“The lads thought she put a hex on them.”
“A hex?”
“Yeah. Came to me with a story of how she tried to kill them and showed me a sack full of dead rattlers as proof.”
A knot formed between Luke’s shoulder blades, and he stretched his fingers to relax them. “What did Miss White say about that?”
“Didn’t say much of anything. Didn’t deny it, either.”
He fought to keep his voice steady. “What did they do to her?” The words burned as he spat them out from between clenched teeth. His life would be so much easier if he didn’t know.
But he had to.
The sheriff waved dismissively. “Kid stuff, really. Tension was pretty high after Bear Creek—we lost an entire regiment. You know how these things are.”
“Wasn’t here, sheriff. Why don’t you tell me?”
The coldness in Luke’s tone seemed to catch the sheriff off-guard, and he stumbled over his words for a moment. “Pranks. Some rocks thrown. Maybe one of the boys getting a mite too friendly. Nothing to get in a lather about. Her father never complained.”
“Did Miss White?”
“Once or twice.”
Luke recognized the lie in his words. Luke didn’t even want to think about how many times Jessie might have spoken up and never been heard.
“She never had any proof, though,” the sheriff offered.
“I see. And since?”
“She’s been a thorn in my side.” The older man rolled his eyes. “Since her father died, she’s been writing articles and pamphlets about the conditions of the camps, and some nonsense that the mines are killing the wild horses and antelope. Damn things get everybody all worked up, and it’s not good for business. Damn fool girl doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.” He shook his head. “She’s been complaining of people trying to break into her house. Maybe twice a month.”
“Twice a month?” Luke exploded.
The sheriff startled, his right hand settling on his still-holstered weapon.
Forcing himself to sit back in his chair, Luke assumed an unaffected posture, open and friendly. Arms loose, one leg resting on his knee. “Sorry. I’m just surprised. You talk to her often?”
The sheriff leaned forward and grinned at Luke, as if they were sharing a joke. “Too often, if you ask me. She’s fair of face, but as beef-headed as an acorn calf. Girl has no idea what’s good for her.”
“And what is good for her?” Luke casually put his feet up on the sheriff’s desk.
The sheriff’s gaze shifted from Luke’s face to his boots and then back. “If you don’t mind…”
“I do mind, as a matter of fact.” Luke silently chided himself for baiting the man, but he didn’t change his position. “Tell me what you think is good for Miss White.”
His knees bouncing, the sheriff shifted his weight in his chair, his fingers fidgeting with a cigar he’d pulled from the breast pocket of his vest.
Luke smiled, and the older man flinched. He gestured with his head to the letter from Secretary Eckert. “Tell me what is good for Miss White,” he repeated, the threat thinly veiled.
The sheriff’s hands settled into his lap and his eyes narrowed. Luke would have preferred a good working relationship with the local law, but there was no chance of that now. Too much history and too much Jessie stood in the way.
“She’d leave town if she had any sense.”
“Have you mentioned this to Miss White?”
“In passing, I’m sure I did.”
“For whom?”
The sheriff’s focused on a spot behind Luke’s shoulder. “My office is not for sale, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
Luke took his boots off the table and rested his elbows on his knees. “I don’t think you understand, sheriff. I am not interested in your pride. I am interested in the truth, whatever that may be. You give it to me, and I’ll leave you alone. If you don’t…” He allowed his threat to hang in the air.
The veneer of civility had been wiped away, and the sheriff appraised him. “Mr. Fitzpatrick might have mentioned she gave him a spot of trouble. I merely advised her of what she could do to avoid future run-ins with the law.”
“Run-ins,” Luke echoed. “Tell me about them.”
“She set a small fire when she lit some flash powder on her property. We can’t have that, and I brought her in. Spent a week in lock up, and then Judge Watson ordered her released. Though to this day, I’m not sure why he did.”
“I see. Has she complained of trouble since?”
“If I followed up on every complaint filed by the Indians in this town--”
“Did you follow up on any of them?” Luke asked.
“If there’s no proof, there’s no problem. Isn’t that how you marshals work?”
“I’m no marshal, sheriff, but I’ll take that as a no.”
The sheriff’s eyes became little more than slits, and, ignoring Luke for a moment, he lit the cigar he’d been toying with. He blew lazy smoke rings in Luke’s direction. “Not sure why you care so much, Bradshaw. She’s just another Indian.”
“She’s the daughter of the man who made this town.” Luke ignored the taunt, but even to his own ears, his voice was low-pitched and dangerous. “She grew up here. Went to school with your son. You should care because she’s one of us.”
“The shaman’s granddaughter? No. I think it’s time she went back to her own kind.”
Anger wrapped an iron fist around Luke’s heart and squeezed until his chest hurt. He stood and leaned over the sheriff’s chair, then plucked the cigar from between his lips.
“Listen well. Jessica White is under the protection of the United States Government. She is not to be harmed or accosted or threatened. If one hair on her head is harmed, it will fall on you. I will take pleasure in making your life difficult.” He threw the sheriff’s cigar onto the floor and put it out beneath his boot. “Marshals will swarm this town so fast it will make your head spin. Your house and your property will be confiscated. You’ll be stripped of your office and put in prison. Not your own prison, either. One of mine. A military prison. Let me assure you, you will find the experience unpleasant. So don’t try my patience. I never liked you much, anyway.”
The tip of Luke’s finger pressed into the man’s chest. “And that’s just from me. Imagine what the shaman will do. Without your posse behind you, do you think you could stand against him? An entire regiment couldn’t. Mark my words. If anything happens to her, I will find him myself and make sure he knows who’s responsible.”
The sheriff pushed his chair back as far as the room would allow. “You son of a bitch!”
A mirthless laugh rumbled up from Luke’s chest. He plucked his coat and his hat from a hook on the wall. As he settled his hat low over his eyes, he turned back to the sheriff.
“Bitch? No. As you and your boy used to remind me on a regular basis, I’m the son of a whore.” He opened the door, and acrid wind swirled about his ankles, bringing with it the stench of hell and the cold of snow. He tipped his hat to the sheriff. “Good day, sheriff. I sure hope I don’t have a reason to come back and visit you any time soon.”
He slammed the door behind him.
Chapter Five
The wind bit at Luke’s face, and the weight of dirty air settled heavily in his chest. The sky was always worse in the winter, when the soot and sulfur would sink to the valley floor and cling to the ridgelines. The clouds were thick and gray, blotting out any sunlight that might have penetrated the layer of ash darkening the sky.
He scanned the streets for any sign of Jessie, but didn’t see her. Not that he thought he would. After what she had told him, and the sheriff confirmed, he didn’t think she’d spend much time parading about the streets of Virginia City. She’d stay indoors, in the dark and the quiet, where she could disappear.
Ore processors crashed relentlessly, booming like several giant, asynchronous hearts. The vibrations descended into his chest, his heart skipping several bea
ts until his pulse matched the rhythm of the crusher. It felt wrong.
Everything about this place—about this mission—was wrong.
Luke coughed against the smoke and ash clinging to the air. Crossing the muddy, rutted main street, he stepped up onto the wooden boardwalk, under the eaves where he’d be protected from the snow. A woman carrying a blanket met his eyes and gestured to the alley behind him, her wordless offer half-hearted and weary.
He shook his head, and she continued on her way. The prostitutes in this town had gotten younger in his time away. He hadn’t recognized any of the girls who worked the street on his way to visit the sheriff. At one time, he would have known every girl on every corner, and, after his mother’s death when he was twelve, which ones would have taken him in for a night or two.
Up ahead, a steam-powered carriage sputtered. A few deputies blocked the boardwalk, so the gathering crowd had spilled into the street. Not the typical raucous crowd usually gathered outside The Globe, this gathering was largely quiet. A man in a black suit opened up the doors at the back of the carriage.
Luke recognized an undertaker when he saw one.
Ignoring the discomfort in his chest and the small voice of alarm nagging him, Luke moved to pass a knot of bystanders speaking in hushed tones. Something about them caught his attention—not what they said, but in the way they spoke—and he paused.
He caught the attention of the man standing next to him, and nodded up at the building in front of him. The loose saloon doors hung open at an odd angle, and broken shutters with peeling paint did little to conceal the cracked windows beneath. “You know who it was?”
His companion shook his head. “No. Heard it was somebody famous, though. And that he’d been tortured before he was finally done in.”
Anxiety set his heart disturbingly out of rhythm with the ore crushers. “Tortured how?”
“Dunno. Gal inside said his hands been broke before he was shot.”
Luke had seen the deputy the sheriff had put in charge of this murder. Young. Inept. A man the army had turned down. There were no suspects and never would be, but he had to ask anyway.
“Got any suspects?”
“Nope.”
Jessie.
At that moment, the doors swung open, and the undertaker walked out with two attendants, carrying a stretcher upon which rested a sheet-draped body. A hand dangled limply from beneath the sheet, swollen and blue, the fingers bent at unnatural angles.
He stepped back from the knot of the crowd to survey it. In the windows of the hotel across the street, he saw a few faces framed in the windowpanes, bright and curious. Nothing to indicate that this was anything more than just another murder in the seediest hotel in Virginia City.
Yet something told him it was.
At that moment, fingers traipsed across his back. He turned, and the small woman behind him flinched before her features settled into a coquettish smile. “Hiya, handsome.” Her voice was throaty and suggestive.
He scowled and turned back to the crowd, searching for someone who didn’t belong. Looking and hoping for a different woman. “I’m not interested.”
The woman inserted herself between Luke and his companion, looping her arm through his. “You don’t remember me, do you, Luke?”
He stiffened. “No.”
The woman was just a little bit of a thing, with pale brown hair and cornflower blue eyes. Pretty, in a tired, used up sort of way.
She gave him a sad, weary smile. “I’m one of Vivian Flannigan’s girls. She sent me to find you. Told me all I had to do was follow trouble, and I’d find you. I found trouble, and here you are. Recognized you straightaway.”
Luke studied the scene in front of him, dismissing her, yet she didn’t take the hint in his silence and go. “Well, it was nice catching up with you, but I have work to do.”
The girl tightened her grasp on his arm as he tried to move away. She gestured to the body with her head. “You know who’s underneath that sheet?”
His body tensed, and his fingers twitched near his pistol until he clenched his fists. “No. Do you?”
The girl awarded him with a long, slow blink. “I’m told it’s Hiram Andersen.”
He wanted to explode into motion, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until every last bit of information spilled from her lips. But he didn’t. His immediate reactions were all wrong, and had been since he first set foot in this town. Willing his body to relax, he attempted a convivial expression and smiled down at the girl.
She took a step back.
“Is that so?” His voice was calm.
“Mm. If you want to know more, you’ll have to come with me.” She ran her hands along the lapel of his jacket and met his eyes. With a gentle tug, she pulled him close, and he bent down. Her lips moved against his ear. “Pretend you enjoy my company, Luke. There are eyes everywhere in this town.”
Given the state of Hiram’s body, Luke would be willing to bet a year’s wages some of those eyes belonged to Rebel spies.
* * * *
Jessie followed one of Vivian’s girls into the parlor, where the madam lounged on a settee facing the door, somehow looking both seductive and proper at the same time, and she wondered how she managed to pull that off. Jessie could barely pull off prim, and more often than not settled for something between uncomfortable and hostile.
Heavy velvet drapes covered the windows, darkening the parlor, and candles in elaborate sconces cast pale light into corners where scantily clad women lazed on chairs or settees of sumptuous fabrics. A girl played the piano in the corner, the melody both plaintive and heartbreakingly passionate. The barkeep, the only man in the room, stood behind an elegant mahogany bar dressed in white tie and tails, a large mirror in a gilt frame hanging above him. Romantic and dim, this was a place where a man and his chosen woman could pretend intimacy, hidden by shadows. Those bedrooms in the back were where the transactions took place, but out here was where the seduction, with its illusion of high-end propriety, began.
When Jessie entered, Vivian set down the book she’d been holding. “Ah, Miss White.” She nodded to the other girls. “Good work.” She placed her hands on Jessie’s shoulders. “I’ve sent a girl out for Luke. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
Jessie wished she felt half so certain, but she was secretly grateful. Not that she’d say so, but still. “Not sure he’ll come. I’m not even sure I want him to.”
Vivian’s mouth twisted into a disapproving grimace. “He’ll come. And since you’re here and not on the street because of him, you might want to show him a bit of appreciation when he gets here.”
Jessie blinked, trying to clear her head. She shouldn’t have had that last jigger of whiskey. Or the one before that. “I… I’m in some trouble, Miss Flannigan.”
The smile Vivian gave her curdled in Jessie’s stomach. Or maybe that was just the whiskey. “Every one of my girls is, Miss White. That’s why they come here. You got someone else to claim you? Help you out?”
Jessie shook her head.
“Then you’ve got two options. Go with him or stay with us. Though there’s no such thing as free in a place like this.” She touched Jessie’s face gently. “I have to admit, I’m rather tempted to keep you. Nothing like a savage beauty to bring in the customers.”
Jessie got the feeling she ought to be offended by the suggestion, but the liquor had taken away the edge of her indignation. After all, she’d been called worse things in seedier places than this.
The bell above the door tinkled delicately as someone entered the parlor. Vivian turned, standing in front of Jessie, shielding her.
The gesture shook Jessie almost as much as Luke’s sudden return had.
“Luke.” Vivian stepped aside.
“Where is she?” He didn’t pause to take in his surroundings, nor did he look at the other girls or Vivian, as beautiful as they were
Luke’s looked only at Jessie.
“Got herself in a spot of trouble,” Vi
vian said.
His silvery eyes met Jessie’s. “So I’ve gathered. Jesus, what are you wearing?”
Jessie studied her dress. Scandalously low, the bodice was nothing more than a crimson corset held together by a series of intricate laces and silver buckles. Two thin wisps of black, lacy fabric rose from the corset to cover her breasts.
Barely.
She was a girl in a brothel, and she looked the part. Heat rose to her cheeks.
“Had to put her in something. Her dress was ruined.” The older woman cast a wicked smile in Luke’s direction. “I do hope you’re not disappointed.”
“No.” Luke’s voice sounded strained. Rough. He turned to Jessie. “Tell me what happened to you after you left the house. You lied to me when you said you hadn’t seen Hiram.”
“No, I didn’t. I hadn’t seen him. He sent me a letter a few days ago.”
“You knew what I meant, Jess.”
“Does it matter now?” The fight inside her died. Luke was quiet, so she continued. “I went to see Hiram at The Globe.”
“And then what happened?”
For the first time since she’d fled Hiram’s room, tears filled her eyes. Between Luke’s being here, the shock finally wearing off, and the alcohol, all she wanted to do was wrap herself in a blanket and cry. Maybe sleep for a spell, if she could.
“They killed him.” The words came out in little more than a strangled whisper.
His expression didn’t change, and his gaze dipped only briefly before returning to her face. “Who?”
“I don’t know!”
“You didn’t see them?”
“No.”
For a moment, Jessie thought Luke looked relieved, but in the next instant, his expression settled into impassivity. He didn’t care. He never would.
“Then maybe they didn’t see you either. Or if they did, they’re looking for an Indian in a buckskin dress, not a girl dressed like that. A bit of luck, if that’s the case.”
Jessie didn’t feel lucky. Not even a little.
Suddenly, Luke wrapped her in his arms, threading his hands into her hair and walking her backward until he had her pressed against the wall. Bending his head, his lips gently touched hers.
Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) Page 6
