Unraveled (22 page)

“Stupid kid,” he growled, aiming his weapon at me. “You should have stayed in your room.”

Dazed, I looked up into the black eye of his gun, knowing what was coming next and that there was no way that I could stop it. . . .

“I told you, mister,” a low voice growled. “You need to quit calling this phone. She's not any more awake than she was the last time you called exactly one minute ago.”

My eyes snapped open. I knew that twangy, Western voice. That was Ira Morris, and unless I was still dreaming, the dwarf hadn't killed me after all.

So what did he want with me?

*   *   *

It took me a few seconds to clear the rest of the dreamy cobwebs out of my mind. I slowly sat up and realized that I was lying on a soft, comfortable bed in what looked like a rustic cabin. Dark wooden walls, colorful, braided throw rugs on the floor, gray stone fireplace flanked by a set of padded rocking chairs. The cheery space was made even more so by all the photos. They covered every available inch of the walls and showed the Bullet Pointe hotel, the theme park, and the surrounding lake. This was definitely Ira's house.

I vaguely remembered Finn's telling me that the resort manager lived in a cabin on the property. Looked like Ira had at least held on to his home when Deirdre had demoted him, if not his office in the hotel, which Roxy had taken over. Good for him.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the pounding in my head, as well as the dull aches that rippled through my chest, back, and legs. In horse terms, I felt like I'd been rode hard and put up wet. Weird. I hadn't thought that Roxy had hurt me that badly, but just about every part of me felt bruised, beaten, and battered.

But I shoved the pain away and took stock of my situation. My boots were sitting on a rug next to the bed, but I was still wearing my black jeans. My black fleece jacket had been removed and draped over one of the rocking chairs, and the left sleeve of my red sweater had also been sliced open.

I pushed the flaps of fabric aside. A white bandage was wrapped around my upper left arm, tied off with a neat little knot. I flexed my fist and moved my arm and shoulder. A little stiffness and pain, but nothing that I couldn't handle. I looked around and spotted two empty tins of Jo-Jo's healing ointment sitting on top of the dresser along the wall. Ira must have found them in my jacket pockets, realized what they were, and used them on the Fire burns and bullet holes that Roxy had put in my arm.

Even more important, all five of my silverstone knives were laid out in a row on the dresser. Ira must have removed them, along with my boots and jacket, to make me more comfortable. But I felt naked without my knives, so I got up and slid them back into their usual slots—one against the small of my back, two up my sleeves, and two tucked into my boots.

I opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the main part of the cabin, which was a living room, dining room, and kitchen all rolled into one. A larger fireplace took up most of one wall, flanked by a green couch with colorful blankets folded across the back. Two small tables at either end of the couch featured lamps shaped like cowboy boots, and other Western-themed knickknacks adorned the rest of the space. But the effect was charming, rather than garish, as it had been in Roxy's office, and best of all, no dead animals were anywhere in sight.

Still more pictures adorned the walls in this part of the cabin, while cameras, lenses, memory cards, and other photography equipment covered the dining-room table, along with several stacks of papers. But the mess was limited to that one table instead of filling up the entire cabin. Ira Morris was a bit neater in his personal space than in his cramped hotel office.

The dwarf was pacing back and forth from the front door of the cabin, through the living room, and all the way to the kitchen in the back. My cell phone was clamped to his ear, and his face was twisted into an annoyed expression.

“Listen, mister,” Ira growled again, “I've told you and told you that your friend is fine. It's not my fault that she got shot and drugged and can't talk to you right now.”

From the phone, I could hear Silvio's sharp, demanding tone, if not his exact words.

Ira stopped. “You're going to come down here and pull my guts out through my nose? Really?” He snickered. “You and what army, hotshot?”

“Oh, I wouldn't make it a challenge,” I said. “Silvio is quite dangerous when you get him riled up.”

Ira pivoted on his bootheel to face me. Surprise flashed in his dark hazel eyes, as though he hadn't expected me to be up and about just yet. Then he scowled, stalked forward, and slapped my phone into my hand.

“Here,” he said. “
You
deal with that nut. He's called fifty times in the last hour, despite me telling him that you were unconscious.”

I grinned. “He's rather persistent that way.”

Ira huffed, ambled away, and plopped down in one of the rocking chairs by the fireplace.

I raised the phone to my ear. “Hello, Silvio.”

“Gin!” my assistant shouted. “Where are you? I've been worried sick! That imbecile wouldn't let me talk to you, and Finn, Bria, and Owen aren't picking up their phones.”

“Shh,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “Quiet voice, please. I have a pounding headache.”

Whatever sedative Roxy and Brody had slipped into my sweet tea had been a doozy. Finn, Bria, and Owen would no doubt wake up with splitting migraines, since they'd drunk so much more of it than I had.

If they woke up at all.

Worry twisted my stomach, but I forced myself to push the emotion away. Tucker thought that Finn might know where Deirdre had hidden the jewels. He wouldn't kill my friends until he was absolutely certain that they didn't know anything. Torture them, yes. Kill them, no.

Not yet, anyway.

“Why do you have a headache?” Silvio asked in a much lower, calmer voice. “What's going on?”

“Let's just say that our Wild West vacation has gotten a little wilder than any of us expected.”

I filled Silvio in on everything that had happened. When I finished, the vampire was silent, and I didn't hear him typing away on his keyboard as usual.

“Do you have any idea where the jewels are hidden?” Silvio said. “I hate to point this out, but those gems are the only bit of leverage you have right now.”

“Oh, I know exactly where they are.”

Ira's head snapped around, and surprise filled his eyes again. I shrugged back at him. I
did
know where they were hidden. I should have known all along, the first second that I'd set eyes on them, but I'd been too caught up in my memories, melancholy, and heartache about my mother to notice them.

“So what's the plan?” Silvio asked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Load up some supplies.
My
kind of supplies—guns, knives, ammo, healing ointment, the works, and drive down here. I know that Jo-Jo and Sophia are busy showing off the salon on that holiday tour of homes today, but see if you can find someone else to come with you and watch your back.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

I looked over at Ira. “Except for Mr. Morris, we have to assume that every single person who works at the hotel and theme park is in on this in some way, and that they know all about us, including who you are and what you look like. They might not work for Tucker, Roxy, and Brody directly, but they're probably too scared of them not to rat you out the second they see you. So you need some sort of disguise. See if Roslyn Phillips can lend you something.”

“Roger that,” Silvio said. “I'll see if I can borrow someone else's car too. Just in case Tucker and the rest of the Circle have marked our usual vehicles as well.”

“Good idea.”

“What do you want me to do once I'm down there?”

I thought about it for a few seconds. “Meet me at the Feeding Trough. It's the barbecue restaurant that's part of the theme park.”

“But isn't that the place where you were just drugged?” I could hear the frown in Silvio's voice.

“Yep. And it's also the last place they'll expect me to go back to.”

“I'll be down there as soon as I can,” Silvio promised. “What will you be doing in the meantime?”

I looked over at Ira again. “Grabbing those missing jewels and finally getting some straight answers about what's really going on around here.”

 18 

I hung up with Silvio, then glanced at a clock shaped like a buffalo on the wall. It was just after one o'clock, which meant that I'd been unconscious for about an hour. Once again, worry filled my heart for Finn, Bria, and Owen, but I forced it aside. They were probably still out cold, and Tucker couldn't question—torture—them before they woke up, which meant that I still had time to save my friends.

But first, I wanted to know about the man who'd saved me, so I walked over and sat down in the rocking chair beside Ira. “So, you got me off the stagecoach and brought me over here to your place.”

He nodded. “I had a time of it too. You'd wedged yourself down between those trunks something good. Then, of course, I had to actually stuff you into one of the trunks and roll you all the way over here from the theme park. But I move things around like that all the time, so nobody paid any attention to me.”

“So that's why my body feels like it's been twisted around like a pretzel,” I joked.

He nodded again and kept on rocking.

“And why would you do that? Why would you save me? You could have turned me over to Roxy and Brody. They probably would have given you a reward for it.”

He snorted. “Those two? They wouldn't give me a reward for saving them from a burning building, much less pointing you out.”

“Still, it was a big risk to take.”

The dwarf shrugged and stared into the flames that were crackling in the fireplace. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat. “I saw that vampire, Hugh Tucker, lurking around the hotel lobby this morning, and I knew that something was going on. Something bad. It's always bad when he's around.”

I frowned. “Tucker's been here before?”

“Several times. At least once a year, he and some of his buddies would come here for a retreat, and Deirdre would roll out the red carpet for them.”

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart lifted with a bit of hope. He had to be talking about the other members of the Circle. So they had been here after all. I wanted to pepper him with questions, but I held my tongue, letting him finish his story.

“Although Tucker and Deirdre weren't getting along lately,” Ira continued. “This past year, all they did was fight whenever he came here. A couple of months ago, Tucker made her hire Roxy and Brody. Said something about how the resort wasn't making any money because Deirdre kept spending it all on clothes and jewelry.” Ira huffed. “I could have told him that.”

“And that's when Deirdre came up with that fake treasure hunt.”

Ira scowled. “I was the one who put Sweet Sally Sue's jewels on display years ago as a tribute to her. I liked walking through the lobby every day and seeing her things, along with her photos. It reminded me of all the good years we'd had here together.”

“Until Deirdre stole the jewels.”

Anger twisted his face. “Deirdre knew that I would never let her have them, so she waited until I was busy with the high-noon show one day, and then she swiped them. By the time I realized what she'd done, Deirdre had already left the resort. I tried to track her down, but she kept moving from one of her fancy apartments to the next. And of course she wouldn't return any of my phone calls. The next thing I know, she's announcing the treasure hunt, and Roxy and Brody are here, kicking me out of my own office and taking control of everything.”

Ira's body stilled, and his dark hazel gaze drifted up to a framed photo on the fireplace mantel that showed Sweet Sally Sue wearing a saloon-girl dress, all decked out in her jewelry. I recognized it as the same photo that was in the display case in the hotel lobby.

“I couldn't believe that Deirdre would disrespect Sweet Sally Sue's memory like that, but I should have known better,” he said in a bitter voice. “I should have protected her legacy better.”

“You loved her, didn't you? That's why you stayed here all these years, even after Roxy and Brody came in and took over.”

Ira nodded and started rocking in his chair again. “Sweet Sally Sue took me in when I had nothing. She was like the mother that I never had, and this was my home. It will
always
be my home.”

I understood his sentiments all too well, since I felt the exact same way about Fletcher and the Pork Pit. Despite all the bad things that had happened in the restaurant, including Fletcher's murder, it was my home, and it always would be. Even more than that, it was the legacy that the old man had left me, and I would defend it to my dying breath, the same way that Ira had been trying to keep Bullet Pointe going for all these years, despite Deirdre's best efforts to run it into the ground.

Ira quit rocking and looked at me. “I've been following Tucker around all day, wondering what he was up to. I heard him talking to Roxy about you and your friends and all the trouble you've caused for him up in Ashland. Is it true? That you're some kind of assassin who wants him dead?”

“Absolutely.”

I told Ira a condensed version of my history with Tucker, including all the things he'd said about my mother being part of the Circle. “Have you ever heard of them? Did Deirdre ever say anything to you about some group called the Circle?”

Ira shook his head. “Sorry, but I've never heard of any Circle. And Tucker didn't always come down here with the same people.”

“What about Eira Snow? Have you ever heard of her?” I held my breath, hoping, hoping, hoping. . . .

He shook his head again. “Sorry, but that name doesn't ring a bell.” He waved his hand at all the photos on the walls. “A lot of people come through here every year. I can't keep track of them all.”

It had been a total long shot, that my mother had been here once upon a time and that Ira would remember her out of all the thousands of visitors, but disappointment washed over me all the same. Another dead end.

Still, it wasn't his fault, so I forced myself to smile at him and gestured at the cabin walls. “I've been wondering about your photos. I noticed them in your office. They're quite stunning, especially the scenic shots of the hotel, park, and lake.”

For the first time since I'd met him, a genuine smile lit up the dwarf's face, softening his perpetual scowl. “Sweet Sally Sue gave me a camera the very first Christmas that I was here. I've been taking pictures ever since.” He glanced around at the photos, his gaze moving from one frame to the next. “Bullet Pointe might be a business, but I like seeing people so happy in the park and hotel. I like taking shots of their memories. It makes me happy to see them having a good time. It means more to me than the money.”

I nodded. I felt the same way about the food I served at the Pork Pit. Seeing the enjoyment that other folks got out of my cooking always put a smile on my face. I liked brightening someone's day, even if it was just in the small way of fixing them a good, hearty meal. Ira and I were more alike than I would have thought possible.

“Thank you for saving me. For sticking your neck out for me. Not many people would have done that.”

Ira waved his hand, dismissing my thanks. “What was I supposed to do? Let you lay outside and slowly freeze to death?”

I grinned. “Well, I still appreciate it all the same.”

As much as I was enjoying sitting here by the warm flames and talking to the dwarf, I stopped rocking and got to my feet. Because time was ticking away, and I needed to get the jewels and figure out how to save my friends before Tucker tortured and killed them.

“What are you going to do now?” Ira asked.

“Go back up to the hotel. That's where the jewels are.”

He shook his head. “You'll never make it. Roxy and Brody have everyone looking for you. And you can't get out of the park or the hotel either. They've got all the exits blocked.” He waved his hand again. “And it won't be too long before they get the bright idea to come here and look for you.”

“Don't worry. I'm leaving. I'm not going to put you in any more danger. You've done enough for me already.”

His weathered face creased into another rare grin. “Darling, I don't care about the danger. Helping you and thumbing my nose at Roxy and Brody is the most fun I've had in months. But I'm not about to send you out there to get yourself shot up again.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need a disguise, just like you told your friend on the phone.”

Ira got to his feet and disappeared into his bedroom. Some clangs and bangs sounded, as though he was rustling around in his closet. He came out a minute later holding up a wire hanger that featured an old-fashioned saloon-girl dress wrapped in clear plastic. Unlike the cheap costumes the performers wore, I could tell that this was the real deal, made of expensive silk, lace, and crinoline.

“This belonged to Sweet Sally Sue herself.” Ira smiled at the dress and the memories it brought back. “She was a spitfire, just like you are, and I think that she'd like you wearing it. Especially if it will help you kick Tucker, Roxy, and Brody out of here for good.”

I hesitated. I didn't want to wear the dress for fear of ruining it, and Ira's memories along with it, but he was right. I couldn't go outside as Gin Blanco, the outlaw that everyone was searching for. I needed a disguise, and I wasn't about to look this gift horse in the mouth.

“I'm honored.” I took the dress from him.

I held out the garment, and a smile spread across my face as I realized what shade it was.

Bloodred. Always my color.

*   *   *

Ira's cabin might have been relatively tidy, but he had a small shed out back that was just as messy as his hotel office. But instead of stacks of papers, the shed was filled to the brim with all sorts of odds and ends, including shoes, makeup, and even some wigs that the performers had discarded. I grabbed a few things for my disguise, then went back into his bedroom to get ready.

The first thing I had to do was put on a corset.

Seriously, a real, old-fashioned corset complete with whalebones to give it—and me—that classic hourglass shape. The frilly thing was covered with tons of black lace, and it took me a lot of time and a whole lot of effort to shimmy into it. The only saving grace was that the black ribbons laced up the front, instead of the back, but I still cursed whoever had invented such a foul, uncomfortable contraption.

Next up was Sweet Sally Sue's dress. The stiff black crinoline underskirt made the top layers of bloodred silk poof out all around my legs, making me feel like a human bell. On the plus side, the dress had long sleeves that hid the white bandage on my upper left arm, as well as two deep pockets for me to carry my knives. I tucked my other three knives into the garter belt and stockings that went with the dress.

Black shoes with square, chunky heels and ankle straps were next, along with a pair of fingerless, black lace gloves that made the spider rune scars in my palms itch. I also stuffed my spider rune necklace down into my corseted bodice and tied a black velvet ribbon with a red cameo around my throat.

Once my clothes were in place, I donned a blond wig with the long hair done in fat ringlet curls, powdered my face, and painted my lips the same bloodred as the dress. For the final touch, I stuck a small black beauty mark on my left cheek, close to my lips to draw attention away from my eyes, whose gray color I couldn't change.

I looked and felt ridiculous, and I didn't see how the performers endured these costumes day after day during their eight-hour shifts. I'd only had the dress on for ten minutes and I already wanted to tear it off, starting with the corset. It was too bad Finn wasn't here. He would have been cackling with glee at my misery.

The thought of him, Bria, and Owen made my stomach tighten with worry again. Time to get on with things. So I left the bedroom and stepped back out into the main part of the cabin where Ira was sitting in his rocking chair by the fireplace again.

I twirled around for his inspection. “Well? What do you think?”