Coyote (37 page)

‘So how did you get in?' I insisted.

‘The bouncer liked the size of my money,' he drawled. He ran a warm hand up from my thigh to my breast. ‘What did he like about you?' He paused for a deliberate squeeze. ‘No, let me guess …'

‘Oh, shut up!' I smacked his hand away. ‘This is serious! I believe Gilda's behind everything. She's the only one that fits the profile. She's ex-Navy SEAL, so sniper- and explosives-trained. That means she was capable of setting the fire at Portsmouth Square … Plus she has the historical knowledge to blackmail Seymour.'

‘Is that so, darlin'? So you thought you'd just slip into something more comfortable while you waited for her to arrive?' Honeycutt was clearly enjoying himself way too much. ‘Never thought you'd be starring in a virgin auction … Is this a recent thing?'

‘Honeycutt, I expressly told you to stay away from me … and my case!'

He just grinned and looked me over like I was a lolly he was about to unwrap. ‘Aren't you even a little bit pleased that I'm the one that, er … bought you?'

‘Sure,' I snorted, looking around the room with contempt. ‘Like any of these degenerate fools had the slightest chance of even slowing me down.'

‘Kannon … I can't tell you what a comfort it is to know that's the God's-honest truth.'

I ignored that. ‘Have you seen Gilda yet? She wasn't backstage.'

‘No, but the bouncer assured me she'd be gracing us auction winners with her presence soon. Seems she likes to make sure the customers are well satisfied.'

I blocked out the double entendre. ‘Good.' I scanned the doors. There was one on either side of the stage and the main entryway at the very back of the room made three. I wanted to see Gilda before she got too good a chance to see me. I was itching to have a go at her.

I felt Honeycutt's raspy chin press into the back of my neck and nuzzle. ‘What are you doing?' I snapped.

‘Don't you think we'd better play our parts? Have a look,' he ordered.

I checked around. The other ‘virgins' were down to their skins … and down to work. ‘Forget it, Honeycutt! I'm not taking anything off!'

He swung me back to face him. And breathed, ‘Oh, I don't think you have to, darlin'; what you're wearing is pretty damned non-existent as it is.'

His arousal sent another wave of musky scent up my already overstimulated nose. This smellovision was getting stronger, just like my night vision. I felt like I was about to explode … or go into heat … or both.

Honeycutt seemed to enjoy the look on my face.

He leant in to rub his full lips over my cheek, whispering, ‘Let me tell you, darlin', I really do appreciate your undercover skills.'

That damned Louisiana accent! It made me hot just to hear it.

His full lips brushed over mine, teasing … seducing. His tongue slipped into my mouth. It felt like hot satin. I groaned, licking it with my own. I pressed myself up against him, like he was a wall and I was wallpaper.

I wanted to eat him whole, from the lips down … and I was sitting on positive proof that the impulse was entirely mutual.

Daniel groaned into my mouth and slid one firm hand up my leg and under my nightdress …

I moaned back, urging him on.

Daniel wrenched his lips from mine, panting with the effort for control. ‘Darlin', we'd better stop … or this audience is going to get a performance they may not forget in a hurry.'

I blinked, trying to regain my balance. ‘Er … yeah,' I panted back. ‘Okay.' I bent in and bit his neck.

He groaned and forced me back. ‘Kannon!'

‘What?' I growled.

‘We have to stop.'

I gazed at him vacantly. ‘Yeah, Daniel, in a minute … just let me …'

‘Listen.' He tenderly cupped my hot face with both hands, holding me away. ‘We deal with Gilda … then we go straight back to my place. It's closer than yours by at least ten minutes … And the way I'm feeling at the moment, darlin' — we may have to do it in the car on the way!'

‘Do it in the car?' I nodded, still dazed. ‘Good plan.'

‘And, darlin' …' He gave me a sharp look. ‘Don't even consider backing out … or picking a fight so you can storm off. Because if I get the slightest feeling that you would then we won't be getting off this chair — audience or not — until we're both good and satisfied!' He searched my face. ‘Agreed?'

‘No argument from me!'

I peeled off his lap and stood. I had to get away from Honeycutt — well, at least off his sexy body — to get my brain to click back on. ‘Gilda has to be around here somewhere!' I felt a little unstable on my feet.

‘I saw a couple of your fellow virgins take their customers through the door to the left of the stage.'

‘Okay, Honeycutt, let's go and see what's back there.'

Behind the door was a corridor, which led into another room. This one, surprise, surprise, was done up as a dungeon, complete with slave chains and pirate paraphernalia. A Madam Lash, dressed only in a cruelly narrowed leather corset and spike-heeled riding boots, was teaching a pair of her customers how to polish her footwear. From the thrashing she was giving them, they hadn't been very good at it.

We strode past, heading for the next door — the one at the rear of the dungeon.

Madam Lash looked up and barked, ‘You can't go in there!'

When we ignored her, she pressed a buzzer on the wall behind her.

I'd just latched onto the door handle when I heard shouting behind us.

It was Captain Shaker and two of his bouncers. ‘Hey, you! What are you doing?'

The door handle turned beneath my fingers.

It opened.

It was Gilda and she was ready for trouble.

She may've been dressed as Prairie Rose but the semi-automatic in her hand said she wasn't relying on arrows. ‘What's going on?' she demanded.

Honeycutt tried to slip in front of me, but Captain Shaker stuck a gun in his ribs and ordered him not to move.

Gilda peered at me, puzzled. Then her expression changed.

She ripped off my black wig …

Gilda and her men marched us down the darkened stairs of The Hue & Cry's old stone-walled basement. Fresh paint fumes wafted up to greet us. From the light at our backs, all I could see was a mound of tools and some renovation equipment next to the stairs, but beyond was merely deep shadow.

Then Gilda turned on the lights.

It was startling.

An old two-masted sailing ship, as strong and as gleaming black as the day it first set sail, sat marooned in the middle of the vast basement. It appeared to ride the surrounding blue-painted floorboards as though they were still waters holding the old vessel in their stiff embrace. The ship's figurehead rose up, high above the floor, as though breasting a wave. It was a laughing, bone-white skeleton, gleefully holding out a black net to the horizon … ready for the hunt.

It had to be
The Hue & Cry
… the Corsairs'd started as white slavers on the North African coast. Someone, I couldn't remember who, had said that
when the Corsairs first docked in San Francisco, they'd used their moored vessel as their criminal headquarters.

‘You won't get away with this, Gilda, let us go!' I demanded.

‘Aw, shut up.' Gilda smirked at me. ‘You should be thanking me. Some of our more … exacting clients pay good money to go where you two are going.'

She nodded to her men. ‘Put them down below. In the rear cabin.' She snorted. ‘That should teach them to cross me.'

One of the men grabbed an antique hurricane lantern from a table next to the pile of renovation equipment, lit it, and then they dragged us onto the deck.

The one with the lantern opened the raised trap door in the centre of the wooden deck. Below were narrow, steep stairs. They hauled us down them and into the very bowels of the ship. We were marched to the rear where we were forced to climb down a ladder.

I shivered. I do so hate enclosed spaces …

We were in the very bottom of the hold. No windows. No doors. Just the ladder leading up to the trap door in the ceiling above us. The lantern showed there were iron chains and cuffs attached to the walls, enough for maybe twenty slaves stacked like sardines.

Oh God, what could it have been like for them … months spent here in the pitch dark?

Gilda supervised as they fastened a big iron cuff around Honeycutt's wrist and then another around one of mine. Her men left. She peered down through the hole above our heads, the lantern on the floor next to her.

‘Do you like my waiting room, Dupree?' asked Gilda with intense satisfaction.

‘What is this place?' demanded Honeycutt. He wasn't rattled in the slightest. In fact, he seemed more interested in the old ship than he should've been. Guess the Marine in him was coming out.

‘This is the real
Hue & Cry
,' replied Gilda. ‘The harbour foreshore was filled in 1851, so the Corsairs had it dragged ashore and built their bordello on top of their old vessel. It was rigged out as a slaver, so it was useful for holding their recalcitrant prisoners. Gideon just had it renovated so we could use it for our kinkier customers — when they want to play pirate and slave girl.'

‘People know where we are, Gilda,' I threatened. ‘If we disappear they'll be straight on your doorstep.'

‘Oh, lighten up, Dupree. You won't be here long enough to go missing.'

‘Oh, sure, Gilda,' I spat back. ‘You're just going to let us walk out of here.'

She rolled her eyes. ‘Don't be so dramatic. I'm just keeping you here until we've had time to finish the show for our clients and send them on their satisfied way. Once they're gone, you puritanical busybodies will have no witnesses to prove anything.'

Honeycutt and I exchanged bemused glances. Gilda appeared to be telling the truth.

‘Is that why you think we're here?' said Honeycutt.

She shrugged. ‘I don't know, and I don't particularly care.'

Whoever killed River would be panting at the bit to get rid of me too. But if Gilda hadn't killed River then who had?

‘Gilda, we don't care about your little illegal den of iniquity,' I said. ‘We're here investigating the murder of Jackson River.'

She narrowed her eyes. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘River was shot at by someone with military training, someone trained as a sniper … someone who would kill to prevent him from finding Hector Kershaw's diary.'

Her face paled with fear … but not for herself.

I had a hunch. ‘Gilda, just where did you first meet Gideon Webb?'

‘Don't give me that crap, Dupree. Upstairs is just good illegal fun. Gideon would never hurt anyone.' Her eyes shifted under mine, showing her doubt.

‘Webb was a Navy SEAL too … wasn't he, Gilda? He had sniper training too, didn't he?'

She started backing away from the hole, the guilty truth written all over her features. ‘Gideon wouldn't do something like that. Sure, I know he wants the Kershaw diary … but he wouldn't kill to get it. He's a good man.'

‘Gilda,' I said. ‘Webb has been blackmailing Seymour Kershaw … about something Hector Kershaw did back in old San Francisco. Something Hector did to turn the city against the Corsairs —'

‘So what?' She didn't care. ‘Whatever it was, it happened centuries ago. If Seymour Kershaw cares enough to pay to keep his snooty relatives' slate clean then good luck to Webb.'

‘No, Gilda, listen to me! It's not that simple. In 1867 Hector Kershaw set fire to Portsmouth Square. He did it just to frame the Corsairs. That murderer locked hundreds of innocent people into those buildings — and then set fire to them.'

‘No — you're wrong. That can't be true.' She knew where I was headed. ‘Gideon wouldn't —'

‘He did, Gilda,' I snapped. ‘To push Seymour Kershaw into paying up, Webb set fire to Portsmouth Square. Do you understand me, Gilda? Webb re
enacted Hector's crime … He slaughtered innocent people just to get his blackmail money!'

‘No! That's not true! It can't be.' But from the horror in her eyes, Gilda understood that what I was saying was at least possible. In her buckskin costume she looked like the real Prairie Rose must've when she saw the blue coats of the US cavalry coming for her village.

It was too much for her.

‘Gilda, wait!'

She leapt away from the hole, her footsteps racing over our heads.

I stared up, willing her to stop … Damn! But at least she'd left the lantern. I eyed it. Just how long would that light last? The thought of being in this dank little hold in the pitch dark made me want to …

‘Well, this has been delightful,' drawled Honeycutt, cutting my panic short. ‘But let's get out of here and after the real culprit — Gideon Webb.'

We both went to work on the cuffs. They may've been centuries old but unfortunately they still worked. It was pointless to try to unhinge them, so we had to either separate the chains from the cuffs or the chains from the wooden wall.

Honeycutt stuck both his feet on either side of his chain and pulled.

I looked around for a lever.

 

‘Ah, there you are.' Gideon Webb's face appeared above us. ‘You've been busy stirring up my Prairie Rose.' He looked like a smug cobra about to dislocate its jaw for dinner. He wore Western gear, once again dressed as Hector Kershaw.

And he had the same killer eyes.

Now I realised why he could play Hector so convincingly. They really were the same — mass murderers.

‘So, Kannon, you couldn't resist me after all,' purred Webb. He gave Honeycutt a contemptuous glance. ‘And who's your big friend?'

Honeycutt gave him stone-cold eyes. Webb's smirk faltered; he kept his gaze carefully away.

‘People know we're here, Webb,' I growled. ‘You won't get away with it. They'll rip this place apart.'

‘Sure they will, Dupree,' he mocked me. ‘No one even knows this basement still exists … let alone what's in it. I was very careful to keep the excavation secret.' Webb slapped the floor above our heads. ‘No one knows my beauty has resurfaced.'

‘You won't get away with it. I left a message with —'

‘Who? Your partner, Desmond Carmichael?'

I stiffened.

‘Now Carmichael was a waste of my precious time.' Webb frowned. ‘I thought he had the final clue to the location of the diary and all I found was some rubbish on a Mexican bandito.' He shook his head. ‘But still, I don't think he can help you now, girl,' he purred in dulcet tones. ‘Not from his hospital bed anyway.'

‘You slimy bastard … I'm going to rip you limb from —'

‘I'll make a deal with you: tell me where the diary is and I'll let you go.' He read my face. ‘So you don't have it yet?'

‘But I know where it is!'

‘Don't tell me.' He pretended to read my thoughts. ‘It's in Little Boston.'

I ground my teeth. ‘You're the one who broke into the de Vivar Library and stole the plans.'

‘Yes,' he admitted, unconcerned. ‘However, it didn't help me find Hector's secret room.'

I sucked in a breath. There was a secret room?

‘You didn't know about it … did you?' He gave me a patronising grin. ‘I became suspicious when I discovered the architect of Little Boston died the week it was completed.' Webb rolled his eyes. ‘So very Egyptian of Hector … The architect was stabbed on his way home from there. He'd written to a friend that he'd built a secret room for Hector — but fortunately for Hector the letter was never posted.' He smirked. ‘And fortunately for me I found that same letter.'

‘But you haven't found the diary, have you?' I growled up at him.

‘No. The secret room wasn't shown on the library plans. But I'll find it … eventually.'

‘Let us out and we'll help you,' I promised.

Webb ignored me to gloat. ‘Do you like my
Hue & Cry
? You've got to hand it to the Corsairs …' He fondled the ship like it was a new girlfriend. ‘They had style. They never stopped being what they really were upfront … pirates. They even brought their ship with them into their new fiefdom.'

He sneered down at us. ‘But it just goes to show that a good lie will always beat the truth. Even the Corsairs weren't in the same badass class as Hector Kershaw.' He chortled. ‘That Hector — what a terror he was. Just one man … and he pulled the strings of an entire city with just a delicate tissue of lies.'

‘Not quite,' I spat out. ‘The mass murder helped.'

‘Yeah, and they stampeded before him like sheep being rounded up for the abattoir.' Webb smiled. ‘Hector arrived in San Francisco the hero of Dry
Gulch massacre and parleyed it into becoming the mayor.' He tapped his chin meditatively. ‘My, my, what an inspiring role model he's been indeed.'

Honeycutt and I exchanged worried glances. Reason wasn't going to work on this copycat psycho.

‘You've really got to admire Hector's adaptability — he never let anything get in his way,' said Webb. ‘First, he married the daughter of the richest man in town, then set about turning everyone against the Corsairs … even their paid political lackeys. Then Hector set fire to Portsmouth Square to outrage the public, but they were too afraid of the Corsairs to do anything. So he defied the Corsairs in their own fiefdom by taking their pride and joy — Prairie Rose — and showing they could be beaten.'

‘You're mad, Webb,' I spat. ‘Someone will put two and two together and come to the same conclusion we did. They'll find out what you've been doing.'

Webb ignored that too. ‘Oh but you haven't heard the very best part. You're going to love it … When rescuing Prairie Rose didn't rouse the masses, Hector's final stroke was genius.' He chuckled. ‘He framed the Corsairs one last time … and blew up the town hall. It was sheer, balls-out genius — in one stroke he eliminated the Corsairs' protectors and his only political rivals.'

I gave Honeycutt an anxious glance. This story was leading nowhere good.

‘The enraged crowd turned from the burning Montgomery Building to rush into the Barbary Coast and rip apart every last one of the Corsairs before the blaze had even died down.' He stood above us, hands on hips. ‘By the next dawn Hector was mayor and held the richest underworld on all six continents in the palm of his eagerly grasping hand —'

‘Cut the crap!' barked Honeycutt. ‘We know what you have done and we'll make sure —'

‘I'm sorry, but I'm too busy to listen to you whine.' Webb checked his watch. ‘Now, I must leave you, I have an appointment. I can't resist re-enacting one final tribute to my favourite hero.' He preened himself at the thought. ‘And, of course, the demolition of the Montgomery Building should also persuade Seymour Kershaw that I really mean business. I'll milk him drier than a dead rattlesnake.'

He was going to blow up a building?

‘You can't do this, Webb!' I shouted.

‘Oh, you needn't worry about it, Kannon. You can't do anything about it.' He chuckled. ‘You'll be dead.'

 

Webb ducked out of view.

‘Kannon, we have to get out of here,' growled Honeycutt.

We both went to work on the chains again. Then stopped to stare at the ceiling.

Someone was dragging something heavy across the deck above our heads.

We both lunged to our feet.

A heavy fire hose slipped through the hole to dangle above our heads.

‘No!' I yelled.

Moments later water exploded out of it with such force that it threw Honeycutt backwards and headfirst into the wall.

I struggled against my chain to reach him. He stood up, but in a daze.

‘Come on, Daniel, we've got to get out of here!' I shouted above the roaring water. It was almost deafening in this little cabin.

We both began kicking at the heavy wooden beams the chains were inserted into but they were as hard as the iron cuffs that encircled our wrists. They were made of wood, handpicked to last centuries in the water.