Brodie's Gamble (8 page)

As much as her suffering cut deep, causing him to doubt her guilt, he had no proof anyone else had killed Arnie. No footprints, tracks, or evidence anyone else had visited the cabin. And she’d admitted hitting him. Still…

Slumping into his chair, Brodie scrubbed a weary hand down his face. He wanted to believe in her innocence. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a piece of paper and pencil, then started jotting down notes. An hour later, he dropped the pencil, pinching the bridge of his nose. Something didn’t make sense. Tomorrow, he’d ride back to the cabin, take a long, hard look around, and hopefully find what he and Colin had missed the first time.

A warning rang in his head. It wasn’t his job to find evidence to clear Maggie. He’d done what the town paid him for—use the facts to arrest and jail a suspected killer. It would be up to a good lawyer, not Brodie, to obtain her freedom.

Unfortunately, looking at what he’d written down, all his instincts told him her story was accurate and pointed to her innocence. If he didn’t act, any additional evidence could disappear—washed away by rain or obscured by animal tracks. The job fell to him.

Looking around the corner and glancing at her cell, his heart seized at the sight of Maggie curled up on the hard bed, her hands tucked under her cheek. Stepping closer, he could hear her ragged breathing, her breath hitching in her sleep, her body trembling.

Entering the cell, he lifted the edge of the blanket, pulling it over her. The instant his fingers brushed across her shoulder, she tensed, her body beginning to shake. He waited until she stilled, then brushed a strand of hair off her face. She started, turning onto her back, her arms flailing.

“No. Don’t.” Her panicked voice accompanied her hands punching into the air, as if she were fighting someone off. “Stop…don’t touch me.” Her words were slurred, yet Brodie understood them. His stomach tightened at the reason for her nightmare.

“Maggie, darlin’, wake up.” He bent over, stroking her hair. His touch caused her to rear her arm back and swing at him. Leaning to the side, he barely avoided her landing a punch to his jaw. “Maggie, it’s a dream. You need to wake up.”

Knowing he might be risking a black eye or broken nose, he sat on the edge of the bed. Still asleep, a captive of whatever dream claimed her, she reflexively pushed herself back against the wall.

Stroking her back, he whispered to her in the Gaelic, knowing she’d never understand him. They were words his mother had used when he was young and had nightmares. He stopped for a moment when her body convulsed once more, a pitiful whimper escaping her lips.

Unable to hold back, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting and settling her on his lap. To his surprise, her body relaxed against him, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt.

“There now, lassie. You’ll be all right. It was a wee dream.” Knowing it was much more, he cursed the man who caused her to carry such a burden. Rocking back and forth, he listened as Maggie’s breathing calmed, her body settling into him as if she were meant to be there. A feeling he’d never known ripped through him and all he wanted was to stay there all night, his arms wrapped around her, protecting her.

The frightened woman, who worked to be brave during the day, couldn’t control her reactions as she slept. As strong as she tried to be, Maggie King fought demons from her past and a far from certain future. He knew she was scared, and with good reason.

If found guilty, it would be doubtful a judge would order her to hang, but she would spend the rest of her life in prison. Ironic. She’d gone from an innocent young lady to being the prisoner of a man who abused and mistreated her. Now, in her quest for freedom, she’d most likely become a prisoner again. This time, there’d be no escape.

Brodie couldn’t let that happen. He had to find a way to help her, prove her innocence. A cold resolve washed over him. It was time someone stepped forward to help her. No matter the consequences, Brodie promised himself he wouldn’t stop until he discovered the truth about Arnie Stoddard’s death.

Chapter Five

Brodie jerked, reaching for his gun as the door to the jail slammed open. With the bright morning sun behind them, blinding him, he couldn’t make out the identity of the two figures standing in the doorway.

“Whoa, Brodie.” Quinn stepped inside, his hands raised when he saw the gun pointed his way. “It’s your family, come to check on you, lad.” A broad smile crossed his face when Brodie walked around the desk, his arms outstretched.

He wrapped Quinn, then Blaine in a quick embrace before stepping back to look at them.

“It’s good to see you two scoundrels.” After the visit by Colin and Sarah, he’d hoped the rest of the family would come around, pay him a visit. Brodie couldn’t believe how good it felt to see his cousins after weeks of silence.

“Scoundrels are we now?” Quinn laughed, slapping Brodie on the back. “I’ll have you know we’ve been shouldering your work and our own since you left.”

“Quinn is right,” Blaine added, his eyes flashing as he looked around the jail. “Appears you’ve made no changes since they ran Yost out of Conviction.”

The mention of the former sheriff had Brodie wincing. “Aye. I’ve had little time and no budget. Seems I’ll live with it as it is for a while.” He motioned to the chairs. “Have a seat and tell me what brings you to town.”

“Besides you?” Blaine chuckled.

“I’m flattered, but know you wouldn’t have made the trip just to see me.” Brodie leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head.

“Right, but you are the main reason we came
today
. It’s been too long and you’ve made no attempt to come to the ranch. Blaine and I drew the short straws, so it fell on us to make certain you’ve not gotten yourself into trouble.” Quinn shot a look at Blaine and winked.

Brodie held up his hands. “All right. All right. I know I should’ve ridden out to see Da and Ma, if not the rest of you miscreants. Unfortunately, I’ve lost my deputies. All the work falls on me.”

“Aye, that’s what Colin said. Have you had any luck finding replacements?” Quinn leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs.

“There doesn’t seem to be much interest in a town as small as Conviction when there are jobs in San Francisco and Sacramento. From what I’ve heard, the pay is quite a bit more in those towns.”

“So is the danger.” Blaine stood to walk around. “At least you aren’t risking your life every day in Conviction.”

The words had no more than left his mouth when the door burst open, Jack rushing inside.

“Sheriff, you gotta get over to Buckie’s Castle.” He stopped when he spotted Quinn and Blaine. “Uh…”

“Go ahead, Jack. You’ve met my cousins, Quinn and Blaine.”

“Uh, sure, sure.” His head bobbed, a habit when he was excited. “Sheriff, they got trouble at Buckie’s.”

Sighing, Brodie stood, walking to the door. “What kind of trouble?”

“Some gambler came in on today’s riverboat from Sacramento. He’s been winning big.” Jack looked around, thinking they understood his meaning.

“And?” Brodie prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean
real
big, Sheriff. So much so, they’re accusing him of cheating. They got him up against a wall and mean to either hang or shoot him.”

Brodie didn’t say a word before grabbing his hat and storming outside.

“We’re coming, too.” Quinn stood, tightening his gun belt, seeing Blaine do the same.

“Want me to stay here, Sheriff? Keep watch on the prisoner?”

“Aye, Jack,” Brodie called over his shoulder. “Like before, do not talk to her. If she needs anything, she’ll have to wait for me.”

“Sure. You know you can depend on me.” Jack’s grin had Brodie stopping.

“I mean it. You’re not to go back there. No matter what.”

Jack’s eyes flashed before he dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded.

Before Brodie could say anything else, gunfire drew his attention to the saloon. He ran down the street as a second shot rang out, Quinn and Blaine steps behind him. He stopped and spun to face them.

“This isn’t your job, lads. I can deal with whatever is happening.”

“It’s a gang of men, Brodie. You can’t face them alone.” Quinn’s hand rested on the butt of his gun.

“Quinn’s right, Brodie. You can’t go in there by yourself. Besides, there’s nothing you can do if we follow you inside.” Blaine’s smirk set Brodie off as much as Quinn’s fingers twitching on his gun.

Muttering a curse, he dug into his pocket, taking out two badges and tossing one to each man. After Stein Tharaldson suggested he might need to deputize men quickly, he’d carried them as a precaution for weeks. He’d thank Stein later.

“If you’re determined to help, you go as my deputies. When it’s over, I want those back. I’m going in the front. You two enter through the back. You’ll go through a storeroom before entering the bar—”

“We
know
the saloon, Brodie. You’re wasting time.” Quinn glared at him, ready to deal with whatever was going on inside.

Spinning on his heels, Brodie dashed up the steps and glanced over the top of the double swinging doors. A lone man stood against the wall, guns in both hands pointing toward a crowd of men, two clutching wounds.

“Now, gentlemen, I’ve already told you. I don’t cheat. Never have. There’s no need when you possess the skills I do.” He flashed a cocky grin, earning him a round of jeers. “As much as I’d like to stay, chat with you charming fellows, I’m afraid this party needs to end.” He edged along the wall toward the doors, already aware someone stood outside, guessing it to be the sheriff or one of his deputies. Focusing on movement in the crowd, he stopped, his voice hard. “No one move. There are already two men injured because of your actions. I don’t want to shoot anyone else.” Waiting until the men backed up, he continued, stopping a foot away from the doors, his gaze still focused on the men inside. “I know you’re outside, but I’m not the one you’re after. He’s standing at the back of the group of men, his back to the bar. He has a dark mustache and short beard, and is wearing a white shirt, brown hat, and coat. Check his pockets. You’ll find all you need to arrest him for swindling people out of their hard-earned money.”

Brodie stiffened. “I’m Sheriff MacLaren, and I’m going to tell you what you’re going to do.” He raised his gun, pointed it at the door, and waited.

“I’m afraid I can’t oblige you, Sheriff. My job has been to identify the person fleecing funds from unsuspecting gamblers. I’ve led him to you. Your job is to make an arrest and send him to trial.”

The utter confidence in the man’s voice stunned and intrigued Brodie. He’d taken control inside the saloon, extricating himself from a dangerous situation, and sounded as if he had no doubt Brodie would believe all of it.

“Who are you?” Brodie pushed one of the doors open enough to spot his prey.

Without taking his focus off the men inside, the man slammed the other door open and slipped out.

“Samuel Covington. Soon to be ex-Pinkerton agent.” Glancing over the top of the doors, he lowered his guns, settling them in holsters on each hip. “Appears your men are inside. Perhaps you’d care to join them.” Sam turned to leave before feeling Brodie’s hand on his arm and seeing the gun the sheriff still held.

“Hold on there, lad. First, you need to show me some type of identification from Pinkerton. Then you’ll come back inside with me and identify the man you’re accusing of fleecing people. Afterwards, you and I are going to have a long talk.” Brodie nodded toward the saloon. “After you.”

“And I was so hoping for a quiet lunch,” Sam grumbled as he strolled back into the saloon.

Brodie read the telegram from Allan Pinkerton, then passed it to Quinn and Blaine. All of them had been skeptical of Covington’s claim of being connected to the agency, even after arresting and searching the man he’d indicated was behind a series of cons covering the area between Newcastle, Sacramento, San Francisco, and Conviction. The discovery of a journal, indicating dates, locations, and amount earned, now rested in a locked drawer in Brodie’s desk.

“It says here,
amount earned
. Shouldn’t it say stolen?” Quinn smirked.

“For con artists such as David Meeks, the line between earning money and taking it is quite slim. In fact, it is non-existent.” Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “They do it for the rush, the excitement, not for the end result of money in their pockets.”

“Seems odd the money wouldn’t be the main factor.” Blaine read the telegram once more before handing it back to Brodie.

“Oh, they definitely want the money, but what drives them is the challenge of outsmarting someone else. Meeks and other con men need to prove they’re smarter than those who would stop them.” Sam winced at the gnawing sensation in his stomach, followed by the unmistakable rumble of hunger. “That’s why Pinkerton sent me out here last spring. To prove Meeks wrong by catching him.” Standing, he stretched his arms above his head, then cast a look at Brodie. “If you have no further questions, I believe I’ll take my leave.”

“Hold on, Covington. You said something about becoming an
ex
-Pinkerton agent. What did you mean by that?” Brodie fiddled with the edge of the wanted poster of David Meeks he’d found buried in a drawer.