The Fall of Rome Read online

  She shuddered. “Dangerous work.”

  “Important work.” He clenched his jaw. “That’s my point. It should have been enough. But it’s a thankless job. No meaningful recognition.”

  “No glory.”

  “That came with detective work. With tracking and apprehending outlaws. Boston followed in my footsteps, and between our unconventional tactics and outgoing personalities, we garnered attention and praise.”

  “I. M. Wilde dramatized your adventures, and dime-novel heroes were born.”

  “Worst thing that ever happened to me.” Not that he’d ever admit as such to Wilde. “Fame, for someone like me, works like a drug. The more you have, the more you want. The more you believe you’re invincible and above it all. In hindsight, I did a lot of things I’m not proud of. Whiskey soothed a smarting conscience.”

  “But you’re not drinking anymore, and you’ve also done a lot of things you should be proud of.” Kat reached over and grasped his hand. “The quest for glory may be shallow, but it was never your sole motivation, Rome. You said it yourself. You have a deep-rooted desire to save women from hurtful or dangerous situations. A natural inclination to defend the underdog. As a Wells Fargo detective, you battled the bad guys. Courageous, selfless work. So you got a big head. So you messed up.” Her cheeks burned, and he knew she was thinking about herself, too. “We all mess up.”

  He marveled at her compassion and cursed himself a thousand times for treating her ill their first time around. He stroked his thumb over her wrist, noted her racing pulse.

  “To err is human.”

  She quirked a tiny smile. “You and I just happen to be extremely human.”

  He laughed at that.

  She laughed, too, and he had a sudden and exhilarating image of her laughing and playing with a little girl. He could see it now. He could absolutely see Kat raising a child. He set the deck in the center of the table. “Cut. High card gets to ask a question.”

  “So now you’ll have a fifty-fifty chance of winning instead of twenty-eighty?”

  He grinned. “Cut.”

  She did and he did and--hell, yeah--he won.

  She rolled her eyes. “Ask away.”

  “Can I kiss you?”

  She blinked, opened her mouth, shut it, then, thirty-Godawful-long seconds later, spoke. “That’s your question?”

  He’d meant to ask about her niece, dammit, and he would. But . . . “Just now I have a fierce need to kiss the hell out of you. Not ‘for show.’ Not ‘for the good of mankind.’ For me.” His blood burned hotter when she pressed a hand to her heart. Was it beating as hard and fast as his? “So, yes. That’s my question.”

  “Ask again.”

  “Can I kiss you, Kat?”

  “Yes.”

  They shoved out of their chairs at the same time and collided. A clumsy, frantic meeting of two aggressive participants.

  Hands skimming, grabbing, stroking.

  Lips and teeth clashing, meshing.

  Tongues dueling.

  Her eagerness flamed his actions. He lifted her and pinned her between the wall and his hard, hungry body. He held her beautiful face captive as he satisfied his fierce need. He kissed her long. Slow. Thoroughly. He felt her knees buckle and bolstered his own. He kissed her still, feasting on her velvety tongue, drinking in her strong, kind spirit.

  She melted against him, moaning into his mouth, asking for more. He smoothed his hands over her body, wanting her naked and writhing beneath him. Restraint was hard won, his heart pounding with the almighty effort.

  Christ.

  More pounding. In his head. No. The door. Insistent knocking.

  He eased back.

  Eyes glazed, Kat rasped, “Don’t answer it.”

  “I say, Miss Simmons,” the voice called through the wood, “I’m looking for Mr. Garrett.”

  “Athens,” Rome and Kat groaned as one.

  Another rap. “Sorry for the intrusion, but I’m desperate for a word.”

  “Sounds important,” Rome said.

  “Go,” Kat said.

  “Not without regret.” He’d yet to move.

  She’d yet to shove him away. “Dinner. Later.”

  “Then the tables. Then--”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Fair enough.” He brushed one last kiss across her warm mouth then, cursing another knock, swept up his hat and wrenched open the door.

  Athens, dressed as Shakespeare, backed up to allow Rome space to breeze by. “This better be good, Sherman.”

  “It’s bad. I received a telegram from London.”

  Chest tight, Rome led his brother two doors down and ushered him into his room. He shut the door, then turned, heart filled with dread. “Is it Paris? The baby? What happened?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that,” Athens said, abandoning the English accent. “Manning’s dead.”

  “Fuck.” Rome’s lungs whooshed with relief. He punched Athens’s shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that. Dammit.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Fuck.”

  “You said that. Calm down. What’s wrong with you?”

  “You just scared the hell out of me.”

  “You’re usually made of sterner stuff.” Athens arched his fake bushy brows. “Catch you at a vulnerable time?”

  As a matter of fact . . . Rome placed his hat on the bureau. “Just tell me about Manning.”

  “Gunned down in a cantina north of Tubac.”

  “By whom?”

  “The owner of the place. Apparently they squared off. Both dead.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “No, it doesn’t. At any rate, London’s volunteering to ride to San Fernando in Manning’s stead.”

  “That’s where Boston stashed Frankie? This San Fernando?”

  “That’s where Kat stashed her. It’s a convent. A Mexican school for girls. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “No.” He should have asked about Frankie and stolen the kiss. “So Boston’s shacked up in a convent with a bunch of nuns and little girls?” He grunted. “Priceless. How’s he holding up?”

  “I haven’t heard from him. I tried to wire him about Manning, but according to the local operator, the telegraph office closest to the convent has been down for days.” “Coincidence?”

  “I’m hoping. Mr. Winters said the wires that far south are unreliable.”

  Rome frowned. “Inconvenient.”

  “To say the least.” Athens rocked back on the heels of his shiny boots. “About London.”

  Rome noted his brother’s tense expression. “You’re not keen on sending him south.”

  Athens took off Shakespeare’s pompous top hat and fingered the brim. “It’s selfish, but I’d feel better knowing he was in Phoenix looking after Zach and Zoe and Kaila.”

  “That’s not selfish, brother. That’s genuine concern. Family comes first.”

  “But Boston’s family.”

  “Boston can take care of himself. He can certainly handle a five-year-old girl.”

  “What about Brady?”

  Rome worked his jaw. “Brady doesn’t know about Frankie. He certainly doesn’t know about the Star Saloon or San Fernando. Kat covered her tracks. Hell, no one knew where she was until she reached out and made contact herself.”

  “You’re right,” Athens said. “No reason to believe Boston and Frankie are at risk.”

  Still something niggled. Manning dead. Wires down. “How far is San Fernando from here?” Rome asked.

  “A full day’s ride.”

  “Send Seth.”

  “Need him here in case Brady shows.”

  “Brady will show,” Rome said. “Trust me. When he does, I’ll handle him.”

  “Who’s to say Brady will ride in alone? In fact, I know he won’t. He never acts alone. The cowardly bastard surrounds himself with a gang to keep him safe.”

  “Bastard?” Rome poked a tongue in his cheek. “Colorful talk for you, brother. Now who’s acting
out of character?”

  “Never mind that. Just stick close to Kat.”

  “I plan on it.”

  “I’ll handle Brady.”

  “Over my dead body,” Rome said. “You’re not a gunman, Athens. You’re not . . .”

  “What?” The former politician folded his arms, angled his head. “Tough enough? Brave enough?”

  “Oh, for chrissakes.”

  “Ruthless enough?”

  Disguised as a foppish book peddler, Athens didn’t look like he could take a feisty barmaid, let alone an outlaw. Rome kept the observation to himself. In truth, he’d always admired his gentler brother for his cool head and intelligence. He’d never seen the man throw a punch, let alone draw a gun, but he didn’t doubt his nerve. He was one of the strongest people Rome had ever known. As far as he was concerned, his brother had walked through hell and survived. “Who are you really chasing, Athens? Bulls-Eye Brady? Or the ghosts of the bandits who killed Jocelyn?” Athens held his gaze, clenched his fists. “I should’ve been the one to track them down.”

  Rome cringed at the pain in his voice. “They would have killed you.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Boston and I are trained to track. When a man jerks his hardware, intent to kill, we’re conditioned to draw and fire without a second thought. You would have tried to talk them into turning themselves in.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Rome blew out a breath. “I’ll make you a deal. When the time comes, we’ll face Brady together.” It was a magnanimous gesture on his part, seeing he wanted to rip off Jed Brady’s limbs one by one.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Unbelievable.

  Hat in hand, Athens strode to the door. “Are you going to tell Kat about Manning?”

  “I don’t see any reason to worry her unnecessarily.” After a moment, Athens nodded. “Agreed.” He donned the hat, thumped the crown. “See you at the tables.” Then he affected Shakespeare’s vapid expression and sauntered into the hall.

  Rome palmed his forehead, thinking that the moment he gave up whiskey, his world had turned inside out. He thought about Kat two doors down. “And this is only the beginning.”

  CHAPTER 24

  The moment the door shut behind Rome, Kat slumped to the floor.

  Ten minutes later and still she sat--knees to chest, head bowed. That kiss had robbed her of her last defenses. So different from any kiss they’d ever shared. A connection she’d never felt before. She credited his willingness to share his innermost thoughts, his yearnings, his regrets. His shame. She’d learned more about him in one afternoon than she had in their entire six-month affair. Although, if she had asked those same questions six years ago, she had no doubt Rome would have changed the subject or waylaid her with sex, because back then she was his distraction from the real world. The uncomplicated, independent woman who didn’t need a man to make her feel secure and complete. Or so he’d thought.

  The illusion.

  The irony was that she’d become the woman he believed her to be in the first place. She’d learned to be independent. She’d simplified her lifestyle. She’d survived without a champion. She didn’t need Rome Garrett anymore.

  But she sure as hell wanted him.

  “I have to tell him.”

  They’d come to terms with the past and had discovered something beautiful in the present, but they had no future with her secret between them.

  He wanted to take her to bed and she wanted to go. She ached to know him in that way again. Only she knew it wouldn’t be the same. It would be better.

  It would also be dangerous.

  She couldn’t sleep with Rome, fully exploring the extent of their new emotional connection, only to walk away after they’d dealt with Brady. He felt more deeply, more keenly than she’d ever imagined. He’d bared his heart and she would not crush it. Again. So it meant putting hers on the line. Not in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined winning back Rome Garrett. But here it was, and chances were he would walk away from her again. Only this time, she wouldn’t blame him. Her heart would shatter beyond repair, but what mattered most was that he didn’t walk away from Frankie, not knowing.

  She raised her head and banged it against the wall.

  “Frankie isn’t my niece. She’s my daughter.”

  She’d never said the words aloud. They scraped her throat raw. It was as though she had never spoken the truth to protect herself from this very moment. Having to face that she’d denied a man his daughter. If that man was Brady, she would live happily with that knowledge. But if that man was Rome . . .

  I have to do the right thing, no matter how hard.

  She had to tell Rome Garrett that there was a fifty-fifty chance that he was Frankie’s father.

  The Cosmopolitan Hotel boasted a lovely dining area. The menu was limited, but the aromas wafting from the kitchens were heavenly, and Kat trusted whatever she ordered would be delicious. Not that it really mattered. She had no appetite.

  The evening ahead weighed heavily on her heart. Part of her ached to blurt out the truth and be done with it, but there was an old practice in the theater that her daddy had shared with her when teaching her the art of poker: Never share upsetting news with an artist before the performance. It would be cruel to dump life-altering news on Rome and then expect him to play the besotted lover in public. So she’d decided to wait until after they’d put on their show in the gambling den to tell him about Frankie.

  Meanwhile, her stomach gnarled tighter and tighter. Rome reached for his glass of lemonade. “Something wrong with your food, sugar?”

  Realizing she was toying with her mashed potatoes, she set aside her fork and forced a smile. “Just anxious about tonight.”

  He looked at her with tender regard. “The poker part or the after part?”

  “Both,” she answered honestly.

  He took money from his pocket and laid a generous sum on the table.

  Kat furrowed her brow. “What are you doing?”

  “Hurrying this evening along.”

  She noted his plate. “But you didn’t finish your steak.”

  He quirked a smile that pierced her heart. “I’m a mite anxious about tonight myself.”

  He rounded the table and helped her from her chair, his touch burning through the sleeve of her evening dress. She forced her legs steady as he escorted her past the curious diners and into the lobby. “How long do we have to stay out tonight?”

  “Long enough to cause a stir.”

  She swallowed, fighting hard to affect the persona of a carefree cardsharp as they stepped into the unusually balmy night. “I can do that.”

  He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Be warned, sugar, I’m going to take my time.”

  “At the tables?”

  “After.”

  Her heart pounded, knowing there might not be an “after” once she revealed her secret. But she hoped. Oh, how she hoped.

  She tugged at his arm. “Walk faster.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m hurrying this evening along.”

  He chuckled, but he did walk faster.

  The thick, muggy air was charged with sensual tension and the promise of rain. Thunder rumbled, an ominous sound that plucked every fretful cord in Kat’s body.

  Her pulse accelerated with each step, and her mouth went dry. Though she was very much aware of the potential disaster awaiting her once they retired to their room, her focus shifted suddenly to what would come before. Playing poker with professional gamblers. She scrambled to remember every scrap of advice ever offered by her daddy. The art of the bluff.

  Knowing when to check or raise.

  When to hold.

  When to fold.

  “You all right?” Rome asked, stopping shy of Levin’s Gambling Palace.

  “I’m nervous,” she said straight-out. “No offense, but it’s one thing playing poker with you for fun. This . . . What I have to do in there ... So much is at sta
ke.”

  The black sky flashed white, then boomed with a clap of thunder. She stared off, distracted by the approaching storm. “Frankie hates thunder,” she worried aloud.

  Rome turned her to face him. “You know, I’m curious as hell about this niece of yours.”

  Her stomach pitched. “I’ll tell you about her. Tonight. I promise. I just. . .” She glanced into the gambling den. “I need to get my head in the game.”

  He squeezed her shoulders. “You can do this, Kat.”

  “I know. I just. . .”

  “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  She did as he asked, her heart tripping when she felt something cool, round, and familiar pressed into her palm.

  “For luck,” Rome said. “Not that you need it.”

  She opened her eyes, choked back tears. “Daddy’s lucky coin. You kept it.”

  “I did.”

  Even though he thought she’d betrayed him. Even though he’d damned her to hell. He’d kept the coin she’d given him for luck. A coin she cherished. “Some part of you still loved me,” she croaked, “even when you hated me.”

  He stroked his thumb over her cheek. “Told you, Kat. I felt a lot of things, but never hate.”

  Would he be so forgiving tonight?

  She closed her fingers around the coin and squeezed. She smiled up at her fallen hero, envisioned passing the sentimental gift on to Frankie. “I can do this.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Phoenix

  A storm raged--both outside and in Victoria’s heart and mind. She sat on the plush sofa in London’s small but comfortable parlor, bundled in the gift he’d given her this afternoon. She’d been in a daze after he’d kissed her, her first kiss, a kiss she would dream about until the day she died, so she was befuddled when she’d turned to find the package he’d toted earlier resting on her bed. She was even more stymied when she saw the attached card was addressed to her.