"No, but someone else is looking, too."
Chris knew it was Victoria. And though he hadn't seen her since yesterday afternoon in the laundry, he was certain she was aware of Vel's disappearance. "You questioned the girls?"
"They were still asleep," he said, moving to the stove and pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Dang if it don't make me maddet than a stuck pig, though, them going on as if Vel didn't
matter.''
"Doesn't matter," Chris corrected. And Noble's features
tightened, the cup poised at his lips.
"Yeah," he conceded, ashamed that he'd given up already.
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"I'll be at the Pearl."
Noble glanced at the clock. "They're still sleepin'."
"Too bad," Chris tossed over his shoulder as he left. He
headed to the Pearl, his long strides determined and angry.
Townfolk moved out of his way, not that he'd notice, his mind
busy going over the facts. Victoria could tell him what was
going on. There wasn't a thing that got past that woman and
he didn't go in the front door, and instead, headed into the
alley toward the laundry. Poking his head inside, he found only
her helper, busy washing. She glanced up, frowned indignantly.
"Clara?"
The woman shrugged. "Ain't seen her." "Since?"
"Early this mornin'. She's gone," she added quickly when her half answers tried his patience. Chris turned back toward the saloon, deciding not to use the side stair case and headed out of the alley. He paused at the outer door leading to Becket's office, something indistinct catching his attention. He moved closer and bent, his fingertips skimming over deep scuff marks in the wood threshold and stoop, thin lines, jagged. Like marks from a chair. Or heeled slippers, he thought. But neither Becket, nor Victoria wore them and those were the only two who'd be out in the alley. His gaze crawled along the ground, searching. No dig marks in the dirt, and he back tracked, finding boot prints, yet they were nearly obliterated by splashes of water and likely the maid's shoes. Then he discovered hoof prints, deeper than they should be and Chris squatted, tipping his hat back. Three shallow, one deep. Two riders, he thought, one horse. A chill skipped up his spine and he lifted his gaze to the horizon, a narrow strip between the buildings. Colorado never looked so huge as it did at this moment.
Tori, sweetheart, what have you gotten yourself into this time?
Straightening, he left the alley and mounted the front steps to the Pearl Handled Saloon, shoving through the winged doors and scanning the sparse crowd for Victoria. She was nowhere
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in sight and he clamped a vice on his anxiousness and strode to the offices.
He rapped once, stated his name and when the door opened, he pushed his way inside.
"Marshal, how good to see you."
"Where's Velvet?"
Becket's smooth brow drew down slightly. "I'm not certain. She did say something about her child." Smugness laced his tone, an odd smile faintly curving his lips and suddenly Chris was seeing this man a bit differently.
"Child? Vel?"
"Yes, it was a surprise to me, but I understand she visits her. I suspect that's where she is." Becket looked so thoughtful he seemed scholarly. "Though I wished she'd warned me. Bad for business and all."
"When did she leave?'' Chris moved around the room, glancing out the window facing the alley.
"Sometime yesterday evening."
There were no stages out last night, Chris thought. Maybe she went by train? ' 'I want to question the others.'' He refrained from reaching out and fingering the edge of the scared sill. The cuts in the wood were recent.
"Be my guest." He waved toward the upper floor. "But at this hour, I can't guarantee their moods."
Chris twisted a look back over his shoulder, eyeing him suspiciously. "You don't care, do you?"
"Velvet is a grown woman, Marshal, and I can't force her to stay here. She's an asset to the Pearl and knows she'll have a job when she comes back."
"And Miss Murphy. Where is she?"
He shrugged. "She asked for the day off and I granted it. The girl works hard."
Harder than you think, Chris thought, crossing the room. He brushed too close to the desk, knocking a ledger to the floor. Excusing himself, he bent to retrieve it, frowning at the carpet. A small area was brighter than the rest and with his head bowed,
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Chris's gaze discreetly swept the floor to the back door leading to the alley, bolted shut.
"Marshal?"
Chris straightened, handing over the ledger and without a backwards glance, left. Outside the door, he paused, that chill intensifying and he looked up the staircase to the line of doors disappearing down the hall. She's searching too, he thought. He hoped. For if she wasn't, Chris didn't know what to do. He mounted the steps, heading straight to her room and a horrible sick feeling rolled in his stomach at the sight of the barren wardrobe and dresser. Further investigation confirmed his suspicions. Not only was Vel missing, but so was Victoria.
An hour later, Chris thought he'd retch from the fear racing through his bloodstream. Becket had spoken to Vel last night. He was the last person to see her alive after Noble. And the marks outside his private door and the freshly cleaned carpet heightened his suspicions. He didn't want to believe what Victoria had told him all along. He didn't want her to be right—not this time. Not when he couldn't find her. He checked every shop, spoke to every passing citizen. No one had seen either woman. Re-entering his office, he found Noble talking with Jenna MacLaren.
"I received this from the physician, in Black Hawk." She immediately handed Chris a telegram.
Need help. Cannot establish cause of death. Victim bled internally. No visible wound found. Circumstances extreme.
Chris's heart skated up to his throat. "Wire him for details."
"I have. We should have a reply in a couple of hours." She frowned up at him. "You look upset. Can I help?"
"No, thank you, but let me know the minute you get a reply." She promised, gave him a reassuring pat, then left. Chris turned to Noble, praying he had some news. He didn't and his optimism plummeted.
"Clara's vanished, too. Becket said she had the day off."
Noble's features went taut. "But you don't think that's it."
"Hell no, she took everything she owned with her!" His voice strained and Noble didn't think he'd ever seen Chris so high-strung.
"I would have thought she'd come to you."
"Me too." Chris yanked off his hat, flinging it on his desk. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Put a man on Becket, warn them to be as discreet as possible. Rotate them every couple of hours."
Noble arched a brow, but wasn't going to question his boss. He never liked the dandified saloon keeper, anyhow. "Maybe she ain't out an' around lookin' like Clara."
Chris lowered his arms, his expression almost sheepish. Then he frowned. "No. I don't think she'd drop the disguise, not for anything. It's too risky.'' Secrecy was her foremost concern. From him and everyone else.
"Describe her. So I know what to look for."
Chris's expression changed, softened, a half smile curving his lips. "Tall, shapely, very muscular, but not that you'd notice right off. Dark gold hair streaked a half dozen colors, about to here," he measured just past his own shoulder. "And she has eyes like a mountain lion."
Noble straightened.
"What?" Chris snapped when the color drained from
Noble's face.
"One of Clancey's boys rented a horse to a tall woman this morning. Said she was in a all-fire hurry to be gone."
"Did he say where?"
"The train." He rushed to add, "But I already sent a telegram," when Chris was nearly out the door.
He paused on the thresh
old. "But for Vel, not Victoria."
He was gone and Noble sagged against the edge of the desk, raking his hair with beefy fingers.
"Did 1 hear you talkin' about that long-legged woman?"
Noble wrenched around to glare at the deputy coming out of the back cells. And at his superior's hard look, Seth sputtered, "It's just that I saw her, talking to Lucky."
Noble bolted for the door, but Chris was already gone, Cae-
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sar's hard ride kicking up a rolling cloud of red dust. Then he caught sight of Lucky sitting on the steps of the hotel two blocks down, throwing pebbles in the street and about to get booted off by the proprietress's broom. Noble walked closer, casually, aware that his size somehow scared the little fella. He didn't know how much help the boy'd be, muddled as he was, but he was the last person to see Chris's woman alive. But when his shadow passed over the boy, Lucky looked up, wide-eyed and though Noble called softly, swearing he wouldn't hurt him, the child bolted, disappearing into crowd of shoppers. And like the jaws of a snake, the throngs of people swallowed him whole.
Chris sawed back on the reins, his gaze drifting over the terrain, the setting sun making him squint. He'd come here, to where he'd first found her asleep in the forest, as a last hope. But nothing indicated that she or anyone else had been here and his frustration mounted. Though he could trace where she'd been early this morning, he was no closer to finding her. And he had a feeling she'd intentionally covered her tracks.
He stared down at his fist, the reins wrapped around his gloved hand. His fingers worked the leather impatiently and he felt a sting in the back of his throat.
Come to me, Tori. I'll help you. I swear I won't push you for your secrets. Just come to me.
He remembered the vision he had days before they met— the haze of a figure coming through a cloud of wet mist, water splashing, coupled with a steady whirling sound, like the whine of a Spaniard's bolo, chopping the air. And voices, hollow, tinny. But as the figure became clearer, human, it bent, growing sleeker, taking the shape of a mountain cat and moving gracefully across the ground. Human eyes had looked at him, a human soul.
His Cheyenne rearing believed the vision was an omen, a warning or a prediction. Victoria's identity was locked in the mist, beyond his reach, beyond his comprehension, yet he'd
spent too many years in the white world to believe she was a spirit in human form. But the vision had come true, he reasoned, and longing and fear speared through him as he remembered the end, the figure tumbling back into the mist, returning her to her world. Forever.
Not yet, he prayed to the darkening heaven. We haven't had the chance. Please give it, he begged the Great Spirits. And if she wants to go, I'll let her. But keep her alive.
He didn't know what he expected, the sound of a bird or a crack of thunder maybe, but only silence answered him. Ach-ingly empty and lonely.
"Come on, boy," Chris murmured, directing the horse out of the forest. He dreaded going back without her. At least out here, he didn't have to face that he might never see her again. His heart clenched at the thought and he glanced back once more, a strange sensation splitting through him. Somewhere in that forest were her secrets and shadows, he thought, then considered the ridiculousness of the idea.
Just the same he scanned the wooded glen once more before facing ahead and spurning Caesar to a hard gallop. He would tear this territory apart, he decided. If he had to call in every friend and favor to do it.
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Chapter Twenty-One
Two days.
He hadn't laid eyes on her in two days and Victoria's disap
pearance was swiftly encroaching on the third. Time scraped
by like a limping soldier, dragging Chris painfully with it.
Propping his elbows on his desk, he cradled his aching head
in his hands, fingers sunk into his hair. He'd spent so many
hours in the saddle his rear hurt, and he couldn't recall the last
time anything besides coffee passed his lips.
And Chris thought he was very slowly going mad.
Every resource he'd tapped panned out to nothing. Lucky
was his last card and he knew the boy would appear only when
it suited him. Yet he was the last person to see Victoria alive.
Jesus. Don't think like that. f
She's not a careless, stupid woman, he reasoned again, raking
his fingers through his hair, dragging bits of bramble and spill
ing crumbs of dirt on his shoulders. She's trained, almost
deadly.
And she's lied to you.
He ignored the voice in his head, his anger boiling at the thought of her clever deception, he snatched up a telegram, re-
reading it as if it hid a sliver of hope that was quickly slipping away.
More lies.
A numbness settled in the region of his heart, straining the blood flow, and the paper crackled as his fist closed slowly, tightly, around it. Chris jammed it into his shirt pocket. He needed answers and so often he couldn't count, he wished to God she'd walk through that door so he could shake them out of her. Thrusting out of his chair, he crossed the office to refill his cup. His hand trembled slightly as he poured and he set the tin pot down with a thump. Damn you, Tori. Don't scare me
like this.
The door flung open and Chris whipped around as Noble stepped inside. He took one look at Chris and his expression fell. He looked like a train about to wreck.
"Go home, son."
Chris dashed back a gulp of coffee. "No." He speared his fingers through his hair again, then mashed a hand over his face. "1 can't." Pain streaked across his features every time he allowed his imagination to run. Was she dead? Had she been attacked by animals? His Indian brothers? Becket hadn't moved from the saloon, so Chris was fairly certain he hadn't gone after her, but why didn't she come in? Why didn't she ask him for help?
Trust, a voice snarled back at him, dashing salt in a fresh wound. He set the cup aside and scooped his hat off the peg as he moved to the door. "I'm going out."
' 'You been riding the hills all day, Chris, think about Caesar. He ain't covered that much earth in two years.
"I have to try again." I'm dying in here, he thought. Her absence hurt, like a repeating blow to his middle. And every passing minute made him feel more helpless. And angry. At her for not coming to him, for not telling him everything so he could help her. And for making him suffer like this. "Once more, then I'll be at home."
"Go, go." He waved. "Drive Abigale clean up her broom stick."
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"That a telegraph?" Chris asked, nodding to the yellow paper in his hand. Noble blinked, as if just realizing he had it, then handed it to the marshal. "I 'spect you're the only one who can read that."
Chris unfolded the paper, barking a short laugh. It was written phonetically in Cheyenne, the same manner they'd passed messages during the war.
Found nothing. STOP VM. does not exist. STOP Palau either. STOP Still have markers to call in. STOP Can be there in two days if you need me. STOP,
H. McCracken.
It was the fourth telegram, a representation of favors he demanded be repaid, in the war department, the Pinkerton agency and from several people he even liked, for information, answers. But the evidence was stacking against her, quickly. Noble observed his expression and hated to say it. "She's gone, Chris." The marshal's head jerked up, his blood shot eyes narrowing. "You got to see past your heart, son. She's fooled us before, giving us different names, usin' those disguises. Maybe she's the one who—"
Chris was in his face before he finished speaking, clamping his hands on Noble's shirt front and yanking. "Never," he growled. "Not in a century will you get me to believe there's anything but honor and courage in that w
oman. Never."
He's in love with her, Noble realized suddenly. A painful bittersweet love. For Noble had a strong feeling Victoria and Chris were never meant to be together. And the events of the past days were proving it.
"All right, Marshal. I've trusted you this far." Chris blinked, his gaze lowering to his hands gripping his friend's shirt. Suddenly, he released him and stepped back. "God, Noble, I'm sorry."
The deputy-marshal clamped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a friendly shake, accepting the apology. "Answer the
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telegram, Chris, and go get some rest. I'll send any word to
the house."
Chris nodded, resolute, turning toward the door.
"And a bath wouldn't hurt, either," Noble tossed.
Chris glanced down at his dust-covered green shirt and black pants, his lips curving in a tight smile as he looked back at the mountain man. "You got a thing about bathing, huh?"
"You would too, if you got a whiff of yourself."
Chris smiled for the first time in days, donned his hat and left. But the break in his mood didn't last, and after he sent another telegram, he mounted Caesar and rode the rounds, checking in with deputies. A solemn head shake answered his inquiries and his spirits plummeted. With each negative report, he kept remembering all the times she'd warned him not to nose in her business, not to get close to her, to want her, to think of her presence in anything but the temporary. He refused to believe she'd leave without at least saying good-bye, but the alternative sliced him to the bone. She's alive, he assured himself.
Reining around and heading out of town, Chris lolled in the saddle, his body aching with fatigue. His mind floundered from one possibility to another, the outcome scaring him. Rubbing his stinging eyes, Chris knew he couldn't function like this, couldn't help her if she finally reappeared, and he headed down into the valley toward his home.
His dry voice chanted a Cheyenne prayer to the mountains, the tone haunted and pleading. And in the words, a broken piece of his heart drifted on the wind.
Chris paced to the window, then back to his desk, dropping into the chair and thumbing through his accounts. The numbers jumbled, his eyesight strained with the pain throbbing in his head. He slammed the book closed and prayed for sunrise, for light enough to search. A bath and food only restored his energy, the driving need to be doing something to find her, to find Vel. But the night made it impossible. He'd already attempted it
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