Sweet Silken Bondage

by Bobbi Smith

  "What's your name, handsome?" she cooed when she came up for air.

  "Clay, what's yours?"

  "Frenchie," the brunette told him with a wide, inviting smile.

  "Well, Frenchie, let's have a drink and see what kind of excitement the rest of the night might bring."

  Frenchie giggled loudly as she wriggled her hips suggestively in his lap. "I can hardly wait to see what comes up..."

  Josie did not wait for Devlin to grab her but went willingly into his arms. She kissed him excitingly as she lay half-prone across his lap. Without preamble, she took his hand and pressed it to her ample bosom, not caring that most everyone in the saloon was watching.

  "We're going to have a good time tonight," Josie promised him in a husky voice, unaware that an elderly, distinguished-looking Californio had approached their table and was watching them with something akin to distaste.

  "Excuse me."

  The stern precision of the intruder's tone stopped both Clay and Devlin in their playful pursuits. Both men glanced up in annoyance at the stranger who'd dared to interrupt them. The last, long weeks they'd spent tracking down Denton had taken their toll on them. They were here to relax for a while, to live it up and enjoy life, which they were obviously trying to do.

  "What can we do for you?" Devlin asked, eyeing the dignified, Hispanic man and wondering what he wanted.

  "I'm looking for a gentleman by the name of Cordell-Clay Cordell, to be exact." It irked Luis to think that this dirty looking, bearded man might be Cordell, but he certainly matched Rafael's description.

  "Who wants to know?" Devlin demanded.

  "My name is Luis Alvarez, and I have a business proposition to discuss with Mr. Cordell. If one of you gentlemen is he." Luis tensed, annoyed that this lowlife, who was so boldly and openly fondling the whore sprawled across his lap, would dare to question him.

  Clay maintained an aura of coolness as he studied this Alvarez. He kept one arm nonchalantly around Frenchie's waist, yet his gun hand was resting on the handle of his revolver, just in case this man's business proposition wasn't friendly.

  "I'm Cordell" he answered curtly, his gaze never wavering from the man's face.

  "I must speak with you, Mr. Cordell," Luis announced in his usual imperious tone. "Alone."

  Clay, however, took orders from no man, and this man's attitude put him off. "I don't think so, Mr.... What did you say your name was again?"

  "Alvarez, Luis Alvarez," he snapped, unused to such treatment.

  "Well, Mr. Alvarez, I'm a little busy right now, as you can see. Why don't you look me up tomorrow? Maybe we can talk then." Clay dismissed him.

  "I have a very profitable business offer to make to you, Mr. Cordell. It can't wait until tomorrow" Luis insisted, though it infuriated him to have to plead his case to a man such as this.

  Frenchie's eyes had widened as she'd recognized the name. She leaned closer to Clay to whisper. "This is the Luis Alvarez!"

  "So?" Clay responded indifferently as he took another drink of his whiskey.

  "He's a very rich, very powerful man in these parts. He's not one you'd want to anger, and it might be worth your while to listen to what he has to say," she encouraged.

  Clay leaned back with seeming negligence in his chair, giving Luis a cursory look. "I'm a reasonable man, Mr. Alvarez, and since you seem to think that this can't wait, what exactly is it you want?"

  Luis stiffened visibly. He did not want to discuss his personal affairs in the middle of a crowded saloon. "I must speak with you privately."

  "What's wrong with right here?"

  "I prefer to keep it just between us," he replied with what dignity he could muster. He would not beg for anything.

  "You can use my room," Frenchie offered.

  "All right" Clay agreed.

  The saloon girl stood up and, taking Clay's hand, pulled him up from the chair and started across the room to where the steps led upstairs.

  "Wait a minute." Clay resisted her lead long enough to grab the new bottle of whiskey off the table. He flashed Devlin an easy grin when his friend would have protested. "It might be a long meeting, you never know."

  "I suppose if Josie, here, keeps me busy, I won't even miss you," he returned, pulling the more than willing saloon girl up for a kiss.

  "Let's go," Clay urged Frenchie and Luis, and they disappeared upstairs.

  "This is it," she told them, opening the door to a small room that contained only a single bed and small washstand. She drew Clay inside, but Luis hesitated in the hall.

  "I need to speak with you alone, Mr. Cordell," he insisted again, looking pointedly at Frenchie.

  "Get lost, Frenchie. I'll call you when we're through talking," Clay told her.

  "I'll be waiting downstairs." She ignored Luis's icy regard and kissed Clay one more time before strutting from the room.

  Luis watched her move off down the hall, waiting to make sure that she went back down to the saloon, then entered the bedroom and closed and locked the door behind him.

  There was something about Alvarez that Clay didn't like or trust, and always being one to rely on his instincts, he monitored the man's every move just in case. Though Clay appeared relaxed and at ease, in truth he was tense and on edge. Bottle in hand, he stretched out comfortably on the bed, bracing himself against the headboard, and took a deep drink.

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Alvarez?" Clay's eyes narrowed as they watched the old Californio come to stand at the foot of the bed.

  "I understand that you make your living 'locating' people, Mr. Cordelell."

  Clay gave a short laugh. "I guess you could describe it that way."

  "In that case, I want to hire you." Luis's pride was taking a battering, having to deal with a man like Cordell, but he knew there was no other way out.

  "You want to hire me?" Clay repeated. "I don't usually hire myself out."

  "I'll make it worth your while, sir. Name your price."

  Clay couldn't believe what he was hearing. Name his price? Only a fool or a very desperate man would give a man the power to name his own pay. He was intrigued, but he was also growing more and more uneasy. He was not a hired gun, although he didn't hesitate to use force if it was necessary "Just what is it you want me to do?"

  Luis looked uncomfortable, but he answered honestly. "I want you to find my daughter."

  "You what?" Clay's expression reflected his surprise at the request. He'd been anticipating any number of possibilities, but this had not been one of them.

  "I want you to find my daughter. She's run away, and I want her brought back home."

  "I see." Clay paused to take another drink, musing on the strangeness of his request. It almost struck him as absurd. "And just what is it your daughter is running away from?"

  "That doesn't concern you, Cordell."

  "You're expecting me to risk my life for you and not know the reason? Sorry, Alvarez, no deal."

  "This wouldn't be a dangerous job, Mr. Cordell," Luis said haughtily. "I merely want you to locate her and bring her back to me. It should be quite simple, actually."

  "If it's so damned simple, why don't you do it yourself?" Clay countered, knowing there was something the man wasn't telling him.

  "I have already searched the immediate area, and she is not here. It's important that no one knows she's gone." He hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much.

  "Suppose you tell me why? Then maybe I'll consider it. Otherwise..."

  Luis saw the steely glint in the bounty hunter's eyes and knew he had to explain further. "My wife died when Reina was just a baby, and I've raised her by myself, Mr. Cordell. She's a very beautiful young woman, and, as I am a man of considerable means, it has always been my pleasure to cater to her whims. I spared no expense through the years, yet it sorrows me to say that my daughter has grown into a very self-centered, very spoiled young woman. I realize now what a terrible mistake it was for me to grant her every wish, but I love her..."

  As he spoke, Cla
y felt sickened. His daughter was a beautiful, spoiled little rich girl.. just like his mother. This Reina didn't like her life so she ran away, and she didn't care who she hurt in the process. Clay knew already that he wanted no part of the old man's scheme.

  "She is betrothed and the wedding date is set for less than six months away. For some reason, she's decided she doesn't want to marry her fiance, and so she ran away. I want you to bring her back."

  As he finished relating his story, Clay became even more firmly convinced that he wanted no part of Alvarez's offer at any price. There was no amount of money that could convince him to go after the girl. He'd dealt with a woman like that once, and once had been enough.

  "Sorry, Alvarez," Clay said flatly. "I feel real sorry for you and for this fiance of hers, but it's not my problem. I'm not interested."

  Luis couldn't believe that Cordell was actually refusing him. "But there's no danger involved, and I said you could name your own fee! All you have to do is find Reina, bring her back and keep quiet about it while you do it."

  "Like I said, I'm not interested."

  "Money is no object."

  "You're right," Clay agreed, taking a drink of whiskey to try to wash away the nasty taste in his mouth. "Money doesn't even enter into it. Your daughter's your problem, Alvarez, not mine. Find yourself another errand boy."

  Luis grew livid at his refusal. "Two thousand dollars!"

  "Sor"

  "Three!"

  "Do you understand the meaning of `no,' Alvarez?" Clay was annoyed by his persistence. "I'm turning you down. My partner and I've got better things to do than chase all over the countryside after your daughter!" He took another deep swallow of the powerful liquor.

  "Like drink yourselves into oblivion, Mr. Cordell?"

  "You're damned right, Alvarez! Now get outta here and send Frenchie back up on your way out. She's the only kind of woman who interests me. She's warm and willing and undoubtedly a real good lay. Probably everything your daughter isn't!"

  Luis sputtered with fury as Clay went on.

  "Think about this, Alvarez. Maybe her fiance is the lucky one. Maybe her taking off is the best thing that could ever have happened to the man. She'd probably have brought him nothing but misery anyway."

  At Clay's bluntness, Luis stiffened, feeling almost as if he'd been struck in the face. He blanched first and then his face flushed with color as rage consumed him. He was Luis Alvarez! How dare this American talk to him so and say such things about his precious Reina!

  Luis's black eyes narrowed dangerously as he stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the lazy, drunken gringo sprawled there. The fool! He obviously didn't know who he was dealing with. Well' Luis decided with cold, determination, he would just have to show him. Since Rafael had told him Cordell was the best, he would have Cordell. It just remained to be seen how he would manage it.

  "I wouldn't refuse so completely, Mr. Cordell. Take some time to think about my offer, and I'll be back in touch with you later." Luis turned and walked to the door.

  "Don't waste your time or mine, Alvarez," Clay responded. I'm not interested."

  "We shall see, Mr. Cordell. We shall see," Luis said under his breath as he let himself out of the room.

  The door to the room Devlin had taken for the night upstairs at the Perdition Saloon opened silently, and the large, shadowed form of a man crept inside. The soft, diffused light from the hallway silhouetted the intruder as he hesitated just inside the doorway, listening, waiting, fearful of being caught. When the low, steady sound of Devlin's drunken snoring came to him, proving to him that it was safe to go on in, the invader closed the door behind him. With soundless tread, he crossed the room to the bounty hunter's discarded clothing. After a minute of searching, the infiltrator found what he.was looking for and, silently and meticulously, did as he'd been instructed. That task completed, he moved to Devlin's other belongings. Without making a sound, he took the small package he'd been given from his own pocket and planted it deep in the bottom of the other man's saddlebags. One last look around assured him that he was finished, and he backed from the room, pleased that everything had gone so smoothly.

  It was late the next night when a sudden, near violent pounding on the door woke Devlin from a sound, sex-sated, liquor-induced sleep. Beside him Josie, too, stirred and came awake.

  "O'Keefe! We need to talk with you!" a deep, commanding voice called out.

  "Who is it, Dev?" Josie whispered fearfully, wondering who would come looking for him at this ungodly hour of the night.

  "Damned if I know..." he grumbled. It took him a minute to get his bearings as he groped in the darkness for his gun. The drunken haze that enveloped him was slowing his reaction time, and he gave himself a hard mental shake, trying to clear his mind. Once he had the familiar weapon in his grasp, he finally shouted back, "Yeah ...who is it?"

  "It's Sheriff Macauley, O'Keefe, and it's important that I talk to you now!"

  "Hell..." Devlin muttered, agitated. He slammed the gun back into the holster and pushed himself wearily from the bed. He threw the sheet more completely over Josie's lush curves, and then grabbed his pants and tugged them on. "Cover yourself up. God only knows what he wants. Maybe Denton escaped." Dev stumbled across the dark room and unlocked the door, throwing it wide. "What's so damned important that you've gotta come-"

  He never got to finish his sentence, though, as Macauley burst into the room, gun drawn, with two armed and ready deputies following him.

  "What the-!" Devlin exclaimed, taking a jittery step back from the unexpected force of their entry.

  "Stay right where you are, O'Keefe!" the sheriff ordered. "Carter, light that lamp so we can see something! Will, take a look around!"

  "Sheriff!" Devlin protested in complete confusion. "What's going on? What the hell do you want?"

  "As if you don't know," Macauley sneered, keeping his gun trained on the man he believed to be a coldblooded murderer.

  "I don't know, Macauley!" he argued. "What are you looking for?"

  "I got it, Sheriff! It's just like you said!" One of the deputies held up Dev's silver-tooled belt.

  "Let me see that!" Macauley snatched the belt from him to study it closely. When he looked up, his expression was filled with loathing. "You're under arrest, O'Keefe!"

  "Under arrest?" Devlin repeated stupidly. "For what? Drinking too much?"

  The sheriff's look turned scathing. "For murder. Carter, get his gun and rifle. Will, bring the rest of his things."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Murder?" Devlin continued to argue. "Whose murder? I haven't killed anybody! What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Shut up and finish getting dressed. You can ask all the questions later from your jail cell!" the sheriff snarled, clutching the silver belt in his hand. "Gather up the rest of his things, boys. Well go through them back at the office."

  Moments later as they practically dragged him from the room, Dev called out to Josie who was watching the whole scene in astonishment from the bed, "Josie! Go get Clay! Tell him what happened!"

  Clutching the sheet around her, Josie rushed from the bed to close the door, then hurried to begin dressing. She had to let Dev's friend know what happened right away. When she'd finally managed to throw on her clothes, she ran from the room and down the hall to Frenchie's.

  "Frenchie!" she cried out as she banged on the locked portal with all her force.

  "What is it?" came the other woman's sleepy response.

  "Frenchie, open up! Something terrible's happened!"

  The panic in her friend's voice sent Frenchie rush ing to the door clad only in a silken wrapper, and she opened it quickly to let her in. "What's wrong? What happened?" she asked worriedly as she drew Josie inside.

  Josie glanced over to where Clay lay, awake and alert, in her bed. "They took Dev, Clay! You've got to hurry! YouVe got to get over there!"

  "Somebody took Dev?" Clay frowned in confusion as he quickly sat up. "Who? Where?"

&n
bsp; "It was the sheriff! He came barging in my room just a minute ago and arrested him."

  "Arrested him?"

  Josie nodded nervously. "He said it was for murder..."

  With that, Clay nearly vaulted from the bed and began to dress. "Tell me exactly what he said, Josie," he pressed urgently. He knew Dev and he knew how he would react to being locked up.

  Dev had been just a boy of ten when his parents had fled Ireland. Neither of his parents had survived the rough ocean-crossing to America, though, and he'd arrived in New York with very little money and only an uncle to rely on for help. The uncle had taken him in, all right, but he had spent all his money and had nearly worked him to death. When Dev had dared to complain, his uncle had beaten him and then locked him in a closet until he was ready to go back to work. As soon as he was big enough and strong enough to take care of himself, Dev had left the East Coast and headed west to the gold fields. Still, to this day though, Clay knew his friend couldn't stand being cooped up in a small area. That's why he had to get him out of that jail cell right away.

  "I don't know; it all happened so fast," Josie was saying. "I mean, he woke us up from a sound sleep."

  "Just tell me what you can remember," he urged, stuffing the bottom of his shirt into the waistband of his pants.

  "It had to do with his silver belt."

  "The belt?" Clay gave her an incredulous look as he finished dressing.

  "Yes. After they found it, Macauley arrested him for murder! He even brought two deputies along with him. I guess he thought Dev might be dangerous."

  "I don't believe any of this!" Clay was still stunned as he strapped on his gunbelt.

  "Believe it!" she insisted. "He told me to tell you right away."

  "Thanks, Josie," he said as he picked up his hat and started from the room.

  "Clay..." Frenchie's call reminded him of her presence.

  "I don't know when I'll be back" he said, and then he was gone.

  Clay reached the sheriffs office to find that his friend had indeed been arrested and was locked up in one of the cells in the back of the jail. "Macauley, I want to know what's going on."