Darby: Bride of Oregon (American Mail-Order Bride 33) Page 5

  She’d mentioned, only a week ago, that it had been a long time since Harrigan had sent her any gifts. They’d laughed about it then. But maybe they should have seen it as a sign that the man was done negotiating.

  He’s going to kill her. At least, if he were Harrigan, that’s what he would do.

  Rand thanked God he’d ended up at the waterfront that night. Nothing that happened between himself and his wife was as important as his work there. And convincing Harrigan that the judge and the Phantom were two different men would hopefully mean he wouldn’t go after Jez again. He might be able to keep tabs on the judge, but he would have to go back to believing the Phantom could be anywhere.

  Shadow moved close and whispered. “You want I should get more men?”

  Rand’s gut twisted, trying to tell him something. “No. I don’t think she has that kind of time.”

  The cathouse sounded just the way it always did. The piano player had already changed from the high-stepping tunes that brought the customers in—to the slower, romantic music to give them ideas. At least that was how Jezebel had explained it to him once, that music could manipulate a man just as easily as a peek of lace. Music changed a person’s mood more subtly than seduction—music took them to seduction’s door.

  The third story windows were lit with the low glow of lamplight through dark curtains. The bright squares of the second story, where the gambling took place, made the building look like a fat man with a wide yellow belt around his middle. The main floor windows glowed a warm, welcoming shade of orange. Nothing looked out of place except that lone man at the rear entrance.

  Maybe Harrigan truly believed the Phantom was on the hill in Rand Beauregard’s bed. Or maybe it was a trap. After all, killing both him and Jez would ensure that neither one of them would be coming to avenge the other.

  Shadow moved along the wall beneath Jez’s apartments and paused. He frowned, then his eyes widened and the bright lights went out, leaving a small glow through her blue curtains. He cocked his head to the side and listened, then hurried back to Rand’s side across the alley.

  Rand couldn’t take his eyes off the window. The blue glow pulsed, like a distance star. What caused the effect was something that moved back and forth between the light and the window.

  “Dancing,” Shadow whispered. “Her phonograph.”

  But Rand could tell by the size of the shadow, Jez wasn’t dancing alone. There was a chance she was entertaining an important customer in her apartments except for two things. Jez didn’t allow any man but Rand inside her personal quarters. And Harrigan was inside the brothel. The woman would never turn her back on the man, so if he was inside, she was with him.

  If Rand could have flown like a true phantom, he would fly through that window that second. But he would have to settle for using the door.

  He pointed at Shadow, then to the fire escape that zig zagged down to one of Jez’s windows from the roof. He then pointed to himself and the delivery door that would take him to the cellar.

  Shadow nodded and disappeared. Rand pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the chain that held the cellar doors tight. Careful to be silent, he removed the chain slowly, then eased into the darkness below. He’d been in that cellar dozens of times. He easily found his way in the darkness. Once he reached the ground floor, no one paid any attention to a dark form moving through the back halls. No one passed him along the way.

  He was just about to step out into the corridor when he sensed he was missing something important. Standing stock-still in the shadows, he listened.

  The piano played on. Same tunes as always. Men’s voices. Murmurs. Laughter. Nothing wrong there. But what was missing?

  The sound of breaking crystal caught his attention. A man laughed. Someone was drunk. Nothing new there. But the sound of crystal niggled at him. The high pitch.

  There were no women’s voices!

  The only high notes in the house came from the piano. Where were Jez’s ladies?

  He should have waited and brought more men along. If he’d have taken another two minutes, he could have roused a small army. But he hadn’t been thinking straight, he’d been thinking about Jez. Yes, he felt guilty for all she’d had to stomach that day, knowing the woman felt more romantically for him than he felt for her. But how much more guilty would he feel if her throat had been cut while he shared a bed with another woman?

  That was impetus enough to fly to her side without thinking of reinforcements. Foolish, yes. But if he had to choose between Jez and her ladies, there was no question. Besides, if something happened to him, Shadow would find a way to help the rest.

  He edged to the corner and took a quick peek at the large door at the end. A single gunman blocked the door, but his head was turned to the side. Whatever was going on in the room had his attention.

  Now close enough to hear the music, Rand smiled. It was a bouncy tune that would inspire anything but romance.

  The tilted brim of the guard’s hat shielded his view. No time to waste. Rand moved silently down the hall and when he was close enough that the gunman noticed his feet, Rand leapt at him and pressed the gun against the other man’s middle, stopping him from pointing the weapon. He jammed his thumb into the rear gap in the trigger and prevented it from firing. Then he released the guard so he could have a free hand, and jammed two fingers up the gunman’s nose.

  The big man bellowed and his grip loosened. A heartbeat later, Rand pointed the gun at the guard’s belly and wiped his fingers on the man’s shirt.

  The door opened wide and Rand shoved the gunman through it. Half a dozen revolvers cocked and pointed at him while he shoved the big man backward. Once the guard stumbled to the side, Rand’s muzzle came to rest in his enemy’s face where he sat on the edge of Jez’s bed.

  “You seem surprised to see me, Harrigan,” he said with a smile behind the mask.

  The man sputtered. Jez tried to get off the bed, but he grabbed her ankle and held tight. Jez cried out in pain, then bit her lip and held still. A quick glance told Rand she hadn’t been harmed—yet—and he silently thanked God.

  Still holding two barrels in Harrigan’s face, Rand turned his smiling mask both left and right to count the enemy. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  He paid no attention to their weapons but made it clear their leader would suffer a dangerous head wound if any of them pulled a trigger. They’d all been part of a dozen such standoffs before. They only waited for the order to lower their weapons. But this time, Harrigan was slow giving it.

  “Will tonight finally be the night, Harrigan?” He widened his eyes like the prospect excited him.

  Harrigan glared. “What are you waiting for?”

  Rand put a hand against his chest. “Are you asking me?”

  The man grunted impatiently and waved at his men. “Put them down, you fools.”

  Rand hid his unease, still suspecting he’d walked into a new trap. “Release my lady’s ankle.”

  Harrigan’s face twisted into a snarl. “Aren’t you supposed to be bedding that new wife of yours?”

  Rand threw his head back and laughed, and he kept it up so long some of Harrigan’s underlings started laughing too, which only helped Rand laugh harder. And the best part was knowing how much Harrigan hated to be laughed at.

  Eventually, he settled. “You are the fool, Harrigan, if think for one minute I would choose any other woman over my Jezebel. It seems you have me confused with Judge Beauregard again, since he’s the only man I know who was married today.”

  Harrigan ground his teeth together and said nothing.

  Rand lowered the shotgun and stepped closer, producing a long, wicked dagger and holding the tip just an inch from the man’s left eye. “How dare you touch her!”

  Harrigan narrowed his eyes and tried to ignore the sharp, winking blade. “If you’re not Rand Beauregard, then you’re his brother. And a brother will do me just fine.” He lifted a hand and wiggled a finger. “Bring one of them out.”

&nb
sp; A man opened the door to Jez’s large dressing room and another gunman from inside pushed a woman into the room—a gagged and petrified girl named Lilly. She’d worked for Jez for as long as he’d been the Phantom. Her expression turned from fear, to hope, and back again when the first man cocked his revolver and pointed it at her head.

  “Russian roulette?” Harrigan asked. “Or Pig sticking? Which do you prefer?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Darby kept a stiff upper lip for the sake of the servants when she sat down to breakfast alone the next morning. At the last minute, she’d proved a coward and removed the ring. But she kept it in her pocket just in case the day went well. By the way it was starting, however, she had half a mind to take it up the hill and bury it in the woods.

  But that was something the old Darby would do, in a fit of temper.

  She stuck her lip out. She was already missing the old Darby.

  Jacobs stepped into the morning room with his hat in his hands and his hair looking even more disheveled than the day before. “Ma’am. Mr. Beauregard is sorry he couldn’t have breakfast with you this morning.” He blushed so scarlet she thought his hair might turn red. “He’s had a...minor...accident, and as soon as he’s well enough to move—”

  “What?” She jumped to her feet as Jacobs reached for the back of her chair too late. She bit down on her tongue for a second or two, then assumed her queenly manners again. “I insist you take me to him at once.”

  Jacobs shook his head. “Aw, no. You don’t want to see him right now.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She lowered a look on him that stopped his head from shaking and started it nodding. “I shan’t bother with the carriage, if you have a horse—”

  “No ma’am.” Jacobs said firmly as he moved sideways to the doorway. “I’ll have the carriage ready in ten minutes. No need to rush. He’s not bleedin’ anymore.”

  Bleeding anymore?

  “Is a doctor with him?”

  “No, ma’am. Not exactly.”

  “Jenny, I want you to get any bandages or medical supplies you might have in the house. And hurry.” Darby hurried upstairs and collected her sewing supplies, then waited on the front steps with Jenny. The girl was fighting tears and losing.

  “Don’t worry, young lady,” Darby told her. “I’m sure he’s twisted an ankle or cut open a finger. Men are notoriously clumsy, you’ll see.”

  “Aw, no, ma’am. I worry that the Phantom finally got hold of him.”

  “The Phantom?”

  “Yes, ma’am. For nigh on two years now, the judge has been trying to bring this Phantom fellow to justice. Sells slaves to the sea captains. They say he eats the ones he doesn’t sell.” The girl shivered. “Mr. Beauregard stopped practicing law so’s he could run the scum to ground. I just hope the scum hasn’t won.”

  Since she’d awakened alone in that large bed, Darby had wondered if she’d married a coward. But it seems she was wrong. She only hoped the man would survive long enough to show her everything else she might have underestimated about him.

  She’d never once imagined her mysterious husband would actually be interesting. All aspects of survival—food, shelter, clothing—had consumed her thoughts so completely she’d never once considered that a man might prove interesting.

  Her father had been interesting, of course. And her mother. They were also interesting when they were together, like their characters changed somehow because the other one happened to be in the same room. Maybe that was what love did to people, changed their characters.

  If Rand Beauregard grew to love her someday, would it change him? Or would it change her?

  Jacobs insisted that Jenny stay behind. After he helped Darby into the carriage, he had some dire warnings she was glad the timid young woman hadn’t been on hand to hear.

  “Ma’am, I would like to give you one more chance to go inside and wait for the judge to come to you.”

  She shook her head.

  “All right, then. You’ll have to do as you’re told. Do you understand? You’ll put your husband in much more danger if you ask questions.”

  “I understand,” she said, even though she didn’t. She only knew her husband was hurt and that it was her duty to go to him. If she had to obey orders to be allowed access to him, then so be it.

  Jacobs gave her a dubious glance, then closed the carriage door.

  This time, she watched every detail of the city as it passed by her. The town seemed to have risen up between the enormous pines and found a way to work around them. Large trunks that had to have been fifty years old rose along streets that appeared freshly painted. And the smell of sawdust filled the air as if every house and structure had been recently erected. But then large old buildings insisted the city was nearly as old as the trees.

  The carriage carried her across a wide bridge spanning a swift river. The Willamette, if she remembered correctly. The Columbian River was the larger one she’d noticed from the train yesterday, before they’d actually reached the city.

  On the other side of town, they passed a few warehouses, but the area looked practically abandoned compared to the sprawling city across the river. Though she watched for some sort of hospital, Jacobs turned the carriage through a small stock yard and inside a warehouse.

  The door opened immediately. “What’s this, then?” A filthy man dressed in rags poked his nose through the window. “Hardy? Who’s this?”

  “His wife,” grumbled the driver. “Do it.”

  The filthy man smiled at her with the aid of very few teeth. “If you’ll follow me, mum?”

  Jacobs helped her climb down, then folded the step, tugged on his hat, and climbed into the driver’s seat again.

  “You’re leaving me?”

  He nodded once and lowered his voice. “Just do as you’re told, no matter who tells you, and you’ll be fine.” He snapped the reins and turned the team to exit the way they’d entered.

  The filthy man gestured toward the opposite end of the warehouse. “This way, then. Mind the manure, mum.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Rand’s bones shivered uncontrollably and he wondered, if he stopped resisting it, if the shaking might stop. But with every wave that rolled through him, he found it impossible. His muscles tightened on their own. He was helpless.

  “There is infection,” Shadow said, holding his hand above the wound on Rand’s thigh as if he could sense just how bad the infection was. His friend always had a sixth sense about things. “The leg is hot, you fool,” he said.

  Rand laughed. “Well, then, cut it off and let me hold it. I am frozen to the bone.”

  “You need a doctor. And as soon as your fever makes you delirious, I will send Foster to kidnap one.”

  “Kidnap a doctor?” Foster frowned from his position just inside the hideout. Every few minutes, he would slide a knob and snap open the cover over a tiny window in the metal door. After peering out for a few seconds, he would slide it back again and the cover would click into place.

  Slide, snap.

  Slide, click.

  Slide, snap.

  Slide, click.

  It was like listening to Harrigan limp his way through the tunnels, searching for him. But at least Rand wasn’t the only man who had limped away from the fight at The Port Queen last night. If Harrigan hadn’t, again, underestimated the loyalty and resourcefulness of ten women and one black man, Rand wouldn’t have been able to crawl away.

  Slide, snap.

  Slide, click.

  If the bastard decided to storm the place, there were plenty of men to stop him. But Rand didn’t want anyone else to be sliced open by Harrigan’s filthy blade. It might as well have been dipped in poison.

  “Poison?” Foster parroted again, and Rand realized he’d been thinking out loud. The man clicked the cover shut, cocked his gun, and pulled the door open a crack. He stumbled back as the door opened wider than he liked, to allow a woman in a floor-length cape inside. Nero followed on her heels, then the d
oor was secured again.

  He knew that purple cape! “Jezebel,” he said, relieved to see she had recovered enough to be out and about.

  “No.” Slender hands rose and pushed back the hood. “I am not your Jezebel.”

  He couldn’t have been more shocked if the bloody Queen of England were standing before him. His lovely, surprising, misguided wife stood as easy as you please in the middle of The Phantom’s lair, only yards from the nearest Shanghai tunnel.

  She surprised the chills right out of him.

  “Mrs. Beauregard,” he sputtered.

  “Lady Beauregard,” she corrected and tossed her cape over him. It was still warm from her body.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. His teeth began to chatter, so he clamped them shut.

  Shadow moved out of her way. She smiled and nodded at the man, then sat on the edge of the couch next to Rand’s hip. Her cool hand rested on his forehead for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. Then she met his eye.

  “I assume you’re the Phantom.” It wasn’t a question.

  Shadow stepped forward. “Who was fool enough to say such a thing?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No one. But I’m not blind, am I?” She waved Shadow closer. “Can’t you bring a doctor in the same way I got here?”

  Rand summoned his voice. “No doctor in his right mind would save the life of the Phantom.” He chuckled. “I’ve done too well, you see. I’ve painted him to be evil incarnate.”

  She nodded. “So I’ve heard. Selling some of your fellow men into slavery and eating the rest?”

  “You make it sound so easy.” Suddenly feeling talkative, he told her a brief history of the tunnels and Harrigan, and how the man suspected the judge and the phantom were one and the same. So when he thought Rand was with his new wife, he went after Jez. “But it was all a trap. He left the cages empty on purpose, hoping I would have nothing better to do than check on Jez.”

  Her sudden smile was cheerful, though forced. “Well then, I’d say it was lucky for her you weren’t with your wife.”