Elbert licked his lips, his eyes straying to the closed door leading to the outer office. His voice lowered until it was just shy of a whisper. “I can understand your anger, Drake, and....” another glance at the door to be sure it was still closed, “I agree with you. Your hatred for your brother is well founded. I cannot honestly say I would feel differently were I in your shoes. But you must understand that it is my job to direct my clients through the proper legal channels. While I cannot condone blackmail professionally,” his gaze met Drake’s with an unconcealed meaning, “what I condone personally is my own affair.”
Drake eyed the lawyer cautiously. “Then you’ll help me?”
The lawyer’s gaze shifted to the papers still clutched in Drake’s angry grasp. Slowly, the veneer of the “proper Bostonian attorney” was chipping away. “My dear friend. I already have. You hired me to anonymously collect as many debtor’s notes against Charles Frazier as the money you forwarded me would allow, then secretly invest them in the company. If you would sit down and take a moment to look at those papers, you would see how well your misadventures in the gold mines of California paid off. Your timing was so extraordinary it was almost eerie. Every time Charles gambled away more of his inheritance, I would receive enough money from you to purchase his notes. Secretly purchasing the shares was difficult, I won’t lie to you there, but not impossible. You did a fine job of furnishing me with more than enough funds to complete the task.”
“I did? You mean I really had enough to buy him out?” Drake dropped the pages on the desk and sat back in the chair as though he’d had the wind knocked out of him. The magnitude of what his friend was saying washed over him. Elation was only one of the many emotions sparkling in the sea-green eyes.
Elbert grinned as he peered over the top of his spectacles. “And then some. You are now in possession of the controlling interest in Frazier & Sons. And, since you could not be reached in California, I took the liberty of bringing in an accountant to invest the excess funds—again, anonymously—in other business pursuits. The accountant’s name, his credentials, and the calculations of each transaction, are detailed in those papers.” He nodded his nearly nonexistent chin at the crumpled papers on his desk. “What you choose to do with all of this is no longer a concern of mine. My job is done.” He sent Drake a poignant glance. “Yours, I am afraid, is just beginning.”
Drake looked up sharply. His eyes narrowed and a scowl marred his brow. “What do you mean? Did Charles guess I’m the anonymous buyer? Did he?”
“Good heavens, no.” Elbert chuckled, waving away Drake’s concern as though it were nothing more than a pesky fly. “Your request was for total anonymity, and anonymity is what I provided. I must say, though, the identity of the buyer—or buyers, since no one knows how many there are—who have been purchasing up so many shares of Frazier & Sons has caused quite a bit of conjecture in these parts. As for your brother,” he shrugged, again eying the closed door. He leaned over the desk toward Drake, his watery blue eyes sparkling with conspiracy. “For some reason, Charles has been operating under the assumption that you died in California over four months ago. Personally, I would love to be a fly on the wall when he first sets eyes on you. No doubt he will be quite surprised to find you alive and well.”
“No doubt,” Drake agreed dryly, his scowl deepening. Pulling a long, thin cheroot from his pocket, he ran it through his fingers, his expression thoughtful. The vision of Tyrone Tubbs, his face lit by the glow of dancing orange flames, touched his memory. If he’d harbored any doubts as to the man’s employer before, those doubts were now gone. Accepting a light from the lawyer, as well as a cut crystal ashtray, Drake settled back in the chair. He inhaled deeply, releasing the smoke from his lungs in a slow, steady stream. “Who told Charles I was dead?”
The lawyer scowled, shaking his head. “I have no idea. At first the news was just idle gossip trickling around town, and we all know how distorted that can be. As I recall, I had just heard from you the week before, so I paid no attention to it. Of course, no one knew that.” He reclined back in his chair, squinting thoughtfully as he entwined trembling fingers over his wiry chest. “Imagine my surprise when Charles, out of the blue, publicly confirmed the rumors. I don’t need to tell you how nervous I was until you finally wired me from St. Louis. Had I not been almost ninety-eight percent sure you were alive, I might have believed him. The boy was convincing. He had poor Angelique falling into a swoon at his feet when he made the announcement. I hear she took to her bed for weeks afterward.”
Drake crushed his barely smoked cigar out in the crystal ashtray, then set it aside and rose from the chair. Like a caged animal, he paced the room. His back was rigid, his jaw a hard, uncompromising line. “I understand your telling me about Charles, but why do I get the feeling you’re trying to feel me out about something else here? If you have something to say, man, just say it and get it over with.”
“I wish things were that easy,” Elbert sighed. Again he pushed the spectacles up on a nose that was now moist with nervous perspiration. Clasping his trembling hands together on the desk top, he cleared his throat. His normally soft voice sounded even softer. “This is different. Normally I would never ask a client such a—ahem—personal question. But, you’ve been my friend for as many years as I can remember, so I feel justified in asking you—”
“Get to the point.”
Elbert pushed his glasses back up his nose as he watched Drake lean on an elbow against the engraved marble mantel. The penetrating gaze was hooded, trained on the flames crackling inside the hearth. “I need to know if you still feelings for her. Are you still in love with Angelique?”
The smell of charred wood was strong. The scent brought with it the bittersweet memory of a newly constructed shed, nestled in the California gold mines. Unconsciously, Drake’s hand strayed into the pocked of his trousers. Thoughtfully, he rubbed the silky lock of braided chestnut hair between his thumb and index finger. The jagged edge of the key strung through it grazed against his palm. He’d waited a long time to use that key.
Drake shifted his gaze, he studied his friend long and hard. His answer, when it came, was cold and filled with loathing. “Angelique Rutland killed any feelings I had the day she agreed to marry my brother. Disgust is about the only thing I feel for her now.”
“I know I should have never asked, but...” Elbert paused as he massaged the twitch in the corner of his left eye with quaking fingertips. “You must understand, Theodore Rutland is a practicing lawyer in this city. While we rarely see each other socially, he is still a business associate. I am concerned that your revenge against Charles, well founded though it may be, could also cause repercussions for Rutland’s daughter. I would rather see Angelique left out of this.”
Drake pushed away from the fireplace and retrieved the worn leather hat hanging on the hook beside the door. He turned back to the lawyer as he settled the hat atop his head. “She’s his wife, Elbert. If Charles falls—no, when Charles falls, she goes down with him. It’s inevitable.”
“I realize hurting Charles is inevitable. But is there no way to avoid hurting Angelique?” Sighing, he dragged his palm over the bald top of his head as he raised the other hand in a shaky plea for attention. “Please, Drake, let me explain. I can imagine how much it must have hurt when Angelique married Charles. Since I know firsthand how cold and manipulative the woman can be, I will not defend her on that score—or any other.” The door to the outer office opened a crack. Both men heard the barely perceptible squeak of hinges. Neither acknowledged it. Elbert paused, pursuing his lips and choosing his words with shrewd precision. “However, I would not feel I had fulfilled my duty to my business associate if I did not try, in some smaaall way, to dissuade you. Do you understand what I am trying to say, Mr. Fredrickson?”
Drake stifled a chuckle, carefully lowering his voice so their eavesdropper couldn’t hear. “Fredrickson.”
Elbert muttered under his breath, “I never worked well under pressu
re. You know that.”
Drake grinned and pulled the brim of his hat low on his brow. His voice rose enough for every juicy word to be caught by the prying ears. “Very well, Mr. Sneyd. I understand your concern and I will take it into consideration. I do want to assure you, however, that the innocent will remained unharmed.” His grin broadened. “Does that put your mind at rest?”
Elbert pushed up the spectacles and returned the grin. Picking the papers up off his desk, he held them out to Drake. “Yes, sir, it most certainly does. I thank you for your understanding. You have most definitely put my mind at rest.”
Drake took the papers and tucked them under his arm. “Notify the accountant I’ll be in touch with him before the end of the week. Good day, Mr. Sneyd.” From the corner of his eye, Drake saw the door swing shut. Where the hell is Hope? He wondered as he turned for the door. And why was she letting Sneyd’s secretary spy on his private conversations? Or was she the one doing the spying? The thought did not sit well.
“Good day, Mr.—“ Elbert’s gaze shifted to the door. Seeing it was shut, his staunchly professional demeanor thawed. “Good day, Drake. It’s good to have you back.”
“Feels good to be back, Elbert.” He stopped, his hand poised over the doorknob as he looked back at his friend. He fingered the papers tucked beneath his arm. “I’ll be in touch.”
“You won’t have to,” Elbert said as he plucked up Drake’s folder. He dug long fingers into his breast pocket in search of the desk key. “Charles and Angelique are throwing a charity ball at the house tonight. I’ve been invited. No doubt, we’ll see each other there.”
“Charity ball? Charles? You’ve got to be kidding me. The man has no more interest in charity functions than I have in fashion plates. What’s he up to now?”
Elbert shook his head thoughtfully. “I’m not sure, though I’m curious to find out. The benefits are to go to the Bradfield-Stillwell Home. Do the names sound familiar?”
Drake’s expression darkened. “Yeah,” he spat through gritted teeth, “Very familiar.”
“I thought they would. Like I said, I don’t know what he’s up to, but I do know this whole charity ball is suspicious. Of course, I have no proof. However, your brother’s sudden interest in procuring funds for a home for wayward boys seems particularly suspicious since the party’s conception coincides, to the day, with the date his inheritance ran dry. Now, I’m not suggesting he is doing anything illegal, but if you should happen to stumble on any information about this Bradfield-Stillwell Home, I’d be most interested in seeing it.”
He nodded slowly, his lips tight. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Oh, Drake, one more thing,” Elbert stopped his friend, whose hand was poised on the knob. “That matter you wired me about from St. Louis. It’s all been taken care of. The receipt is somewhere in those papers, in case you need it.”
He nodded once more to his old friend, then opened the door and stepped into the outer office.
The question of who had been eavesdropping was abruptly answered. The secretary, a kid who couldn’t possibly be over the age of seventeen, was sitting behind a small desk. Bent forward, he’d rested his elbows on the desktop and cushioned his pointed chin atop entwined fingers. His beady gaze was rigidly trained on the bench running against the wall to Drake’s immediate right—and the woman who slept on it.
With its high, slatted back posts and narrow, curved armrests, the hard wooden bench looked like an uncomfortable bed. Hope shifted. Her cheek was pillowed on her forearms, her knees drawn up almost to her chest as she huddled in the folds of one of Drake’s shirts. The hat she’d been wearing when they’d entered the office had fallen off. It now rested on the dark brown carpet near one of the bench’s spindled legs. The ends of the thick plait of hair curving over her shoulder dragged the floor, scarcely an inch away from the hat. Her deep, rhythmic breaths told Drake she had been asleep for some time.
A sudden stab of guilt at ever having suspected her of spying on him made Drake pull the door closed with more force than was necessary. He regarded the secretary with a suspicious glare. “How long has she been asleep?”
“About an hour, Mr. Fredrickson,” the secretary answered distractedly as he continued to scrutinize Hope. “How long has she been a she?” His eyes widened when he realized the impact of what he had just said. He fidgeted uncomfortably, the beady gaze flickered between the Colt strapped to the rugged man’s thigh and the anger that shimmered in those piercing green eyes. His confidence burst and he stammered, “I... I m-mean... that is—er—you both... I mean, I would have a s-sworn when you came in that you were b-both men.”
“And I know for a fact that when I came in, I didn’t give you my name,” Drake growled angrily.
Drake dropped the papers to the floor and approached the small desk in much the same way a lion would stalk his prey. In one lithe movement, he reached across the desk and grabbed a fistful of the young man’s coat. He included enough skin in his grasp to make his point painfully clear as he dragged the dark-haired fellow halfway across the desk. They were nose to nose, and Drake almost gagged on the rancid odor of the young man’s breath. “Tell me how you learned my name and tell me fast. I’m not known for my patience—and I don’t like snoops.”
“I didn’t snoop,” the man defended, his voice seriously lacking in truthfulness. He licked his fleshy lips, his gaze darting over Drake’s shoulder and resting on the woman asleep on the bench. He nodded in Hope’s direction. “Sh-she told me.”
“Like hell she did,” Drake snarled, pushing the kid back into his chair with a brutal shove. The wooden backrest banged against the wall as he pulled the pistol from his holster. “You should try to remember your lies, pal. Two minutes ago you told me the lady’s been asleep an hour. Good trick. We’ve only been here forty-five minutes. Now,” he eased the hammer back slightly to free the cylinder and rolled it lightly down his arm, giving the kid ample opportunity to see the six live cartridges spinning in the gun’s cylinder, and continued, “my Colt says you’re going to tell me the truth.”
“I did,” the kid whined miserably, his eyes never leaving the deadly pistol.
“Is that a fact?” Drake pulled the hammer fully back, making the gun ready to fire. The unmistakable sound of the cylinder locking into place behind the deadly barrel, the hammer poised to fire, echoed loudly as he glared at the red-faced secretary. “What’s your name, kid?”
“M-Mason,” was the hoarse answer as he huddled farther down in the chair. “D-Daniel Mason.”
“How long have you been working for Mr. Sneyd, Daniel Mason?”
“About s-six months.”
Drake grinned. The expression was not mirrored in his eyes. “Tell me something, Danny boy, have you ever met an Indian?” The kid’s eyes rounded, his cheeks draining of color as he shook his head. “I have,” Drake said. “In fact, I spent an entire winter with the Dakota tribe. Ever heard of ‘em?” Again, the boy shook his head. This time it was a weak, fearful gesture. “They’re a Plains tribe, cousins to the Apache. The Dakotas are known for two things: being very fierce and very strict. They don’t like liars.” His gaze narrowed on the boy whose complexion had gone past white, and was now a deathly shade of gray. Slowly, almost lazily, Drake pivoted the gun barrel until it pointed directly at the now-terrified young man. “How would you like to find out firsthand what the Dakotas do to people who lie to them, Danny boy?”
The boy’s eyes were so wide they appeared to be bulging from their sockets. “I was listening at the door,” he blurted, his cravat rising and falling as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “The lady didn’t tell me your name, I overheard you and Mr. Sneyd talking. But I wasn’t snooping. It was an accident. I was—er—polishing the doorknob. Yes, I was polishing the doorknob and the door slipped open. It was an accident. It could have happened to anybody.” He looked down the unwavering barrel of the gun and swallowed hard again.
“An accident that will never be repeated. Jus
t like my name and my presence here today won’t ever be repeated. Am I right?”
“Oh y-yes, sir. Definitely. It won’t happen again.”
Drake nodded curtly. “Smart boy,” he said as he lowered the hammer back into place and slipped the gun into the holster. “Get back to work. Mr. Sneyd doesn’t pay you to sit and stare at his clients.”
“Yes, sir,” Danny boy said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he delved into the stack of files cluttering his desk. Grabbing the top one, he muttered something about making a delivery, then ran out the door leading outside. His coat remained on the peg near the door, alongside his hat and scarf.
Drake shook his head in disgust as he approached the narrow bench. Hunkering down beside it, he gave Hope’s broad shoulder a gentle shake. “Wake up, sunshine. We have to go.”
Hope murmured something unintelligible in response. Her brow crinkled with annoyance as she batted his hand away.
“Come on, Hope, wake up.” Sighing, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “If you wake up right now, I promise you can have a real bed to sleep in tonight.”
The dark lashes fluttered up. “A real bed?” she asked suspiciously, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. “Did I hear you say something about a real bed?”
“Thought that would grab your attention,” he said with a warm grin. For a split second, when she smiled at him like that, he could almost believe there was nothing wrong between them. Almost. “And yes, that’s exactly what I said. After a few months of sleeping on the cold, hard ground, a nice soft mattress and pillow sounds pretty good to me, too.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” she asked, all signs of tiredness suddenly gone. Leaning forward, she scooped the hat off the carpet and pushed herself to a sit. Long months on the trail had taught her how to ignore the soreness in her muscles from the cramped position she’d slept in. “You promised me a real bed, gunslinger, and I intend to see you keep your word.”
California Caress Page 23
