Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) (46 page)

Angie put her foot on the porch, and Pamela took a step
sideways to block her path. For an instant, when their gaze
locked, an unrestrained hatred moving between them
.

“Know your place,” Angie whispered malevolently, clearly indicating she meant violence if her demand
wasn’t accepted.

“This is
my
place,” Pamela replied, refusing to back down an inch. When she saw the shock in Angie’s eyes, her con
fidence soared. Then, to prove that she had teeth and claws
of her own, she added, “And Garrett’s in
my
bed.”

Though Angie took two steps backward, she quickly re
gained her composure. Still, she’d been staggered by Pamela’s
blunt declaration.

“Garrett’s been in many beds,” she returned, theatrically
drawling out the words. “So that hardly puts you in ex
clusive company.”

Pamela would not take the bait.
She said, “Yes, I’m aware of the past.
The difference is I know something you don’t.”

Angie’s mouth twisted into a sneer, which distorted her
cultivated beauty. “What could that possibly be?”

“I know what Garrett’s future is.”

Angie laughed bitterly. “Not likely, darling. You’re an
amusement to him, a temporary diversion. You lack the
staying power he will need. You lack the experience.”

Intimating Pamela lacked the sexual
skills necessary to truly satisfy Garrett had
struck an open nerve the first time Angie had done it. Now Angie’s claim appeared
absurd. Too many times in the recent past Pamela had seen
a look of astonishment and absolute sexual satisfaction in Garrett’s
eyes for her to believe the accusation.

“You’re right if you think I haven’t slept with as many
men as you have, but you’re wrong about something.”

“And what might that be?”

“I don’t doubt for a second you know how to satisfy
a dozen different men night after night after night. Even
a dozen times in one night. But I know how to satisfy Garrett.”

Angie stared into Pamela’s eyes, expecting her to back down.
When she didn’t, her fear—an apprehension like her fa
ther’s, that people were beginning to lose their fear of
her—became stronger. She didn’t know what to say to
Pamela, or what to do about her. She just wanted the impoverished sister of the dangerous bounty hunter to disappear without a trace and, once gone, to evaporate from Garrett’s
memory.

Suddenly Garrett stepped into the open doorway. He was
barefooted and shirtless, wearing only his trousers. There was a
bandage around his ribs
.

“She’s right about that, though she’s exaggerating,” he
said quietly, looking straight through Angie. “A dozen times
in a single night would kill me.”

Garrett had been standing near the doorway long enough
to hear Angie’s comments, which sent his contempt for her
to dangerous levels.

Angie was so stunned by Garrett’s bald admission she
couldn’t even react. Did he really prefer the company of a commoner
like Pamela Bragg?

“You must have gotten kicked in the head harder than
you first thought,” she said, struggling for some version
of a smile. “Garrett, surely you must realize—”

“That I wish you hadn’t come here? Yes, I realize
that, Angie,” he said, cutting her off. “Now if you don’t
mind, I’d like to return to my bed. I’m not one hundred
percent recovered yet, but I’m getting there.” He paused and looked at Pamela. “With her
help.”

He turned then and disappeared into the cabin, leaving
Pamela smiling.

“I’ll get you for this,” Angie whispered, positioning her
self sideways on the horse. “Trust me, bitch, you’ll wish
to God you’d never done this to me.”

“I didn’t do anything. You’ve brought this all upon
yourself,” Pamela replied, but she knew Angie didn’t hear because she
was already riding away.

* * * *

Angie was grateful for the long trip back to Whitetail Creek.
She had so much to think about. Sitting easy in the saddle,
she allowed both her horse and her mind their own easy pace.

There was just no way around it. Pamela Bragg had to
die. But if it were discovered that she had put a bullet in
Pamela’s back, Garrett would despise her. If he hated her, how
could she be comfortably ensconced in the governor’s mansion? She’d mistakenly planned to draw nearer to Garrett by having him assaulted, and that plan had backfired, thanks in great measure to Pamela.

Angie realized that, however Pamela was dealt with, the plan
must be well conceived to avoid another failure.

As she rode along, memories of Pamela’s defiance so en
raged her that she actually trembled. The woman had changed, becoming strong in a way that Angie had never
dreamed was possible for the common-born. Worst of all,
Garrett found her strength admirable, yes, even pleasurable.
Why was he, of all people, willing to spend so much time
in that miserable little shack? Why not have Pamela stay at the ranch?

Angie knew she didn’t understand any of this, but she
did know the wife of the territorial governor had virtually limitless power within the territory—and she would be the woman
who held that power. Anyone who stood between her and
that power would be eliminated.

And there was Richard to think about. Angie had pan
dered shamelessly to his lust in order to get Garrett beaten
up, but then she’d given her brother nothing for his efforts.
Not that he really deserved anything. He’d injured Garrett’s
face. Even if she’d forgotten to mention avoiding damage to it, Richard, dim though he was, should have figured out
that she didn’t want Garrett’s good looks marred.

What was she to do about Richard? About Pamela?

Angie sighed wearily, thinking that her father had be
come obsessed with the Midnight Phantom. Well, she had worries that were much more pressing than having some
silly ledger stolen.

And then it hit her. In a single moment of brilliance,
she realized that she could get rid of her two most pressing problems—Richard and Pamela—at the same time and, in the
process, probably earn Garrett’s esteem.

* * * *

Garrett was sleeping, and would until morning. He’d
overdone it when he’d tried to playfully wrestle with Pamela then had required laudanum against the pain from his bro
ken ribs. The laudanum always knocked him out for hours.

“Sleep well, my darling,” Pamela had whispered, looking
down at his large form, which dominated the bed and, in
fact, the entire cabin.

She bent to gently kiss his forehead then straightened
and tiptoed toward the door.

With the sun down and her black cape around her shoul
ders, the silk mask ready to be placed over her eyes, Pamela was about to strike out at Angie. The heiress thought she could in
timidate Pamela into walking away from Garrett without a
fight, and she was so mistaken.

Before leaving the cabin, she had checked the load in
her revolver then had returned the gun to its holster. She hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to use the weapon, but she
didn’t want to be caught unprepared.

She walked outside into the night.

Let’s see, where should I strike tonight?
she mused.
The Darwell mansion in Whitetail Creek? No, much too risky, and it has
already been done once. Darwell Cattle #3?
Pamela discarded
that thought, too, as she grabbed the horse’s reins. To do
that would punish cowboys who might not want to work
for Darwell, but who simply had no other option.

Pamela mounted up and headed out into the darkness. She
felt confident. The Darwell empire had many tentacles. By
sunrise, she intended to have inflicted damage to one more
of those, and with any luck, some of the people who had
been most injured by Darwell would benefit from her actions.

* * * *

Jonathon Darwell sipped his morning coffee. The Mid
night Phantom was a very clever fellow, he admitted to him
self, but nothing would be more rewarding than to personally castrate the loathsome bastard.

Most vexing to Darwell was the realization that the Phantom could not possibly be Garrett Randolph. Jonathon had been
thoroughly convinced that Randolph was the Midnight
Phantom, until last night’s raid on Darwell Cattle Outpost #2. Randolph, who was still in bed recovering from his wounds, couldn’t
be the Phantom.

Jonathon Darwell had wanted to be able to tie up all the loose ends quickly and easily so that he could get on with the business of making money. Now, since Randolph wasn’t the Midnight Phantom, he was still the odds-on favorite to end up being elected mayor and then territorial governor. And Jonathon had no doubt that, when Garrett took the oath of office, Angie would be standing proudly at his side as his loving wife.

He shook his head slowly, his vision distant and unfocused as he thought about his daughter. Much as he
loved her, there were times when she frightened him. He
had never met a more ruthless individual in his life, and
that included himself. There was simply no doubt in Angie’s
mind that, when Garrett took up residence in the governor’s
mansion, she would move in with him. Even as a very
young girl, Angie’s intractable determination to have every
thing that her eyes lit upon had astonished him.

Whether she or Michael was the brightest of his children
was difficult to tell. Michael had the discipline and the
foresight to see beyond a horizon that Angie never even no
ticed. But for sheer cunning, Jonathon wouldn’t want to
wager his fortune on which of the two exercised it better.

Poor Richard. Even as a child, he’d always been on the portly side. Now his beer consumption had given him a
sloppy waistline, and though he was not truly
stupid, he’d never had the discipline to master anything
completely. His personality inclined him toward gambling
and wenching. The fact that he had never been of any true
value to Jonathon was occasionally disquieting, but Mi
chael had always been there to lean on. He had
Michael to pass the reins of command to when the time was right.

Jonathon dismissed thoughts of his children. The Mid
night Phantom needed his full attention.