Hawk's Prize (21 page)

Openly skeptical, Drew interrupted, “You’re telling
me Simon Gault hates Whit Hawk so much that he wants to kill me on the chance that Whit is my brother?”

Chantalle hesitated, and then asked flatly, “Is Whit your brother, Drew?”

“I had a brother once.” A smile touched Drew’s lips as he said, “I had a family, too, but that was a long time ago.”

Chantalle repeated, “Is Whit your brother?”

Drew’s expression hardened. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to believe he is, either.”

“Drew—”

“Too many years have passed. We’ve all changed.”

“Is that why you kept the ring—because you wanted to forget your family?”

Drew stiffened. “I never said I wanted to forget them. I could never forget them.”

“You’re talking about your sisters now.”

Drew’s expression grew grim. “What do you know about my sisters?”

“I know Drew
Hawk
probably thinks they’re dead . . . that they died in a fire. But actually they’re alive and well.”

“W . . . what?”

“They’re alive, Drew . . . both of them.”

“That’s impossible!”

“They lived through the fire and were adopted. Jenna Leigh moved here to the city a while back. She’s a reporter on the
Daily Galveston.
She recently married Colonel Clay Madison.”

Drew went briefly silent. He then asked, “Colonel Clay Madison—that Yankee officer I met in your office?”

“The war is over, Drew.”

“Not for me, it isn’t!”

“Jenna Leigh felt that way at first, I think, but she learned that she can’t live in the past.”

“You asked, and now I’m telling you. No sister of mine would ever marry a Yankee—and Jenna Leigh isn’t my sister if she did!”

“Drew—”

“You said both sisters were alive.”

“Laura Anne came to Galveston, too.” Chantalle watched his reaction as she said the name. She noted his flush when she added, “Laura Anne’s name is Elizabeth Huntington Dodd now.”

Drew looked at her confusedly.

“It’s a long story. Elizabeth was in New York for a while, but she’s on her way back to Galveston with her husband, Jason Dodd, who is also a close friend of mine. She doesn’t know anything about her sister or her brothers yet.”

Drew shook his head. “This is wrong . . . all wrong.”

“If your name is really Collins, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“My name is Collins as far as the Yankees are concerned.”

“What are you saying?”

Drew replied coldly, “My name is Drew
Collins
—because Drew
Hawk
is wanted by the Union Army for something that happened during the war.”

“But . . . the war is over!”

“I told you, it isn’t over for me.”

“Drew, you know why I told you all this, don’t you?” When he did not reply, Chantalle continued, “I
told you because of what happened last night. All I can think is that if Simon Gault really is behind it all, he won’t stop. I know him. He’s vindictive, cruel, and relentless.”

“If that’s true, why do you tolerate him here?”

“He’s also an important man in this city. I needed to accept him if I wanted to survive here.”

“What about Tricia? What have you told her about all this?”

“She doesn’t know anything.”

Drew stood up, his expression tightening. “You kept all this a secret from her, too?”

“I didn’t have a choice. Whit needed to know first.”

“And Willie could be sacrificed.”

“I had no way of knowing that would happen! At first, I had no reason to believe Simon had anything to do with Willie’s murder; but the minute you described Bruce to me, I knew I had to say something.”

Silence followed, and Chantalle felt a stab of fear at how Drew was going to respond.

Drew stared at Chantalle in silent incredulity. Whit was alive? Jenna Leigh and Laura Anne were, too? But . . . Laura Anne wasn’t Laura Anne anymore. She was Elizabeth Huntington Dodd, and Jenna Leigh was married to the same Yankee who was investigating Willie’s death—who was bound to see the wanted notice about him sooner or later—and who would then arrest him.

Drew’s expression grew taut. No, he couldn’t afford to believe any of what Chantalle had told him. He
wouldn’t
believe any of it until he saw Whit in person
. . . until he stood eye-to-eye with the man claiming to be his brother.

As for his sisters, they were dead, and he was the person responsible for their deaths. He had borne that guilt for so many years that it was a part of him. He would not surrender it now, only to discover belatedly that Chantalle was wrong, and to be forced to suffer all over again.

He took a breath as he looked at Chantalle’s anguished expression. His inner anger gradually faded when he realized that whether she was right or wrong, she obviously believed she had needed to tell him. She obviously cared.

Drew said softly, “If you’re right and Simon is determined to do me in because he thinks I’m a Hawk, Tricia won’t be safe in my company.”

Chantalle blinked, and then said, “I hope you don’t mean—”

“Chantalle, please . . .” Drew halted her protest. “You know what I have to do. Please tell Tricia I’m sorry. Tell her I need to clear this all up before we can have any thoughts about going on. Tell her I can’t abide putting her in danger. If anything happened to her—”

“You can tell her yourself, Drew.”

“No.” A shadow of a smile touched Drew’s lips as he said, “Tricia won’t take no for an answer. Last night proved that to me. Last night also proved that I have trouble maintaining my convictions under her persuasion, and I can’t let her distract me from what I need to do.”

“She won’t like it, Drew.”

“But she’ll be safe.”

Chantalle did not respond. Her expression of sad acceptance touched him deeply. Leaning forward impulsively, Drew kissed her pale, lined cheek. He said simply, “Thank you . . . for everything.”

Then he limped out the doorway and headed for the street.

“Drew isn’t in his room. Where is he?

Tricia had awakened at mid-morning after a mostly sleepless night. Still lying motionless, she had recalled the terrifying attempt on Drew’s life in the wee hours that same morning, and a cold chill traveled down her spine. Drew had insisted that they return to Chantalle’s house to assure Chantalle that Tricia was all right. She had agreed, aware that news traveled with lightning speed in a bordello, and that Chantalle might become aware of the attack before the local authorities were informed. She had not taken into account that Chantalle would accompany her to her room afterwards, or that Drew would retire to his former room at the end of the hallway.

She had gone to that bedroom as soon as she’d awoken this morning—only to find the bed made up as if no one had been there.

Panic still pervaded her senses as she presently faced Chantalle in the confines of her office and asked again, “Where is he, Chantalle?”

Dressed in a surprisingly conservative gown, Chantalle replied, “He’s fine, Tricia. I don’t know where he is right now, but he’s fine.”

“When is he coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know when he’s coming back here.”

“What are you saying?”

“Drew has a lot to mull over, Tricia . . . and he’s worried about you.”

“About me?”

“He said he couldn’t bear the thought that you might’ve been hurt during the attempt on his life.”

“But I wasn’t. Drew took care of it. I’d put my life in his hands anytime. He knows that.”

“He knows it . . . but the danger to you was more than he could bear.”

“Was . . . ?” Tricia’s blood ran cold. “Say what you mean . . . please.”

Her expression strained, Chantalle whispered, “I don’t know when he’ll be back . . . maybe not until this whole situation has been cleared up.”

“But if someone wants to kill Drew, he’s the one who is in danger. I need to be with him so I can—”

“He doesn’t want that.”

“How do you know what he wants?”

“Because he told me.” Chantalle continued softly, “You said there were dark spots in Drew’s past that he kept secret from you. They’ve come back to haunt him, and he doesn’t want you to be a casualty of the circumstances.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And I wouldn’t want to be the person to explain it all to you, even if I could.” Pausing, Chantalle then said, “I have only one question to ask. Do you love him?”

Unaware of the tear that spilled down her cheek, Tricia replied, “Yes, I do.”

“Then trust him. Believe in him. Let him work all this out.”

Tricia shrugged uncertainly as she asked, “And in the meantime?”

Tears overflowed Chantalle’s darkly kohled orbs. Silent, appearing unable to reply, she closed the distance between them and gathered Tricia into her motherly arms.

“Why didn’t someone inform me about this sooner?”

The report of the attempt on Drew Collins’s life lay on his desk as Colonel Clay Madison stood up and faced Sergeant Walker. The stiffness of his military posture betrayed his annoyance as he said, “My investigation into Willie Childers’s death is common knowledge in this office, and the link between these two attempted robberies is plain to see.”

“Sir, Lieutenant McMasters received notification of the crime during the early morning hours. He didn’t note a relationship to the Childers investigation at that time and he—”

“He didn’t? Not even when he went to the scene of an apparent robbery attempt and saw that Drew Collins was wearing Confederate Army pants and boots just like Willie Childers? He must have realized that Collins was probably a former Confederate soldier, which should have led him to connect last night’s attack to the murder at Madame Chantalle’s—
which
I am very publicly investigating. If he had read the notification I passed around in order to keep all officers abreast of
the situation, he also would have realized that I had actually interviewed Drew Collins in connection with the Childers case. Collins was the fellow who accompanied Willie Childers into Galveston. He also should have realized that this attempt on Collins’s life could change the whole direction of my investigation.”

“Sir, it wasn’t until this morning that this report from Lieutenant McMasters came across my desk.”

“Two days after the fact?”

“There’s been a change in personnel down the line, sir. Some miscellaneous paperwork has been held up for even longer periods than this.”

“Is that so? We’ll take care of that situation later.” His expression angry, Colonel Madison continued, “In the meantime, have Lieutenant McMasters report to me immediately. I want to know everything he’s done so far in his investigation. I don’t intend to embarrass the Adjutant General’s Office any further with my ignorance of the affair.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to see all that ‘miscellaneous paperwork’ you mentioned that’s been held up ‘down the line,’ too, and I want to see it immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make sure Lieutenant McMasters reports to me within the hour. I’ve already lost two days in this investigation. I don’t want Galveston’s confidence in
Yankee justice
to erode any further.”

“Yes, sir.”

Leaving with a solemn salute, Sergeant Walker returned minutes later, carrying a thick file.

His brows drawing into a knot, Colonel Madison asked, “What’s that?”

“This is the miscellaneous paperwork that was held up, sir. It was also forwarded to me this morning.”

Colonel Madison’s lips twitched with annoyance as he accepted the file and ordered, “Find McMasters!”

Hardly aware that Sergeant Walker had left his office, Colonel Madison opened the file and started reading.

Simon was beside himself. He paced his spacious office, unable to concentrate on the forms Billy had placed on his desk for him to sign hours earlier. He walked to the window as he had done countless times, his thoughts in turmoil as he stood staring out blindly at the expanse of sea beyond.

Two days had passed since Bruce had been killed in Drew Hawk’s hotel room. The authorities had shown no interest in Simon beyond notification and a few questions that first day, but he had received reports from his informants in the city that Drew had been everywhere, making inquiries about him. Simon didn’t like it. The man’s questions were raising eyebrows, and Simon was uncertain what answers had been secretly given to Drew in the more common quarters of the city. He needed to find out more, but with Bruce gone and Angie no longer making any attempt to contact him, his sources were limited.

The thought enraged him. Time was growing short. He needed to convince the Galveston consortium to sign the agreement that would eliminate any change to the present conformation of the port by committing the
only available funds elsewhere. Individual investors in Houston would secure his future there when their own futures were assured. Everything hinged on his ability to positively affect the signing of that agreement. He could not afford to have Whit Hawk return just now for fear of the complications that might result, but he sensed that Drew Hawk’s questions were part of the reason that agreement was not yet signed.

It irritated him that Drew Hawk had not come to him for information so he, Simon, could claim his innocence. Instead, the bastard seemed content to stick his nose into every past venture he had ever been involved in. He was unsure how much the fellow knew or what his intentions were. He was virtually in the dark.

Yes . . . he needed to know more about what was happening.

Despising the need, Simon knew Angie was the only person he could depend on to get him the information he wanted. He would have to visit her again on the pretext of seeking out her sexual expertise. He would appeal to her lascivious nature. It would not be difficult to make her hungry for what only he could offer her, and once they were on familiar footing, he would put her on Drew Hawk’s trail.

Yes, he would do that.

His body reacting predictably to the picture he had created in his mind, Simon gave a low snort and turned toward the door. It occurred to him that he might actually enjoy himself while putting that sultry tart in her place again.