Hawk's Prize (28 page)

The backyard went abruptly silent as Clay’s men brought forward a fellow they’d found sleeping off a drunk behind several crates in the rear of the yard.

Clay asked with a darkening frown, “What is your name, sir?”

“Charlie Frisk.” Seeming confused, Charlie turned
toward Chantalle and said, “You know who I am, Chantalle. There ain’t no law that says a man can’t get some sleep where and when he feels like it. You didn’t need to go calling in the army.”

Clay responded before Chantalle could speak, “You’re right, there’s no law that says a man can’t get some sleep where and when he wants to, except when he’s trespassing on private property. But that’s beside the point right now. What I’d like to know is what you’re doing in Chantalle’s backyard. Chantalle doesn’t cater to excessive drinking in her establishment, so you probably didn’t get drunk in her house.”

“That’s right, I didn’t.” Charlie continued, “Chantalle won’t let me in her house if I’ve had a few too many, but I don’t hold no grudge against her for that. Hell, she don’t bar me from the place when I’m sober, and I understand her rule.”

“So, what are you doing here?”

Charlie shrugged. “I started out drinking with a few friends last night, and before I knew it, I wasn’t in no condition to walk in Chantalle’s front door. I guess I figured I’d sleep it off for a few hours and go in later.” He winked. “I think that sweet Lily girl has a weakness for me, you know? Anyways, it didn’t happen. When I woke up, the lights in the house were out, and I realized it was too late to pay Lily a visit. I started to doze again when the back door opened and Angie slipped out. She went into the woods to smoke.”

“And?”

“She was smoking one of
them
cigarettes that Chantalle don’t abide. That didn’t bother me none, though,
and I was thinking of joining her, but then that other fella showed up.”

“What other fella?”

“He wasn’t dressed in one of them high-falutin’ outfits he usually wears. He was dressed in plain cowboy duds—you know, travel pants, a cotton shirt, and a trail hat. He was even wearing a gunbelt. He looked like a common cowpoke—except that his hand was all bandaged. Anyways, when I saw him, I figured Angie and him had arranged to meet, so I just turned over and went back to sleep.”

“You didn’t hear anything after that?”

“I heard Angie make a few sounds, but I figured it was none of my business. I know she likes it rough sometimes. I figured they’d be busy for a while, so I just nodded off.”

“You recognized this man? You can identify him?”

“Sure I can. It was that Simon Gault fella.” Clay heard Chantalle gasp as Charlie continued, “Everybody in Galveston knows him, but there ain’t many who know about his late-night visits here.”

“You’re sure it was Simon Gault?”

“I couldn’t miss him. The moon was real bright for a few minutes just about the time he stepped out from behind a tree, and I saw him as clear as if it was daylight. Then they kind of moved a little deeper into the shadows, and I figured I knew the reason why.” Charlie paused and then asked, “So what’s this all about anyways?”

Clay watched the man’s expression as he responded, “Angie was found murdered in the wooded area last night.”

“W-what?” Charlie took an involuntary backward step. “I didn’t have nothing to do with that!”

Clay did not respond.

“Ask that Gault fella what happened. I saw him, I tell you. His hand was bandaged like he’d been in a fight or something. Check it out with him and you’ll see.”

“You can rest assured that we will. In the meantime . . .” Turning to his sergeant, Clay ordered, “Take this man into custody until we can question him further, and then go to Simon Gault’s house and take him into custody for questioning.”

“Hey, you can’t do this!” Charlie was still protesting as he was dragged away.

When two of Clay’s men were dispatched to Gault’s house, Chantalle said tightly, “Simon won’t stand for being taken into custody, you know.”

“I don’t think he’ll have much choice. Sergeant Walker told me on the way here that an affidavit was delivered to my office this morning charging Gault with numerous crimes committed over a long duration and requesting that my office investigate the matters thoroughly. To be honest, I never did believe Gault’s story about his being unaware of Bruce Carlton’s
darker side.
”

Clay watched as Chantalle took a deep breath. He asked, “Do you have something to add to all this, Chantalle?”

“Not right now.”

Clay glanced at Tricia. Her delicate features twitched when he asked, “What about you, ma’am?”

“I have nothing to add, either.”

Hesitating only a moment, Clay said, “I won’t press either of you for any further information about Gault at this time, but I think you should know that I will be back when I’ve had a chance to sort out all the charges.”

Chantalle responded, “We’ll be here.”

Clay studied Chantalle and her daughter a moment longer. Tricia’s demeanor was tense. She had responded only when addressed directly. A second sense told him there was more to this story than was evident. He suspected that the affidavit accusing Gault of past crimes was crucial to the present case somehow. He did not want to act without reading it first.

With that thought in mind, Clay issued a few clipped orders, nodded respectfully toward the two women, and started toward the street.

One thing was sure. He would be back.

Simon sat stiffly as his carriage traveled through streets beginning to teem with the activities of the day. The sun beamed down relentlessly, raising the heat in the carriage to a suffocating degree, but Simon was unconscious of the discomfort. He had directed his driver to take a circuitous route to his office that would allow him more time to get his emotions under control. He had felt defiled when he’d left Willard’s office and returned home, where he had bathed and changed his clothes, hoping he could clear his mind of the panic beginning to overwhelm him.

Simon’s mind raced: So, the consortium had received information about an affidavit that had been delivered to the Adjutant General’s Office that morning; in it,
individuals
unnamed by Spunk had charged him with past crimes and had asked that office to investigate the situation.

Those
unnamed individuals
were no doubt clearly named in the affidavit. They must be persons who could provide some proof of their accusations or Willard and his crew would not have turned so completely against him. Yet he could not allow panic to overwhelm him. First he needed to find out how serious the charges were.

Fury flashed as Simon silently ranted. The men of the consortium had treated him shabbily! After all he had done for them, they had not even allowed him to defend himself! He would see that each one of those men paid for his treachery. He would make sure that before he left Galveston, he—

Simon’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt as his carriage turned onto the far end of the docks and he saw a military contingent entering his office. He swallowed incredulously. There could be only one reason for the fact that Colonel Madison was not among them. The bastard had obviously ordered his men to arrest him.

All was lost!

Aware that he could not waste a moment, Simon rapped sharply on the carriage wall and called out, “Turn around! I’ve changed my mind. Take me back home.”

Simon’s heart pounded as the carriage wheeled obediently and began moving rapidly in the opposite direction. No, he would not suffer the humiliation of being arrested. He had secret sizable accounts in Houston. He would flee before anyone could catch up with
him. He would pick up his money, change his name as he had done once before, and relocate to another place. The West was wide. He could make a new life for himself.

Still, Simon seethed. Everything would be all right in the end—he would make sure of that—but the present infuriated him. He knew exactly when everything had started to fall apart for him in Galveston—when everything had started spinning out of control—and he knew the individuals who were responsible.

Their names were Hawk.

The Hawk name haunted him, but he would not allow it to follow him any longer! He needed to shake the dust of the past from his heels forever.

The solution was simple.

He would accomplish it without delay.

Elizabeth was startled when the train whistle shattered the silence of the compartment. She looked out the window at the fading light of late afternoon. An unexpected delay had made the last few hours interminable, and a vague apprehension had started crawling up her spine.

She glanced back to see Jason’s light eyes intent on her. He was frowning, and she knew he was worried about her. In an attempt to reassure him, she said, “We’ll be reaching Galveston anytime now. I’m anxious to get back so we can settle the unfinished business we left behind.”

Coming to her in a few steps, Jason looked down at her. His expression concerned, he said, “I don’t know if we’re making the right move coming back here so soon. You’ve only just started feeling like your old self again.”

“Jason, I’m fine. I recuperated from my wound a long time ago.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

Gathering her closer, Jason whispered, “I almost lost you once, darlin’. The memory of that day is too fresh in my mind to dismiss easily.”

“You don’t have to worry anymore. Milton Stowe is dead, and Aunt Sylvia . . .” Unable to finish that statement, Elizabeth continued, “You have business of your own to finish up in Galveston, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll be able to discover something about my past, just as Mother Ella and I hoped.”

Jason did not reply. Instead he stroked her fair cheek as he said, “It’s important for you to remember your childhood, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Elizabeth whispered ardently, “It’s not because I don’t love you enough, Jason. I do. I love you more than I ever thought possible, but now—especially since Mother Ella is gone—I need to finish what I started. She wanted me to be able to remember, and I need to know for myself if there might be somebody out there who’s looking for me, too.”

“And if you find someone?”

Elizabeth clutched the pendant she wore against her skin and whispered, “Then we’ll all be a family, Jason. I’ll have blood ties to share with you.”

“And if you don’t?”

Hesitating only briefly, Elizabeth said, “If I don’t . . . I’ll know for sure that there’s nobody else for me to share with you. I’ll mourn that loss, but that won’t affect my love for you. It never could.”

“Elizabeth . . .”

His voice breaking, Jason crushed her close. He was about to speak again when the train whistle screeched, drowning out his attempt. Waiting until the series of long blasts finally ended, he heaved a sigh and said, “I guess that means we’ll be in Galveston soon.”

Elizabeth swallowed. Responding to the sudden fluttering in her chest, she kissed Jason’s mouth lightly.

“I love you, Jason.”

Jason’s throat choked tight. That was all he’d ever need to know.

The lights of Galveston twinkled as the long day wound down into darkness, and Tricia worked at Polly’s side to settle the bordello kitchen for another day. The inhabitants of the house had been sober and occasionally tearful, but the business of Chantalle’s establishment had continued unabated. It was a source of amazement to Tricia that the same women who had shaken with fear earlier in the day when Angie’s body was discovered, had descended from their rooms as evening approached, ready and willing to greet their customers.

Tricia realized, however, that the same could not be said for Chantalle. Outwardly the same madam of old, extravagantly dressed and with makeup carefully applied, she was nevertheless unable to hide the anxiety in her eyes, and Tricia’s heart ached for her.

Glancing up at the clock on the kitchen wall, Tricia sighed. In a few hours the lights of the house would be turned out, ending a day that had started out in tragedy but which had somehow continued on.

Angie’s battered body had been taken to the funeral parlor and Chantalle had agreed to pay the cost of burying her. The services had been arranged, but that was as far as anything had been settled. Colonel Madison had sent men to take Simon Gault into custody, but Simon was nowhere to be found. When Colonel Madison returned to talk to Chantalle, Tricia had had as little contact as possible with him, for fear of saying something that might make him turn his attention toward Drew; but Chantalle told her that Colonel Madison had stationed men at Simon’s office and at his home, even though he did not expect Simon to return to either place.

Simon’s obvious avoidance of being questioned, the affidavit detailing charges against him, and Charlie Frisk’s testimony that he had seen Simon with Angie shortly before she was killed, had all but convinced Colonel Madison that Simon was guilty of Angie’s murder and of the other crimes he was accused of. Tricia wondered, could Simon also be guilty of Willie’s murder and the attempt on Drew’s life—just because Whit had dealt Simon’s ego a blow?

That didn’t make sense.

Her head aching, Tricia raised a delicate hand to her brow. Adding to the weight of those concerns was the fact that she had not heard from Drew throughout the day, and she wasn’t sure when she would see or hear from him again because of the Yankee threat hanging over him. She did not know if he had found Whit as he’d intended, if they were together, what they were doing or where they were going, and her ignorance tormented her.

And she ached from wanting to be with Drew.

“Tricia . . .” Tricia looked up at the sound of Chantalle’s voice. She attempted a smile as Chantalle entered the kitchen and said, “We’re closing our doors early tonight. Why don’t you go upstairs now?”

Tricia smiled. “I need to get some headache powder from Dr. Wesley first.”

“After what happened this morning, I don’t think going out this time of night is a good idea, Tricia.”

“You’re worrying unnecessarily, Chantalle.” Tricia attempted a smile. “There’s no reason to fear for my safety.”

“Still . . .” Chantalle studied the pained frown that marred Tricia’s delicate brow and then said, “If you really need that powder, I’ll ask Will to go with you. You’ll be safe with him.”