The Fall of Rome Read online

  “Noted. And now we’re undesirable due to our current reputations for drinking, brawling, and gambling.”

  “Actually,” Seth said, resting his forearm on the pommel,” the lower you sink, the more valuable you become.”

  “In this case, anyway,” London clarified. “Athens enlisted Boston and rode south to lay the groundwork. He wants you to tempt the devil out of hell.”

  “Using Miss Simmons as bait,” Seth added.

  Rome’s mind doubled back, then raced ahead. “You want us to lure a snake out of the grass by pretending to be a couple.” His gut twisted with deep-rooted jealousy. The betrayal. “Considering our short, but colorful history, only one man would care.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The Rincon Mountains

  Bulls-Eye Brady paused mid-shuffle. Irritated, he glanced from the deck of cards to the newest member of the gang. “Sit down, Cody. You’re getting on my nerves pacing like that.”

  “Can’t help it,” he said, spurs jangling. “Feel like a caged animal.”

  Brady’s hand fell to his six-shooter. “Want me to put you out of your misery?”

  The man stilled at the sound of a hammer cocking. He dropped into a vacant chair, a good distance from where Amos and Mule, two of the gang’s original members, sat playing five-card draw with their boss.

  Expressionless, the gambler-turned-outlaw holstered his piece. If he was going to kill Cody, he would’ve done it directly after the Southern Pacific debacle. He’d had good cause. But the gang was comprised of seven. There had to be seven. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t or wouldn’t inflict some pain, and Cody knew it.

  Brady shuffled and dealt, ignoring the ache in his wounded shoulder, enjoying the boost to his wounded pride. John P. Cody was a gunslinger, mean enough to reserve a seat in hell. Knowing he could manipulate the rowdy soothed his smarting ego. No one crossed him without suffering the consequences.

  Not even a woman.

  The recent train heist had been his first qualified disaster. He studied his cards--most notably the pair of queens, which caused him to fixate on two dark-haired bitches. One had dared to slap him. He’d struck back, a natural response. There’d been a river of blood and an unexpected uprising from a male passenger. Pulling a concealed weapon, the fresh-faced kid got off one shot before Brady cut him down. Stupid bastard was dead now, same as the feisty whore. Didn’t trouble his conscience none, but it did rile his temper. Killing a man was one thing. But a woman?

  The law would pursue him twice as hard.

  He blamed the other gal, the skinny one who’d refused to give over her damned necklace. What nettled more was the fact that Cody had hustled him out of the chaos before he’d had a chance to snatch the locket from her birdlike neck. Wasn’t the necklace that rankled as much as her defiance and the fact she’d complicated his life.

  It agitated an ancient gripe, festered as they escaped the ragtag posse and took refuge in the mountains. So much so, he’d sent Boyd and Itchy back to Yuma, the train’s final destination. If she thought she’d escaped him, she was dead wrong. Unlike the rest of his boys, Boyd and Itchy were weasel smart. They’d circulate in Yuma with relative ease, ask the right questions. Either they’d return as instructed with that necklace or news of the woman’s whereabouts. He knew the gang expected to ride for Mexico, but he wasn’t going anywhere until he got even. Unlike the charismatic cardsharp who’d once roped and hog-tied his heart, this wisp of a woman would bend to his will.

  “A week,” Cody complained. “We’ve been here a damned week?

  Mule took his time contemplating his hand. “What’s yer hurry?”

  “If we would’ve kept ridin’, we’d be across the border by now, drinkin’ tequila and sparking senoritas. Instead, I’m starin’ at your ugly puss, drinkin’ tonsil varnish.” He snapped his fingers at Amos.

  The seasoned outlaw tossed him the corked bottle of whiskey, then signaled Brady for three cards. “For a cooped- up cuss, his jaw’s gettin’ exercised plenty.”

  “Reminds me of someone else,” Mule said. “Least Elroy wasn’t bossy.”

  Brady had to agree. His cousin had more wind than a horse with colic, but he’d followed instruction without complaint. If he hadn’t crossed the gang by inadvertently flapping his gums to the wrong people, he’d be sitting here instead of Cody, and Brady would have that necklace in pocket. Back on the train, Elroy would’ve given him free rein instead of taking charge, no matter the risk.

  The four men rose, guns in hand, at the sound of two short and one long bird caw. A warning from their lookout--the cantankerous hermit who owned this secluded shack. Brady had bought his hospitality and silence before. It helped that the crotchety coot held a grudge against the law. His signal was clear. Visitors. Three seconds later, Snapper burst in, filling the decrepit cabin with nervous energy and a dose of afternoon sun.

  “Posse?” Brady asked.

  “Boyd and Itchy,” he countered. “But they ain’t alone.”

  He peered past Snapper through the open door, saw his men riding up, noted the trail-weary cowboy lagging behind, his horse lathered and winded. The man raised a hand in greeting, his index finger a knuckle shorter than the rest. “I’ll be damned.”

  “If that don’t beat all,” said Amos.

  Mule spit. “What’s he doin’ here?”

  Bulls-Eye wondered the same. He sidestepped Snapper and moved outside, intent on knowing what had caused his cousin to defy him. Elroy was a lot of things. Stupid wasn’t one of them.

  Boyd and Itchy dismounted first.

  “We rode up on him as he was ridin’ through the hidden pass. Couldn’t talk him into vamoosing,” Boyd said. “Woulda plugged him, but he’s your kin and . . .”

  “What?”

  “You’ll wanna hear what he has to say, boss,” said Itchy. Curiosity piqued, Brady noted his cousin, who, so far, had had the good sense to sit quiet. “What about you?” he asked of the men he’d sent off to Yuma. “What’s the news?”

  “Name’s Tori Adams,” Boyd said. “She’s an entertainer. A lawman’s escorting her to Phoenix.”

  “Specifically, and you ain’t gonna believe this,” Itchy said, “to London Garrett. Guess she’s gonna perform in that new saloon of his.”

  Brady clenched and unclenched his fists. The gang knew about his beef with the Garretts. Hell, they all had a beef. Rome and Boston had tracked them more than once on behalf of Wells Fargo. But Brady’s grudge ran deeper. Years ago, London Garrett had barred him from his family’s highfalutin opera house. The slight still rankled. But it was Rome whom he hated with a vengeance. He’d celebrated for three days and nights when he’d read Wells Fargo had fired the famous brothers. Had noted with interest the gossip regarding their current antics and whereabouts. Good to keep track of your enemies. Now it seemed a new enemy, Miss Tori Adams, was in cahoots with the old.

  Brady stabbed a fresh cheroot between his teeth. “Have me a mind to ride north.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Cody from behind.

  “You don’t want to go to Phoenix, Jed.” This from his cousin who finally slid from his saddle and approached real careful-like. “You want to ride south, to Casa Bend.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Not surprised,” said Elroy. “Barely a one-horse town.” Brady fired up his tobacco and studied the man through a cloud of blue smoke. Elroy had always been on the wiry side, but the man had lost so much weight, if he turned sideways, he’d disappear. His clothes were ratty; his boots wore thin. He was pert near unrecognizable. Killing him might’ve been kinder than kicking him out of the gang. Surely ill luck had plagued his cousin a good long while. “I’ll bite. What’s in Casa Bend?”

  Elroy had always been good for a tall tale and a laugh, but just now he was dead-dog serious. “Kat Simmons.”

  The name burned through Brady’s body, igniting dormant frustration and desire. He didn’t flinch, but his men gave him space. All except Cody. He didn’t k
now about Brady’s obsession with Kat. This past year, he hadn’t mentioned her name because he’d given her up for dead. It was that or go loco. Rumors that she’d married another man . . . Just thinking about it spurred murderous thoughts. “If you’re wrong, Elroy--”

  “I’m not, It’s her.”

  He turned to his men. “Get ready to ride. I want that necklace, but the skinny bitch will have to wait until I visit Kat.” Cody bristled. “Who the hell is Kat?”

  “Bulls-Eye’s woman,” Boyd said.

  “From what I’ve witnessed,” the gunslinger said, “a wink and a smile lands you any lady you want, Brady. What’s so special about this one?”

  She’s the only one who got under my skin. “That’s my business.”

  Cody gritted his teeth and glared at their boss. “So instead of making for the border, were going to risk our necks so you can make time with some skin and then swipe a stupid necklace?”

  Snapper whistled low.

  Brady snuffed his smoke. “Counting on you to lead the way, Elroy.”

  “You’re invitin’ him to ride with the gang?” Cody griped.

  “I am.” He glanced at his kin. “If he’s learned his lesson.”

  Elroy nodded. “I have.” Then he buttoned his lips.

  Unlike Cody. “But he’s a damned liability, slow on the draw, quick on the talk. Besides, you said it yourself, Bulls-Eye. The gang’s comprised of seven. Lucky seven. Don’t be an idiot.”

  Mule and Amos peeled away.

  Brady relaxed his bandaged shoulder and smiled. “You’re right, Cody. If Elroy comes along, we’ll be one too many. Admittedly superstitious, I’m the last one to tempt bad fortune. He pulled his iron quicker than hell could scorch a feather.

  “Bull’s-eye,” whispered Mule as Cody took a slug to the heart and crumpled to the dirt.

  Brady winked at Elroy, the man who’d offered up his most earnest desire. “Seven it is.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Santa Cruz Valley

  On the rare occasions Casa Bend felt like a prison, Kat saddled her horse and rode like the devil was on her heels. Which he was. Unless he’d given up. She prayed he’d given up, but given current developments she couldn’t count on it.

  Believing Frankie was safe at the convent for another few weeks, she’d telegraphed a law official in Yuma stating she could bait Brady out of hiding. The first time she’d divulged her real name in more than five years. He’d wired back, saying she’d be visited by a couple of top-notch bounty hunters posthaste. That meant any day now.

  Today, she’d been too anxious to tend bar, so she closed the Star and saddled Blaze. Kat gripped the reins, leaned low, her head ear-to-neck with her horse, and kneed the spirited creature faster. She raced along the Santa Cruz River, the circumstances that had led her to this moment crawling through her mind. Regret, shame, and anger pumped through her body like a runaway locomotive.

  She was so busy berating herself for her past mistakes, she lost track of the present. She didn’t hear or see the two oncoming riders until they were nearly upon her. Fearful Brady had materialized from her thoughts, she pulled up too hard and fast. Spooked, Blaze reared. Unfocused, Kat went head over back end. She landed in the grass with a bone-jarring thud. By the time she caught her breath, the men had dismounted.

  They closed in, their faces shadowed by their Stetsons, their bodies silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky. Judging from the attire and aura, they weren’t cowboys or sheep-herders. Rangers, maybe. Or Federal marshals. Even though she couldn’t read their expressions, she was keenly aware of their powerful confidence.

  The taller one offered her a hand up. “You alright, ma’am?”

  He didn’t sound threatening, but all the same she refused his help. “Backside’s bruised along with my pride. Other than that,” she said, pushing to her feet, “right as rain.” Mortified, was more like it. She brushed off her britches and smoothed damp curls from her flushed face. A gifted horsewoman, she hadn’t been thrown in a coon’s age. Frazzled nerves had made her sloppy. She shifted to make sure Blaze had settled and in doing so, locked gazes with the tall man’s friend. Dear God.

  “Hell’s fire.” He swept off his hat. “Kat?”

  No way, no how was she going to bluff her way out of this one. “Morning, Boston.” Boston Garrett. She couldn’t believe it. With the exception of numerous dime-novel sketches, she hadn’t seen him in years. Coincidence?

  Breathless, she scanned the area for Rome as the two were typically attached at the hip. She’d invested an awful lot of energy trying to remember how she’d betrayed him and trying to forget how he’d forsaken her. She could handle the days. It was the nights, the dreams of what had been, what was, what could never be, that tortured her soul. Even though Rome had broken her heart, she’d clung to the best parts of him. If she were ever to get on with her life in the romantic sense, she needed to let go of fairy-tale expectations. The newspaper article touting his scandalous fall from grace had damn near done the trick. Maybe seeing him in person would cinch the deal. Only the man was conspicuously absent.

  Dizzy with relief and disappointment, she palmed her forehead.

  The taller man steadied her.

  “I’m fine.” Because she had long ago mastered her poker face, he believed her.

  He removed his hat, revealing a head of barbered blond hair. He was handsome in a quiet way, gentler in manner than Boston. “You’re Katrina Simmons?”

  He looked so incredulous, she almost laughed. “Unfortunately.”

  “Athens Garrett,” he said, remembering his manners. He offered his hand again, this time in greeting.

  This time she took it, mostly to convince herself that these two were real and not figments of her crawl down memory lane. They were real all right. “The politician of the family,” she noted, fighting to keep calm. The only Garrett brother she’d never met, and now here they were in the middle of nowhere--face to face. Fate, her mind whispered as dread iced down her spine.

  “Former politician,” he said while surveying the area. Wasn’t a whole lot to see beyond the blue sky and wide open spaces, but he surely took his time. ‘You riding alone, Miss Simmons?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Convenient.”

  “How so?”

  “We were riding for Casa Bend in regards to your telegram.” He fingered the brim of his hat, studied her with kind green eyes. “Given the sensitive nature of the subject, the more privacy, the better.”

  Thrown for a loop, she dabbed the back of her hand to her moist brow. “Are you saying you’re the bounty hunters I was told to expect?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The bounty hunter portion’s a cover.”

  She stood riveted as he explained that he was the director of a new government agency. Her throat constricted when he stated the agency’s overall mission. If they intended to tame the West by tricking and trapping elusive outlaws, then surely a man as menacing as Bulls-Eye Brady was at the top of their list. Were the Peacemakers her and Frankie’s salvation? Were her days of running and hiding numbered?

  “I assume you heard about Brady’s latest train robbery,” Athens said.

  She curled her fingernails into her palms. “Read about it in the Arizona Weekly Citizen.” Unlike the article on Rome, she’d had no desire to read the awful report more than once. This time a woman had died. A woman who’d stood up to Brady. She’d mourned Victoria Barrow’s death. She’d also spent sleepless nights worrying that the incident had happened near Yuma. She’d worried that Brady was headed deeper into the Territory, closer to Casa Bend. Were the Peacemakers on Brady’s tail?

  “I heard he rode for Kansas,” she said. Barroom gossip. Wishful thinking.

  Athens shook his head. “We think he’s holed up in the region.”

  She crossed her arms over her roiling stomach, breathed deep. Various scents teased her nostrils. The smell of horses ridden hard. The smell of the swol
len river. The smell of confidence--the Garretts. The smell of fear--hers. They filtered through her system, reminding her this bizarre moment was real. “I haven’t been with Brady for several years.”

  “We know you headed east, then essentially dropped out of sight,” Athens said.

  “Brady and I didn’t part on good terms.”

  “So you thought it best to stay clear of the bastard,” Boston said. “Smart.”

  “If I were smart, I wouldn’t have gotten involved with him in the first place,” Kat said. She refused to show the extent of her shame and fear. Strong and steady. “I’ve tried hard to put the past behind me, but it won’t let me be.”

  “I sympathize,” Athens said.

  She wagered he had his own demons, given the flash of pain in his green gaze. A gentle soul, her instincts told her, with a guilty conscience.

  “So you’ve decided to go to war,” he said.

  She shifted and struck a confident stance. “I’ve decided to take a stand against a despicable menace.”

  Boston smiled. “Smart and brave.”

  “Not brave,” Kat countered. “Selfish.”

  “How so?”

  She pondered what to share. “I have a niece. Five years old. My responsibility. Brady’s obsessed with me, and I defied him. No telling what he’d do if...” she trailed off, not wanting to speak the unthinkable.

  “Having a five-year-old daughter myself,” Athens said, “I understand. What we have in mind--”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “You haven’t heard the plan.”

  “Being a politician, excuse me, government agent, I’m sure it’s clever. Men like you don’t play to lose. I’m in.”

  Boston studied her down-to-earth appearance. “You’ll have to slick up.”

  Time was, she’d take offense. Instead, she took Boston’s comment as a compliment. She’d worked hard to downplay her so-called beauty. Given her appreciation for frippery, initially the transformation had been a trial. These days she didn’t give her plain attire and lack of face paint a second thought, although her new persona had never felt completely natural. Blending with honest, hard-working folk had kept her safe, but it wouldn’t aid PMA in their quest to snag Brady. “In other words, you want Kat Simmons, not Jane Murdock.”