hair line. "Dang, nothing passes you."
"Not when there's a handsome man on the loose."
He flushed a bit, catching the bottle the bartender slid to him.
* 'Want a tussle, Noble?''
He continued to stare at the bottle. "I would," hesaid almost shyly. "But I can't shake the feelin' I'd be betrayin' her." "Would you?"
"I guess that's why I'm here, to find out." Vel shifted closer, her soft smile bittersweet. Noble was the
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best kind of man, a heart bigger than his chest and strong enough to admit he could still be confused about some things. Vel tipped his head until her looked at her, then leaned close, putting all her experience in a kiss as soft as her name and as sweet as her scent.
And Noble felt the pang of desire flare lightly, even as her mouth moved over his with practiced art. Then he leaned back, staring into her eyes.
"Who were you thinking about just then?" He opened his mouth, stuttering a bit. "Now don't lie, 'cause I kin tell, and I won't be hurt, Noble. I won't." Her voice lowered. "You're just a hard cock with money in his pocket to me." It was a lie, bald-faced and vulgar. But she knew his answer before he
said it.
"Her. That I wished it was her."
And she wasn't going to let him ruin a good thing because of something they had years ago.
"Then go to her."
He took up the beer, prepared to drain it, but she stopped
him.
"Not drunk." She took the bottle, nudging him away and he kissed her cheek and left. She watched him, sipping the liquor, her heart saying good-bye before turning her attention to the crowd. Without reason, her gaze lifted to the staircase, to the second floor and the rail usually populated with her girls enticing men to come up. A figure moved back beyond the edge of the wall, casting no more than a shadow, blending into the darkness of the unlit hall. With the beer in her hand, she pushed away from the bar for a better look. Her eyes flared. Clara. And the girl retreated down the hall with unusual haste. Vel's gaze moved to Becket, her heart picking up pace. She didn't know what Clara was planning, but Vel had her suspicions, and Becket would kill Clara if he found her near his offices. No one entered those rooms without permission. He even made everyone who did wipe their feet before entering his private domain. She watched him, smiling vaguely at the miners and cowboys, stroking their hair, teasing them, and she
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was right behind him, a table away. She glanced back at the
doors and wondered if she was in there. Don't do anything for
me, Clara had warned her. No matter what you see. Clara's
desperation was overpowering. Be careful, girl, she thought.
. Extra careful.
Victoria jimmied the desk lock and opened the drawer. Carefully, she lifted out the book, laying it on the desk, careful not to disturb anything else. She opened it, pushing it beneath the light of a small lamp and skimming the pages.
Jesus Christ.
Life seeped from her body like the love denied from me, dismissed and discarded. She withered beautifully, her last breath shuddering erotically against my mouth. I drank it, like a rich Bordeaux.
Oh Jesus. Her skin crawled up her arms as she read one
passage, then another. The Wichita murder. The Bloomington
murder. He was so self-righteous in his reasoning, his method,
the details incredible and she didn't waste time, pulling the
microcamera from her skirt pocket and snapping pictures. The
only sound in the room was the shoosh of the two-inch oblong
casing sliding inside itself to forward the next shot. A breeze
from the open window ruffled the curtain and she paused,
glancing back over her shoulder, seeking eyes in the shadows
of the alley.
She turned her attention back to the book and read a little, wishing she had more time, wishing she had a photographic memory.
We wanted the touch, the feel. Deserving the motherly concern. Without it, we grow restless.
We? she thought as her camera snapped softly, with no more sound than her quick breathing. Page after page she recorded on film, her eyes barely registering what she saw in his fluid beautiful script.
Then she heard voices and froze, her gaze dropping to the base of the door, the small area between floor and wood. Shad-
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ows shifted, casting uneven fractures of light beneath. Her heart locked in her throat. Ivy League.
Vel spoke to a cowboy, telling him she'd give him something better to handle than that hand of cards, when out of the corner of her eye she caught Becket moving to his offices, saying good night to his customers like a king dismissing his servants. She kissed the cowboy on the head and tried to head him off.
"Algenon," she called softly and he stopped, turning slightly, his hand on the knob.
"Velvet." He nodded cordially, a shock of brown hair sinking over one eye. Damn, but he was handsome, she thought. "About that offer, to buy the Pearl?"
He stared at her blandly, waiting.
"Well, I can't get the money up unless I get a bigger slice of my earnings."
His brow lifted, his look cynical, belittling. "You want me to pay you so you can purchase my saloon?"
"How else am I going to do it? You have the upper hand here. And most of our earnings."
"Work harder."
She tried not to glance at the door. "Then you have to stop restricting us."
"In what way?"
"The skins, the bathing."
His expression hardened. "Never." And he turned to the door.
"All right," she conceded quickly, grabbing his arm. He looked down at her touch and she immediately let go. "I've got about three thousand saved."
"The deal was five."
She groaned. "It took me years to get that. I got to
send some to my kid and—"
"You have a child?"
She blinked, stunned at turn of conversation, the inflection
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in his voice. "Well, yes. I had to give her up, because I couldn't take care of her . . ." Her brows knitted deeper. His expression changed from casual interest to a predatory stare and he folded his hands on the cane top, gazing down at her for a moment before he spoke.
"Couldn't or wouldn't?"
"Couldn't, not in a place like this. Ain't fair to a kid—"
Immediately, his face darkened, a brief mask of fury so horrible she was speechless. He grasped the door knob, and in one motion shoved open the door and pulled her inside.
'' Algenon?'' Terror raced up her spine. He scanned the room and so did she. There was nothing amiss. "What's the matter?"
"Be quiet." They came softly, the words, with a patience that soothed and frightened her in one breath.
He looked down at her, his smile gradual and not the least bit comforting. Vel trembled. "I have to get back."
His grip flexed. "No. Not anymore."
"Are you firing me?"
"Of course not, my dear." His hand, still gripping the cane, came up to caress the edge of her jaw, the line of her throat, seductive promise lighting his blue eyes and spreading into his expression. Vel relaxed a little. He just wanted to bed her, that's all.
Releasing his hold on her elbow, he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against him, cradling her like a lover. He brushed his lips over her eyes, sealing them shut and she could feel his hardness pressing against her. Then he snapped his wrist, the motion sending the cane across the room and Vel's eyes flashed open. He smiled, thin and hungry, his mouth close to hers, and she barely caught a glimpse of light bending off a rapier-like blade before she felt it pierce her rib cage and impale her heart.
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the window in record time, running here and lighting a lamp, making herself look busy.
Her gaze flicked to the open door, then to where her satchel was hidden beneath an overturned tub. She'd taken precautions, recognizing that after finding him in her room, he'd entered with a key. Later, she thought, pinning the wet sheet to a line, she'd hide it in a more convenient place, but for now, she wasn't letting it out of her sight. She wanted to read over her files again, compare the notes with what she'd glimpsed in that journal. Her skin shifted and a sound drew her around the edge of the sheet. She frowned, withdrew her gun from her pocket and moved to the door. The alley was black as pitch, the . dim lights from neighboring buildings drawing shadows in the darkness. Nothing moved, and she kept the gun hidden in the folds of her skirt, her gaze scanning. Light bloomed, a wedge bouncing off the next building. Ivy League's office. Just a quickly as it was on, it went out.
This is too risky, she thought, releasing her breath, then concealing her gun in her pocket and retrieving her backpack. Quietly she made her way up the open back stair case, thanking anyone who'd listen that her room was just inside the door. She didn't breathe relief until she was firmly intrenched in her bed, her pack beneath a pillow, her hand looped tightly around the strap. Even as tired as she was, the remainder of the night crawled by with an eerie slowness before she drifted into sleep. And when she did, she dreamed of Chris.
Victoria dunked her hands in hot water, pulling out the soggy sheet and wringing it. Her heart beat violently in her chest and she struggled to calm it, twisting the fabric. She'd made it out
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209
Chapter Twenty
The door rattled.
Victoria bolted awake, blinking at her surroundings, her mind
as slow to focus as her eyes. She struggled to sit up, her
abdomen cramping miserably and she rotated her neck, then
flung the covers back and her legs over the side of the bed.
That was the worst night's sleep in reported history, she thought,
smirking at the pun. Her entire body hurt, her head throbbed
and she dashed the contacts with solution, then popped them
into her eyes. Blinking, she looked at the barricaded door as
the summons came again, more urgent. I'm late starting work,
she thought. Leaving the bed, she tossed the covers over her
back pack and glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine. Nothing
in this place stirred before noon. Checking her appearance for ripples in the mask, she pressed
a crimp in place, then dragged a robe over her body, removed
the chair tilted and tucked under the knob before opening the
door.
"You seen Vel?" Dee asked, her dark eyes wide. Victoria's gaze slid past her to the two women hovering close. Lila's face bore ugly purple bruises from her abuser and Priss, the baby, }
as Victoria came to think of her, looked like she'd rather be sleeping off lasts night's activities than standing in the hall.
"Not since yesterday, in the saloon. Why?" Victoria didn't want to hear this, she knew it.
"Her bed ain't been slept in, by anyone."
Victoria swallowed, glancing back to be certain nothing incriminating was lying around before ushering the girls inside. "Who saw her last?"
"I saw her talking with the deputy marshal, but he ain't seen her neither," came from Priss, breathy and soft.
So, Victoria thought, they've checked. "Is Mister Becket around?"
Dee frowned. "Yeah, still sleepin'."
"Did you share his bed?"
Dee adjusted her dressing gown, the motion almost proud. "I did."
Victoria's gaze lowered briefly to the stains marring Dee's garments, white on the black silk, like dried sea water. "When?"
She looked as offended as a whore could get. "Why you got to be so nosy?"
"Just answer the question, Dee." Her hard stare warned her to shuck the act and spill it.
" 'Bout one in the mornin'."
Don't panic, Victoria warned herself. If he was with Dee at one, and I left the office near ten-thirty, that's only a couple of hours. Long enough to kill and discard the body, her professional mind countered and the thought made her stomach twist in knots.
"Sadie said Mister Becket took her into his office."
Victoria grasped the iron bed frame, her knuckles white. "When?"
"Don't know, didn't ask."
Victoria jerked around. "Then ask her!"
Dee spun on her heels and left, returning in a moment and looking extremely put out. "She can't say, after eleven, maybe
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later. She was more interested in her customer, than VePs chat with—"
Victoria looked up. "Chat?"
Dee put her hands on her hips, giving her bountiful head of dark hair an arrogant toss. "No, I don't know what it was about, but Vel sometimes goes to see her kid, from a distance, mind you. It's just that she tells us when she goes, is all." "Why didn't you say so in the first place! Christ, Dee!" Dee huffed out of the room in a flurry of lacy ruffles and slapping heeled shoes. Victoria relaxed a little. Maybe Vel had asked his permission? "Perhaps that's where she is then? How long does she usually stay away?"
"Just overnight," Lila interjected shyly. Okay, Victoria thought calmly. She'll be back tomorrow. All Victoria had to do was check out the livery, see if she boarded the stage or rented a horse and wagon. "Well, we can't do anything til tomorrow." ' 'I wasn' t worried,'' Priss said, dropping into the chair, yawning. "I think Dee's upset 'cause he didn't take her."
"Excuse me?" Victoria wrenched around, confused, her thoughts already on finding Vel.
"He didn't fuck her, Clara," she said bluntly. "She was horny as a mare in heat and he just held her. And she wouldn't come out an' say it, but I think he cried."
Victoria frowned. Becket? Cry? Hardly. But she waited for Priss to elaborate.
>
"She was wet, where he'd laid his head on her chest." The water stains on Dee's clothes, Victoria thought, alarms singing in her head, yet she shrugged casually, casting it off as nothing and urging the girls back to bed.
Closing the door, Victoria stripped off her robe and dressed quickly, searching for her new boots, tossing back covers and fallen pillows. Nothing mattered now, except finding answers. She was caught up enough in her chores to warrant a day off without suspicion and as she buttoned her blouse up to her throat, her gaze lit on the files protruding from beneath the coverlet.
She stilled, recalling the scraps of information Cole had uncovered for her, the coroner's reports she'd conned out of an old friend, her notes from investigating officers who were anxious enough to add her to their list of hunters. But nothing pointed to what she'd uncovered today; What would make a man like Algenon Becket III, a wealthy, arrogant cold blooded killer, cry in the arms of a whore?
And where, God help her, was Red Velvet Knight?
Noble Beecham, rubbed his forehead and nodded to the stage
manager.
"You're the second person to ask about her. What's happened, Mister Beecham?"
"I'm not clue, Cal," he said with a friendly grip of the man's shoulder, "But it don't look good."
Noble bid him good day, then reined around, heading back to the office, pausing to speak with each deputy and warning them to be on the look out. Dang, Vel, honey, where are you? He scanned the street, his pace slowing for pedestrians and wagons and driving his impatience clean out his throat. By the time he halted his horse before the office, he was ready to smash something. Stomping the red clay from his boots, he
stepped inside.
Chris looked up as he strapped on his double holster, recognizing defeat in his friend's eyes. "Anything?"
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