by Cora Brent
“I’ll get cold,” he answered, lifting her out of the chair and setting her down on the bed of quilts before the hearth.
When he abruptly pushed up her skirts and buried his face between her legs she gasped. He quickly silenced her objections with his tongue. Mercer was incredibly skillful at finding her deepest center of pleasure. She felt herself opening to him, becoming wetter as the slide of his tongue tormented her.
He stopped abruptly, hovering over her and smiling. He loved to do this, bring her to the brink and pull back, just long enough to drive her crazy.
“Please,” she moaned, shifting her body around, desperately close to the frenzy and willing to do anything to get there.
He soothed her. “Hold on, I’ll get you there, darlin’. But first we’re gonna play awhile.”
“More,” she gasped as she felt his fingers within her. “Harder, please. Oh, harder.”
“Not yet, Anni. The longer you can hold it the more it’ll shatter you. God, I love to watch you when you’re almost there. Okay Anni, tell me how you want it.”
“Put it in,” she whispered.
He teased her with the tip of his rigid organ.
“NOW!” Annika screamed and Mercer drove himself in as she climaxed with such intensity she forgot where she was.
But Mercer was only getting started. With each thrust he talked to her in a low, seductive voice which drove her further to the brink.
“I thought of this, Anni. All damn day when I was in the dark hell of that cursed mine. You’re all I want, sweet girl, you know that?”
“Yes,” she whimpered because she believed him when he said it.
“I love you, Annika.”
“Yes Mercer, love me more,” she said, getting close to her point of abandon once again, clutching him and thinking that it was impossible for it to be this right with anyone else. She felt as if her body was sculpted with him in mind. As he shuddered and drove his seed in deep she nipped at his neck, catching his flesh between her teeth and sucking hard until he was done filling her.
Mercer laughed, holding his neck. “What the hell was that?”
Annika stretched luxuriantly. “Perhaps I’m a really a creature of the old country who sucks the blood from your body.”
He fondled her breasts. “You suck anything else?”
“Maybe, if you’re good to me.”
Mercer’s face grew serious. “I will be good to you, Annika. As best I can.”
As he sunk down on one elbow, still toying with her breasts, she ran her fingers over his chest. His body was an endless fascination to her.
“Mercer? Why are you working at the mine?”
His eyes grew dim and he withdrew. “Every man needs to earn a living, Annika.”
“But you said it was only for a short time.”
Mercer strode naked over to the table and took a bite of a biscuit. He had retreated from the serious moment they had shared. His eyes twinkled as he regarded her there on the floor. “And it will be, Anni. You can bet on it.”
Annika sighed and smoothed her skirt over her bare legs. She was painfully certain there were things he was not telling her. Perhaps there were things which he would never tell her and to be with Mercer meant accepting that. But as she remembered James’s admonishment about the difficulties in keeping Mercer’s head out of a noose, she grew sickly troubled.
She didn’t know how long she had slept there by the hearth. Mercer had covered her with another quilt and she sat up stiffly, irritable that she had fallen asleep with her corset tied. Really, she should just dispense with the damn thing, propriety be damned. Her mother would faint dead away if she knew but she knew Mercer wouldn’t mind. She chuckled slightly over the thought of just how much he wouldn’t mind.
Annika looked around. She estimated by the look of the shadows that the hour was early evening. Mercer was nowhere in sight. But as she rose from the floor and flinched over the stubborn pain in her ankle she heard men’s voices. One was clearly Mercer’s. The answering voice was deeper and sounded vaguely familiar. As she opened the door and peered into the faces of four men caught off guard by her presence she realized why.
“Cutter Dane,” she said, shaking her head. The leader of The Danes smiled at her. She had met him once and only for a moment, two years earlier on the streets of Contention.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he drawled. “I’m unsure how to properly address you.”
Annika glared at him. “There is nothing proper here and I’d wager you damn well know it so call me Annika.”
Mercer, who was standing closest to Cutter Dane, threw her a warning look. “Go inside, Annika.”
She crossed her arms. “Are you boys having a secret discussion? Does it have something to do with the mine, perhaps?”
It had been a shot in the dark but she could tell from the look on Mercer’s face that she was correct. The other two men who stood nearby eyed her with suspicion. But Cutter broke into loud laughter.
“Feisty little schoolteacher,” he said, slapping his knee and leering at her in a way which made her feel indecent. Then he abruptly stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes. “What if it does, Annika? Would you ride off in a heartbeat to tell Lawman Dolan all about it?”
She looked him in the eye, knowing it wouldn’t do to flinch in front of a man like Cutter Dane. “No,” she said simply and returned to the house, slamming the door.
It wasn’t long before she heard the other three men riding away. Mercer opened the door slowly. He seemed surprised to find her sitting at the table waiting for him. She pushed the other chair in his direction.
“Shall we talk, my darling?”
He sat reluctantly. His chest was still bare and he wore the sheepish look of a little boy. “You’re angry.”
“Of course,” she huffed. “I thought you were done with all that.”
“You thought that,” he said shortly. “I never said it.”
“Mercer.” She felt tears in her eyes, hating herself for her weakness. “I thought we were going to be together.”
“We are, Anni.” Mercer knelt before her, tipping her face town to his. “And we will be. Nothing is going to keep me away from you.”
She smiled grimly. “Even the hangman?”
Mercer scowled. “Look, I ain’t known, not the way Cutter and the Tanners are. By the time I’m suspected I’ll be gone. And you with me.”
“Suspected of what?” Annika whispered.
He pulled her down with him. “It’s not what you think, Anni. Swilling’s been running this racket for years. You think he got that big house on an honest salary? Hell no. They’re all in on it. Swilling, Townsend. Shit, maybe even James. With all the gold pouring out of those veins it can be tough to notice when a little goes missing. Especially if the fat boys in charge don’t want it noticed because they’re saving a few big pieces of cake for later.”
Annika looked at him in disbelief. “You’re working with Swilling? Lord, Mercer, that man is a snake if ever one hissed. You cannot trust him.”
“But I trust Cutter,” Mercer said quietly. “And Cutter’s the one who struck the deal. This’ll be worth it, Anni. A few more weeks and we’ll never have to set eyes on Contention again. We’ll have enough gold to go anywhere.”
“Gold,” she shook her head angrily. “Goddamn gold. So Cutter and the gang are just lurking about somewhere waiting for you to do the dirty work and smuggle gold out of the mine?”
Mercer hesitated. He seemed to be thinking something over carefully. “They are camped out about five miles north of here, over by where the old Beehive placer went bust. Annika, there’s men in the Territory would kill for that information. Most of those boys got prices on their heads.”
Annika nodded, comprehending. Mercer was trying to show how he trusted her. How he wanted her to trust him.
He began to suddenly and roughly undress her. “Believe in me, Anni. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
“I know,” she said.
Then Annika launched herself fiercely into his arms and furiously groped between his legs, trying to release him from the confines of his pants. The desperation she felt was awful. “Then love me. Please. I can’t be without you again.”
He grappled with her skirt, trying to enter her. “You won’t be.” He groaned when he found his way in.
“Mercer,” she begged and felt tears in her eyes. He kissed them away, trying to quiet her. But even after she lay quietly in his arms surrounded by pitch blackness she could not crush the bloom of terror in her soul. Somewhere, she feared, a door had been opened, a precipice to a malevolent future. And Mercer, reckless as always, had already stepped through it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Contention City, Arizona
Present Day
Maddox realized Gabriela was eager to erase the ugliness of the morning’s incident, for Miguel’s sake. She exclaimed over the gold pieces and fixed lunch as she asked her son many questions about everything he’d seen that morning. When she caught Maddox watching her she made a face and averted her eyes. He got the drift. She didn’t want to say anything else in front of Miguel.
Maddox wandered out into the yard. He looked around at the landscape which had been as familiar to him as his face in the mirror. Contention City was born out of the bones of the old west. He’d been as enthralled as any boy over the tales of murder, outlaws and long lost treasure. The stories, of course, had been mutated and embellished by time. Who knew what the truth was? Did it even make a difference?
The truth always matters, son.
He heard Priest’s voice as clear as if his father was standing beside him. Priest had said that to him once, when he’d balked at coming clean after throwing a ball through the window at one of the desolate old Victorians, before it had become fashionable to pour money into restoring them. He’d been about eight at the time. He’d balled his fists and asked what did it matter when the place was a ruin anyway?
Priest gave him a hard look and said, “Because I asked you a question and I expect it to be answered honestly, Maddox. The truth always matters, son.”
Now Maddox was a man and Priest was gone. He should have listened to his father better. He should have done a lot of things. He picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“Alice.”
“Maddox!” She sounded astonished to hear from him. “Promise told me about your dad. I’m sorry, Mad. I’m so sorry. I should have called.”
“It’s okay, Alice. Look, I’m wondering if you’ll lend me some of your ace reporter skills.”
“What? Where are you?”
“My hometown, Contention City. I have a little research project I need some help with.”
“Contention City,” she repeated slowly. Maddox could practically hear the sharp gears of her mind turning beneath her shiny blond hair. “Yeah, I know it. Site of the old Scorpion mine. Years ago I took a jeep tour of the area. Lot of history up there, most of it bloody.”
Maddox cleared his throat. “History usually is.”
“So what’s the deal with this research? You going on the hunt for buried treasure?”
“Something like that.” Briefly he outlined what he had found that morning. The cave, the gold, the safe, a half remembered old story about a lost hoard of riches. He could hear Alice taking notes on the other end.
“Is that everything?” she finally queried in her clipped reporter’s voice when he was finished speaking.
“No,” he said slowly. “There’s something else. Something totally unrelated to mystery number one. There was a shooting here about three years ago. Man named Chaz Colletti was killed by a local cop. I tried to Google for more information but there was nothing except a blurb in the local paper.” He paused. “The cop who did the shooting was my brother.”
“I see,” said Alice. “This Chaz? He was a friend of yours?”
“Not really. Hadn’t seen him in years and truth be told he was kind of a douchebag. I’m just curious about what happened.”
“All right, Mad. Give me an hour and I’ll see what I can dig up.”
Maddox chortled. “Didn’t mean you had to tackle it all right now, Alice.”
“What can I say?” she tossed off. “I’m a ‘right now’ kind of gal.”
“I know,” answered Mad. “You were right, you know.”
“I’m usually right. But I still love to hear the confirmation. So give it to me, Maddox.”
Maddox closed his eyes. “You read me pretty damn clearly back there in Phoenix. I did fall in love once.” He heard the sound of the back door open and watched Gaby make her way across the yard. “It never really left me.”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “Aw, Mad. You found your huckleberry.”
“I did. And you?”
“I think I found mine too.”
Just as Alice hung up Gabriela reached him. She slipped her arms around his shoulders and rested her face in the hollow of his neck.
“Miguel’s watching television,” she said. She inhaled deeply. “God, that sucked.”
“So Jensen came roaring through here out of nowhere and started bellowing like a motherfucker?”
She nodded. “Pretty much. Maddox, I don’t even think he really believed what he was saying.” She paused. “There’s always been a kind of a thing between you two, hasn’t there? A love hate kind of confusion.”
“I think it’s more hate than love.”
“You don’t hate him.”
“No. But for a long time I thought I did.”
She moved her chin up to rest on his shoulder. Her breath was hot on his neck in a way which was getting him fired up. “I’m so glad I don’t have any siblings,” she said.
He hugged her close. “Thanks, Gabs.”
She pushed back slightly and looked at him curiously. “For what?”
Maddox kissed her on the forehead and let his hands trail through her silken hair. “For not believing it.”
She smiled and slipped her hand underneath his shirt and just like that he was ready to go. Gaby felt it and smiled.
“Not in the daylight,” she said teasingly.
“Who taught you that fucking only happens at night?”
She arched an eyebrow. “No necessarily at night, just when any potential observers are asleep.” She brushed her lips against his and a flicker of worry skated across her face. “We need to talk about stuff, Mad.”
“I know we do, babe.” He rubbed the sides of her arms absently.
“Later?”
“Later,” he agreed. “I swear.”
Alice always came through. If she said she was going to get back to you in an hour she meant it completely. She was in her element, launching into details scarcely before Maddox managed to utter a ‘Hello’.
“Contention City was founded to serve the needs of the extraordinarily prosperous Scorpion Mine. The business of the mine was organized into the Scorpion Mining Company in the late 1870’s. It was a rotten enterprise, working in the mine. The pay at the time was higher than just about any other undertaking, thus the attraction, but those who went into the earth usually suffered a high price. Blindness, lung damage, lost limbs, lost lives. It was a brutal profession overseen by men who tended to be criminally greedy and less than humanitarian. And once the miners exhausted themselves underground there was no shortage of red light perils in the local town to sap their paychecks. Poor sons of bitches though. Can hardly blame them for getting sick drunk and favoring the company of prostitutes who would-“
“Jesus, Alice,” Maddox interrupted, feeling rather exasperated by her long speech. “Cut to the fucking chase, would ya?”
“I’m getting there, you moody shit,” she said irritably. “Theft of gold was rampant and, if discovered, harshly punished. The thief, who may or may not be a patsy, was often swiftly executed by so-called mob justice which was financed by the overseers of the mining operation. Yet it went on with regularity. Now, as best I can tell, that old story which has been passed
down through the generations does have some basis in fact. There were some real unscrupulous types running the town at the time, again a common theme in the old west. Evidence points to the fact that they were colluding to steal gold, recruiting worker bees to go down into the depths and cooperate with their nefarious intentions. The chief foreman, a cunning fucker named Swilling, purportedly kept quite a stash in his private office, locked in a safe. Pretty unintelligent given the fact that anyone could have picked the damn thing up and walked off with it. Anyway, it disappeared around the time he was shot to death in his parlor by a gang of desperados. There were all kinds of rumors flying around that it was buried somewhere in the Scorpion Mountains or washed down the Hassayampa River but since no one knew for sure of its existence in the first place all those stories are just that, rumors. More than likely that same pack of outlaws carried it off anyway. Interesting how stories get passed down by word of mouth from one generation to the next until anything resembling the truth is hopelessly obscured. You know, my honors thesis at ASU was of a similar subject, the effect of oral tradition on factual-“
“Alice,” Maddox grumbled again, sinking into an old redwood chair and shaking his head.
“Right,” she said. “Sorry. You know I carry on, Mad. Anyway, about that other matter? The death of Chaz Colletti? I called in a favor and was able to snag a virtual copy of the police report. Seems like a typical male bonding exercise gone wrong.”
“Come again?” Maddox asked.
“A poker game. At least that was the official story. Bunch of dudes sitting around in their beer bellies tossing cards when your old buddy Chaz started to get excited, thinking he’d been cheated. He waved a gun around and fired off a shot which caught a certain Officer Jensen McLeod-“
“In the knee,” Maddox finished, already figuring that part out.
“Right. So your brother fired a better shot, nailing Chaz smack in the heart and that was that. The two other men present confirmed they felt in fear of their lives before the threat was eliminated.”
