The Fall of Rome (8 page)

Elroy was happy for a reason to look away from the barkeep’s bloody stump.

Bulls-Eye strode over to the piss-pants sheriff. “I’m looking for the owner of this place.”

“Jane Murdock?” the man croaked.

“If you say so.”

The sheriff’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he looked over and saw Bulls-Eye’s handiwork. “Rode out two days ago with a couple of men.”

The barkeep finally spoke. “Shut your trap, Gus.”

“Fond of your fingers and toes?” Bulls-Eye asked the wide-eyed sheriff.

The boy nodded.

“Then I’d ignore Stumpy over there and flap your gums. Those men got names?”

“Not that I caught, but one of them looked familiar. I’d swear he was one of--”

“Dammit, Gus,” Pratt bellowed. “Shut the hell--” Bulls-Eye whirled and shot and, lickety split, Johnson Pratt was pushin’ up daisies. Leastwise, Elroy thought, he wouldn’t lose anymore toes.

Bulls-Eye worked his bandaged shoulder, turned back to the twitchy sheriff. “You were saying?”

“He looked like one of the Garrett Brothers,” he droned, eyes riveted on Pratt’s bloody corpse. “You know. One of those detectives from the dime novels.”

The room got real quiet, and Elroy braced himself for an ugly moment. Bulls-Eye hated the Garretts, especially the one who’d seduced Kat first.

“Fucking Rome Garrett,” Bulls-Eye said in an eerily calm voice.

No doubt about it
, Elroy thought.
This is bad.

“Overheard something about Tucson,” Gus spewed through chattering teeth. “A poker tournament. That’s all I know, mister. Swear.”

Chewing over the information, Bulls-Eye tapped his revolver against his thigh. “I believe you, Gus. Take a seat.”

The man wilted into a chair, and Elroy ventured out loud, “You don’t think they’re back together, do you, Jed? I mean, I didn’t see hide nor hair of Rome the night I was here.

Didn’t hear no mention of him neither. From what I saw, Kat only had smiles for Pratt over there and . . .” He trailed off, his own stupid rambling echoing in his ears.

“Thank you for the detailed report, Elroy,” Bulls-Eye rasped, plugging Pratt with a second bullet even though he was already dead.

“Here it is!” Amos smacked a page of the newspaper he’d found on one of the tables. “Week from today. High-stakes poker tournament hosted by Foster’s Gambling Emporium.” “If that’s the case,” Itchy pointed out, “Tucson will be a hotbed of activity. One of them professional gamblers might recognize you from the old days, boss.”

“Heard they got a real sheriff in that city,” Snapper said, throwing a smirk Gus’s way. “There’s a fort nearby, too. Not that I’m teilin’ ya anything you don’t know, Bulls-Eye.”

“I hear you.” He nabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured a double. “Give me a minute.”

While he sipped and thought on the matter, Mule burst through the back door. “Kept searchin’ her place like ya said, boss. Found a hidden drawer in the back of her wardrobe. Some dime novels featuring the Garrett Brothers in there, couple of newspapers--one running an article about our latest heist--and a bundle of letters from a Sister Maria.” He thrust out a folded missive. “This is the most recent.” Cheroot clamped between his teeth, Bulls-Eye nabbed the letter and read. “Niece, huh?”

Elroy and the rest of the gang stood silent while their leader devoured three more letters. He looked as cool as a skunk in the moonlight, but Elroy knew better. He could see his cousin’s wheels turnin’. Could feel the intensity of his brewing rage.

“You can relax, boys,” he said. “I won’t be goin’ after Kat. She’ll come to me.” He threw back the last of his drink, bundled the letters, and headed for the door.

Snapper jerked a thumb. “What about Piss-Pants?” Bulls-Eye paused about six feet away. “You a betting man, Gus?”

He swallowed. “No, sir.”

“Bet you I can shoot that fly off the crown of your hat.” Before the man could counter, smoke curled from the nozzle of Brady’s gun.

Blood spurted from the hole in between Gus’s eyes. “Oops.” Bulls-Eye tossed a quarter at the dead man’s feet as he walked out into the night.

Elroy followed, thinking his cousin had turned a whole lot meaner this past year.

Rincon Mountains

Seth had waxed poetic about the sunset, but Rome was more taken with the sunrise. Maybe it’s because he’d seen so few. The few he had witnessed had been through bleary eyes. Whenever possible, he slept in. The only time he rose early was when necessitated by a case. He wasn’t the most hospitable person in the morning, or so he’d been told. Cranky from too little sleep and too much whiskey. Not to say he woke with a hangover every day, but he confessed to tying on a bear most nights.

He hadn’t touched a drop since his pact with Him. Each day that passed, especially the nights, proved more of a challenge, but he’d be damned if he’d succumb. He’d never lost a battle of will in his life. Until he was certain he could partake in moderation without it becoming a nightly routine, he wouldn’t partake at all. As for the other habits he’d promised to purge--philandering and thinking of Kat---he figured he was on track in a roundabout manner.

Hopefully, the Almighty would cut him some slack, seeing he’d given up one of them cold.

This morning his head was acutely clear, and all manner of thoughts buzzed between his ears. Wide awake predawn, he’d risen and dressed. Restless and not wanting to wake the house, he’d gone out for a walk. The air was dry and cool, the deep blue sky a dramatic backdrop for massive clouds of red and orange, their edges tinged in explosive gold. He’d stared up at the colorful phenomenon a good ten minutes before setting off down a rocky path flanked by saguaros, prickly pears, mesquite, and cottonwood trees. The quiet would be deafening if not for the crunch of his boots over rough terrain and his riotous thoughts.

He kept thinking on the night before. Dinner with Kat. One thought dogged him throughout:
She’s changed
. Namely, she was more subtle. In appearance. In manner. In the past, she’d had a way of demanding attention, but last night she’d shunned the spotlight, preferring to talk about the Garrett clan. He wanted to know about her mysterious half-sister. How did she die? How did her husband die? When? Had Kat taken Frankie under her wing days ago? Months ago? Years? Where was her niece now? How had Kat looked after her while gambling at the tables? Did she resent the responsibility? When he’d asked about the girl, she hadn’t taken the opportunity to brag, so he assumed she wasn’t a doting guardian. Then again she was eager to entrap a murdering outlaw in order to protect the kid. That was a powerful indication of affection.

His mind swarmed with additional questions. Why would Brady target the kid? Why did Kat break off with the man? Last night she’d refused wine. In the old days, she’d been as much of a drinker as he. She’d also been a night owl, staying up all hours and sleeping late. Self-indulgent, like him. Impetuous, like him. Cocky and flirtatious, exactly like him. They’d been the perfect match.

Until a no-account sidewinder had slithered into their lives.

Rome perched on a boulder and lit a cheroot. He savored the smoke and the knowledge that, if all went according to plan, he’d catch the rat that had continually eluded not only him, but also the Pinkertons and a passel of local lawmen for years. Snagging Bulls-Eye Brady, a man who’d robbed countless stages and trains and who killed without conscience, would be a personal and professional pleasure. It wasn’t wholly because the rat had seduced Kat--though that figured in heavily--but more that he and Boston had failed to apprehend Brady the two times Wells Fargo had assigned them the task. Rarely had they failed to get their man. Rarely had Rome been so motivated to set things right.

Whatever it takes.

If nothing else, he and Kat shared a common motto and goal.

“Dammit!”

Rome looked from the desert vista to a copse of trees. He knew that voice, though it surprised him she was up and out so early. He pushed off the boulder, peered around the sprawling branches of a mesquite, and saw a conservatively dressed Kat bending over to free her skirt from the pointy spines of a barrel cactus. Her shiny curls bounced around her head like a chestnut halo. Thick locks that once reached her waist now flirted with her shoulder blades. He wondered when and why she’d cut her hair. If she’d meant to heighten her seductive aura, she’d succeeded. Once a she-devil. Now an
angelic
she-devil. Christ.

He crushed out the smoldering cheroot and moved in.

Startled by his presence, she jerked and winced. “Dammit, Rome!”

“Prick yourself?”

“Thanks to you.” She squeezed her forefinger and frowned. “I thought you begged off coming to a lady’s aid.”

“Some habits are harder to break than others.” He gestured to her wound. “Let me see.” When she didn’t comply, he took charge. As soon as their hands connected, he felt a surge of lust. He imagined suckling her finger, kissing away the hurt. He imagined flicking his tongue over her palm, her wrist. He envisioned an array of erotic images, all of which he’d performed in the past, but instead, produced a bandana from his pocket and wrapped it around the wound. It was then that he noticed her skin wasn’t as soft as it used to be. He smoothed his thumb over a rough patch. She hadn’t earned those calluses dealing cards.

She jerked back her hand as if privy to his thoughts.

He sensed a query wouldn’t be welcome so, for now, he let it go. Pensive, he stooped to free her skirt from the spiny cactus.

“I could’ve done that.”

“You’re welcome.” He straightened and met a pair of contrite brown eyes.

“I just... I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone,” she said in a less hostile tone. “You of all people. Unless you’ve been up all night.”

“Slept fine. Woke early. You?”

“Same. Thought I’d take a walk. Mull over last night’s talk in preparation for the impending charade.” She lifted a brow. “You?”

“Same.” More or less.

“You’re staring.”

“I know.” He was hypnotized by her face much as he was by the sunrise. Rarely had he seen Kat without face paint. This morning her face was scrubbed fresh. She was twenty-four now, yet she looked younger than when he’d first met her at eighteen. How the hell was that possible? On second thought, it wasn’t about youth, but innocence. She looked wholesome,
vulnerable
. He was particularly smitten with the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Smitten and curious. “You used to be meticulous about shielding your skin from the sun.”

“If you’re wondering how I’m going to attract Brady looking like this, you can stop fretting. When it matters, I’ll slick up and dress to the nines.”

He stuffed down a surge of jealousy, hoping to strike up an illuminating discussion. “I wasn’t criticizing your appearance, Kat.”

“No?”

“No. Just wondering what would tempt a night owl like you into spending time in the sun, unprotected no less. As I recall, you owned numerous bonnets and parasols.”

“I was obsessed with maintaining a pale complexion. A sign of sophistication and gentility, as you know.”

“And now?”

“I’m no longer obsessed.”

“Guess that extends to high fashion.” He gestured to her brown cotton skirt and calico shirt. “Don’t recollect you ever wearing anything that wasn’t frilly and just shy of scandalous.”

She quirked a brow. “Little early for superfluous finery.”

“Wouldn’t have stopped you before. Time was you wouldn’t step out of your room until meticulously dressed and coiffed.”

“That’s because the illusion was vital.”

“What illusion?”

“If you knew me at all, you’d know the answer to that question.”

“You’re joshing.”

“Mercy, but I’m exhausted from this scintillating conversation.” She passed him his sullied bandana. “Thank you for your medical attention, Rome. I’ll leave you to your walk and continue with mine.”

What the hell? He’d kept his tone pleasant throughout, yet she was pricklier than any one of the surrounding cacti.
Don’t let her get under your skin, Garrett.

He fell in beside her and matched her stride. “I know you’re not married, but is there a man in your life?”

“There are lots of men in my life. In case you haven’t noticed, women are greatly outnumbered in this region.”

“Just pondering your circumstances. Single woman, raising a little girl on her own.”

“An unreliable woman, you mean.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Frankie and I manage just fine, thank you.”

“So she’s been with you for a spell?”

She stopped in her tracks, crossed her arms, and set her chin. “Why are you so all-fired intent on knowing my business?”

“Friendly interest,” he said kindly, holding tight to his temper. Her cool tone and closed-off posture chafed.

“We’re not friends.”

“We used to be.”

“We were never friends, Rome. We were lovers.”

Well, damn. Though stated calmly, that sure as hell sounded like an insult. “There was more to our relationship than the physical, Kat. I recall--”

“No offense, but your recollecting is getting tiresome.”

Don’t let her rile you.
“You mean to say you don’t think about those days? Ever? How it was between us before it went wrong?”

A flash of anxiety contradicted her nonchalant shrug. “I refuse to live in the past. I have enough to worry about in the present.”

“Like Brady?” Maybe her prickly mood was rooted in fear. He matched her stance and dug in. “Why do you see that man as a personal threat, Kat?”

She looked away. “If I tell you, will you leave this be?”

“Depends on your answer.”

She met his gaze, all emotions in check. “He wanted to make our relationship permanent. I didn’t. I fled. He followed. I don’t know if he’s obsessed with me or the fact that he can’t have me. Doesn’t matter. I crossed him and, just like you, he won’t forget.”

The low blow, intended or not, obliterated his calm. “You’re comparing me to
Brady?
”

She blew out a disgusted breath. “Your ego is mountainous. I just bared my heart, and all you can think about is yourself.”