Katie Rose (35 page)

Rosie gasped, slowly coming into view. “Why, honey, if I didn’t know it was you, I’d never know it was you! Good Lord, woman, you look horrible!”

Emily grinned, dragging her leg behind her as if
in a stupor. Her mouth hung open and her eyes seemed to fight to stay open. Her shoulders thrust upward like a wooden hanger that the rest of her body simply dangled from, and her gait was rolling and unsteady. She looked like a derelict, someone who had spent her life searching for the next drug lift.

“I’m posing as an opium addict,” Emily explained. “Sir Arthur Conan Doyle describes one in a story of his. And I need to find China Blue. This seemed like the best way to do that.”

“My goodness! It’s not just the clothes, it’s everything! You’ve actually assumed the manner of a real opium user!”

Emily bowed, blushing at the compliment, then turned toward the door. “I’ll be back before dark. I’ll have to go through the woods so no one sees me.”

“Be careful, Emily,” Rosie said seriously.

Emily’s smile faded. “I’m always careful.” She closed the door behind her, then slipped quietly along the trail at the back of the house into the dense foliage. She didn’t see the horse that followed, nor did she see the rider, who grinned at this stroke of luck.

The only thing on Emily’s mind was China Blue. She had to solve this mystery—for Thomas.

Thomas knew what he had to do. Slipping on his coat, he reached for his gun belt, heedless of the fact that he was about to destroy his false identity. The chambers of both pistols were loaded, and he spun them carelessly before snapping the barrels shut and thrusting the guns into his belt.

He had to find China Blue. A good night’s sleep
had brought him to several conclusions. One: Emily Potter would never stop investigating, not while she had breath in her body. Two: In spite of what he’d said to her, he couldn’t let her get herself killed, and he couldn’t stand by and watch this web close around her. She simply meant too much to him. Three: The best way to thwart her would be to solve the case himself. Then, once they had Emmet behind bars, he’d lay down the law. Until then, he knew it was futile.

At least he’d have some help this time. He’d finally talked the sheriff into making one last effort to bring China Blue in for questioning. The lawman had reluctantly agreed, for poor Bertie’s death had convinced him that the time for waiting had passed.

Thomas grinned, tossing his collar aside for the first time since he’d come to town. It was a relief to show himself for what he really was, not a traveling preacher but a man determined to get the truth.

The sheriff awaited him downstairs, and the two men mounted their horses in silence. They rode past the townspeople, who gaped at him, through the mining district to the very outskirts of town.

The encampment was quiet, just as it was the last time Thomas had been there. As they approached, he saw a few figures scrambling frantically among the tents. By the time they actually dismounted, it seemed that everyone already knew they were there.

The sheriff headed straight for the trading tent, his gun drawn for all to see. Thomas followed, aware of the silent eyes that watched him. The tradesman behind the crates, the same man who’d previously
told him nothing, turned expectantly toward the sheriff. “Yes, sir?”

“I want to know where that girl is. Sung He, the one they call China Blue.”

The tradesman lifted his shoulders in a puzzled shrug. “No English!”

Thomas cocked his own gun and raised it to eye level. The Chinaman paled, but kept shaking his head, his gaze riveted to the weapon.

“No English! So sorry!”

“Well, then we’ll have to tear this place apart until we find her. I suggest you tell your friends to lend a hand—for her sake as well as your own.”

The sheriff spoke firmly, but if the words had any effect on the tradesman, it wasn’t obvious. He walked outside with Thomas and spat on the ground in disgust.

“Damn! He knows exactly where she is. Now we’re going to have to waste half the morning looking through these tents.”

“I guess we’d better get started,” Thomas said, looking out over the green canvas town before them.

They split up, Thomas taking the east, the lawman focusing on the west. Thomas went to the first tent in the row and flipped open the cloth door.

Inside a family huddled in wordless confusion, their eyes staring. Fishing into his pocket, he found the composite drawing of Sung He that the sheriff had given him, a crudely etched likeness that the few witnesses had provided. There was no China Blue, just a woman, two children, and an elderly man gazing
sightlessly at the open flap. The next tent again yielded no suspects, and the following tent was empty. Frustration ate at Thomas as he realized the near impossibility of their task. If someone had warned the girl, she could be heading off into the mountains even now, laughing at their efforts.

That thought nearly made him crazy. Thomas paused at the tenth tent, wiping the sweat from his brow, when he saw a young girl looking at him.

She was beautiful, but even more startling, looked like Sung He. Thomas stared at the girl, noting her ragged dress and broken shoes. He looked at the drawing again, then his gaze went back to the little girl.

They could have been twins. Except for the difference in years, the same lovely almond eyes peered out at him, the same perfectly curved mouth, and the same look of determination and secretiveness. She was only about six years old, but already, Thomas could see the woman she would become.

Guided by instinct, he lowered himself to his knees and smiled softly at the child.

“Hello. My name is Thomas. I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for someone.” He showed her the picture.

“Mama!” the little girl said immediately, pointing to the likeness.

Thomas tried to keep the excitement from his voice. “That’s right. Do you know where she is?” His blood pounded as the child stared at the drawing.

“Ming!”

An elderly man with a long white beard appeared suddenly and clapped his hands together in a harsh
manner. He said something in Chinese to the girl, and she looked as scared as a rabbit. Thomas rose and stared at the man. Dressed in a beautiful but faded costume of blue silk embroidered with white thread, he was obviously someone of importance.

The child scampered into the tent, disappearing in an instant and taking his last hope with her. Frustrated beyond measure, Thomas turned to the elderly man and forced his words through his gritted teeth.

“You speak English. I need your help. I’m trying to find this woman.” Once again, he held out the drawing.

But the old man stared back at Thomas, ignoring the picture, and his eyes gleamed with hatred. “No help. You did this to her, you and your kind. You killed her.”

Thomas felt his throat tighten. He thrust the paper into his pocket. “She’s dead? Sung He is dead?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, then he raised his head with dignity. “She might as well be dead. She is in the black dream. You and your kind took her to that big house. She did work there, honorable work. Washed. Cleaned. Then they came and killed.”

The man lowered his eyes, as if reliving some awful memory. When he lifted his head once more, Thomas searched his face and found what he was looking for. The resemblance was there, harder to find because of the years, but it was there.

“You’re her grandfather,” Thomas said softly. The elderly man didn’t respond, but Thomas pushed on. “I’m so sorry about what happened. But I want to
save her life. Too many people have died already. Men are after her. Bad men. If you don’t help me, I can’t keep them from killing her, and maybe other people here, too.”

The man stared at the shirt he wore and gestured to the collar. “I thought you a holy man.”

Thomas bowed his head. “I wore a clerical collar as a disguise, so I could find out what had happened here. But now these men are closing in. I’ve got to get to Sung He before they do.”

“Why?”

Thomas stared at the man in confusion. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why does she matter to you? You don’t know my granddaughter.”

“No. But she has a beautiful daughter who needs her mother.” Thomas sighed. “And because … because I’m in love with Miss Emily Potter and I’m trying to help her as well.”

The man seemed to measure this, and his eyes seemed to sear Thomas’s very soul. Thomas himself was surprised at how easily those words had come.

And the Chinaman must have felt their truth as strongly as Thomas suddenly did, for he nodded, as if Thomas had passed some crucial test. The eyes buried in layers of paperlike flesh squinted, and he gestured with one gnarled finger toward the road.

“You follow me. I take you to her.”

Relief broke over Thomas and he eagerly followed the Chinaman down the winding paths. He was amazed when they came closer to town, nearer to the mining area. He would have thought Sung He
hidden in the farthest tent, but that didn’t seem to be the case. The man never stopped until he reached one of the tents near the mines. He stood to one side, his head held high.

“She there. You go. See what they’ve done to Sung He.”

Apprehension crawled up Thomas’s spine. Stepping past the old man, he opened the tent flap and was immediately hit by the smoky fumes of opium.

It was a den all right, the worst Thomas had ever seen. The acrid smoke stung his eyes and made the back of his throat dry. Dizziness began to overcome him just from inhaling the air, and Thomas whipped out his handkerchief, tying the thin cloth over his face. Clutching his weapon, he proceeded into the tent, amazed at the sight that greeted him.

Dozens of men and a few women sat on the floor of the tent, smoking from odd-looking pipes or dozing against the walls. A single Chinaman scurried back and forth, refilling the pipes, sometimes arranging one of the dozing bodies to make room for another. An air of languor and dreamlike unreality filled the place and the faces that stared at Thomas were devoid of expression. They all seemed to look inward, lost to the allure of a drug-induced dream, blithely unaware of their physical appearance or surroundings.

The cloying smoke began to make him feel nauseous. Thomas ignored the unintelligible murmurings around him, the tugs at his clothes, the outstretched hands, and began to look for the girl. Roughly he
pulled up one head after another, searching their faces, a task made even more difficult by the smoke. Coughing, Thomas stumbled toward a knot of several women at the back of the tent then pulled one of them to her feet.

“Please, do you know this girl …”

The words died even as he spoke them. Appalled, he recognized the eyes that gazed back at him, though he saw little else that was familiar. Emily stared back at him in equal horror, even as she struggled to remain in disguise.

“Emily.” Thomas gripped her arm, blind fury flooding through him. Nothing except the eyes gave her away. Her hair, clothes, even her demeanor all bespoke one of the wretches inhabiting this terrible place. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Before he could begin to shout at her, she reached up and whispered in his ear.

“Thomas, please don’t identify me. It’s too dangerous. People are looking. I’ve found Sung He. She’s there.”

His gaze swiveled and he saw the young Chinese woman lying on the floor, staring at him sightlessly her mind fixated within.

Thomas looked from Sung He to Emily, as if uncertain of which one to rescue first.

Emily shook her head at him, gesturing to a mark on the ground. It was so faint that if he hadn’t known where to look, Thomas would never have seen it. Still battling his anger, he managed to control himself long enough to squat down and examine the writing.

It was an L. Thomas traced the delicate lines, and his eyes met Emily’s. She nodded.

“That’s our only clue, Thomas. I asked her who she saw that night. We have to help her, or they’ll come and kill her.”

Thomas clenched his jaw. “I’ll deal with you later. Let’s get her out of here. I have a horse at the edge of the camp. The sheriff is with me.”

Emily’s eyes widened, but Thomas forced her to walk ahead of him. The two of them emerged into the blinding sunlight. Thomas gulped a mouthful of fresh air, snatching the cloth from his face, feeling the wretched burn of the opium smoke in his lungs. As soon as his head cleared, he took hold of Emily again, intending to head for the sheriff. Instead, he found himself looking down the barrel of Emmet’s gun.

“Well, howdy there, Preacher. Fancy meeting you here. It’s a mighty nice day for dying, isn’t it?”

Thomas faced the desperado down, pushing Emily behind him. She tried to peek through Thomas’s legs, but could only observe the outlaw’s boots. Rising on her tiptoes, she could just see Emmet’s cruel face above Thomas’s left shoulder.

Emmet chewed on a plug of tobacco, spitting, now and then, on the ground. The air was strangely still. Emily felt as if every detail of this scene were being seared into her brain. Emmet had on a dark blue shirt and vest, his trousers slit to accommodate his wooden leg. The black Stetson he wore slanted down over his face, but couldn’t hide the menace in his eyes, nor the purposeful way he held his gun. His sneer deepened as his gaze shifted to Emily. Fingering his weapon, he grinned at Thomas once more.