Velvet Lightning (2 page)

“Yes, of course. But what's this? Camelot?”

Falcon shook his head and hesitated, then said slowly, “It sounds to me like a code name.”

“And you found this in Captain Tyrone’s office?” “Urn. Yes. In a ledger dated 1863.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means—have you ever been to Washington, sweet?”

Washington

Victoria was amused two days later to find that the visit to the nation’s capital consisted of a whirl of social events. Falcon, it emerged, believed more strongly in casual approaches to those he sought to question than in formal interviews. Victoria was learning more about her husband with each passing hour, and her respect for his intelligence and instincts grew enormously.

That he was a strong man with a powerful sense of right and wrong she knew; his persistence in the years-long search for a stolen shipment of Union gold made that obvious. He was sensitive enough to be highly aware of loyalties that couldn’t be interfered with, and so refused to press her brother, Jesse, with questions about Captain Tyrone. His devotion to his forceful family was strong despite his infrequent visits home, yet he could, with a dry amusement, send a laconic telegram to Killara that stated: Lawfully wed. Falcon. And he was independent enough to subsequently ignore wires from his incensed father demanding more details.

Victoria, who had a keen desire to meet the family that had helped shape her man, cultivated her own brand of Delaney stamina and claimed her place at Falcon’s side, ready at an instant’s notice to go wherever his trail would lead.

Not that Falcon complained. In fact, one of her greatest joys lay in the understanding that once a woman won her place at the side of a Delaney man she belonged there always in his view. His past warning to the contrary, she discovered very early in their marriage that Falcon wasn’t the kind of man to send his wife home to his family while he cheerfully went on with his job.

And since the last months had shown him quite clearly that she was a strong, intelligent woman with an innate sense of justice and the will to take matters into her own hands, he never hesitated to share the baffling questions and discuss possibilities with her.

He had made it clear that the ranch in New Mexico, left to her by her first husband, Morgan, was hers. If, when this job was completed, she wanted that to be their home, fine; he would help her in the running of it, and it would be left, in due course, to their children. It wasn’t, he had said with a secret amusement, a part of the Delaney spread in Arizona, and his father wouldn’t be allowed to annex it to add to the already vast family holdings.

When she was told that, Victoria was conscious of an even more intense interest in meeting the Delaney patriarch, realizing Falcon anticipated an argument with his father. More, she believed, Falcon looked forward to it.

Strong men, she thought in amusement, bred strong sons. And in Falcon, Shamus Delaney had bred a maverick, as stubborn and fiery as he was himself. He had passed stubborn Delaney traits to all his sons to varying degrees, Falcon had told her wryly.

Victoria foresaw an engaging meeting with her new in-laws and was untroubled by it. In the meantime, she had sent a telegram to the ranch saying that all was well, and that she would be returning in time. A more private communication in the shape of a long letter went to Morgan’s manservant and friend, Galen, in which she told him everything that had happened these last weeks.

She was content to be with Falcon, grateful that they had found each other, that their love had survived much that could so easily have destroyed it. And she had found that her second marriage, a real and complete one, was all she had ever hoped for.

“You look beautiful tonight, sweet.”

She smiled at the murmured words, her loving eyes resting on the tall, handsome figure of her husband. “I thought wives had to learn to do without compliments,” she said, amused.

Falcon carried the hand he was holding to his lips, his green eyes warm and steady. "My love, they'll be putting me in the ground before you stop hearing them.”

Recognizing the look in his eyes, she tucked her hand firmly in the crook of his arm and said, "We came here tonight so that you could talk to those men on the list. They’re all here, and there will never be a better time. That’s what you said.”

Falcon sighed as they strolled through the warm, gleaming lobby of the Willard Hotel. "I meant it, at the time,” he said with a touch of wistfulness. "But then your gowns came from the ranch, and you chose this black one to wear tonight. It brings back several— interesting—memories, sweet.”

Victoria felt her cheeks warm, and smothered a laugh. A great deal had happened the night she had first worn the black gown, and not all were happy memories. But she knew very well which memory Falcon was referring to. "You must ask your questions,” she told him serenely.

"For some time now I’ve been wishing that gold was in hell,” he said dryly, and though both knew he half meant it, they also knew it wouldn’t stop him from asking questions and seeking long-elusive answers.

"There are Mary and Leon,” Victoria said as they entered the ballroom to find a glittering assemblage of Washington society enjoying themselves. She gestured slightly, indicating a couple standing near the doorway.

"Umm. I need to talk to Leon alone,” Falcon murmured, "before I approach the other men.”

"He’ll be expecting a report, won’t he?" Victoria asked as they made their way toward the other couple, knowing now that Leon Hamilton was the man who had assigned Falcon the task of finding the gold years before.

“Yes. And since he wasn’t in New York when we returned, he won’t be surprised to see me here. However, he may well be surprised to learn I’ve married since he last saw me.” Falcon sounded amused.

And Leon was, though his wife, Mary, sent Victoria a look that was far less surprised. “I knew it,” she said happily, embracing Victoria and kissing Falcon’s cheek. “I told Leon after you both left New York that it was just a matter of time.”

Falcon, thinking of everything that had happened since, grinned faintly. “That’s what it was, all right. I had to chase her all the way to Texas.”

“Texas!” Leon looked at him narrowly. “You told Andrew you were heading for New Mexico.”

“Yes, well, things happened.” Falcon shook his head, remembering. “I needed to talk to you in person, but this is the first chance I’ve had.”

Leon nodded, his gaze revealing his curiosity. “Fine. Ladies, if you’ll be so kind as to excuse us?”

“We always do,” Mary said with a long-suffering sigh.

Victoria smiled at her husband. “We’ll be fine.”

Falcon kissed her cheek and said for her ears only, “Don’t dance with anyone under seventy, or it’ll be pistols at dawn.” She laughed as he winked, then watched him leave with the older man.

“Well?” Mary Hamilton demanded.

Victoria looked at her innocently. “Well, what?”

Mary laughed.

In a small room down the hall from the ballroom, a frowning Leon faced Falcon. “You told Andrew you were going into New Mexico with a warrant for Morgan Fontaine’s arrest. As far as I can determine, the warrant was never served. Now you say you went to Texas—and you show up here married.’’

“To,” Falcon said softly, “Morgan Fontaine’s widow.” Leon blinked. After a moment he said, “So Fontaine’s dead. Was he the one we were after?”

“Yes and no.”

“Would you care to explain that?”

“It’s simple enough, as far as it goes. Fontaine and those with whom he conspired did commission the transport of the gold via Captain Tyrone’s blockade runner. But then something happened; my best guess is that neither Fontaine nor Tyrone could stomach what was apparently an assassination plot against Lincoln. Instead of that group of men getting the gold, Tyrone apparently delivered it directly to Fontaine, who took it all the way to Texas and buried the chests in the graveyard of an old mission.”

“You found the grave?”

“Thanks to Victoria, yes.”

“But ... no gold?”

“That,” Falcon said ironically, “would have been too easy, wouldn’t it? No gold. The chests were there, but empty. And as far as I could tell, the grave hadn’t been disturbed in years.”

“Fontaine must have gone back—”

“No, Victoria’s certain he didn't, and I agree with her. Fontaine didn’t need the money, and once he buried the chests he never went back.”

Leon was frowning even more heavily now. “Then one of the others.”

“Of that list of men only three survived the war. Morgan Fontaine was killed—tortured to death—by the other two. Obviously, they didn’t know where the gold was hidden. Both were later killed before the grave was found.”

Leaning back in his chair, Leon lighted a cigar and brooded for a moment. “Tyrone,” he said at last.

“It’s the only trail left. About two years after the gold was stolen, Tyrone anchored his ship in Charleston Harbor and went inland. I don’t know how far inland, but I believe he had time to go to Texas. Did he get the gold? I have no idea.”

“Where is he now?”

“
The Raven
left New York a few days ago and headed south.”

“Destination?”

“I haven’t been able to find that out.” Falcon decided not to mention Jesse; Leon was single-minded when it came to getting answers and was unlikely to appreciate the niceties of behavior that had kept Falcon from questioning his new brother-in-law.

“You’ll have to find him.”

“Yes.” Falcon studied the older man, then said slowly, “I had a look inside Tyrone’s office at the waterfront a few days ago.”

“Don’t,” Leon said, “tell me how you got in.”

“Right.” Falcon grinned, then sobered. “Anyway, I found a ledger dated 1863. On a page headed by the month of April, there was a word, heavily underlined, and a list of names.”

“What word?”

“Camelot.”

Leon went very still, his eyes narrowing. After a moment he said slowly, “That’s interesting.”

“Your name was on the list, Leon.” Falcon had been following no more than a hunch, but now he felt an odd leap of his senses as he took in the older man’s blank expression and the guarded look in his eyes.

Leon smoked in silence, then shook his head. “You’re on the wrong track, Falcon. That can have nothing to do with the stolen gold shipment. Nothing at all.”

“I think it does.”

“No. You’re wrong.”

“Was Camelot a code name?”

Leon ignored the question. In a slow, careful tone, he said, “Something happened, something Tyrone took part in. But it was before the gold was stolen, and there’s no connection.”

Aware that Leon would dig in his heels and refuse to say a word if he was pushed too far, Falcon probed cautiously. “Why did Tyrone write down the names of those involved?”

“He shouldn’t have done that. It was reckless of him.”

Falcon, who thought privately that Marc Tyrone was one of the least reckless men on earth, saw a different answer. “Was it? Or was it, perhaps, Tyrone’s way of safeguarding himself—because something went wrong?”

Leon’s mouth tightened. “You’re guessing.”

“I have the other names, Leon.”

“You won’t question them.” Perhaps realizing that Falcon had stiffened, Leon went on more calmly. “Look, Falcon, you’ll have to trust me. Camelot is not connected to the gold. It was, however, a ... a sensitive issue at the time, and still is. If you go poking around and asking questions, you’re going to disturb the men involved for no reason.
No reason
. It’s a closed book, and I mean it to stay that way.”

“I don’t like this, Leon.”

“No, I don’t expect you do. But facts are facts. There’s no sense stirring up a hornet’s nest when it would bring you no closer to finding the gold.”

After a moment Falcon relaxed and smiled. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I've been wrong.”

Leon felt uneasy, and tried to read those enigmatic green eyes. For the first time, he questioned his own wisdom in setting a determined Delaney on the trail of lost gold. “You won’t question the others?” he asked a bit sharply.

Falcon absently adjusted the leg of his trousers, his eyes veiled. “As you said. There’s no sense in stirring up a hornet’s nest.”

“Good. Good.” He hesitated. Still uneasy, he tried to project casualness into his voice. “I suppose you’ll be trying to track down Tyrone now?”

“He’s the only one left.”

Leon nodded slowly. “Yes. Still, I can’t see what use he would have had for the gold. He was a wealthy man even then.”

“I know. Interesting, isn’t it? The only man who couldn’t possibly have needed the gold was likely the man who got it.” He was watching Leon intently, saw unease and worry.

Abruptly, Leon said, “If I took you off the case, you wouldn’t stop, would you?”

“No,” Falcon said quietly. “I wouldn’t stop.”

Leon said nothing more.

Much later that night Victoria sat brushing her hair while she watched her husband pace. “It’s really bothering you,” she said softly.

Falcon sighed. “It wouldn’t be if Leon had been less bothered himself. He’s so sure this Camelot has nothing to do with the gold, but whatever it is, he’s worried to death about it. I think he was shocked to find out that Tyrone had kept a list of names, had written down that code word. It’s almost as if .. .”

“What?” she prompted after several seconds of silence.

“As if Leon were afraid. I’ve never seen him like that. As if this Camelot had the power to destroy his life.”

“What if it does?”

Falcon paced a moment longer, then came to the bed and sat beside her. “I have to talk to Jesse,” he said reluctantly. “I have to find Tyrone. If there is a connection to the gold, then he’s it.”

“Which are you after?” she asked him. “The gold? Or Camelot?”

“Both now. Victoria, I’ve always trusted my instincts. And my instincts are telling me that if I find out what this Camelot is, I’ll know what happened to the gold.”

After a moment she nodded. “Then you’ll have to talk to Jesse. He’s the only one who knows where Captain Tyrone is.”

“I don’t want to do it,” Falcon said.