Beyond the Pale

by Sabrina Flynn

  “The last time I trusted you, I woke up with the worst hangover of my life.”

  They descended the grandstand to ground level, where arched windows lined the building, along with a pair of arched doorways.

  Garrett strolled ahead, his white Panama hat easy to pick out in the crowd. He had his eyes on the bookie. As Lotario suspected, the bookie didn’t head towards the betting ring or the restaurant. Instead, he walked around the grandstand, towards a two-story clubhouse with arabesque turrets, capped with blooming onion domes.

  Was he meeting someone at the cafe? That might complicate things. But the bookie veered towards the stables, and right on cue Garrett trotted ahead, holding up a billfold. “Sir! Excuse me, sir. I do believe you dropped this.” His voice boomed with authority.

  Lotario quickened their own pace as the crowds formed a pocket around the bookie, who turned to look at the man with a billfold.

  The bookie patted at his coat pocket. “Sure thing, that’s mine.”

  It always was.

  “Wait a moment!” Lotario called, patting his vest. “I do believe it’s mine. I seem to have misplaced my own.”

  Garrett turned, surprised, and the billfold slipped through his fingertips onto the ground. Daisy floated off Lotario’s arm and kept walking, while the bookie bent to retrieve the fallen billfold. Daisy collided with him as he tucked it into his vest.

  “Goodness!” She tripped, but the man caught her before she tumbled to the ground. She pressed her breasts against his chest, her eyes wide and fearful, lips parted as she stared up into his eyes. “I do beg your pardon,” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t see you.”

  “Quite all right, Miss,” the bookie said.

  “Oh, say now… I do have my billfold,” Lotario murmured. He tipped his hat, and slipped into the crowd.

  Garrett gave a shake of his head. “Far too many dishonest men in the world.”

  “It appears there’s a few gentlemen left,” Daisy said. With a shy smile, she pulled away from the bookie. “Thank you for saving my dress, sir.” She blushed and sauntered away, while Garrett disappeared into the crowd.

  Lotario had positioned himself near the stable, making a show of inspecting the horses. He didn’t care for horses. They weren’t trustworthy. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the bookie trot up a stairway to a second-story office over a stable.

  Daisy soon joined him, and they headed to the clubhouse where Garrett was waiting. Inside there was a lovely English cafe with timber ceilings and open fireplaces. And while the grandstand resembled a Japanese pavilion, the saddling paddock was built in Mexican-style adobe. The cultural influences should’ve clashed. But somehow it worked.

  After they were seated, Daisy passed over the billfold she’d pinched from the bookie. The man still had Garrett’s billfold tucked under his coat. Men were so easy to distract.

  Lotario ignored the cash in favor of the betting slips. “Quickly now, jot down these numbers. Make sure to keep each separate.”

  Daisy retrieved a pencil and notepad from her handbag.

  “The dates aren’t even for today,” Garrett said.

  “This one is for last year,” Daisy noted. “And none of these names match the horses racing today.”

  “What do you think their game is?” Garrett asked.

  Lotario frowned at a slip. “I’m not sure, but anything involving that set can’t be good.”

  When the slips had been copied, Garrett tucked them back into the stolen billfold and went to find the bookie to explain there must’ve been a mix up.

  46

  Going Courting

  Riot had never been an anxious young man waiting for his sweetheart, but he felt like one today. He stood under a tree in Golden Gate Park, searching the crowds of ambling couples, families, mothers with strollers, dog walkers, bicyclists, and picnickers. The sun was out, and so was San Francisco.

  Jack nuzzled his shoulder, and Riot absently rubbed his old friend’s nose. They stood under a tree, its leaves offering a cool resting place after a hard run on the track. Jack never liked to finish second, which proved tiring on a circular path, but Riot had let him keep trying for first place anyway.

  A woman caught his eye. It was her brisk stride rather than her appearance that snagged his attention. Frayed straw hat, battered spectacles, and a blue coat that had seen better days.

  As Isobel walked along a pathway, she searched the crowds. His partner was possessed of a rare gift. She took in every detail, analyzed it, and came to a conclusion in the blink of an eye. It was not something she could switch off, and Riot had observed that crowds tended to overwhelm her senses.

  As he watched her from his shaded spot, people fell away, conversation, the rustling trees, even his horse. It was a dangerous moment of distraction, but then Isobel always slipped through his defenses.

  Riot forced himself to stop gawking at his wife and focused on his surroundings. The bench where they’d agreed to meet was occupied, but if she kept on her current course she’d walk right past him.

  When he went to pick her out of the crowd again, she’d vanished. She must’ve spotted Jack—the pinto horse was hard to miss. Riot waited, and soon enough Jack snorted and raised his head in alarm. A rustle behind them caused the horse to dance to the side and turn.

  “I nearly had you—” Isobel cut off as he turned to greet her. Her hand went to her lips, eyes wide. She looked on the verge of fainting.

  Riot grinned, whipped off a black Stetson, and stepped forward to wrap an arm around her waist before she fell.

  “Good Lord,” she said faintly. “What on earth did you do to your beard?”

  “Men have been known to shave them off on occasion,” he said.

  Her lips worked, but no words came out. She tugged off a glove to touch his naked cheek, fingers sliding like silk over his skin. “I feel like I’m cheating on my husband with a younger man,” she whispered.

  “Probably best not to tell him.”

  Riot ducked under the brim of her hat to kiss her, but their spectacles bumped together, and nearly locked. Isobel laughed as she untangled the wiring, then threw her arms around his neck. Honest, pure, and full of joy. His world brightened.

  Riot carefully removed her spectacles and tried again. He’d intended it to be a chaste kiss, but Isobel melted against his body. He lost himself. It’d been a long two weeks.

  “I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

  “I can feel just how much.” She smiled against his lips. “You should know, Riot. You have a tell.”

  “It’s hard to hide when you’re around.”

  “Extremely hard.”

  Before things got out of hand, Jack stepped into Isobel, trying to knock her out of the way.

  “Jack,” Riot said through his teeth.

  “You’re quite right, Jack,” Isobel said, sparing a glance at the busy park. “I’ll get fired if I’m caught courting.” She searched his face, lips twitching with amusement. “You have dimples.”

  “Only when I smile.”

  She touched the jagged scar on his chin. “And this?”

  “I put that there so people wouldn’t notice my dimples.”

  Isobel snorted. “So… tell the truth. Did you grow the beard to hide your dimples or to hide the scar?”

  “I thought a beard would make me look older and respectable.”

  “You do look awfully young.”

  “Is that bad?”

  Isobel slowly circled him, studying his disguise. “Not at all. But I can’t say I like the idea of you walking around a brothel in that getup.”

  “Extra fabric chafes on a saddle.”

  “Hmm.”

  Riot shifted slightly. “These trousers were a bit looser last time I wore them,” he admitted.

  “It’s all that good food I cook for you.”

  “That must be it.”

  She finished her inspection, then met his eyes. “I thought William Kyd was supposed to be a sailor?”


  “Change of plans. The Nymphia caters to sailors from the Presidio, so I wagered I had a better shot hiring on as a ranch hand in from the country.”

  Isobel ran a gloved finger over his knuckles. “You’ve been fighting,” she said.

  One by one, Riot tugged off the fingers of her remaining glove, then took her warm skin in his own. “I’m a watchman in a brothel. That’s our lot.”

  “I thought you said it wasn’t dangerous?”

  “You’re the one holding yourself gingerly.” There was a question there, and she answered it without prompting.

  “Whatever Miss Lily pays the cleaning maids for Ravenwood Manor, we need to double it. I’ve scrubbed more bathtubs and toilets than I can count. That, or I’m getting old.”

  Riot gave a silent chuckle as he retrieved Jack’s reins. The horse was eyeballing Isobel, and she was doing the same. “I’m not going to take him away from you,” she said. “I don’t know why you still have a grudge against me.”

  The horse snorted. She reached up to pat him, but Jack avoided that with a quick snap of his teeth. “Oh, stop it. You can come for a walk, too.”

  Riot gave Jack a firm look as he settled his hat back in place, then slipped Isobel’s arm through his. They headed towards less traveled pathways. “He’s protective of me,” Riot said.

  “So am I.”

  “I think you enjoy the rivalry.”

  “Do you enjoy being fought over, Riot?”

  “It’s the pinnacle of my life. Being caught in a love triangle with a woman and a horse.”

  “Jack does adore you.”

  “We’ve been through some things together.”

  Isobel tilted her head in thought. “You’ve likely spent more time with Jack than me.”

  “I plan on changing that.”

  “Did you hear that, Jack? He wants to spend more time with me.”

  The horse swiveled his head into Riot’s chest, knocking him back a step. He didn’t let up until Riot gave him a proper rub.

  “How’s the Nymphia?”

  Riot’s hand stilled. “I’ve nearly blown my cover several times.”

  “That bad?”

  Riot focused on Jack, not daring to look at his wife. “It’s bad,” he said simply. He didn’t want to talk about that place just now—not in the sunlight with a beautiful woman at his side.

  Only she knew him too well.

  Isobel ran a hand down his back. “You don’t have to stay there, Riot. Blow your cover all you like,” she whispered.

  “I plan on it. When the time is right.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  Riot rested his forehead against Jack for a moment. “I’ve seen worse,” he admitted, then glanced her way. “I haven’t come across any underage girls yet.”

  “There’s that at least,” she said with a sigh. “My skin is crawling just thinking about the hotel.”

  “I feel the same,” he admitted. “Before I came here, I refilled a bucket three times and scrubbed my skin raw.”

  “Doesn’t your boarding house have a bath?”

  Riot grimaced. “I’m earning a watchman’s wages. I couldn’t afford a suitable stable and a room of my own, so Jack won out. He gets a good stable, and I get to toss down a bedroll near his stall.”

  Riot had never slept easily with other occupants (save Isobel) in a room. At least in the stable he had Jack to watch over him.

  “You’re sleeping with your horse, Riot?”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “You found me out.”

  “With those dimples of yours, I find it impossible to be angry with you.”

  “I’ll have to grow my beard back as soon as I can.”

  “So you can argue with me?”

  “So I can make up with you.”

  Isobel cleared her throat. “Must you be so charming? I’m sorely tempted to drag you into the bushes.”

  “There’s a hayloft at my place.”

  “I think the novelty of you clean-shaven has just worn off.”

  “We’ll see if you can resist these dimples after another hour,” he purred.

  Isobel quickened her pace. “You’re impossible, Riot,” she said over her shoulder.

  “So that wasn’t a no?” he called.

  She kept walking.

  When he caught up, she glanced his way. “I’m fairly sure ‘no courting’ includes a roll in the hay.”

  “A rule Miss Rachel Wall would never break.”

  Isobel slipped her arm back through his. “Unless it included a back rub.”

  “I may be able to oblige. You’re looking lopsided.”

  “Riot.”

  “You are crooked,” he said flatly. “Your right shoulder is higher than your left and your back is hunched.”

  Isobel cursed under her breath. “Splendid. I’ll have a hump by the end of this case.”

  “Other than your budding hump—”

  “I should kick you.”

  “—how are you finding life as a maid?”

  “It’s tedious,” she said. “I’ve contemplated all the ways I could kill the family.”

  Riot looked at her in alarm.

  “In theory.”

  “All action is of the mind…” Riot murmured.

  Isobel ignored the quote. “I saw Sarah at the Noble’s manor. She made friends faster than I imagined. Have you checked in at home?”

  “No, but I woke up the other morning to find Jin feeding Jack an apple.”

  Isobel coughed in surprise. “She tracked you down by Jack, didn’t she?”

  Riot nodded. “She was rather pleased with herself. I think she must’ve pieced together we were involved with the Nymphia raid in some way, then went around to all the surrounding stables.”

  “That child is far too clever for her own good.”

  Riot smiled. “She is, isn’t she? Just like her mother.”

  “I’m brilliant, Riot. Not clever.”

  “And apparently not humble.”

  “I never claimed to be,” she said. “Back to our clever daughter—she should know better than to sneak up on you.”

  It was true. Riot had quick reflexes that were on a hair trigger. It was the only reason he was still alive, but those same reflexes couldn’t be switched off at will.

  “She didn’t even flinch when I drew.”

  “Let me guess, she gave you that smug look of hers and made some smartass comment?”

  “That’s about it.” He smiled at the memory.

  “At least she didn’t venture into the hotel.”

  Riot skirted away from that thought. “I thought it best to sate her curiosity, so I told her the particulars of the case.”

  “Hmm.”

  “She’s up to something.”

  “Dear God.”

  “Tobias may be involved. He was wisely waiting outside the stable.”

  “At least there’s that.”

  “Tobias does have a tempering effect on her,” Riot agreed.

  “What do you think they’re up to?”

  “I don’t have the faintest idea.”

  Isobel sighed. They should’ve sent Jin and Sarah to stay with her parents. But then the pair would have missed more schooling.

  There was nothing for it now, so she told him of her nocturnal break-in and her close call with Mr. Noble. “If ever there was a chance for him to take advantage of a maid, it would’ve been then.”

  “It was early in the morning, though. Doesn’t mean he’s not the type after a few drinks.”

  “Are you suggesting I wait until he’s drunk to put myself in harm’s way?”

  “I am not,” he said.

  “Perhaps as a last resort…” she mused.

  “Bel.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Yes, yes. I know. But, here’s the interesting part. Along with the betting slip, there was a newspaper of the same date. It was folded back to a page featuring a small article about a union leader named Lester Capp. He was the head of a group trying
to unionize a mining operation in Colorado.”

  “One of Ian Noble’s mines?”

  “Margaret mentioned he had interests in Colorado. Do you remember when I was gathering all those newspapers before the agency was attacked?”

  “I do.” And he was glad he did. After Monty beat him near to death, his memory had been fuzzy for weeks. “I recall you saying that it might be nothing.”

  “And you said when something catches my eye, it’s generally something.”

  Riot raised his brows, waiting.

  Isobel gave a huff. “Fine, you were right.”

  “Wagering on your intellect is always a sure bet.” Riot picked up her hand and brushed a kiss across her fingertips. Either his compliment or his kiss rendered her speechless for a good few seconds.

  “I was looking for a pattern to several strange murders. A body was found in an orchard near Los Angeles. The body was badly burned. Another in Oregon. A few weeks later, Colorado. But I couldn’t find any connection between the victims aside from the killer or killers trying to erase evidence.”

  “Let me guess, the Colorado victim was identified as Lester Capp?”

  Isobel nodded.

  Riot rubbed the scar on his chin. “I’m due to check in at the agency before my shift tomorrow. I’ll have Lotario look into who has a stake in that mine, along with the murders. The Pinkertons might know something, too.”

  “Tell Ari to compare the dates on the betting slips with corresponding newspapers. The dictionary we found in Monty’s room may have nothing to do with those slips.”

  “If we find anything, I’ll get word to you somehow.”

  “You’ll have to. I barely got permission to take off on Sundays. And I’m not even allowed to go to the grocers.”

  Riot massaged her hand, the skin raw from cleaning solutions. “Sarah could pass messages.”

  “I hadn’t intended for her to set foot in that house,” Isobel admitted. “But she seems to genuinely get on with Helen Noble.”

  “Do you think she’s in danger there?”

  “Aside from Grace’s warning? No. Maids are easy prey, but a friend of Helen’s… not so much. And I’m close at hand. Dominic’s murder may have nothing to do with the household. It could simply be what it appears: an influential family trying to smother a scandal.” She gave a tired sigh. “This could all be a waste of time. I feel like we’re shooting in the dark.”