The Fall of Rome Page 2

She’d worked hard to conceal her true identity. Changed her name. Altered her appearance, her demeanor. She’d bamboozled him at first--fresh faced and dressed down--but he knew that voice, that smile. Only now she was stingy with her good humor, reserving that playful grin for a well-heeled protector--six-shooter at his side, shotgun nearby. A big cuss with arms the size of a barrel cactus. Testing the barkeep’s patience by fishing for confirmation seemed foolhardy. Besides, there was no need. It was her. He’d bet his life on it.

  Bedded down and staring up at the stars, he contemplated the truth of it. His life was at risk. If he was wrong, Bulls-Eye would do worse than shooting off the tip of his finger like he’d done last time he’d messed up. If he was right... he’d win back his place in the Ace-in-the-Hole gang. Bulls-Eye was slick and ruthless, but he had one weakness--and Elroy had found her.

  His cousin had ventured into Arizona Territory twice before, and Elroy remembered well the chosen hideout. A cautious and superstitious cuss, chances were he’d taken refuge in that same spot. At the crack of dawn Elroy would ride hard for the Rincons.

  Yes, sir. After a year of misfortune, the future looked bright. “Hot damn,” he muttered to the moon. “I’m turnin’ back time.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Gila Gulch

  Boston’s parting words gave Rome food for thought. He feasted through the night and the better part of the morning, chewing on the rise and fall of the man he’d fought hard to become.

  Tracking outlaws and bringing them to justice, one way or another, was his calling. The passion bone deep and ages old. The skills that set him apart from his older brothers. Skills that made him feel worthy in their eyes and good about himself. As role models, they were damned intimidating.

  London, the eldest, had adopted the role of caretaker when their parents had died less than a year apart. He’d forfeited his own dreams, for family. Ran the inherited Gilded Garrett Opera House and ran it well, for family. He provided, he lectured, he guided. Never mind these days the siblings were grown and self-reliant. The man was a patriarch to be reckoned with.

  Athens was the mediator. The calm and wise one. The one who’d reasoned with an irate father, saving a then eighteen-year-old Rome from a shotgun wedding. The one who’d kept the brothers sane when their little sister, Paris, had run away to pursue a music career. The diplomat, the lawyer, the state legislator who, after losing his wife, retired from the political whirlwind to devote more time to his children. Athens--the saint.

  When the Lord passed out selfless qualities, Rome had been loitering near the end of the line flirting with an angel. London had a tight rein on his emotions, his temper, and his sexual urges. Rome did not. When it came to dispensing justice, Athens preferred brains to brawn, words to guns. Rome did not.

  He was hotheaded and fearless, a tad reckless and a lot fond of women, whiskey, and cards. He craved attention, adulation, and fame. He was more his theatrical parents’ offspring than any of his siblings, except for Paris. Paris, however, had conquered her aversion to matrimony. Rome had not.

  He worshiped women. But he didn’t aim on hitching himself to one . . . ever. Hard to promise his heart to a lady when a she-devil had blown it to hell. Just thinking on Kat and their last few days--the lies; the betrayals; the angry, hurtful words--churned his innards.

  He sat up on the cot and stuffed down the ugly emotions.

  When tender ones welled, he stuffed those, too. “Dammit.” Now his chest pained him as bad as his head. Too much whiskey. Too much recollecting. Soul searching was downright painful.

  The front door slammed open and closed. People stirred. He heard multiple voices, though he couldn’t make out the words. Must be Gaffey and a couple of his boys come to avenge Wild-Man Dan. Would Marshal Burke allow them to drag him off and hang him vigilante style? Or would he insist on a trial? Seeing most officials these days were crooked enough to sleep on a corkscrew, innocent or not, Gaffey could still get his way via a public necktie party. One thing was certain, Rome wouldn’t leave this world without a fight.

  The afternoon sun blazed through the lone, barred window, shedding light on his surroundings and lending clarity to his predicament. Arrested for killing a desperado. Locked up for aiding a defenseless woman. Alienated from Boston, the only brother who actually looked up to him. Damn. He hadn’t thought he could sink lower than having his sexual indiscretions publicized.

  He’d thought wrong.

  “Mucker”

  The voices in the other room rivaled the one in his head.

  He massaged his throbbing temples and made a pact with Him. If he got out of this alive, he’d purge himself of his bad habits.

  Philandering.

  Whiskey.

  Thinking of Kat.

  The connecting door slammed open.

  His head snapped up. “Hell.”

  London Garrett’s grey mood blackened when he saw the subject of Boston’s tirade locked up, just as he’d said, looking ragged as a gambler on a losing streak. A far cry from the dapper, cock-assured Rome the family accepted and loved. His fair hair was long and unkempt. His eyes were bloodshot and his jaw shadowed with a week’s growth of stubble. His handsome features had been considerably compromised, by lack of sleep and overindulgence.

  He’d known Rome’s pride had taken a powerful hit, his reputation and career shredded, but he’d assumed he’d bounce back after letting off steam. Apparently he didn’t know his brother as well as he thought he did. London tucked away his concern, handling the situation as he and Athens had agreed. “You look like shit.”

  The tarnished dime-novel hero rubbed his hands over his face, transforming his haggard expression into one of shining amusement. “That’s a helluva salutation.”

  “Apologies.” London removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh, stirring up a cloud of trail dust. “Morning . . . you selfish son of a bitch.”

  “You could kill a man with that sarcasm of yours,” Rome said with a wry grin. “Deadly as ever.” He neared the iron bars, his normally fashionable attire wrinkled, his breath reeking of liquor. The smile slipped. “Guess Boston rode over to Phoenix.”

  “Good guess.”

  “Tell you what I’m in for?”

  “He did.”

  “Tell you I chased him off?”

  “Told me you’re a horse’s ass.”

  “Guess you didn’t correct him.”

  London hitched back his duster, braced his hand on his hip. “Here’s the deal.”

  “You mean the lecture.”

  “Marshal Burke wants you gone. He knows who you are. Knows you’ve got brothers in Phoenix--one with political connections. Knows you’ve got ties with Josh and Seth.”

  Rome grunted and London knew it was due to his volatile relationship with the latter two. Joshua Grant was their brother-in-law. Josh’s friend, Seth Wright, married their sister’s best friend, Emily--a woman the brothers considered family--which made Seth as good as kin. Both formidable and respected lawmen. Both Territory locals. Both at odds with Rome’s quick temper and questionable peacekeeping tactics. Regardless, they’d stand up for him... or catch hell from their wives. A body, especially a bootlicker like Burke, wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of two Arizona Rangers turned frontier peace officers. He’d told Boston to fetch the county sheriff--Seth--to escort Rome away from Gila Gulch and a bad sort named Newt Gaffey.

  “Burke knows you shot that dove-beater in self-defense,” London continued. “He doesn’t want trouble should anyone try to prove different.”

  “So why am I still standing on the wrong side of these bars?”

  “‘Cause I’ve got a stipulation.”

  “Christ almighty, London.” He pushed away and smacked the wall. “I’m not a damned kid anymore.”

  “Then stop acting like one.” London tamped down his temper, something that proved unusually difficult these days. Athens was the diplomat. This was his plan. But instead of negotiating the deal, he’d sent his older brother
to play the bad egg while he rode off with Boston to play hero. One way or another London was always looking after a sibling instead of seeing to his own life. Not that he generally minded. Just lately.

  “You got a raw deal in the Smith case,” he went on. “But it could’ve been worse.”

  “The cuckolded blowhard could’ve shot off the family jewels.” Rome grunted. “You’ve mentioned a time or four.”

  “Life’s what you make it, and you’re making a mess. Wouldn’t care if you weren’t family. Wouldn’t care if our sister--”

  “Is Paris alright?”

  “Depends on your definition of the word. She’s worried sick over your descent into idle carousing. Given her delicate condition, that’s unsettling, wouldn’t you say?”

  To his credit, Rome averted his gaze. “Didn’t mean to upset her.”

  “Guess you didn’t mean to upset your niece and nephew either.”

  He came as close as the bars would allow. “What’s wrong with Zoe and Zach?”

  Rome had a soft spot for those kids, kids and women in general. London didn’t shy from using the knowledge to his advantage. “The other children in town are teasing them about your publicized drunken brawls. Zach earned another black eye defending your honor. Zoe’s refusing to attend church. Can’t imagine how they’re going to react when they get wind of this mess.”

  “I didn’t want to venture too far from the region. Wanted to be near when Paris gave birth.” He massaged the back of his neck. “I’m in a bad place, dammit. And I’m not talking about this cell.”

  “Stow it.” London hardened himself to the shame in Rome’s eyes. His brother was a good soul, but a troubled one. Too arrogant. Too stubborn and impulsive. He needed direction because he was sure as hell lost. “Gossip travels. Like I have to tell you.”

  “Would you just give me the damned stipulation so I can get out of this stink hole?”

  London rocked back on his boot heels, preparing to deliver the humbling blow. “Think of it as redemption.” Rome narrowed his eyes. “What do I have to do?” “Reunite with Katrina Simmons.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Time crawled as Rome processed London’s stipulation. His breathing slowed. His pulse ceased. A thousand images of Kat in action--at the tables, on horseback, in his arms, in another man’s bed--exploded in his mind. Vivid, bittersweet shards that cut deep. His entire body ached. “What the hell for?”

  “For the good of mankind.”

  “You’re joshing me.”

  London arched a brow.

  “Well, hell.” Curiosity demanded details. “Define reunite.”

  “To resume your relationship. At the tables and behind closed doors. Strictly for show. Just long enough to lure a snake out of the grass.”

  Adrenaline jolted his seized vitals. “Deal.”

  “Simple as that?”

  “Like I’m going to turn my back on mankind,” Rome drawled, tongue in cheek. Not to mention the opportunity to exorcise Kat from his being. He’d reached a turning point in his life, and he couldn’t move forward in any direction until he’d dealt with the past. Man to she-devil.

  But concerns still tumbled through his whiskey-addled mind. “Last I heard, Kat married a city slicker and settled back east.”

  “You heard wrong.”

  “About the marrying or settling part?”

  “Both.”

  “Huh.” He gripped the bars, steadying himself as the news rooted. He hated that she could shake his world after all this time. “How do you fit into this? Personal vendetta?”

  “In a way.”

  “Not like you to be so cryptic. It’s irritating.”

  “My heart bleeds.”

  Rome fought to wrangle his stampeding emotions. Facing the man he looked up to from the wrong side of justice was near as vexing as learning Kat was still free and this side of the Mississippi. “Why Kat? You used to complain she was a troublemaker back when she gambled at the Gilded Garrett.”

  “She was.”

  “What, then? You want her to breathe life into that new saloon of yours?” London had sold a thriving opera house and moved from San Francisco to Phoenix in order to be closer to their sister as well as Athens and his two kids. The saloon he’d purchased--Last Chance--was small and rustic and boring as a church social compared to the Gilded Garrett. Before the man could answer his first question, Rome asked another. “Who’s the snake?”

  London tossed a meaningful glance toward the outer office. “What I’ve got to say needs saying in private.”

  The implied secrecy pumped Rome’s adrenaline. Questions burned, but he doused them while London called for the assistant marshal to unlock the cell. Once they entered main office, however, one question slipped free. “What are you doing here?”

  He hadn’t expected to find Seth Wright conversing with Burke. London hadn’t mentioned the pain-in-the-ass lawman coming along, and Rome wasn’t pleased. Though they acted on the same side of the law, they’d knocked heads more than once. He expected a spark of disapproval when he met the lawman’s gaze, and that’s exactly what he got.

  “You’re in my custody now.” Seth barely spared him a glance before touching the brim of his hat, bidding the marshal farewell. He scooped up Rome’s holster and made tracks. “Let’s go.”

  “You telling me I’m still under arrest,” Rome grit out as they hit the boardwalk.

  “Protective custody.” Seth looped the holster over the horn of his saddle, then untied his bay from the hitching post and mounted.

  Saddled and waiting, Rome’s horse pawed at the dirt, anxious to get going. Rome commiserated. He mounted the spirited mustang, London swung on his sorrel, and the three men rode for the outskirts of Gila Gulch.

  “How’s Emily?” Rome asked while keeping his eyes peeled for a vengeful rancher.

  “She’s visiting with your sister for the next couple of weeks,” Seth said.

  “Then she’s on top of the world,” Rome said. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I pity Josh.” Paris and Emily were a heap of trouble, doubly so when together.

  “Figure it will toughen him up for when the baby comes along,” Seth said with a wicked grin. “Any offspring of Paris’s is bound to be an ornery cuss.”

  London grunted, but they all knew Seth spoke the gospel.

  Done with pleasantries, Rome fell silent, though his mind jawed plenty. He tugged down his hat, shielding his eyes from the sun as he scanned the desert landscape. A variety of prickly cacti and random mesquite, but not a man--present company excluded--in sight. “What exactly are you protecting me from? I don’t see hide nor hair of Gaffey and his lynch mob.”

  “That’s because we stopped by his ranch on our way to town,” London said. “Had a talk.”

  “Real polite,” Seth added. “Over Arbuckles.”

  “I can fight my own battles,” Rome said.

  “Save your energy, Golden Boy. You’re going to need it.” He tossed Rome his holster and gun, implying he had worries other than the big bug rancher.

  He reined Stargazer to a standstill and buckled his hardware around his waist.

  London and Seth reined in on either side.

  He glanced at his brother. “This thing that needs saying, I’m guessing Seth already knows.”

  “He does.”

  “Then let’s hear it.” He indicated the wide open desert. “Don’t get more private than this.”

  London kneed his muscled sorrel closer, as if the cacti had ears. “Athens is heading a low-profile crime-fighting agency funded by the government.”

  “Come again?”

  “Shocking, but true,” Seth said.

  Rome focused on London. “You’re telling me our tolerant, diplomatic, nonviolent saint-of-a brother is in charge of an elite government agency?”

  “The Peacemakers Alliance.”

  “PMA’s mandate is to investigate hard-to-solve cases. To tame the West,” Seth put in. “Personally assigned by President Hayes, Athens i
s the brains behind the outfit. The coordinator and strategist.”

  “Granted, he’s as smart as they come,” Rome said, swatting a fly from Stargazer’s ear. “But that’s book sense, not trail sense. Athens knows diddly about tracking and apprehending outlaws.”

  “That’s why he’s surrounded himself with the best of the best,” London said. “Trusted advisors, a personal assistant, and a team of field agents. Former Rangers and lawmen with a flair for espionage. Men who don’t think twice about bending the rules to dispense justice.”

  “Playing loose with the law, huh?” Rome slid a glance at Seth. “Not your style.”

  “It was for a spell. Fed up with the judicial system, I signed on. Then I met Emily.” He smiled, the same stupid grin Josh wore when he talked about Paris. “Realized I can make a difference while sticking to my own moral guns. That means maintaining order on the local level, within the written law.” Knowing Seth detested murderers and thieves same as him, Rome raised a brow. “But you’re still backing PMA.” The man nodded. “Serving as an advisor. Josh, too.”

  “And you?” Rome asked London.

  “The Last Chance is a front for PMA headquarters.”

  “So Athens brought you into this, too.”

  “My reputation as an upstanding businessman puts me in the unique position of obtaining valuable information and making arrangements on the sly.”

  “You’re working undercover?”

  “As the need arises,” London said.

  “If that don’t beat all.” Rome sleeved sweat from his brow. What else had happened while he’d been getting his ass kicked due to the Smith affair? “How long has PMA been up and running?”

  “Nearly two months,” Seth said.

  “Yet this is the first I’m hearing about it.”

  “It’s a semi-covert operation,” London said.

  “I can’t be trusted with sensitive information?”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “Comes natural,” Seth teased.

  “Go to hell,” Rome said, his mood worsening as he absorbed the revelation.

  “Athens recognizes you and Boston as top-notch detectives,” London said. “But when he organized the team, you were high profile. First the dime novels. Then the scandal.”