A Touch of Camelot (7 page)

"I love you, Cole. I love how you touch me. Make love to me, Cole."
He had believed her. Perhaps he should have been a little suspicious of the fact that the prim and proper Cynthia Ferguson had shown him a few surprising tricks in bed. Then, he'd gotten word that his father was ill, and he had taken a leave of absence to travel back to Kansas. His father had died a week later, leaving him alone in the world. Except for Cynthia, of course.

Cole hadn't given much of a damn about his career at that point. He returned to New York planning to ask Cynthia to leave her philandering husband and marry him. Instead, he'd returned to find that he'd been quickly replaced in Cynthia's affections. And her bed. Women. He had learned a hard lesson about them. They smiled when they lied.

Cole looked back now at Guinevere Pierce. She wasn't smiling. As a matter of fact, her chin was tilted up, challenging him. Cole challenged her back. "And so that's why you ran? That's why you don't want to go back to San Francisco?"

"When someone shoots at me, I don't stop to ask questions, I run."

"Gwin, you're asking me to believe that the San Francisco Police Department has conspired to convict an innocent man and to murder you and your brother, and even you can't offer up one good reason why."

Gwin held Cole's gaze as she addressed her brother. "See, Arthur? I told you he wouldn't believe us. They all stick together like glue."

Cole didn't bother to refute her statement.

After a long, tense moment, she picked up her deck of cards and resumed shuffling. She changed the subject in a cool tone. "So, Shepherd, from what I've seen so far, you don't smoke, drink, or swear. Now you tell me that you don't gamble, either. What is it that you
do
do?"

Arthur tucked his magic slingshot back into his pocket. He kicked the table leg and eyed Cole solemnly from beneath the brim of his cap.
Thump. Thump. Thump
.

Cole settled back and closed his eyes, trying to ignore that dull, steady, accusatory sound. All at once, he felt very tired. "What I do, Miss Pierce, is my job. That's all."

She didn't answer and Cole didn't open his eyes for a long time. He listened to Guinevere Pierce shuffle her cards and thought about the ridiculous story that she and her brother had just tried to foist on him. What was their angle? Did they hope to gain pity? Did they think Cole would actually let them go free before they got to San Francisco? Crazy. They were crazy as loons if they thought he was going to buy into some farfetched con story about murder conspiracies.

Chapter Four

San Francisco, California

"Mr. Ringo here tells me that our two little pigeons have boarded the eight forty express. They're due to arrive here in less than a week."

Sidney Pierce, better known these days as Phineas Taylor, stood facing the tall, polished glass window behind his desk, his back turned to his two guests. The view of San Francisco from Nob Hill was breathtaking, but Sidney wasn't feeling appreciative at the moment. He was a man in a hole, a deep hole. It was a hole that included obsequious servants, massive bank accounts, and an elegant mansion, but a hole nevertheless. It was a hole that he had eagerly helped dig for himself, and he saw little chance of clawing his way out of it at this late date.

He turned to face the man who had just spoken, his longtime business associate and lawyer, Jasper Barnes, whose squat, thick body sat mashed into an upholstered chair facing Sidney's desk. The little man puffed on a fat Havana cigar and smiled at Sidney.

Jasper Barnes always smiled. He smiled when he was happy. He smiled when he was nervous. He even smiled when he was angry. That smile, that face, even by the most generous of hearts, could only be described as ugly, but the brain that hummed inside that misshapen skull was something akin to financial genius.

 "I still don't agree with how you handled this. When they left town, that should have been the end of it," Sidney said.

Jasper's eyes gleamed like a pair of obsidian marbles, indicating to Sidney that the smile he wore now did not bode well. "But they could always come back, and that is a loose end we cannot afford to leave untied."

Sidney rued the day he'd gotten involved with Jasper, but it was a little late for regrets. Sidney had been playing the Big Game for quite some time now. He had been born to play the Big Game. It was one of the reasons he would have left his brother, Silas, in the long run anyway. Silas had never thought big enough. He had never looked beyond the moment. Silas, unlike his ambitious younger brother, had been incapable of playing the Big Game.

It was only a few years after Sidney had struck out on his own for the West Coast that he had been drawn to Virginia City. It was there that he met Jasper Barnes and they hit it off right away. Each had seen in the other a missing key to future success. Indeed, Jasper had recognized and articulated Sidney's special talents immediately.
"There's something about you, Sidney, something rare and divine. Without being aware of it, people can smell it on you. They're attracted to you. They want to follow you. You've got charisma. We can use that, Sidney. We can use that in a big way."

Jasper had used the right word to capture Sidney's attention. Big.

Sidney hadn't realized then what high stakes the Big Game entailed. The big game was business. Politics. The cards were dealt: money, power, favors, graft, bribery, corruption, vice, even murder. Sidney had learned to close his eyes to the last.

He pressed both palms down on the gleaming surface of his mahogany desk and leaned forward. "This is not a loose end. This is my niece and nephew. They're family. Can't you understand that?"

"I understand that they're the offspring of a brother you despised and a woman who betrayed you." Jasper jabbed his cigar at Sidney. "You told me that story yourself, remember?"

Oh, yes, Sidney remembered. He remembered all too well that night in New Orleans when he discovered his brother and the woman he loved in a passionate embrace. The sight had cut into him like a cold blade. Some men would have drawn a pistol in jealous rage, but Sidney was not one of them. He had chosen instead to turn his back. He had caught the first ship headed for California.

Sidney looked down now at his hands, hands that had, without him noticing until now, grown old. The tiny web of skin between his little finger and ring finger had been a part of him since birth. For years, he had looked through it, barely realizing it was there. Now, the thin membrane flared before his eyes, reminding him that his own father had been afflicted with the same deformity.

Family and blood, blood and family
. How often had Sidney's father drilled it into both of his sons' heads? You never betray family. But Sidney had severed the last of his family ties when he'd left Silas in New Orleans. Now, because he had not foreseen Jasper's knee-jerk reaction to a bad situation, Sidney felt indirectly responsible for his own brother's murder.

Jasper cut into his black thoughts. "Enough with the guilt. Your brother tried to blackmail you. He deserved the fate that was dealt him."

"I told you I would take care of it. You panicked."

"If he had exposed your past, you would have been ruined. We all would have suffered."

"It was a mistake," Sidney insisted.

"Well, that's all water over the dam. Now we have Mr. Ringo here to consider. He's been compromised. After so many years of faithful service, are we to just leave him to twist in the breeze?"

Sidney observed the subject of Jasper's inquiry, the third party in the room who had remained typically silent. Mr. Ringo now perused the various pieces of medieval weaponry mounted on the wall opposite Sidney's desk. While they were only a small part of Sidney's collection, they were the most rare and valuable pieces, and Sidney winced as the big man reached to take down a silver seventeenth-century mace from its wall rack.

Normally, Sidney would have requested that his guest refrain from fondling his collection, but the laconic Mr. Ringo was not a man he wished to offend. He measured an impressive six and a half feet tall. With arms as thick as stovepipes, Mr. Ringo could no doubt snap a man's neck with one hand.

Jasper blew a perfect smoke ring. "The boy saw his face. That is a problem that will not resolve itself. And it's not only Mr. Ringo's security that's on the line, it's ours. There are people who know of his association with us. We cannot risk the possibility that he'll be indicted on murder charges."

Sidney forced a smile and turned his palms up innocently. "But it won't ever come to that, Jasper. Don’t you see? The boy doesn't want to testify. He ran away with his sister."

"The boy's father was blown to kingdom come before his eyes. Even if he's too frightened to testify now, who's to say his feelings won't change when he grows older? Mr. Ringo was only following orders. It's not fair to him or any of us to leave him exposed. If he goes down, we all go down."

Sidney glanced uneasily at Alphonse Ringo. The big man had just been following orders. Jasper's orders. His loyalty to Jasper was as certain and unmovable as a mountain.

Stifling a shudder, Sidney turned to fix his attention on the lavish oil painting which hung over the marble fireplace. That painting,
The Final Parting of Guinevere and Lancelot
, featured the two tortured figures holding hands and weeping over the death of King Arthur. He had commissioned the painting over ten years ago. The face of Guinevere had been inspired by a faded daguerreotype he still kept in a desk drawer next to an old Cavalry Colt revolver, a picture that he perhaps should have burned a long time ago.
Emmaline.

Sidney took a deep breath. "I told you I could handle my brother, but you didn't listen. Then things went wrong. Witnesses were left behind. You saw fit to use my name to hire the Pinkertons to find them, and now—"

"And now they're found, aren't they?"

"Yes," Sidney allowed, "and now that they are, I'm asking you again to let me handle this in my own way."

Jasper ground out his cigar in a silver ashtray. "Sidney, the Round Table has met on the subject. It's already too late."

The Round Table
. Sidney had once coined the term in jest and Jasper had snapped it up. The Round Table, in this instance, had nothing to do with kings or knights or anything remotely connected with honor. It was a group of wealthy, unscrupulous men who grew more powerful as time passed. They spent their days manipulating mining stocks and their evenings frequenting fancy receptions. The men who made up the Round Table had "friends" all over; in the police department, the local judiciary, and City Hall. And now, they had their own serious candidate for the mayor's office, none other than Phineas Taylor.

That candidate narrowed his eyes at Jasper. "What do you mean, it's already too late? They're not scheduled to arrive for another four days."

"One of our people has been dispatched and will board the eight forty connection at Promontory."

 "You can't just do this without discussing it with me. "

"Can't we?" Jasper's eyes had grown cold.

"This is my family we’re talking about!"

"You're too emotional to be objective. We'll take care of it."

When he stood, Jasper Barnes barely touched five and a half feet in height. By contrast, the top of Mr. Ringo's black bowler hat just missed brushing the ceiling. If Sidney hadn't been so disgusted, he might have found the sight of them standing side by side comical.

"I suggest," Jasper offered with a wink, "that you practice your speech for tomorrow's campaign rally." As he turned to leave, he plucked up his cane from the arm of his chair. "And, by all means, try to get some rest, Sidney. You're not looking well at all."

*

After one full day of "luxurious" travel via the Union Pacific Railroad, Cole was beginning to think he wasn’t built for modern travel. His legs were too long for one thing. No matter how he tried to situate himself in their cramped compartment, it seemed he couldn't get comfortable for any longer than five minutes at a time.

He was also beginning to think he wasn't built to be spending so much time with Guinevere Pierce. Maybe it had been too long since he'd been with a woman. How else to explain that he was so easily distracted by her mere proximity?

When they had disembarked for dinner, Cole had only picked at the bland train station food on his plate, and this despite the fact that he had worked up a good appetite. The trouble was, the appetite he'd worked up sitting next to Gwin on the train hadn't been for food.

Throughout the rushed meal, Arthur had kept up a steady stream of chatter and questions about Cole's experiences in New York City. Nevertheless, Cole had found his attention wandering, his gaze repeatedly drawn back to the boy's sister, from her lovely face to the gentle swell of her breasts to the slender lines of her waist. He had found himself pondering the burning question of whether or not she wore a corset beneath that snowy-white jacket blouse and, after twenty minutes of furtive study, he had reached the conclusion that she did not.

Unfortunately, the result of all that mealtime distraction was that he hadn't found time to finish his dinner. His empty stomach had started growling an hour ago, and, by now, it was sending up hunger pangs sharp enough to put him in a bad mood.

Cole looked forward to escaping into blissful, dreamless sleep. He was exhausted. The night before, he had spent a restless night on the uneven puncheon floor of the constable's office in Caldwell, not quite trusting their prison security after that afternoon's fiasco. He was ready for a good night's sleep, but there was one thing he had to see to before he could close his eyes in good conscience, and that thing was Guinevere Pierce.

Cole had rearranged their seats into a lower sleeping berth for Arthur and himself, then pulled down the upper berth for Gwin. Safely snuggled in for the night, Arthur was already snoring peacefully.