Parrish Adams rolled out across his desk a well-used map of the Arizona territory and ran his lean finger across a section he had outlined in red. The irregularly shaped area stretched from Yuma up to Wickenburg and swung south past Tucson and toward the border. His territory. Or soon it would be. He might not hold deeds to all of it, but he would control all freight and passengers that moved across it. When he did he would control access to the rail lines that were scheduled to be built across southern Arizona.
He would be the most powerful man in the territory. And the richest. That alone, though, was not enough. He wanted to be admired and respected. He wanted his name mentioned in the same breath with those of men like Bill Cody and George Custer. That was the only reason he’d shown any restraint in bringing about the demise of the Gamble Line. He’d managed to get where he was by being smart, and not allowing too much tarnish to attach to his name. Theodor Gamble’s friends still kept an eye out for Teddy. He couldn’t allow the trouble she was having to be traced to him. As a safeguard he’d only sent men whose loyalty he could count on to make attacks on the stage, damned incompetents that they were.
Frowning, Adams rolled the map and angrily slid it into a lower desk drawer. The time had come for sterner measures. Luther’s capture had shown that he was only trading one risk for another by using men who were known to work, at times, for him. Loyal or not, there was the chance that someone would make the connection. Should Teddy Gamble get killed in one of the holdups—the thought appealed to him, but the complication of such an event did not—Adams couldn’t afford having the killers traced to him.
His expression clouded as he thought of Teddy. Damn her! She was trouble. She had him way behind schedule. He’d thought that a few holdups would scare her into selling out. But she was too stubborn for her own good. Making sure both doors were locked, he went to the safe concealed behind a wall panel. As was his custom, he made a check of the contents when the door swung open, found it met his satisfaction, then removed a bag of gold coins. He locked the safe then poured the coins into his hand and counted them. His backup plan for acquiring the Gamble Line would not come cheap.
The gold coins warmed in his hands before he returned them to the leather bag. Five hundred dollars. Enough to tempt Taviz and his gang of banditos out of the hills if they knew more was waiting for them. Taviz was Mexican, as were two of his gang. The other was a half-breed Apache who collected scalps. The four of them and their women lived up in the hills like a pack of animals.
Adams tossed the bag of gold in the air and caught it. He smiled to himself. Boyd could start off tomorrow to find Taviz. The money would bring him running, that and knowing he’d get to take a few Wells Fargo strongboxes. Taviz hated Wells Fargo. One of their agents had sent the Mexican to prison for several years. Since his escape he took his revenge on the company whenever the opportunity arose. Adams had used him a time or two before, when he needed help acquiring a piece of property from a reluctant seller, but there was no one alive who could say the Mexican was in his employ.
Yes. Adams laughed briefly. Taviz would enjoy this job. Short of killing Teddy, Adams meant to give him free rein to do whatever was necessary to bring the Gamble Line to a halt. When they were done, Wells Fargo would be pulling their contract from Teddy and she would be begging him to buy her out. But he wouldn’t have to then. All he’d need to do was pick up the pieces.
With the gold tucked in his pocket, Adams crossed to the saloon door and turned a brass key in the lock. Teddy Gamble had no business trying to run a stage company. But she had let her last chance for a buyout pass, and she had stood in his way far too long. Too bad she had never learned what a woman was good for, but maybe Taviz would teach her that. Adams pushed the door open and looked out in the saloon for someone to fetch Boyd. He was smiling, thinking just maybe he might get the chance to teach Teddy that lesson himself.
“Have one on the house, Sheriff,” he said, surprised to find that Blalock had stopped at the bar for a shot of whiskey. Usually the man was conscientious about not drinking on duty.
“Thanks,” the sheriff said, picking up his glass after Harley the bartender refilled it. While Adams barked an order to the old man who swept up the place, the sheriff ambled toward him, hoping Harley wouldn’t think to mention how long he had been standing at the bar or how many shots of whiskey he’d already had. He’d been trying, unsuccessfully, to dull the sting of Teddy’s words. He had only succeeded in making himself feel worse, but maybe being a little drunk would make the meeting with Adams more bearable. “I’ve got some news for you,” he said, trying to keep the distaste out of his voice.
Adams shut the door behind him. “About Luther?”
“No,” Blalock said. “About that stranger that came in on the stage. Justine kind of took a shine to him after that...experience. So I made a point of looking him up to thank him for what he did for her.” The irony of what the sheriff said didn’t seem to have registered with him but it did with Adams. He listened in stone-faced silence as Len Blalock continued. “Like I usually do of any stranger, I asked him what his business was in Wishbone.”
“He’s a gambler,” Adams said impatiently. He wasn’t interested in a rundown on the stranger. Gamblers came and went in Wishbone. He expected this one would too. “As good a one as I’ve seen,” he continued. “He was in here all morning. Right now he’s upstairs with one of my girls.”
“You’ll be glad of that,” Blalock said. “He’s got something you want.”
“I doubt that,” Adams came back, beginning to wonder if Blalock wasn’t getting soft in the head.
The sheriff gulped down the shot of whiskey he’d been holding, then looked Adams straight in the eye. Having had time to think about it, he had come to the conclusion that Adams’s buying into the Gamble Line was the best solution for everyone, except maybe Teddy. She would be ruined for sure, but there would be no more holdups and he wouldn’t find himself in the position of turning his head to the law anymore. Wanting his words to have all the meaning with Adams that they had for him, he spoke slowly and carefully. “He’s got Zack Gamble’s shares of the stage line.”
Adams’s dark eyes widened. “You’re lying.”
“I swear.” Blalock squeezed the tiny shot glass inside his fist, then fearing that in his anguish he would break it, set it aside. “He told me himself. He won them off Zack in a card game over in London. Then Zack up and died before he could cash in with him. He’s here to collect the money from Teddy.”
The news was too good to be believed and Adams’s skepticism slow to leave. “You’re sure about this?”
“As sure as I’m wearing this badge.” Blalock’s weathered hand brushed over the silver star pinned to his vest. “Don’t reckon he’d be too particular about who bought back those shares.”
Adams had started to pace the carpeted floor, his mind playing out scenarios of just how gratifying it would be to announce to Teddy that he was her newest partner. Seeing her face when he told her, watching her squirm when she knew she was licked, would be worth any price he had to pay. That the Frenchman was, at this very minute, upstairs in his saloon seemed a confirmation that this was meant to be. But then he’d always been lucky.
Adams’s pleasure over the prospect of getting exactly what he wanted did not dim his wits. The Frenchman had been in the Diamond for hours, which meant the sheriff had found out about the shares early in the morning. He smiled cruelly. “I suppose there’s a reason you took your time telling me about this.”
The sheriff nodded nervously. He sometimes suspected Adams could read his mind. And if he could he would know that the main reason he hadn’t come at once was that Adams made him feel like a two-bit errand boy. And because, in a sense, that’s what he was. “H-had to wrestle a couple of drunks out of the Brass Bell,” he stammered. “Then Jus—”
“Never mind,” Adams interrupted. “Unless Honor is more talented than I think she is, that Frenchman will be through with her by now.” He laughed, and smoothing his slicked-down hair, started out of the office through the back and private door. “I reckon he’ll be feeling real agreeable, too.”
He took the steep steps briskly with Blalock struggling to keep up. Honor’s gleaming red door was the only one closed. It was three rooms down from the stairwell.
Adams didn’t bother to knock.
“Get out! Oh—” Honor, who had been flopped back on the pillows of her tousled bed enjoying the sumptuous lunch Rhys had ordered, jumped to her feet when she saw who had thrown open the door to her room. “Sorry, Mr. Adams,” she mumbled, anxiously patting down her rumpled skirt as she twisted about, looking for the shoes she had kicked off.
“Where’s the Frenchman?” Adams demanded.
“He left.”
Adams shot an accusing glance at Len Blalock, who had hoped to have the pleasure of introducing Adams to the Frenchman. “I can see that.” His anger showed in every step, as Adams strode into the room. “How long has he been gone?”
Honor, using a toe to drag a high-heeled slipper out from under the bed, kept her eyes cast down. “A quarter hour. Maybe not that long,” came her weak reply as she nervously brushed a breadcrumb off one of the ribbons adorning her corselet. Adams didn’t tolerate the girls lingering upstairs after an “appointment”. “He—Somebody came for him.”
“Who?”
“That Teddy Gamble,” Honor said, deciding to take the role of a spurned woman. “Poked her head in the window and crooked her finger and he went off with her.” She worked one stocking-clad foot into the slipper she had managed to retrieve, giving her a decidedly unbalanced stance. “I made him pay for his time, mind you.” Feeling bolder at last, she lifted her head and thrust her hands on her uneven hips. “But it made me danged mad anyway, I can tell you.”
Adams, whose sour expression hadn’t changed since he’d entered the girl’s room, spotted the tattered corner of a dime novel protruding from beneath the nest of pillows where Honor had been reclining. On one side of the bed was a nearly empty luncheon tray. Her missing shoe was across the room against the washstand. She had obviously kicked it off when she crawled onto her bed.
“I can tell you’ve been suffering.” Adams turned his back. Not seeing his harsh face only made Honor’s fear of him stronger. “Might make you feel better to get downstairs and do what you’re paid for,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” She hobbled across to the washstand and retrieved her other shoe and hastily put it on. She tried to speak up, to offer an apology to Adams for all the wrongs he’d made her feel, but the words died on her lips and, dry-mouthed, she hurried out hoping there would be no retribution.
Len Blalock fared less well. Left alone with Adams he felt much as the girl had.
“I cannot abide anyone in my employ not doing what is expected of them.” Adams strolled around Honor’s room, poking at various items, lifting a silk scarf on the dresser, looking into the plain pine armoire, at the girl’s meager belongings.
“I didn’t know he’d tied up with Teddy,” Blalock offered. “I’d have come right to you but I had to take in those drunks—” Not acknowledging the sheriff, Adams strolled out of the room with the man following. “Teddy couldn’t have the money to buy back those shares,” erupted from Blalock, too fast and too desperately to gain the redemption he sought. “She’s near broke, I heard.”
The lamp had gone out above the narrow back stairs. Blalock heard the steady click of Adams’s steps as the man descended ahead of him. He heard, too, the echoing whine in his voice and was sickened by it, but, try as he might, couldn’t find within him the nerve to tell Parrish Adams he could no longer do his bidding. Instead he followed like a dog trained to heel at his master’s feet, wondering how many detestable things he would have to do before Adams was satisfied.
“You get that Frenchman in an agreeable state of mind and you get him to me,” Adams said. “Use Pete and Boyd if you need them.”
In the dimly lit back hall, with the shadows playing strangely on his lean face, Adams hardly looked human. Blalock, compelled to face him as he stepped off the last tread, felt a hard twist in his gut, a realization that he hadn’t been merely trading favors with Adams. He had sold out to the devil and there was no way to reverse what he had done. He understood now why the girl Honor had been so afraid. Adams was a man without mercy, the sort who took revenge on those who failed him.