The Fall of Rome (5 page)

Parker, Athens’s personal assistant, had an annoying talent of creeping up on a person. Silent as a ghost, only London was used to sneaky people. Entertainers snuck into rehearsal late. Dishonest patrons snuck out on bills. Rival opera house owners snuck in to check out the competition. Unscrupulous gamblers cheated the house, fate, anybody and everybody. A lifetime in theater, a peddler of liquor and chance, he’d seen and heard it all. So, much to Parker’s disappointment, he always sensed his presence before he made it known.

“A telegram, sir.”

“From?”

“Fox.”

London rolled his eyes at the unnecessary intrigue. Past closing time and holed up in his office, they were very much alone.

CAT IN THE BAG. ON OUR WAY TO RENDEZVOUS WITH A DOG. SEND A PEACEMAKER TO PARTNER WITH B AT SAN FERNANDO. FOX

Athens left Boston behind? The practiced gun? The experienced tracker? What the hell? The rendezvous point with Rome and Seth was a good day’s ride. Where the hell was San Fernando? And what did Boston need a partner for?

“Fox will protect Miss Simmons,” Parker said.

To the best of his ability. Absolutely. But who would protect Athens? “Dammit.”

“Sir?”

Of the handpicked Peacemakers, all but one was currently on assignment. “Contact Manning and--”

“On it, sir.”

Parker was out the door before London could finish his sentence. Not that it mattered. The man had a knack for knowing his thoughts. Another annoying talent.

He looked back to the telegram, trying to read into it. So Kat had agreed to team up with Rome to catch Brady. Unlike Athens, he hadn’t heard about the trio’s history secondhand. He’d been in the thick of it. He’d seen Kat and Rome fall in love. He’d witnessed Brady’s obsession with Kat, her obsession with games, and Rome’s obsession with work. The situation took an ugly twist. He still couldn’t accept what Rome had been too willing to believe. Then again, he’d never been infatuated with a woman to that extent. Though his brother claimed to be over Kat Simmons, the look in his eyes at the mention of her name indicated otherwise.

He envisioned the reunion of Cat and Dog. If anyone could keep the fur from flying, it was Athens. A gifted diplomat, he’d manipulate a truce--at least until they trapped a snake. If reason failed, Seth would keep Rome in line. Maybe.

He resented not being there. Resented being on the sidelines, though Athens had supposedly left him in control. Of what? All of the Peacemakers were in the field. Any paperwork was handled by Parker. Athens’s woman, Kaila Dillingham, had moved into his home to care for Zach and Zoe and, though she seemed a bit uptight, he pegged that due to her fiancé’s current mission as opposed to his kids’ erratic behavior.

Emily was in Chance with Paris and Josh. Not that he wanted the headache, but if his sister and her friend were here, at least there’d be a crisis or catastrophe to handle. Individually, those two women courted trouble without even trying. Together, mayhem circled like vultures. He almost felt sorry for his brother-in-law.

That left him with the Last Chance. One of sixteen saloons in Phoenix. Broken down and lacking female entertainment of the musical or social kind. Undesirable location. Not exactly a gold mine and he worked hard to keep it that way. The last thing he wanted was another Gilded Garrett. He’d sacrificed success and stability for an adventure. So far this venture was a bust.

He locked away the telegram. Needing to escape his own depressing company, he stood and shoved his arms into a black frock coat, buttoned his paisley vest, and finger combed his dark hair. Wasn’t his style to frequent a pleasure palace, but a lustful toss in the hay with an imaginative dove might provide a dose of fleeting excitement. At this point he’d take what he could get. “What I need,” he grumbled as he strode outdoors into the night, “is a distraction.”

She bolted upright, wrapped in a rough blanket, drenched in sweat.

“Just a nightmare, miss. I’m here. You’re safe.”

She blinked in the dark, focused on a short, pudgy silhouette. John Fedderman, former town marshal of Yuma. A campfire crackled and burned, backlighting the kindly retired peace officer who’d insisted on escorting her from Yuma to Phoenix. He’d said he had business in Phoenix anyway. She suspected that was a lie, but she’d been nervous about traveling on the Overland stage. What if the coach was attacked by road thieves? According to the newspapers, it happened frequently in this rough and wild region. She’d already lived through one robbery.

Sort of.

“You all right now?” he asked softly.

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded, then lay back in her makeshift bed. She’d resisted his entreaties to spend the nights in any of the station houses or missions they’d passed along the way. She wasn’t ready to be around people. They’d ask questions she didn’t want to answer. Mindful of her delicate state, Mr. Fedderman had acquiesced They camped in the open desert Each night he made a place on the ground, near the fire. Each night she curled up in the back of the backboard alongside a trunk of clothes, her clothes now, she reminded herself. Her only worldly possessions.

Chest tight, she watched Mr. Fedderman walk away, watched him settle onto his bedroll, a goodly, but not so far as to be unable to defend her, distance away. She told herself she was safe with him. She told herself she’d be safe with London Garrett. She willed her pounding heart steady and mentally recited her new reality. The sooner she accepted it, the less delicate she’d be.

Victoria Barrow is dead.
To the father who never loved her.
To the fiancé she’d never met.
Dead, buried, and soon forgotten.

Thanks to a kind and brave woman who’d gifted a wounded soul with a new identity.

“Tori Adams.” She mouthed the name to the starry heaven. A name that would be with her forever... one way or another.

“How funny?”
the woman had said as the Southern Pacific rolled out of San Diego,
“my name’s Victoria, too. But everyone calls me Tori?

Though they couldn’t be more opposite in personality and background, they’d connected like sisters. After day two of the tedious train ride, they knew each other intimately.

Tori envied Victoria’s betrothal.

Victoria envied Tori’s freedom.

They’d joked about swapping places. Then that outlaw and his gang had boarded the train and the joke became reality.

She’d blocked most of the horrific moment from her mind, stress-induced amnesia the doctor in Yuma had told the various law officers who’d questioned her. Truth was, she didn’t want to remember. However, Tori’s final moment was clear as a sparkling diamond.
“Remember everything we talked about”
she’d whispered as Victoria had tried to stem the bleeding.
“You can do it... Tori”
She pressed her reticule into Victoria’s trembling hands, spoke her last words with a smile. “You’re free.”

Victoria, no
Tori
, squeezed back tears. To refuse this gift would be an unforgivable insult. She concentrated on everything they’d talked about. Beneath the blanket, she clutched the reticule to her heart, protecting the enclosed identification and the letter from one London Garrett. “I’m free.”

Rincon Mountains

“You nervous?”

“I don’t get nervous.”

“You look as twitchy as a prostitute in church.”

Lazing on an upholstered armchair and using a padded footstool as a makeshift table, Rome frowned across the high-ceilinged parlor at Seth. “I’m not nervous. I’m concentrating.”

He continued to manipulate the deck of cards--riffle, cut, faro shuffle, a strip, and another riffle. If he was going compete with cardsharps then he needed to practice his technique. He played poker for pleasure. He wasn’t a professional like Kat. She knew all the tricks--flashy moves, subtle moves. Reading body language and manipulating minds. Her knowledge of the craft had fascinated him, and he’d dogged her until she’d shared random tricks of the trade. In return, he’d taught her to ride. Turned out she was a better horsewoman than he was a gambler. Then again, back then he believed the sun rose and set with Katrina Simmons.

At the sound of rustling paper, he glanced over at Seth. “Any mention of Brady?”

The lawman peered over the wire rims of his reading glasses. “You read this newspaper front to back. Twice. You see any mention?”

“Just wanted to be sure I didn’t miss anything.” He’d already missed plenty. Fed up with bad press, he’d steered clear of newspapers and dime novels for more than a week. He hadn’t read about Brady’s latest, deadly heist. Hadn’t heard about the woman murdered until London had filled him in. He’d felt like a damned idiot. He’d also acquired new reason and drive to crush the man he already loathed. Purging Kat from his heart was no longer his primary motivation for reuniting with the she-devil. But it would sure as hell be a bonus.

Seth abandoned the newspaper and sidled up to a pine table draped with a cloth. He nabbed a crystal decanter and poured himself a brandy. “Want a drink? Might help you relax.”

Rome noted his cocky grin. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Seeing you squirm? You bet.”

“Peddler robbed you when he sold you those spectacles, Wright. I’m sitting as calm as a toad in the sun.”

“Uh-huh.” Seth raised his glass in a mock toast.

“Cartwright stocks his house with premium liquor. He told us to make ourselves at home. Could be a long night. Athens and Miss Simmons are already overdue.”

“Get used to it. Kat’s always late.” One of the things about her that drove him crazy, and not in a good way. Memories flashed--good and bad. He rolled back tight shoulders, shuffled, and cut. Seth was right. He was tense, not that he’d admit it. He eyed the decanter, craving a drink like air, but that pact he’d made with God five days ago was too fresh in his brain. What had he been thinking, bargaining away his bad habits?

Seth settled in a plush chair, sipped brandy.

“Have to give it to you,” Rome said, gesturing to the comfortably furnished room. “As a rendezvous point, this spread is first water.” Located east of Tucson in the lush foothills of the Rincon Mountains, the two-story Spanish-style residence was isolated but offered similar comforts to his childhood home. More rustic than the Napa Valley estate, but a mansion compared to the boomtown inns he’d been sleeping in since the Smith fiasco. “How do you know the owner?”

“Matt Cartwright’s an old friend. Josh and I rode with him when we were Arizona Rangers. Turns out he’s independently wealthy. Doesn’t flaunt his money, but likes to live in style.”

“I can see that.” In addition to favoring luxurious furnishings, the man employed a housekeeper and caretaker. Maderia, a plump, brown-skinned woman and her skinny-as-a-rail husband, Paco, had greeted them yesterday, seen to their needs, but otherwise made themselves scarce.

“Last month Matt met a nice young lady. This month they’re celebrating their nuptials. So. How’d you meet Kat?”

Rome’s lip twitched. “Smooth.”

“I have my moments.”

Conversation had been sparse on the journey from Gila Gulch to the Rincons. It’s not like he and Seth were friends by any stretch of the imagination. Though Seth had made it clear he was curious about Kat, Rome had evaded his questions. Now that she was due, make that overdue, it seemed pointless to skirt issues that would no doubt resurface during this mission. Still and all, discussing details exceeded his comfort level.

He set aside the deck of cards, eased back, and propped his feet on the stool. “How much did London tell you?”

“Not much.” Seth nursed his brandy while waiting for Rome to relay his story. When he didn’t, Seth prodded. “I know your relationship ended badly. Bulls-Eye Brady was to blame.”

He pulled a cheroot from his vest pocket, struck a match. “London would tell it that way.”

“Meaning you blame Miss Simmons.”

“Meaning I blame Kat and Brady equally.”

“Huh.”

Rome blew out a plume of smoke, grateful he hadn’t mentioned tobacco in his pact. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Seth took off his reading specs and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Just think it’s interesting that you’re holding a grudge after all this time. Especially given your own loose morals.”

He referred, of course, to the Smith affair. “Passing judgment?”

“Making an observation.” He set aside his spectacles and moved to the window.

Rome sat and stewed. He didn’t want to see the logic in that.

“She’s here.”

A nerve jumped in his cheek. Rome stood, puffed the cheroot, and eyed that brandy. He’d had five days to prepare. It may as well have been five minutes. Last time he’d seen Kat, he’d spewed ugly, hurtful words. His last exchange with Boston hadn’t been as explosive, but the fallout had been the same. He knew an apology and a joke would mend bridges with his brother. He didn’t know what he wanted to do about Kat, aside from purging her from his being.

Trouble was, there’d never been closure. He might’ve cooled off, might have forgiven her, if she’d bothered to ask forgiveness, which she didn’t.

“I know in my heart, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

That’s when he’d broken. Engulfed in a red haze of fury and hurt, he’d called her god-awful names and damned her to hell. Instead of fighting back, she’d shut down. He’d stormed out of the hotel room and later that day, she’d blown out of his life. With Brady.

Not long after he heard rumors that she deserted that bastard, too. Rome clenched and unclenched his fists, wondering how many men she’d seduced and grown bored with over the last few years.

Seth moved to the front door.

Rome stood his ground. He stuffed down tumultuous emotions. Did she ever think of him? The first time they kissed? The first time they played poker? The first time they rode double?

He slipped a hand in his pocket, fingered his treasured coin. He wasn’t superstitious precisely, but he was--to his detriment--sentimental.

For chrissakes, Garrett, you’ve faced down countless outlaws. You can sure as hell weather one deceitful woman.