“How much were you paid?”
“A hundred thousand dollars.”
She nodded as though she believed him, but something inside her snapped and broke. One of the few people she had thought she could trust stood in front of her and lied, had cheated her out of a fortune.
What made things worse was that Luke had actually told the truth.
“That’s a lot of money.”
“You’re right. But if I had your father’s papers—”
“No, Hiram.”
“You have to understand—” Desperation leaked from his pores like bitter perspiration.
“No.”
He stopped short and stared at her with his jaw hanging open. Jessie had never told him no so explicitly before.
“You’re not being honest with me, Hiram. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.” Funny, her words sounded a lot like Luke’s, not two hours before.
Had he meant them as much as she did now? Because if so, she was in a world of hurt.
“Jessie…”
“Where’s the money? What about the millions of dollars we’ve supposedly been paid in royalties? What happened to that?”
“Jessie, honey, I don’t know what they told you, but look around. Is this the room of a man who has a fortune hidden away?” he asked.
She had to admit it wasn’t. No one with any sense would willingly stay at The Globe, and Hiram had always struck her as a sensible sort. But Jessie couldn’t trust either her instincts or what she thought to be true, because nothing was certain anymore.
“Where are the books?”
“I don’t have them, but I promise I’ll get them to you as soon as I get back to Chicago.”
“You said the same thing last time, and I haven’t seen them. By your own admission, you were paid one hundred thousand dollars for an invention of my father’s, but I didn’t see any money. Not one cent.” She folded her arms. “Do you know I’m being investigated?”
Hiram blanched. “By whom?”
“Special Services or something like that. What the hell are they, Hiram?”
He loosened his collar even more, undoing two buttons. Wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Spies.”
“Spies?”
“Espionage. Sabotage and secrets.” He paused dramatically. “Murder.”
Is that what Luke had become? A spy and a saboteur? A murderer? “Is that who you sold the invention to?”
He paced across the floor, his fingers tapping against the fabric of his trousers. “Yeah.”
She took in the way he shifted his weight, the way he didn’t quite meet her eyes, the way he fidgeted with the chain of his pocket watch where it connected with his vest. “Are they the only ones you sold to?”
He was silent for too long.
“Good God, Hiram, did you sell to the rebels, too?”
“I never meant for it to be like this. Listen, Jessie, just get me the plans and we can get out of this mess!”
The anger in her chest broke free, her words fierce and her voice uncontrolled. “How dare you? How could you sell to them when my brother—your godson—died fighting them? They killed him!”
“Lower your voice!” Hiram hissed. “You’re going to attract attention.”
“Stop it! Stop thinking only about yourself! How long have you been selling out to the South?”
He grabbed Jessie by the shoulders and shook her so hard her teeth clacked together painfully. “Shut up!”
But pain wasn’t necessarily a deterrent. There was nothing Hiram could do to her that hadn’t been done before.
“How long have you been doing this?” she asked quietly.
He released her, turned away, and crossed his arms, but he didn’t answer her question. He didn’t need to. It didn’t matter how long he’d been playing traitor. Once was an unforgivable offense.
Defeated, Jessie sat down on the bed. These last few years had been nothing but lies and more lies. Luke. Hiram. Everything she’d known and accepted as fact simply wasn’t true.
Her whole world fell apart as she sat on Hiram’s bed and looked at the man who had caused her brother’s death as surely as if he’d planned it. A man she’d loved her whole life. A man she’d called “uncle” since the moment she could talk. A man she had trusted with the secrets of her heart.
And all the while, he stole from her family, lied to them, and had been the architect of her family’s fall from grace. So much betrayal, and too much to take in the space of a single day. She’d lost so much to this damn war, and now it looked like she was going to lose one of the few people she had left.
Her world, like her heart, became that much smaller.
The floorboards creaked as someone stepped in a low spot in the hallway, and then there was a sharp rap at the door.
“Get up!” Hiram jerked her to her feet. “They’ve come.”
“Hiram, I don’t—” Jessie began.
Hiram pushed her back into the small, attached washroom. “Hide.”
Someone spoke from the opposite side of the door. “Mr. Andersen.” The man’s voice was deep and cultured. Refined. A voice so different from Hiram’s reedy pitch, and infinitely more dangerous.
“A minute!” Hiram called. “Just stay quiet, Jessie.” Leaning forward, he planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry. Get out of here if you can.” He closed the washroom door
From her hiding place, she heard Hiram open the door and sputter a greeting that was only vaguely coherent.
“Now, Mr. Andersen. Where’s the girl?”
“I, uh… I paid her and sent her away.”
“She’s a whore.” It was not a question, but there was disbelief in the words.
“She’s a native. Just some--some Paiute I picked up.”
If she managed to find a way out of this mess, she’d kill him.
The other man grunted as if this explained everything, and she wanted to kill him, too.
“Where’s the girl?”
“T-told you.”
“Not her. Jessica White. Where is she?”
A startled gasp caught in her throat. Whoever these people were, they knew her and wanted her for probably the same reason Luke did.
“Haven’t seen her. She hasn’t answered my letters.”
“Come now, Mr. Andersen,” he admonished. “Don’t lie to me. Stop wasting my time—you’ve done that too long and now I’m in charge. Where is she?” The sickening crunch of breaking bones filled the air.
Hiram screamed. “At her house! She’s at her house!”
“Where’s the house, Mr. Andersen? Don’t make my friend here break anything else.”
Hiram’s weeping sounded desperate. Jessie pressed a hand to her mouth in the vain hope she could keep herself from vomiting.
“Please,” he said. “I’ll give you the address. Just let me go.”
The other man’s laughter was low and menacing. “That is not how this is going to end. We took care of your little problem with the Pinkerton Agency, and we’ve been patient with you, Mr. Andersen. Unfortunately, you’ve run out of time.”
“But you have him! You have what you need!”
“And he’s not cooperating. I need the girl. We’ll get the results you failed to get.”
Easing open the washroom window, Jessie swallowed against the fear and bile and betrayal rising in the back of her throat.
“She doesn’t know anything!” Another crunch, and Hiram screamed again.
She ducked under the window and swung her leg through, and dangled there for a moment. “This isn’t about what she knows, Mr. Andersen. This is about convincing her father to work for us.”
Hanging from the lip of the window, Jessie froze. Unable to move, the shock crashed into her like an avalanche and crushed her beneath its weight. Everything collided, all of the missing pieces falling into place.
Jessie thought about an envelope she had seen her father holding, that last day before the mine collapse.
&
nbsp; It had come from the Pinkerton Agency.
Hiram screamed, and two shots rang out.
Her fingers spasmed, her grip slipped, and she fell onto the roof below. She lay there in the snow, stunned, her mind reeling.
Pinkerton. Her father must have known about Hiram’s lies.
And somewhere, he was alive.
Chapter Four
A scream came from the windows above, followed by a shot, audible above the heavy hammering of the ore crushers.
Jessie scrambled to her feet, slid on the ice-slicked roof, and skidded off the edge. Her dress caught on the lip on her way over the side. Her descent slowed as the garment tore from hem to armpit.
She landed on her stomach in the dirty snow, and for a moment, stars burst behind her eyelids. Pushing herself onto her knees, she tried to find her footing but slipped again.
If she didn’t get up, she would die alone in the street.
Get up, a voice whispered in her head. Run!
She obeyed, because she had no other choice. Searched for a place to hide, but had no idea where she could go and be safe. She didn’t even know for certain who was chasing her.
Luke’s face flashed behind her lids.
“Stop that girl!” A man’s voice. Harsh.
Screams filled the air. Beneath the heavy pounding of her heart in her ears, she heard gunshots, but she ignored them and ran. Not out of bravery, or a sense of cool-headed reason, but out of a single-minded determination.
For the first time in a long time, she wanted to live.
Pain seized her chest as she ducked into an alleyway. She pressed a hand to the stitch in her side, and it came away bloody.
Someone touched her shoulder, and the scream she’d been suppressing since Hiram had pushed her in the washroom tore from her lips.
“Miss White, hush!” a woman scolded.
Despite her frayed nerves, she closed her mouth. Behind her stood Vivian Flannigan, the madam of one of the brothels in town.
“Come with me.” She took Jessie by the arm. Opening a heavy metal door at the back of a gray brick building, Vivian roughly shoved her inside.
Jessie was inside a place no reputable woman would ever go.
Vivian snapped her fingers at the closest girl. “You. Cora. Go out back and work the alley. Make sure you walk around quite a bit. Once you’re done, go out to the street. Make a nuisance of yourself. You’re good at that.”
“Ma’am.” The girl gave a quick curtsy before she hurried out the door.
Vivian motioned to Jessie’s bloody side and her torn dress. “Got yourself in a spot of trouble, did you, dear?”
“Miss Flannigan, I… I… Thank you.”
The older woman gave her a rueful smile. “Vivian. Or Viv. No need to thank me, sweetums. We take care of our own, don’t we?”
“I… I suppose.” In fact, Jessie hadn’t spoken more than two words to Vivian Flannigan in her entire life, and she wasn’t entirely sure what a half-breed Indian and the elegant owner of one of the wealthiest brothels in town had in common. In a place like Virginia City, the madams often had more clout than the mayor. The last one to die had had a more lavish funeral than the last governor. Shoot, more important people had attended, too.
Vivian was one of those madams, a woman who had attained both wealth and fame throughout the West for her particular set of talents. While Vivian Flannigan was recognized for a great many things, altruism wasn’t one of them. So what was it the woman hoped to gain by helping her?
“Now, a girl like you wouldn’t normally associate with a woman like me, but I must admit, I do admire your work. That article you wrote for the paper about the conditions in the camps was most enlightening. I do hope you’re not terribly scandalized by being here,” she said, as if Jessie weren’t so far beneath her station that she would have a choice as to whether or not they spoke. Long, delicate fingers smoothed her crimson silk skirt. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Vivian clapped loudly and several heads peeked out of doorways. “You there.” The madam pointed to a girl several years younger than Jessie. “Go get a basin of water and some compresses. Oh, and get Mary. Tell her I need a dress or two.”
Before Jessie even had a chance to protest, Vivian had ushered her into a windowless, sparsely furnished room, with a bed, an armless chair and a dresser. The scent of perfume and opium-laced smoke lingered in the air, heavy and cloying.
The bedclothes were a clean, stark white, a color Jessie hadn’t seen in this town in years. For a moment, she was disturbed by the thought of staining that perfect fabric. Then she got a look at the drawings on the wall and forgot about the bed entirely.
In them, men and women were engaged in a variety of sexual positions. Here, a man knelt behind a naked woman on her hands and knees. There, a woman had her face in a man’s lap. Another picture showed a woman with her head thrown back and a man’s head between her legs. Jessie gasped in surprise and tried to look away, but everywhere she looked, there was another picture. Unable to escape the images, she sat down heavily on the bed and focused her attention on the floor.
Vivian laughed. “Shocked you, have we, dear?”
“I… I’ve never been in a… a place like this.”
“I never thought you had.” The madam absently brushed a stray lock of straw blonde hair away from her face. She gestured to Jessie’s buckskin dress. “All right, let’s get you out of that.” When Jessie looked around for a curtain she could change behind, Vivian clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Miss White. You have nothing I haven’t seen before. In fact, I’d be willing to wager there’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Strip before you bleed all over yourself and the bed.”
Jessie turned her back to Vivian and began to undress.
The door opened behind her, and Jessie flinched, glancing over her shoulder.
A girl came in with a basin of water, and another followed her with towels. “Is this a new girl?” she asked. “Poor thing. I remember the first time a chiseler did that to me.”
Jessie’s cheeks burned.
“No, she’s not staying.” Vivian let the rest of the statement drop. “Mary, this is Miss White. I expect you to clean her up and get her dressed.” She turned toward a small table. “Opium? Laudanum? We have a little bit of everything.” The madam lit a small, ornately carved silver pipe, her lips curving into a blissful smile as pungent smoke wafted toward Jessie.
“Thank you, no.”
“More for me, then.” Vivian set the pipe down, poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass, and handed it to Jessie. “Drink this. It will help with the shock and the pain.”
Jessie obeyed because she couldn’t think of a reason not to. A jigger or two wouldn’t hurt. The liquor burned all the way down, creating a warm spot in her otherwise cold and empty belly. She relished that sting of pain—it felt better than betrayal.
“Why are you doing this for me?” she asked
The madam tucked lock of hair behind Jessie’s ear and refilled her glass. She studied Jessie as one would examine a prized horse. “You’re a beautiful girl, and you’ve got a sweet face. You’re smart, but I’d wager you don’t make enough to put a decent meal on your table with your writing. I could make us both a fortune off your grandfather’s reputation alone. Add in that pretty face of yours, and we could both be rich beyond our wildest dreams. But I’m not doing this for you. This has nothing to do with you.”
Jessie recoiled. “Then why?”
“I’m doing it for Luke.”
“For Luke?” Jessie asked, stunned. “You mean, Luke Bradshaw?”
“The very same. We’ve been watching out for you for his sake. Because you’re Luke’s girl.” The way the madam said the words made it sound as if they’d been looking out for her for years. Only, as far as Jessie knew, she’d been alone.
“I’m not.”
Vivian brushed hair out of Jessie’s face, her hands tender and almost maternal. “Yes you are. You just don’t know it yet.
”
* * * *
Luke studied the sheriff. He’d never gotten along with the man—he’d been in too much trouble as a boy, he supposed. But once Luke had handed over his badge and his letter from Secretary of War Eckert, the man had welcomed him home as a conquering hero.
Luke knew from experience that there were no heroes in this war, only survivors.
Even when a young deputy had come in with the news of a murder at The Globe—no shock there—the sheriff hadn’t moved from his chair. Instead, he forced Luke to listen as he prattled on about his daughter as if they were long separated friends.
Upstairs, a prisoner groaned, and Luke looked up at the second story cells. It felt odd to be on the other side of those iron bars, to be here as the law rather than the lawless.
The sheriff finished whatever he’d been saying.
“Tell me about Jessica White,” Luke said.
“Who?” The man leaned back in his chair, but something in his posture seemed affected and wary. “Oh, her. You knew them, I suppose. I seem to remember the boy coming for you once or twice.”
“Gideon. He was my friend.” Luke tried to clear his mind of the painful memories. For years, he’d felt so little. He hadn’t anticipated how much his being back in town after eight years would bother him.
“Ah. Such a shame what happened to that family. George was never the same after the boy died.”
“Gideon,” Luke reminded him.
“Yes, yes.” The sheriff waved his hand carelessly. “You wanted to know about the girl?”
“Miss White.” Luke’s jaw began to ache, and he struggled to keep his voice level. “Yes.”
The older man shrugged. “She’s been in and out of trouble since her dad died. There was a minor problem after Bear Creek, as I recall. Scared some of the lads pretty bad. Talked to her father, and it never happened again.”
“What kind of trouble?”
Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) Page 5
