TWENTY
Clint went to bed thinking about Chelsea. She was young and pretty, had been wearing an apron most of the times he saw her. But when she came into the office wearing only a dress, he could see she had a nice body. Her hair was red, her eyes green, always a good combination.
He rolled over in bed, wondering if he would be overstepping his bounds, taking advantage of his host by going down the hall to Chelsea’s room. But hadn’t she invited him? Or had he misread her?
He didn’t think that was the case. After all, hadn’t Westin told him she was aggressive? And she was too good at her job to have been accidentally hip-bumping him all through dinner.
His other problem was, if he did go down the hall, did he bring his gun with him? What if he was in Chelsea’s room when Ben Randolph and his men showed up? If he came to Chelsea’s room with his gun, she’d just have to understand.
He grabbed his gun belt, slung it over his shoulder, and left the room to creep down the hall.
In his own room, Gordon Westin slowly undressed. This was the first time his boss had ever asked him to stay overnight, and he wasn’t comfortable. Was it only because of Clint Adams’s presence, or did Powell suspect something going on between him and Andrea?
Westin had a gun, although he wasn’t very good with it. It was small caliber and he carried it in his jacket pocket. Before turning in, he placed it under his pillow. He hoped he wouldn’t shoot himself in the head during the night.
Andrea Powell slept fitfully next to her husband. Usually she slept well enough, but tonight her lover was under the same roof with her husband. Westin’s presence made her nervous. She knew it was due to the fact that her husband wanted Clint Adams to stay, but what if he also suspected something?
She was afraid to sleep, fearing her husband would rise and do something foolish.
In her room, Chelsea Piper waited. Had she been obvious enough for Clint Adams? If he didn’t come, she was going to feel silly going to sleep in her flimsy nightgown.
She’d heard stories about Clint Adams, that he killed men and loved women. She knew he was there to kill men, but she was hoping she could convince him to give her some time.
It had been a while for her. She didn’t meet many men working and sleeping in Andrew Powell’s house. Westin might have been a possibility, but he took up with the boss’s wife. And the men she met the few times she went into town were filthy and mannerless.
She sat on her bed, waiting. As time went by, she started to feel foolish, but then a floorboard creaked out in the hall. She waited, listening, then heard some other boards. She knew from experience that someone was walking down the hall.
She kept herself from getting to her feet and moving to the door. If there was a knock, she did not want to seem too anxious.
But when the knock came, very gently, she hurried barefoot to the door, waited a moment, and then opened it a crack.
