The Fall of Rome Page 6

  After acknowledging the delicious fare and toasting their absent host’s nuptials, Seth waded into personal waters. “So, Miss Simmons. When did you first meet Golden Boy over there?”

  She imagined the nickname vexed Rome and couldn’t help smiling. “Six years ago.”

  “Five years and ten months,” Rome corrected.

  “Not that you’re counting,” Athens said.

  “Got a mind for dates, is all.”

  His tone was matter-of-fact, but that he’d recalled their acquaintance so accurately troubled Kat.

  “Where’d you meet?” Seth asked, pushing her past the uncomfortable moment.

  “The Gilded Garrett. In addition to featuring premium theatrical performances, I heard some of San Francisco’s finest card players frequented the Gilded.”

  “So you met Rome at the tables?” Seth asked between bites.

  “Under the table,” Rome said.

  “I dropped a coin and it rolled under a faro table,” Kat clarified. “Thinking back, I’m sure I looked the fool scrambling to retrieve it while dressed in layers of fine satin.”

  “Must have been a coin of great value,” Athens said, forking shredded pork and peppers.

  “Only if you’re superstitious.” Kat drank coffee to dissolve the sudden lump in her throat. “My father gave it to me for luck.”

  Seth glanced at Rome, then back to her. “Let me guess. Rome was at that table, and when you crawled under, he was already there, coin in hand.”

  “Always coming to a lady’s aid,” Athens said.

  “A habit I’m trying to break,” Rome said, finishing off his steaming rice and beans. “Tends to end in misery. Mine.”

  Kat waited for a spiteful glare, but instead he smiled into his coffee. Laughing at his own misfortune? A glimpse of his old sense of humor? One of the things that had attracted her to him in the first place. She quickly turned her attention to her food.

  “Did he give it back?” Seth asked.

  Kat blinked.

  “The coin that rolled under the table,” Athens clarified.

  “I did,” Rome answered.

  “But a few weeks and several games of chance later, I gifted it to him. He needed it more than I did.” It had been an impetuous act, one she later regretted because she knew the coin meant more to her than him. Unlike her, he’d never produced the coin for luck, just stowed it somewhere. God knew where it was now. “Not that he’s superstitious.”

  “Interesting,” Athens said, trading a knowing look with Seth.

  Puzzled by the exchange, she added, “At least he didn’t used to be.”

  “Speaking of luck,” Rome said, seizing her attention. “How’ve you been faring at the tables lately?”

  “Luck has nothing to do with how I fare at the tables,” she said by way of avoidance. “Skill is on my side.”

  “Your confidence is reassuring,” Athens said.

  Only she wasn’t confident. She hadn’t participated in an actual game since purchasing the Star Saloon. Preferring not to talk about her present life, she steered the conversation back to the Garretts. “Speaking of skill, how’s London? Still dazzling the city and turning an impressive profit at the Gilded?”

  “London recently relocated to Phoenix,” Athens answered.

  “I’m surprised he trusted someone else to run the opera house in his absence. I recall him being a controlling man.”

  ‘You recall correctly,” said Seth. “Bossy. Domineering.”

  “Sounds like you don’t like the senior Garrett, Sheriff Wright.”

  “Like him fine. And, please, call me Seth.”

  “I expect Seth’s right fond of London seeing he hurried along his marriage to Emily,” Rome said. “I still can’t believe that sweet kid fell for this arrogant SOB.”

  Kat scrunched her brow. “We’re not talking about your sister’s friend, are we? Not Emily McBride. The preacher’s daughter?”

  “That’s my girl,” Seth said. “She’s with Paris now. Helping her to prepare for the arrival of her first child.”

  “Paris is expecting? But she’s so young.” She remembered Rome talking about his baby sister, a girl with spunk and a talent for music. Of course, they were all older now. Still, Kat’s recollection of Paris was rooted in the stories Rome had relayed, those of a mischievous, eccentric kid.

  “To our dismay,” Athens said, “she’s grown and married.”

  “To a good friend of mine,” Seth said. “Josh Grant.”

  “Small world,” Kat said. She looked to Rome. “Didn’t Emily fancy--”

  “She did and she doesn’t. My loss,” Rome said.

  Seth toasted him with his glass. “Good answer, Golden Boy.”

  Sensing a tethered animosity between those two, Kat stepped away from further talk of Emily. “So Paris is married. Given her musical aspirations, I take it Mr. Grant is artistic?” “Hardly,” Seth said. “Although he did inherit an opera house. Primarily, Josh is a lawman. These days he sheriffs a mining town in the foothills of the Superstition Mountains.”

  “Not far from Phoenix,” Kat said.

  “That’s right.”

  “So the Garretts have transplanted from California to Arizona.” Same as her. What were the chances?

  “First Paris,” Rome said, “then Athens and his kids. The rest of us followed. Nothing more important than family.”

  Kat’s stomach tightened. She felt the same way, in her own way. A way Rome wouldn’t understand. Not that she needed his approval. She eyed the decanter of wine. She hadn’t had a taste of liquor in years. But she remembered how it altered her mood. How it made her giddy and brazen and numbed negative emotions. She also feared it had contributed to her faulty memory that fateful night. She sipped coffee instead.

  “Your niece,” Rome said out of the blue. “How old?”

  “Frankie’s five,” Kat answered without making eye contact.

  “Bet she’s a cutie.”

  Now she glanced over. “Why would you bet that?”

  He shrugged, smiled. “All kids are cute. Even when they’re terrors. Especially little girls.”

  The observation warmed her heart. It also proved unsettling. Yes, she’d counted on his fondness of kids to advance her goal. She hadn’t counted on him being amiable. Where was the hostile man who’d greeted her at the door?

  “My niece,” he pointed to Athens, “his daughter, Zoe, is also five.”

  Kat arched a brow. “A terror?”

  “A handful,” Athens said. “Although not as cantankerous as my son, Zach, who’s nine. Luckily, Kaila doesn’t mind. In fact, she seems to enjoy the challenge.”

  “Kaila?”

  “Kaila Dillingham,” Seth said. “The beautiful and sophisticated Englishwoman he proposed marriage to.”

  Kat had read about Athens’s first wife’s tragic death in the newspapers. Killed in the midst of a train robbery.

  Just like Victoria Barrow.

  So that was it. She’d sensed earlier that Athens had a personal stake in thwarting Brady. Did he think Brady was responsible for his wife’s death? She’d heard Rome and Boston had tracked and dealt with her murderers. Maybe Miss Barrow’s death had simply opened old wounds. She prayed he’d find peace and happiness with the Englishwoman. She smiled across the table at the lawyer turned lawman. “When’s the wedding?”

  “Soon.”

  Rome grunted. “He’s been saying that for a month.” Athens wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’ll tell Maderia that we’ll clean up after ourselves. The sooner she’s out of earshot, the sooner we can get down to business.”

  Hot damn. Kat knew Athens’s plan for trapping Brady was pretty straightforward, but the sooner he dispensed the details, the sooner she could retire to her room. She didn’t trust Rome’s lightning-quick transformation. She resented the way it quieted her anger. The physical attraction was bad enough. She didn’t want to like him. Not even a little. Dangerous, her gut warned.

  “Good luck,” S
eth said to Athens. “Matt said Maderia has a problem with men in her kitchen.”

  Kat pushed away from the table while nabbing two empty plates and a serving bowl. “I’ll do it.”

  The men stood when she did.

  Rome eyed her with curiosity. “You’re going to wash dishes?”

  She smirked at his incredulous look. “Believe it or not, it’s another one of my skills.”

  “Since when?”

  Since trading one profession for another. “Let’s just say I’m a woman of many talents.”

  “Thought I knew them all,” Rome said quietly as she walked by, careful to keep her distance.

  Her pulse quickened at his flirtatious tone, but he didn’t render her weak in the knees. Not even when he flashed one of his devilish lopsided grins. No, sir. She didn’t trust this transformation one bit. Instead, she took enormous pride in knocking him down a peg. “You thought wrong.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Santa Cruz Valley

  They struck in the middle of the night.

  They didn’t find her at the saloon. Didn’t find her in the adobe out back. But they did find a daguerreotype of her pa. Proof enough for Bulls-Eye that Elroy hadn’t been mistaken. Up to that point Elroy had kept his fingers curled into fists, worried his cousin was going to rid him of a few more digits.

  Instead, Bulls-Eye took his frustration out on the bar-keep they’d found sleepin’ in the back room of the Star Saloon. “Ever see a man try to walk without his toes?” he’d asked after Amos and Itchy tied the buffaloed cuss into a chair and pulled off his socks.

  Elroy couldn’t decide if Pratt was brave or stupid. He was sure as shit tough. He didn’t scream when Bulls-Eye shot off his big toe, or even the next two after. Didn’t give up no information either. Bulls-Eye was getting more huffed by the minute, Elroy more squeamish. The front door slammed open, and Snapper stepped in draggin’ a clammy-faced poke by the scruff of his neck. A tin star hung from his sweat-stained shirt. “This,” Snapper said, “is what I guess passes as the law in this one-horse town. I’m guessing he serves more tax notices than justice. Came runnin’ down the middle of the street still strappin’ on his hardware. Lost hold of the buckle when Boyd sent a bullet whizzin’ past his ear.” Snapper wrinkled his nose. “Pissed his pants, too.”

  Elroy was happy for a reason to look away from the barkeep’s bloody stump.

  Bulls-Eye strode over to the piss-pants sheriff. “I’m looking for the owner of this place.”

  “Jane Murdock?” the man croaked.

  “If you say so.”

  The sheriff’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he looked over and saw Bulls-Eye’s handiwork. “Rode out two days ago with a couple of men.”

  The barkeep finally spoke. “Shut your trap, Gus.”

  “Fond of your fingers and toes?” Bulls-Eye asked the wide-eyed sheriff.

  The boy nodded.

  “Then I’d ignore Stumpy over there and flap your gums. Those men got names?”

  “Not that I caught, but one of them looked familiar. I’d swear he was one of--”

  “Dammit, Gus,” Pratt bellowed. “Shut the hell--” Bulls-Eye whirled and shot and, lickety split, Johnson Pratt was pushin’ up daisies. Leastwise, Elroy thought, he wouldn’t lose anymore toes.

  Bulls-Eye worked his bandaged shoulder, turned back to the twitchy sheriff. “You were saying?”

  “He looked like one of the Garrett Brothers,” he droned, eyes riveted on Pratt’s bloody corpse. “You know. One of those detectives from the dime novels.”

  The room got real quiet, and Elroy braced himself for an ugly moment. Bulls-Eye hated the Garretts, especially the one who’d seduced Kat first.

  “Fucking Rome Garrett,” Bulls-Eye said in an eerily calm voice.

  No doubt about it, Elroy thought. This is bad.

  “Overheard something about Tucson,” Gus spewed through chattering teeth. “A poker tournament. That’s all I know, mister. Swear.”

  Chewing over the information, Bulls-Eye tapped his revolver against his thigh. “I believe you, Gus. Take a seat.”

  The man wilted into a chair, and Elroy ventured out loud, “You don’t think they’re back together, do you, Jed? I mean, I didn’t see hide nor hair of Rome the night I was here.

  Didn’t hear no mention of him neither. From what I saw, Kat only had smiles for Pratt over there and . . .” He trailed off, his own stupid rambling echoing in his ears.

  “Thank you for the detailed report, Elroy,” Bulls-Eye rasped, plugging Pratt with a second bullet even though he was already dead.

  “Here it is!” Amos smacked a page of the newspaper he’d found on one of the tables. “Week from today. High-stakes poker tournament hosted by Foster’s Gambling Emporium.” “If that’s the case,” Itchy pointed out, “Tucson will be a hotbed of activity. One of them professional gamblers might recognize you from the old days, boss.”

  “Heard they got a real sheriff in that city,” Snapper said, throwing a smirk Gus’s way. “There’s a fort nearby, too. Not that I’m teilin’ ya anything you don’t know, Bulls-Eye.”

  “I hear you.” He nabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured a double. “Give me a minute.”

  While he sipped and thought on the matter, Mule burst through the back door. “Kept searchin’ her place like ya said, boss. Found a hidden drawer in the back of her wardrobe. Some dime novels featuring the Garrett Brothers in there, couple of newspapers--one running an article about our latest heist--and a bundle of letters from a Sister Maria.” He thrust out a folded missive. “This is the most recent.” Cheroot clamped between his teeth, Bulls-Eye nabbed the letter and read. “Niece, huh?”

  Elroy and the rest of the gang stood silent while their leader devoured three more letters. He looked as cool as a skunk in the moonlight, but Elroy knew better. He could see his cousin’s wheels turnin’. Could feel the intensity of his brewing rage.

  “You can relax, boys,” he said. “I won’t be goin’ after Kat. She’ll come to me.” He threw back the last of his drink, bundled the letters, and headed for the door.

  Snapper jerked a thumb. “What about Piss-Pants?” Bulls-Eye paused about six feet away. “You a betting man, Gus?”

  He swallowed. “No, sir.”

  “Bet you I can shoot that fly off the crown of your hat.” Before the man could counter, smoke curled from the nozzle of Brady’s gun.

  Blood spurted from the hole in between Gus’s eyes. “Oops.” Bulls-Eye tossed a quarter at the dead man’s feet as he walked out into the night.

  Elroy followed, thinking his cousin had turned a whole lot meaner this past year.

  CHAPTER 11

  Rincon Mountains

  Seth had waxed poetic about the sunset, but Rome was more taken with the sunrise. Maybe it’s because he’d seen so few. The few he had witnessed had been through bleary eyes. Whenever possible, he slept in. The only time he rose early was when necessitated by a case. He wasn’t the most hospitable person in the morning, or so he’d been told. Cranky from too little sleep and too much whiskey. Not to say he woke with a hangover every day, but he confessed to tying on a bear most nights.

  He hadn’t touched a drop since his pact with Him. Each day that passed, especially the nights, proved more of a challenge, but he’d be damned if he’d succumb. He’d never lost a battle of will in his life. Until he was certain he could partake in moderation without it becoming a nightly routine, he wouldn’t partake at all. As for the other habits he’d promised to purge--philandering and thinking of Kat---he figured he was on track in a roundabout manner.

  Hopefully, the Almighty would cut him some slack, seeing he’d given up one of them cold.

  This morning his head was acutely clear, and all manner of thoughts buzzed between his ears. Wide awake predawn, he’d risen and dressed. Restless and not wanting to wake the house, he’d gone out for a walk. The air was dry and cool, the deep blue sky a dramatic backdrop for massive clouds of red and orange, their edges tinged in explosiv
e gold. He’d stared up at the colorful phenomenon a good ten minutes before setting off down a rocky path flanked by saguaros, prickly pears, mesquite, and cottonwood trees. The quiet would be deafening if not for the crunch of his boots over rough terrain and his riotous thoughts.

  He kept thinking on the night before. Dinner with Kat. One thought dogged him throughout: She’s changed. Namely, she was more subtle. In appearance. In manner. In the past, she’d had a way of demanding attention, but last night she’d shunned the spotlight, preferring to talk about the Garrett clan. He wanted to know about her mysterious half-sister. How did she die? How did her husband die? When? Had Kat taken Frankie under her wing days ago? Months ago? Years? Where was her niece now? How had Kat looked after her while gambling at the tables? Did she resent the responsibility? When he’d asked about the girl, she hadn’t taken the opportunity to brag, so he assumed she wasn’t a doting guardian. Then again she was eager to entrap a murdering outlaw in order to protect the kid. That was a powerful indication of affection.

  His mind swarmed with additional questions. Why would Brady target the kid? Why did Kat break off with the man? Last night she’d refused wine. In the old days, she’d been as much of a drinker as he. She’d also been a night owl, staying up all hours and sleeping late. Self-indulgent, like him. Impetuous, like him. Cocky and flirtatious, exactly like him. They’d been the perfect match.

  Until a no-account sidewinder had slithered into their lives.

  Rome perched on a boulder and lit a cheroot. He savored the smoke and the knowledge that, if all went according to plan, he’d catch the rat that had continually eluded not only him, but also the Pinkertons and a passel of local lawmen for years. Snagging Bulls-Eye Brady, a man who’d robbed countless stages and trains and who killed without conscience, would be a personal and professional pleasure. It wasn’t wholly because the rat had seduced Kat--though that figured in heavily--but more that he and Boston had failed to apprehend Brady the two times Wells Fargo had assigned them the task. Rarely had they failed to get their man. Rarely had Rome been so motivated to set things right.