Jo Goodman (32 page)

Nat pushed his chair back and stood. Sam tipped his hat. They waited until she had disappeared up the stairs before they exchanged worried and slightly accusatory glances.

* * *

Berkeley reappeared in the main hall at six. Grey had arrived minutes before and was at his customary place at the end of the bar, greeting guests as they passed. He watched Berkeley's reflection in the mirror as she came down the stairs. The skirt of her cream-silk gown shifted gently. She did nothing so human as merely walk down the steps. She floated. From where Grey stood it looked as if her hand glided along the banister. It was there not to steady her, but to ground her.

Grey saw heads turn in her direction as one after another of the men glimpsed her arrival. Her fixed smile was for all of them collectively and none of them individually. Their reflective glances touched briefly. When he turned she wouldn't meet his eyes at all.

He had no complaints about her work. She moved easily among the crowd, chatting with the regulars, acquainting herself with the first-timers. She stood at the tables, watching the play. Sometimes someone would let her take a hand or give her money so she could play her own. She never won. The miners laughed about it; even teased her good-naturedly about her poor luck. They found it ironic that she couldn't make her extraordinary talent work for her at the tables. Not one of them seemed to understand it was impossible for someone to lose as consistently as she did.

Berkeley Shaw, Grey thought, was slow-witted like a fox.

Every loss for her was a win for the house and every win for the house put money in her coffers. She was simply more patient about getting it than the men who frequented the Phoenix.

Grey's attention strayed from Berkeley as he saw Donnel approaching. The man's fiery brows were a single furrowed ridge above his eyes. "What is it?"

"Have you seen Nat?" asked Donnel.

"I better not see him down here. Why? What do you need?"

"I need Nat," he said. "He's supposed to be delivering coals to the rooms. We're in for a cold night."

"You can look in my apartments," Grey said. "The last time I saw him he was returning
The Three Musketeers
to my library. Miss Shaw has him reading Emerson." Grey shook his head, plainly sorry for the boy. "Has to be painful for him."

Donnel grunted. "Oh, I think he'll find
all
reading painful if he has to sit down for it." He began to stalk off, but Grey brought him up short. Donnel's surprised expression froze when he saw his employer's face.

"Don't lay a hand on him," Grey said. His voice was steady. His eyes were like ice chips. "Find him, have him do his work, then send him to me. You might want to check with Miss Shaw. She may know where he is." He took his hand from Donnel Kincaid's muscular forearm. "We'll talk later."

Donnel nodded once, then wended his way through the crowd.

Several hours later Grey noticed Donnel again. This time the redhead was moving more gingerly among the guests, almost as if he didn't want to touch them. When Grey saw Donnel bend close to Berkeley, getting her ear while she was engaged in a palm reading, Grey saw the reason for his foreman's circumspect tour of the tables. Donnel's hands were as black as the coal he had been carrying to the rooms.

Grey saw Berkeley's features pale as Donnel spoke to her. To her credit she didn't jump away from her customer and follow Donnel immediately. She completed her recitation before excusing herself. There was the usual clamoring for her to do another, but she declined as she always did. When she retired to her rooms the guests didn't know, as Grey did, that she had no intention of returning to the hall this evening.

By the time Grey reached her room Berkeley was on the point of stepping out. She wore a black woolen mantle with a hood that was pulled up over her hair. Her head was bent as her fingers twisted around the silk frogs. She almost barreled into him.

Grey caught Berkeley by the elbows to steady her. It was the first time in six weeks that he had touched her unexpectedly. She looked up at him, not merely startled, but shocked. His hands fell away slowly. He didn't know if he should apologize or shake her. In the end he did neither. While he was contemplating his options she was brushing past him.

Grey fell in step beside her. "Talk to me, Berkeley. What's happened? Where are you going?"

"Nat's missing. Donnel's searched everywhere. He took on Nat's chores himself to make certain Nat wasn't in one of the boarders' rooms. He wasn't. Donnel had looked all around before that. Donnel says you saw him in your library this morning. That was after Sam and I saw him. As near as Donnel can tell he hasn't been seen by anyone since."

"But that was twelve hours ago."

"Exactly." She paused on the landing at the back stairs. "Sam's going to drive me. There's no need for you to bother yourself."

"Like hell." He followed her closely. "Why do you think it's a bother? Do you think you're the only one who cares what happens to the boy?"

"I'd say we're all suspect where caring is concerned. As you pointed out, it's been twelve hours." Berkeley drew on her gloves when she reached the kitchen. Her back was rigid with anger. "Excuse me."

Grey waved Annie and her helpers back to work and stepped outside behind Berkeley. "I'm going with you."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Grey stepped around her and blocked her path to the stable.

Her face was lifted defiantly. "Dammit, Berkeley, this isn't my fault!"

"You're wrong," she said. "It's yours and it's mine. Ask Sam."

Sam was looking miserable himself when Grey took the reins from him and told him to step down. "Don't mind helpin' out," Sam said. He assisted Berkeley into the carriage, then jumped down. "No tellin' where Nat's likely to end up."

"I'll drive her," Grey said. "Berkeley says I should ask you why this is my fault."

"I said it was mine, too." She sat down, her eyes straight ahead.

Sam tugged on his hat. "Miss Shaw thinks that something I said this mornin' mighta got Nat thinking he wasn't welcome. I was explainin'—and you know I don't get the words right sometimes, Mr. Janeway—anyway, I was sayin' how everyone knows you and Miss Shaw ain't been exactly gettin' along. I recollected that it had been like that since about the same time Miss Shaw brought Nat here. I didn't mean one had anything to do with the other."

"I know, Sam." Grey placed one hand on the older man's shoulder and squeezed it briefly. "Get the doors, will you?"

The night air was every bit as cold as Donnel had predicted. Berkeley took a blanket from beneath the seat and laid it across their laps.

"I take it you have some idea where he'll go," Grey said. "You'll have to direct me."

"There's a warehouse on Jackson Street. It's filled with building supplies and paint. Nat's stayed there before."

Grey wondered if Berkeley had. "I know the place. John Hardy owns it." He snapped the reins and the double team of horses took the corner smartly.

The building occupied the full length of the block from front to back. Under Berkeley's instructions Grey guided the carriage to the narrow side alley. Before he could secure the horses she had alighted from the carriage and was hurrying to a window directly at ground level. When Grey caught up to her Berkeley was on her hands and knees trying to force it open. He hunkered down beside her. "Get up," he said. "I'll do it. You'll ruin your gown."

"I'm paying for it," she snapped.

Grey sighed. The window creaked. "If it's that hard to open, Nat probably hasn't used it recently."

"It's always this hard to open."

Which answered, he supposed, his question about whether she had ever used the entrance. "Are you going to slither in there?"

"There's no other way."

"There is," he said. "I can go to John's house and ask him to take us in the front entrance."

"Nat would be long gone."

"I'm going in with you."

"You'll never fit." Berkeley let the window close gingerly so she wouldn't have to force it a second time, then she stood, hiked her gown, and began removing petticoats. She took off her mantle as well and thrust all of it at Grey. "Put this in the carriage."

"Berkeley, so help me God—"

"I'll open a door for you," she promised. "Give me a moment." She dropped to her knees again and opened the casement with her forearm. She poked her head inside, inched forward until she had wriggled her shoulders in, then extended her arms and dropped hands and head first onto the dirt floor of the basement. Berkeley's tumble was not acrobatic, but neither did she hurt herself. She brushed herself off and stood on tiptoe to close the window firmly behind her.

Outside Grey paced. The horses stamped restlessly as he passed back and forth in front of them. He considered what he would tell Brannan's patrolling Vigilantes if he was caught in this alley. He wasn't a Sydney Duck, just a sitting one. "Damn her," he muttered. "She's not going to—"

"Grey! Down here!"

Berkeley's voice reached him from the back of the warehouse. Grey turned. He could just distinguish the dark outline of a door she had swung out. Grey squeezed past the horses and the carriage and sprinted to the entrance she held open for him.

Berkeley spared him an assessing glance. "You didn't think I'd let you in."

"Not true," he lied baldly.

She didn't believe him but didn't argue. "Shut the door. You'll have to be careful in here. There're stockpiles everywhere, and we can't risk lighting a lantern. Do you want to search separately or stay together?"

Grey could only imagine one reason why Berkeley would pose the question: She was afraid to be on her own. "We'll stay together."

Their progress was slow and not without mishap. Grey jammed his knee into a board that was sticking out in their path and Berkeley fell backward onto some sandbags. "He's bound to have heard that," Grey whispered after he knocked over a paint can.

"Shhh."

"What makes you think he'll run from us?"

"What makes you think he won't?" she said. Berkeley shook his arm as he recovered from stumbling over some bricks. "Can you
not
be quiet?"

They continued to pick their way through rows of squarely stacked lumber and pallets of bricks. "Do you have some destination in mind?" Grey finally asked. "Or could he be anywhere among this rubble?"

Berkeley stopped and pointed up and in front of her. "There."

Grey squinted in the darkness. He saw the shadow that ran almost the width of the warehouse had rectangular form and substance. It was a storage loft. Berkeley led him the last few yards to the ladder without incident.

"I've never been up there," she said. "I never slept anywhere but the cellar. Nat told me about this loft."

"You can't go up there in your gown," Grey said. The ladder was in a fixed position. It was a straight vertical climb from the floor of the warehouse. He took hold of the rung at shoulder height and then paused, waiting for Berkeley's inevitable argument.

Berkeley sensed his waiting attitude. "I can't go up there in any circumstances," she admitted finally.

"What's up there?"

"Height."

Grey smiled. "All right," he said. "I'll flush him out if he's up there, and you hold on to him when he gets down."

"I can do that," she said.

"I never doubted it." Without knowing he was going to do it until it was done, Grey placed a kiss on Berkeley's forehead. He thought she might have even leaned a little toward him for it. "Promise me we'll talk later," he said.

Berkeley nodded. It was an easy promise to make and keep. Later was anytime short of forever. She gave him a nudge to start his climb, then stood back and watched his shadowed ascent.

Grey came across Nat more by accident than design. The boy was curled comfortably in a pile of gunnysacks that Grey tried to step over. Yelping, Nat bolted upright. He scrambled to his feet and on instinct alone tried to elude his would-be captor. Nat dived sideways as a pair of arms tried to restrain him. He somersaulted smoothly to his feet and vaulted over a sawhorse.

"Nat!" Grey called. "It's Mr. Janeway. I'm not going to hurt you." Grey didn't think his announcement gave the boy any pause at all. Afraid Nat would kill himself hurtling down the ladder, Grey tried to capture him before he got that far.

Nat felt fingers brush the back of his neck a moment before they securely caught his collar. He wiggled out of his jacket and flung himself toward the ladder. He grabbed the side rail in one hand and let his small body swing free of the loft. His feet caught one of the rungs and his free hand found the other side rail. With the fearlessness and agility only a young boy can muster, Nat was down the ladder in seconds.

And into Berkeley's waiting arms.

Nat struggled at first. He fell still when he caught the fragrances that identified his captor, the sweet lavender scent of her hair, the hint of roses that clung to her gown.

"Stay right where you are, Nathaniel," she said. Her arms were hard around him, part hug, part restraint. "Are you all right?" She loosened her grip just enough to pat him down. Berkeley touched his face, his shoulders, his wrists, then she gave him a little shake. "You scared us, you know. Donnel. Sam. Shawn. Annie Jack's beside herself."