Demanding Satisfaction [Bride Train 9] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (15 page)

Hames stared at Max blandly, though his left eyebrow twitched.

“Who would care enough about a couple of whores to pay for the Pinkertons to investigate?”

Max noted Hames assumed there were only a few women, and all whores. But neither Molly nor Sarah fit in that mold, and there had been dozens of women. The man must know this and was playing him, but Max didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the habit of those selling news to keep as much as they could to themselves.

“I expect you know Lily Thatcher used to be a madam. I guess she has a soft spot since she hired the Agency to find Isaac.”

“Lily was also a whore for many years,” stated Hames. His lip curled. “Why a senior judge would dirty himself with such a woman is beyond me. Or why you’d care about whores.”

“I don’t have a choice in what job I’m assigned,” replied Max. He leaned back in the chair with an exaggerated sigh, as if he felt the same as Hames about the matter. “I do my job, just like you.”

“Hardly like me.”

Once more contempt flashed over the man’s face before he gave a bland smile. Max looked around, noting the expensive bottle of brandy and what looked like crystal glasses on the piecrust table. Hames had fine tastes, ones that took a lot of money to develop and keep. Who had he been before he came West? Was he the son of a wealthy plantation owner who’d lost everything in what he no doubt called the War of Northern Aggression?

Max pulled back, shrinking in his chair as if he was of less value. It was a subtle trick, but effective with pompous men who saw only what they chose. Max would use anything to complete this assignment, including insulting himself. As long as it was within the law and got the job done, he would do it.

“You’re right. The only schooling I got was from the books I could pick up along the way.” Max shrugged sheepishly. “You sound like a well-educated man. Someone who’d know how to put two and two together and get four when the rest of us can barely understand three. With what you’ve heard, and figured out, is there anything you can tell me?”

“I’ve never seen the man, though I understand he arrives and departs well masked.” He flicked his eyes toward the sturdy corner table where his typewriter sat in its case. “Rivers mentioned the name, though I didn’t have time to enquire further before he was shot.” He frowned, eyebrows almost meeting over his nose. “Imagine, a respected mayor taking a derringer from a respectable banker and the two of them rolling on the ground like schoolboys. Shocking!”

“I read your report in the newspaper. You write really well. It was like I was right there. But how come you didn’t say anything about what the ravens did to the mayor’s head?”

“It was far too distasteful to be published.” Hames shuddered, his lips curled down. “They buried his head separate from his body. Such a horrendous thing, to deny a man a chance into heaven.”

“I don’t think there was any chance of him going to heaven,” said Max. Obviously Hames believed that a body must be whole and complete to enter through the pearly gates, and was bothered by the thought of it. “What else did Rivers say about Isaac?”

“Only that he planned to travel to California.” Hames put his hand in his pants pocket. A faint sound of clinking emerged. “I’m afraid that’s the extent of my knowledge.”

The nervous gesture suggested Hames knew more, but was afraid to speak. Did Isaac have some sort of hold over him? That was for later. Now he could go after his real purpose in being here.

“That’s not much for twenty dollars,” complained Max. “Did Rivers say anything about his dealings with Frederick Smythe or Judge Stickley? I heard there’s some railroad bigwig in town. Rivers lost a pile of money over his last go-round with the railroad. Did he say if he had anything at stake this time around?”

“The man had his fingers in many pots,” drawled Hames.

A shot rang out. Max held still, but Hames jumped. The blast was followed by a loud roar. Hames looked from the table to Max, then to the door.

“That’s all the time I have to talk. There’s something going on that might bring me a few column inches. If you don’t mind?” Hames opened the door, making it obvious Max was to leave.

“Of course,” he replied amiably. “We can talk another day. It’ll give you time to think things over. See if there’s anything else you remember.”

Hames carefully locked the door behind them and scuttled to the top of the stairs. Max followed, discovering a rip-roaring fight had broken out on the street. Two men were swinging fists the size of hams, uncaring whether they hit friend or foe. Hames, eyes bright, watched eagerly. Max turned away. By now Josh and Sam might have something to report. If not, he’d have a chance to catch a few winks before one of his brothers took over the bed.

Sam strained to see through the shadows outside Ruby’s Saloon. He was sure he’d caught sight of at least one Elliott. Were they here to make trouble, or did they think they could help?

He felt the blade against his neck before he noticed anyone had approached. Few men could move like that. If it really was Trace and Ranger that he’d seen, then the one holding the knife to his throat had to be…

“Ross MacDougal, how kind of you to stop by.” Sam barely moved his lips in his attempt to keep his throat from being nicked. “I’d appreciate you putting that pigsticker somewhere else.”

The slight prick at his neck disappeared, but then he felt a more ominous pressure on his inner thigh. He froze, more worried about a knife near his balls than one at his throat. A moment later it was gone. He silently cursed at the amused chuckle. Silently because Max insisted none of them swear. Sam did often, but only in his head.

“Where’s Max?” asked Ross.

Sam wasn’t surprised he knew about them being twins and could tell them apart, even in the dark. Ross saw a lot and said little that wasn’t necessary. But he was on the right side, which suited the Pinkerton agents just fine.

“Asleep.”

“And Joshua?”

That wasn’t something Sam expected. Ross’s smirk, a mere tilting of one lip, added an extra kick.

“Tired and cranky. How many of you are here?”

“Trace, Ranger, Sin, and me so far.” Sam scanned the area. Sure enough, he was surrounded. Ross tossed the long blade as easily as if it was a stick. He caught it after one full rotation, made a quick move, and it disappeared. “Four of us are enough for most towns.”

Sin, born Charles Statham, was the tallest at six foot six with a broad, muscular body to match his height. Trace was two inches shorter. His fierce expression, along with his raven-like raw voice, kept most strangers away. Ranger was half of the second set of Elliott twins. Word was he and Ben used to be able to switch places, but time and circumstance had changed that. He grew up strong and hard, but Florence had mellowed him somewhat. There was no sign of that tonight.

Ross MacDougal was the shortest, at six foot two. Once called the MacDougal Devil, his black eyes were said to see into a man’s soul. He carried at least a dozen hidden knives at all times and could throw them exactly where he wished before a gunman could pull leather.

Yes, admitted Sam silently, the four of them, along with three Gibsons, could take any town. If he had nothing better to do, and none of them had wives and children, it might be fun to head to the Black Hills and try their luck at taming Deadwood.

“What’ve you got in mind?” asked Sam. He kept a wary eye as the other three lounged about, seemingly at ease. Anyone with a lick of sense would leave them alone.

“We’re here to keep an eye on a certain friend of yours. Of the female variety.”

Sam shot a glare at Ross. “You don’t mean Sophie McLeod?” He wanted a heck of a lot more than friendship from her.

“Yes, he does.”

The rough croak that came from his other side had to belong to Trace. Sam looked for a hint that the two men were trying to pull something on him, but they looked too furious. Being single, Sam hadn’t yet experienced the frustration he’d seen on more than one husband’s face in Tanner’s Ford. Their women were prone to taking matters into their own hands. He looked from Trace to Ross. Neither of them showed a hint of laughter.

“Sophie’s not in Bannack City,” said Sam to Trace. “She wouldn’t be that stupid.” A glimmer of humor flashed in Trace’s eyes.

“In point of fact,” drawled a cut-glass English accent, “a woman called Queenie, who somewhat resembles Sophie, is here.”

“Why?”

“To catch Isaac, of course.”

Sam sighed heavily into the night. A plume of white appeared in front of his mouth. “I don’t think I’ll like the answer, but who is ‘Queenie’?”

“Let’s show him,” said Ranger. He looked far too amused for Sam’s comfort. “It’s only a short walk to Ruby’s Saloon.”

Sophie McLeod could not be here in Bannack City, in a saloon. Ruby’s was one of the best in that it was clean, the women were there by choice, and the whiskey wasn’t watered or thrown together in the cellar each week from pure alcohol, rattlesnake heads, pepper, and other things Sam didn’t want to know about. Rarely was there trouble unless Ruby had one of her sick headaches. When that happened, Abby took over and all hell broke loose. Abby was a vicious cat who used her brief time in control for revenge and restitution.

Before Sam knew it, his feet were leading him downhill toward the lanterns hanging outside Ruby’s. Music spilled onto the wooden dancing platform between the saloon and the street. Ruby offered dances, using women who needed to make money and were pretty enough not to have to do it on their backs. He’d admired, even flirted with a couple of them earlier in the day. None of them even vaguely resembled Sophie.

“There’s Queenie,” said Ross.

Sam looked, but could see little in the shifting shadows except the swirl of low-cut dresses, flowing hair, and men eager to steal more than they’d paid for. One dress, some sort of pale blue, stood out. Few fancy women wanted to wear clothing that soiled easily, preferring a darker shade. He caught flashes of white skin and long, brown hair as the woman was swung in circles. The lamp caught the woman’s false smile. His heart stopped and then thundered as the bottom dropped out of his world.

“Son of a horned toad,” he cursed. “It’s Sophie.” He shook his head, but the vision didn’t fade. He lifted his foot. Bands of iron clamped around his arms before he could take a step. He tried to shrug them off. Instead, they hauled him around a corner.

“Going off half-cocked won’t do a damn bit of good,” said Trace.

Sam’s cock was anything but half. It had surged to full-bore the moment he’d seen her in that scandalous dress. He wanted to haul her out of that drunk’s arms, throw her over his shoulder, toss her into his bed, and keep her there for a week or more.

“Breathe,” ordered Ross. He followed it up with an elbow to the gut. Sam grunted at the pain, but it got his attention.

“I’m going to put her over my lap and—”

“Figured you’d say that,” said Ranger, interrupting. There was a light of humor in his eyes. “Some men don’t like notional women, but we enjoy spanking them when they get that way. Makes life interesting.” He grinned at Trace. “That’s a dollar you owe me.”

Sam yanked again and this time tugged free. Every one of the men’s eyes showed amusement, at him. Learning about the valley women’s exploits had given him a few snickers. But the shoe was on the other foot now and it wasn’t funny. Not at all.

“She couldn’t have got here on her own.” Sam fought the urge to attack. A fistfight normally cleared his head, but he’d go down under a barrage of blows with these four. “Someone helped her. I’ll have that man’s head.”

“Wasn’t a man. And there’s not much you can do to Lily Thatcher,” drawled Sin. “Not without spending the rest of your days in jail before meeting the hangman.”

Sam groaned. “I should have known Lily would be in on it.” He sighed, scratching his head. “What’s Sophie’s plan?”

“Put herself out as bait to catch Isaac.”

“No!” Sam erupted in white-hot fury. He roared, bracing to run, but found himself grabbed and his back slammed against the rough board walls by at least two sets of hands. He fought with everything he had, but he wasn’t going anywhere unless they let him. He hauled air until his heart stopped its frantic pounding and he could think. He focused on the job because anything to do with Sophie made him go wild.

“She could jeopardize our entire operation,” he said between clenched teeth. “We’ve got to stop her.”

“We’ll be keeping an eye on her, so you’d best not come anywhere near,” said Trace. “Our wives will not be happy if Sophie fails.” He cracked his knuckles. “And if our wives are unhappy…” He let his menace through. “You’re not going to cause that to happen, are you
?”

“Who’s watching her?”

“Sin.”

“Let me see her.” Sam gave the same attitude back. “I won’t do anything.” A quick look passed between Trace and Ross before they stepped back. Ranger jerked his head.

“You can get closer this way.”

Sam followed Ranger to a narrow alley beside Ruby’s. The wooden dance platform was lower, so he could look down. He immediately tensed. Ranger elbowed him as a reminder not to intrude.

“His hand’s creeping up Sophie’s ribs,” he said between clenched teeth.