The Union (16 page)

"I recognize you in the photograph, McCullough."

Dietz pushed his hat back. Now was the time to seal all suspicion in its grave. Fortunately, McCullough had been a long-winded, self-important bastard who loved to talk about himself. Dietz passed the photograph back to Waters and sat back, trying to look casual, but still poised to reach for the Derringer.

McCullough's stories tumbled through his mind. Should he share some? A sudden memory of a scar on McCullough's shoulder came to him. "I suppose you've got a record of some of my finer moments there in front of you. You want to see my scars?" Dietz didn't wait for Waters to answer. He stripped off his coat, stealthily palming his Derringer, and unbuttoned his shirt, wincing a bit at his wound. He pulled his shirt off and pointed to scar he'd gotten in a knife brawl several years ago. It didn't look exactly like McCullough's, but Waters wouldn't know that.

"Put your shirt back on, McCullough." Waters smiled. Dietz could see he was convinced.

Dietz nodded as he buttoned his shirt back up. He paused to take in Waters' expression. Something still bothered Waters. "Something in that report you don't like?"

"Michael Byrne."

This time Dietz almost did lose his composure. "What about Byrne?"

Waters seemed to study him for a moment, measuring his words before speaking. "How shall I put this? Byrne confused me. He didn't seem like a student of yours."

Clearly Waters thought Dietz should know what he was trying to say, though Dietz had no idea. "How so?"

"In the months before his death Byrne became increasingly against using violence. Yesterday you seemed surprised when I told you that, but this report indicates clearly that you already knew about his actions."

This playacting a real person could kill him. He'd made too many mistakes already. "Oh, that." Stupid filler words to buy time. Dietz sighed, his mind dashed off at a clip looking for a believable lie. "Byrne and I had our disagreements. Last fall I sent him clear instructions on how to change the owners' minds about how they treated their workers. My directions weren't timid. Byrne wrote me back, letting me know what he thought of my ideas. Surprised the hell out of me. I kept wondering what had happened to him. Yesterday you surprised me yourself with your description of Mick. I didn't think he'd gone so far, though I should have assumed it.
 

"About a week before he died, he wrote me a letter asking me to consider breaking off my friendship with Keely. I suppose he told you about that?"

Waters shook his head.

Dietz smiled self-deprecatingly. "Not a confidant of his, I see."

"No," Waters said. He leaned back in his chair, seemingly relieved. Maybe Waters really did like him.

Dietz cleared his throat. "He didn't like my suggestions. Claimed I wasn't the man he remembered." Dietz sighed. "Years ago we used to be of like mind. Byrne had the rare combination of passion, courage, and conviction in him and we got along fine. Those days he'd do anything for the cause." Dietz paused, trying to appear as if remembering fond thoughts. "I don't think he went soft, just took a misguided, idealistic turn."

Waters seemed to consider a moment. "Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. All I can say for sure is that he was fast becoming unpopular among the men." Waters paused again, looking thoughtful. "So why'd you come out and marry her?"

Dietz should have known the question was coming. "I never considered giving her up. Keely and I were in love, no matter how unconventional our courtship." In truth, Dietz had wondered the same thing himself, but he could never get McCullough to talk about it. McCullough hid something, some reason other than love and altruism. "Before I could respond to Byrne's request, Keely wired me about his death." Dietz acted sad and distant. He shook himself. "Then I knew I had to take care of her. I had to marry her. What kind of man would leave her alone? So I proposed. Despite our differences, I think Michael would have wanted it, had he known how things were to turn out."

"And you love her?" Could there be any doubt after yesterday's shotgun wedding? But Waters' question seemed to hold sinister overtones. What was going on here?

"I do."

Waters nodded as Dietz assessed him, feeling like he played a game of chess where the board went unseen. All things considered, Dietz decided to throw a move, give Waters something on him, see how Waters would use it. Dietz cleared his throat. "Keely doesn't know about Michael's request, you understand. I'd appreciate her not finding out. There's no reason to make her feel bad or give her room for doubt now." Dietz kept his tone even, the equivalent of a poker face.

"Naturally." Waters gave him a slow, nasty smile. Dietz had no doubt that Waters would use the information any way he needed to keep McCullough in line. Waters just verified Dietz's first impression of him. But what the hell? That little secret was nothing compared to the real secret he kept from Keely.
 

"Your confidences are safe with me," Waters said.

In a pig's eye
, Dietz thought and smiled.

Waters spoke again. "And since you mention your wife, I feel compelled to give you a friendly word of advice. Keep her home where she belongs."

Dietz cocked a brow, seething inside. He could let Waters, or the Clan, or the union, or whoever Waters spoke for, push him only so far. Waters just smiled. Finally Dietz was forced to speak and set things straight. "That wasn't part of the deal yesterday. Let me clear something up for those involved. My wife has a mind of her own and a heart to match. She isn't going to give up her charity work as long as there's one person in this camp who needs her help."

Waters cut him off with a quick gesture. "Charity work's fine. I have no complaints on that account. I just don't want to see her at any more union functions."

Visions of the burning cabin came to mind. Dietz felt compelled to answer, and when he did, it came from the heart. "Nor do I."

Waters collected his papers from across the desk. "Good." Waters reached for the photograph sitting on the desk between them, breaking Dietz from his cold thoughts.

"Mind if I keep this one?" Dietz asked, reaching for the picture first. "To show Keely. She hasn't seen any of me from the old days."

Waters shrugged. "Fine." Evidently Waters wanted to demonstrate that he could be reasonable. "We do understand each other?"

"Yes. And since we're making promises to each other—tell your boys to keep their rocks to themselves. I don't need any more of their calling cards littering my home." Dietz threw the accusation out to gauge Waters' reaction.

"Rock?" Waters looked genuinely puzzled.

"As in the kind that came sailing through my window last night."

"I don't know anything about a rock." Waters actually sounded innocent, and maybe, a bit worried.
 

Dietz guessed his concern leaned more toward being uninformed and losing some control over someone than out of any fear for Dietz's safety. But if Waters knew nothing about it, what did it mean and who had thrown it?

"Probably just a prank," Waters said. "Now to more important matters. I've got an assignment for you."

Chapter 10

Dietz left Waters' office disturbed, head buzzing and swelled with too many thoughts to sort properly. Despite his resolve to remain detached, his emotions raged. Waters had set him on a delicate balancing walk where the consequences of falling didn't bear contemplating. Waters still didn't completely trust him. So his loyalty must be tested. Again. Damn.

As Dietz walked past, Patterson stepped out of his store. Dietz locked step with him.

"Allison." Dietz greeted Patterson.

"McCullough." Patterson's eyes danced merrily. "How's the married boy this morning?"

"Well-sexed and feeling like shit."

Patterson laughed and cocked a speculative brow. "Guilty conscience?"

Dietz shook his head. "It's all part of the job. One of the side benefits." Though Dietz laughed off Patterson's chastisement, he felt guilty for deceiving Keely—an emotion he didn't like and hadn't felt regarding the job before. "Worse. I've just come from Waters' office." Dietz snorted. "He's got a job for me."

"Is that so?"

"You already know about it?" Damn, Patterson. He always knew everything.

"Waters is a suspicious man. He's been for testing you all along." Patterson spit on the ground, making a wet ring in the dusty road. "What's he want?"

"So you don't know?" Dietz smiled. "Want to guess?" Dietz watched his feet as they walked, keeping his face low so no one could read his words.

"If I were a betting man, I'd say Waters wants John Monihan, the manager of the Gem mine, dead."

"Depending on the bet, you'd be a wealthy man."

They reached the end of town. Patterson stopped walking.

"Is this common knowledge?" Dietz stared up into the white pines covering the surrounding hills. A crow arced overhead, lazily riding the wind as it bellowed its raucous cry.

"Common enough. Monihan's been warned."

Dietz let out a sigh. Things weren't as bad as they seemed. "Waters is a fool. He told me no one else knew of the plan. I thought I was cornered. But if it's common knowledge, I can blame their nebulous spy for Joe's miraculous escape."

Patterson shrugged and laughed good-naturedly. "You're going to have to make the attempt."

"Yeah. But how? Waters is a fool. What does he think—that Monihan's going to come parading down the mountain for a drink in town at my request?" Dietz shook his head. "If Monihan has half a brain, nothing short of an earthquake is going to dislodge him from his stronghold. What am I supposed to do, storm the mine?"

Patterson slapped him on the back. "You'll think of something."

"Wonder what O'Brien thinks of Waters' games."

"Waters is a loose cannon. I doubt O'Brien would approve, but once something's done, it's done. And getting rid of Monihan is going to have popular approval, I can tell you that now."

"How much time you think I've got?" Dietz looked directly into Patterson's dark gaze. Patterson's eyes danced with amusement, like always, the cool-headed son of a bitch.

Patterson shrugged. "How much time you want? I'd say we've got two, three weeks before something big blows."

"Yeah." Dietz didn't like it, any of it. Patterson turned to leave. Dietz knew they shouldn't be appearing together in public too long or look too friendly, but Dietz couldn't let him leave without his curiosity being relieved. "What do you know about Michael Byrne's death?"

Patterson looked startled by the sudden turn in the conversation. "Nothing directly. But that's not what you're asking, is it?"

"Could it have been intentional?"

Patterson's expression became serious. "Anything's possible, but you're asking, is it probable? I'd have to say yes. No one saw anything. That's what they're all claiming. Officially, Byrne's death is listed as an accident. You suspect otherwise."

"It's only a theory. Any idea who would have done it?"

"None at all. And that's the problem, isn't it? Caving a tunnel in on a man isn't the style of any of the union thugs I know. A slug to the back—yeah. Still, it smells suspicious." Patterson smiled again and gave him another pat on the shoulder. "Cheer up, boy. The mines are closed. You don't have to be worrying about being buried alive yourself." Patterson started off again, then paused to ask a final question. "Need anything from Wallace?"

"No." But Dietz had other worries.

Keely stood reverently at the side of the bed in her room, purposefully avoiding looking at the broken window beyond, or the mess littering the floor on the other side. Remember the wonder of last night, Keely, she told herself. Forget the ugliness. Let it wash away.
 

In her right hand she held a broom poised for action, in the left a silent dustpan. She set the dustpan down and sentimentally ran her hand over the rumpled sheets. Oh, McCullough. She remembered violet eyes piercing her soul in the darkness, firm arms bracketing her, bracing him above her. She smiled at the memory of McCullough holding her and his intensity as they made love. She flipped back the top sheet. Her gaze landed on a rust brown stain in the center of the bed, muted by other evidence of their lovemaking. She leaned the broom against the night table and sighed as she stripped the bed. Silly, but she'd almost rather not wash these particular sheets, rather not destroy the proof of their coupling. But who kept such a trophy, and who had extra sheets to spare?
 

Oh, McCullough. Such pleasant memories, such drastic intrusions, Ian McCullough and the rock.

The room smelled of damp morning air, sweet and cool. A breeze blew in, ruffling the doily draped over the edge of the night table. Keely shivered, not wanting to look at the window, to see the fragmented remains, to remember the chill of the crash. Curses to whomever sent the rock sailing. Cold fingers of fear traced her back. Was the rock only a prank, a base form of charivari? If only she could believe that. But she remembered Michael and the threats only too well.

She took a deep breath, recoiling from her own thoughts. Old Joe's cabin red in flame against the night came to mind, bringing with it the smell of singed air and fear so real it were as if the air carried it from the blackened remains of the cabin up the hill. Mr. Waters didn't like her, nor she him. But the look he gave her that night spoke of more than distaste. It issued a warning. Well, Mr. Waters be cursed. He wasn't going to stop her from doing the work Michael had started.