The Chosen (4 page)

“No.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing then. That’s where you and Colt differ. He always speaks his mind, plain and loud.”

“I thought I was being extremely direct.”

“You talk like I’m a judge. Your fancy words don’t impress me, Jackson, any more than those highfalutin’ britches and coat you got on.”

His voice dropped to a lethal whisper that brushed through her hair, sending an unwarranted shiver down her spine. “And what exactly does impress a woman like you?”

“Honesty.”

“Ah. You see all this as not being honest. But ask yourself this—what if it is completely honest? What if what you see is precisely what you get?”

China snorted. “Not a chance. You hide behind those fancy clothes of yours because you think it’ll make the ugly truth harder to see. But deep down, you know and I know you’re nothing but a murderer—for your principles, but a killer nonetheless.”

From the cool wash of air against her back she could tell he’d pulled away from her.

“And what are you?” he asked without a fleck of emotion in his voice.

Good. Wedge in place. Mission accomplished. Jackson brothers were far easier to deal with and more predictable when they were prickly.

“That’s easy. I’m a thief.”

A harsh grate of laughter rasped from him. “And that’s honorable?”

“I never said I was honorable—just honest. I know what and who I am, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks about it.”

But that wasn’t totally true. China would admit to being a thief. She could admit to being a liar. But there was one thing she hadn’t openly admitted to Remington or another soul; nor would she.

A dreaded secret she both held close and despised: she was Rathe’s estranged daughter.

Not that it mattered. She was going to save her own skin and finally prove to the sadistic archdemon who’d infected her mother and marked her early as his spawn that she was worthy to be a princess of the Darkin realm—worthy of his attention. All she needed was a little more time and the completed Book of Legend.

Remington Jackson didn’t need to know
any
of that. Her family issues weren’t his or anyone else’s business.

They rode on in silence, which was just fine by her. Between the viperanox venom and the thoughts swirling about in her head, she felt sick. The sun was sinking by slow degrees to the west, and the cacti began to throw shadows across the landscape.

“I’m not Colt you know.”

The statement both surprised her and stung like a barb.

“I know. But you’re still a Jackson and a Hunter.”

“True.” A brief stretch of silence followed, but China could almost hear the gears grinding inside Remington’s head. “How’d you and my brother ever begin working together in the first place?”

China winced. She didn’t like to think on it too much. She’d actually been sent to find Colt and kill him, but she’d ended up being seduced by his charms instead. That had been the first thing that had put her on her dear daddy’s not-sowell-behaved list. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. “We both happened to be in the same place at the same time to steal the same thing.” It was the truth—from a certain point of view.

“And?”

She twisted in the saddle and gazed up at him. “You talk a lot for a man, you know that?”

He gave her the famous Jackson smile, that lazy, sensual grin that reached in and stole one’s ability to breathe or think straight. The same one Colt had that could lay a woman flat on her back in a heartbeat. If they’d had any sense at all, they could have patented it and made a fortune. “There’s a simple reason for that.”

“There is?”

His blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Attorney, remember?”

China turned away from him. Outfoxing Remington was going to be harder than outwitting Colt. Overhead a hawk cried out, a keening wail, as it circled, looking for prey far below. The blue of the sky it wheeled in was so like the clear, breathtaking color of the Jackson brothers’ eyes.

“So who’d the blue eyes come from in the family?”

“That would be my ma. We got her smile as well.”

China thought on that for a moment. “If Colt’s the charming one in the family, and Winn’s the law and order type, what does that make you?”

“I’m the brains in the family.”

“Uh huh.”

“You doubt the veracity of my claim?”

“I find if a man has to brag about it, chances are there’s less to what he’s selling than advertised.”

He leaned in close, the contact of his body suddenly hot against the length of her back, causing a snap of awareness to crackle along her nerve endings. “Is that a challenge, Miss McGee?” Intrigue laced his tone.

China stiffened. Damn it. So much for the wedge between them. She’d gotten so caught up in their verbal sparring she’d let down her guard for just an instant. “Why?” she shot back, feeling prickly and unable to stop herself.

“There’s nothing I love more than a challenge.”

She might want that Book, she might need that Book, but getting it meant working with a Hunter. This Hunter. And she suddenly lost a little faith in her abilities to escape from the association unscathed.

True to her word, China was tougher than she looked. She lasted through the rugged red canyons dotted with green scrub along the valley floor and the endless empty miles between Bisbee and Tombstone without a single complaint. The setting sun was no more than a line of red and gold just over the horizon, the cacti surrounding them reduced to silhouettes. A light evening breeze stirred her loose hair, sending silky tendrils of it spinning about his cheek and neck in a most distracting fashion.

How much pain was she in? Fool woman was too stubborn to complain. Her body was still ramrod straight and unbending despite the heat and the dusty miles traveled. He’d never seen anything like it in a human. But then she wasn’t human, and he’d best remember that, he chided himself.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to stop?”

China sighed. “Can you please stop asking me that? These small town doctors wouldn’t know how to patch up a shifter anyway.”

Feeling her feminine form against him, he couldn’t figure out how shifters were really all that different. “Aren’t you basically human?”

She snorted. “No Darkin is basically human, just like no angel is basically spirit and no human is basically an animal.”

He frowned at that. He’d had it drilled into him by his pa that Darkin were creatures of the night, an unholy amalgam of otherworldly powers and in many cases human flesh, creatures that ought to be unilaterally destroyed. But the rational and questioning part of his mind couldn’t reconcile that. Nothing was completely black or white. Their world was infinite shades of gray, and it was only logical that the Darkin realm would be as well.

“You don’t bleed black like the other Darkin—” He stopped short of saying I’ve killed.

“Darkin that bleed black are corrupted. They’ve taken life or souls to feed themselves rather than just in defense.”

“Huh. Never was taught that.”

“There’s a lot more to Darkin than you think you know, Jackson.”

Well. She had that right. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn.

By the time they were nearly to Tombstone, dark had descended on the desert. It was a heavy, warm darkness, deep like velvet sprinkled with sharp, diamond points of white light. Heat still seeped from the rocks, but the air had cooled, carrying with it the scent of creosote and night-blooming cactus flowers. As the gibbous waning moon rose, it washed the valley in pearlescent light, making the new lumber buildings in Tombstone seem to glow from a distance like some magical city. Every now and then the swift dark forms of bats would dart past the glowing moon, their tiny squeaks and flapping wings a contrast to the sounds of humanity laughing and carousing growing louder as they neared Tombstone.

“In the morning, if you are able, we’ll decipher Diego’s map.”

Joe’s plodding steps went a little faster as they approached town and the prospect of feed and water. Remington tried to slow him down to keep from jostling China.

“Where will we be spending the night?”

Remington didn’t see the need to keep a house in town. He rented rooms at the Occidental Hotel, just as he did his offices across Allen Street from the hotel. It meant less to cope with if he were gone for a time hunting. He could pay his rent in advance, and others took care of the premises. But he could hardly take China to his rooms without there being some notice and talk of it, and he had his reputation as an upstanding attorney to maintain.

“I’ll get you a room at the Occidental.”

There was a discordant charm to Tombstone. It was a city in the midst of wilderness. As the dark of the desert gave way to civilization, everything changed. Gas lamps lent a flickering light to the adobe and wooden buildings lining the heart of Tombstone, but their light didn’t reach beneath the wooden awnings that protruded here and there over the boardwalks. With eight saloons in just his block of Allen Street alone, the din of tinkling piano, drunken laughter, and off-tune singing seemed overwhelming compared to the soft silence of the desert at night. But China was not some sheltered little society miss, and her wide gray eyes drank it all in. Secretly Remington was pleased she found it inviting.

“You’ve got quite a town here, Jackson.”

“It’s Remington, and I should think you’d seen enough of the world not to be so impressed.”

She gave a huff of laughter. “Oh, I seen plenty of towns, but not this size.”

He pulled Joe into the Pioneer Livery across the street from the offices of Bartel & Jackson, Attorneys at Law. There was no actual Bartel, but Remington had thought having a partner, even in name only, gave it a bit more influence. The familiar odors of horse and hay, leather and saddle soap were prominent in the livery yard as they dismounted and put Joe in his assigned stall and removed his tack. He told the stable hand on duty to rub his horse down and feed him. Remington tried to stretch the kinks out of his shoulders and neck. “You’re certain you don’t wish to see a doctor?”

“I’m as right as rain, Jackson.” She did a soft-shoe shuffle there on the wooden sidewalk. “See?”

He chuckled. She was every bit as flamboyant as his brother. No wonder the two got on like eggs and bacon. The thought of food made his stomach grumble. “Let’s go get you a room and something to eat.”

“I haven’t got any money—”

He cut her off with a raised hand as they walked side by side out of the livery yard. “No need. I am your attorney after all. You can always tack it on to my fee.”

The scent of seared steak and fresh bread from a nearby restaurant filled the air during the short walk, not even half a block west, to the Occidental Hotel. It might have been a trick of the shadows, but he thought he saw China’s nose twitch.

She glared at him. The gaslight caught her eyes in such a way that they glowed green, like a cat’s. “You really going to charge me for being my attorney? If you should charge anyone, it should be that fool brother of yours who sent you.”

He chuckled. “You can always pay it off by going with me on the trek to wherever Diego’s map leads.”

She grumbled under her breath. “I planned to find what’s at the end of Diego’s map with or without you, anyway. I’m not working for a Hunter.” She placed her hands on her hips, making the fringe on her jacket sway.

“You don’t have to work for me, just with me,” he murmured. He grasped one of her hands, even though she was reluctant to let him. “Now let’s get something to eat.”

 

 

A hearty steak dinner and a good night’s sleep in a clean bed hadn’t improved matters much by the next morning. It was early. Too early, but the quick loud rap at her hotel door wouldn’t stop.
Damn.
Remington was serious about her helping him locate whatever was at the end of Diego’s map. And he was an early riser.
Double damn.

She cracked open the door and peered outside, getting the view of one piercing blue eye, a long nose with just a hint of a bump, a bit of stubborn lip, and a devil’s divot in a freshly shaved masculine chin.

“Ready?”

His tone was far too cheerful. Didn’t he know she was a child of the night? Night being the operative word here. Mornings were not her best time, and she preferred to nap now and again throughout the day.

“Do I have a choice?” she grumbled. She walked away from the door, letting him swing it open as she yawned and stretched the length of her body. He was dressed this morning in a well-tailored gentleman’s coat over a crisp white shirt with a red paisley vest. A small black ribbon was tied at his neck and matched his fancy black pinstriped pants. Hell, even his boots were shined. How in the world did someone look that fashionable this goddamn early in the morning? It simply wasn’t natural.

He quirked one dark brow at her. “Did you sleep in your clothes?”

She shrugged, plying her fingers through her tousled mane to work out the knots. “It’s not like I got to go home and pack a traveling trunk when they hauled me off to prison.”

He gave a quick nod. “What size are you?”

China crossed her arms. “No. No man is picking out my clothes. I can do that my own damn self.”

He shrugged, but his eyes lingered a second too long on the buckskin that encased her legs like a second, comfortable skin. “Fine. But first thing after we get some breakfast and go to the office, we’re getting you some other clothes.”

China didn’t bother to argue. She needed clothes. Her shirt and pants were torn and dirty. He could simply add it to her tab. They ate a quick breakfast. His included eggs and toast. Hers included as much protein as she could pack on her plate, eggs, sausage, sausage gravy and biscuits, and bacon.

Remington paid their bill, and they headed out into the bright sunlight across the dirt street to his office. It looked completely benign from the outside. The two-story adobe structure was covered over with boards on the front and painted brown with white trim around the four-pane windows on either side of the fancy-cut double glass doors. Overhead a sign swung from the wooden awning. Painted in a flourish of black and gold lettering were the words B
ARTEL
& J
ACKSON
, A
TTORNEYS AT
L
AW
.

“Home sweet home,” Jackson murmured as he opened the door for her.

China glanced down the street and then at the door. “Don’t you ever worry about this fancy glass getting broken in a street fight?”

Jackson shrugged. “Like most things, it’s replaceable. Offices are on the second floor.”

China clenched her hands and stalked up the staircase. Remington Jackson had better not think for one second that he could replace her. Without her he couldn’t get to the Book. And since she’d been the one to alert Colt to the potential marker of a piece of the Book of Legend, she had a claim to it. Which she’d remind Remington every time it became necessary.

The office door marked B
ARTEL
& J
ACKSON
swung open. Lined with oak filing cabinets and bookcases crammed with volume after volume of leather-bound books, Jackson’s office smelled of lemon and beeswax wood polish, leather, paper, and the faint, sour chalky scent of india ink. In short, the very kind of place she preferred to avoid. It had a large oak reception desk, with another door behind it that led farther back into what she assumed was Jackson’s private domain.

“You got a secretary?”

“No. It’s mainly to add an additional veneer of legitimacy to the practice, as is the name Bartel.” Jackson bent, retrieving a folded telegram page that had been slipped under his door. He flipped it open, frowned, then crumpled it in his hand.

The fact that Jackson tricked even his own clients into believing something that wasn’t wholly true about him didn’t sit well with her. If anything it confirmed that Remington was far more devious than his brother. Far more like her father than she’d anticipated. Smart, sophisticated, and deadly.

“Didn’t like the news?” she prodded.

“It was from Colt. Nothing important.” He dropped the crumpled yellow paper in the trash near the reception desk and went through the direct door to his office where he sat down behind his desk. China leaned up against the doorframe.

“What do you want me to do?”

He didn’t look at her when he responded, just kept his head down, sorting through the papers on his desk. “Just wait a bit. I’ve got a few things to arrange before I can leave to go tracking down whatever’s at the end of Diego’s map.”

She sighed. She hated sitting around and waiting. Indoors no less. Why couldn’t he just have come to get her when he was ready to leave and given her a few more hours of recuperative sleep? She glanced out the big glass windows to the street below, watching the people, horses, and carriages go about their business before the air got stiflingly hot.

The scratching of an ink pen against paper was all the noise that came from Jackson’s office. Casting a quick glance through the open door, she crept over to the trash bin and fished out the crumpled telegram.

Jackson hadn’t lied. It had been from Colt.

A little pang ached in the middle of her chest. China flung the telegram back into the trash and crossed her arms over her chest. Somehow knowing Colt didn’t care if she got out of jail made things worse.

Remington—she refused to think of him as Jackson now that Colt had angered her—sat in his office in silence, scratching away at something for another hour. Which gave her time to try all the drawers on the desk and use her special tools to pick open the ones that were locked. She only found a fountain pen and a few gold dollar coins worth taking. A good thief always looked for items that could be useful.

Rather than grow antsy, she decided to try and relax. She propped up her dirty cowboy boots on the reception desk and watched a fat fly buzz in lazy circles along the glass of the window. It was still shady and cool in the adobe office building, but come afternoon, the sun would shift enough to bring in the heat.

 

 

Remington listened intently the entire time he worked. He knew that she’d peeked at the telegram from Colt. He knew she’d rummaged around in his desk drawers. God only knew what she’d taken, but he didn’t expect any less. As long as she was occupied it gave him time to analyze the page she’d taken from Diego’s safety-deposit box.

While crude, it was the gross approximation of a map. An unlabeled map, but certainly one he could follow if he could decode the string of seemingly random numbers listed on the back right hand corner of the page. It had to be a code of some type. Hunters used coding for anything that could be potentially intercepted. And something that could lead to a hidden piece of the Book of Legend was far too valuable to leave uncoded.