Devil in Texas (Lady Law & The Gunslinger Series, Book 1) (7 page)

Rexford Sterne rose from the table as Cotton announced her. A handsome man in a harsh, sun-chiseled way, the Rangers' leader was lean, fit, and immaculately groomed in a suit of charcoal-colored pinstripes, complete with the obligatory Peacemaker and his beloved Justin boots.

Rex hiked a bristling eyebrow as she swaggered through the door. "You walk like a drunken sailor at sea."

"Nonsense," Wilma purred. "She walks like a cowpoke."

"I'm a
sodbuster,
for crying out loud."

Rex grunted. "Needs work."

Exasperated, Sadie elbowed Cotton, who was snickering because his twin brother, Gator, had schooled her for an hour in "the Cajun man strut."

"I suspect one must be born to the role," Wilma said diplomatically. "Tea?"

"Somehow, I don't think my new, sodbuster alias would opt for rosehips," Sadie said drolly. "Jamoka. Black." She plopped into a chair like she'd been raised in a barn. "How'd I do that time?"

Rex sighed. Sadie grinned. There was something so endearing about a man who took exception to lewd conduct in a woman.

But Sadie knew from experience that the 50-year-old Ranger never let chivalry stand in the way of an arrest. When it came to his job, Rex couldn't be bribed by sex, money or power. Like the Alpha Wolf he so thoroughly resembled, he radiated command, even now, while engrossed in the most commonplace task, like slathering butter on jalapeno cornbread. The only woman whom Sadie had ever seen ruffle Rex's feathers was their wily hostess.

Dressed in an elegant, topaz-silk day dress, Wilma presided over a sumptuous table, set with crystal, sterling, and hand-painted china. The sloe-eyed, olive-skinned brunette was as mysterious as she was exotic, with a voluptuous torso and ageless face that rival bawds whispered was proof of dark magic. Only the identity of Wilma's grandmother, an octoroon Mambo, was a more closely guarded secret than Wilma's birth year.

Because Wilma used to manage a rival bordello in Dodge, Sadie knew the Mambo's richly embroidered gown and gracious manner disguised a barracuda's sense for business. Wilma's "business" was to ensure the success of her Pinkie protégés in a glittering circle of man-sharks. In fact, Sadie had been the one who'd convinced Pinkerton to recruit Wilma to train his up-and-coming agents in the finer points of seduction.

As Wilma waved Cotton from the solarium to fetch more coffee, Sadie wondered how three people were supposed to consume such a lavish, New Orleans-style feast. While Rex, the consummate Texican, poked suspiciously at a hush puppy with his fork, Sadie helped herself to a piping-hot square of gingerbread.

"Thanks to you, General Sterne," she chided with mock severity, "that poor editor at the
Dispatch
didn't sleep a wink again last night. He was too busy setting type." She smirked to imagine Baron's outrage as he'd spouted his tactless, front-page quote. "'
Want Justice? Get Sterne.'
That campaign slogan is priceless."

Rex's gun-metal gray eyes warmed with approval as they touched Wilma's face. "You can thank our anonymous tipster for luring Baron out of hiding with that slogan."

Wilma's cheeks turned pink with pleasure.

Sadie arched an eyebrow. Wilma never blushed.

"Mr. Perkins may have scooped the
Austin Statesman
with your campaign announcement," Wilma warned the Ranger, "but he's no man's fool. And neither is Baron. Few men who know you will believe you're content to retire from the force."

"I've been choking down injury pay for close to five months. I don't see why anyone would think there's much difference between pushing paper as a bureaucrat and a senator."

"The point,
mon ami,
is that you are unaccustomed to undercover work. You
do not lie with great credibility."

Rex grimaced over his coffee cup. The dainty porcelain looked in dire peril from such a manly fist. "I like to think my reputation for
integrity
lent credibility to that cock-and-bull story in last week's
Dispatch
.

"In any event, my farewell speech—and Governor Ireland's trumped up response—were reprinted in some form by every newspaper in every major city. Most folks will believe anything they read."

"Baron sure did," Sadie said, relishing the beginning of the end of Senator Scum Bucket's political career.

"Hmm."

A forkful of gingerbread halted half way to Sadie's mouth. "
Hmm?"
she repeated archly.

Rex sipped his coffee. He didn't look like a man who was contemplating victory.

"What?" she demanded.

Wilma cleared her throat. "There have been... complications,
chere.
"

"Complications?" Sadie narrowed her eyes. "What kind of complications?"

Rex and Wilma locked stares.

Fidgeting, Wilma looked away first.

"I got word last night that Cassidy's murder warrant was cancelled," Rex said grimly. "Courtesy of Baron's attorney, who got him a trial and a not-guilty verdict in under three days. My hunch is, Cassidy's working for Baron now. And that means, he'll be accompanying Baron and Mrs. Westerfield to Lampasas. To keep vigilante grangers at bay."

Good God. Cass is Baron's
regulator?

Rex was posing as bait for one of Baron's contract hits. But this plan had just taken a frightening turn. Cass was the only gunfighter still at-large in Texas, who could possibly draw faster than the Ranger.

Suddenly, Sadie didn't feel like eating. She lowered her fork to her plate.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table, broken only by the trilling of a mockingbird. She could feel Rex's frank, assessing gaze on her face like the heat of the Texas sun. He clearly expected her loyalties to be torn, and the knowledge rankled.

Rex was more than her Ranger liaison. From the first night they'd met, four years ago in Dodge, he'd displayed a protective instinct toward her. She'd never understood why, and she'd resisted his friendship with a great deal of asperity at first, even though he'd known her mother.

Considering all her reasons to hate tin-stars, including the sex acts that Dodge City lawmen used to coerce her to perform for her "protection," the fact that she'd allowed Rex into her confidence said volumes about his character. Until she'd met him, she'd never believed she could trust a lawman. Never once during their acquaintance had Rex propositioned her. Sadie had sometimes wondered at her ally's restraint, but eventually, she'd come to accept his courtesies as an indelible trait of a southern gentleman's good breeding.

Squaring her jaw, she forced herself to withstand the lawman's probing stare. "Anything else I should know?"

Rex reached inside the breast pocket of his frockcoat and withdrew what, at first glance, appeared to be an unmarked envelope. When he slid it under her saucer, she spied the embossed insignia of the Gulf, Colorado, and Santa Fe Railroad on the flap.

"It's time you left town," he said gruffly. "Started working a new case."

She felt her temperature rise. She was a Pinkerton, by God, not some hare-brained ninny who swooned over studs in spurs!

Apparently, she still had to prove this fact where Cass was concerned. Rex had accused her of not being forthright about the young outlaw. He'd learned that Cass had entered the Satin Siren 20 minutes before it got torched. In Rex's estimation, that made Cass a prime suspect in her attempted murder.

But
lots
of people had entered the casino a half hour before it burned to the ground, Sadie thought. The Pinkertons had found no evidence to implicate Cass in the arson. In fact, he'd been playing faro (and griping about redheads) in a casino full of witnesses. His alibi was irrefutable.

Secretly relieved by this knowledge, she ignored Rex's train ticket and reached for her coffee cup. "You don't run at the first sign of trouble, and neither do I."

Rex drilled her with his no-nonsense glare. "The minute Cassidy learns you survived that fire, he'll come looking for you. He made a nuisance of himself with the arson investigators, and he spouted off so many times to
Galveston Daily News
reporters, they developed a keen interest in his allegations—namely, that Karl Dietrich was an insurance swindler. Do I have to remind you, Pinkerton was forced to reassign your colleague?"

And send him to Denver,
Sadie thought smugly.
Cass did me a favor.

"If Cass
is
working for Baron," she argued, "he'll be my best entrée into Baron's organization."

"Cassidy can't keep his mouth shut, drunk or sober."

"About what? He doesn't know I'm a Pinkerton."

"He sure as hell knows you're not Chantelle O'Leary!"

Sadie sipped coffee before replacing the cup in her saucer. "Give me some credit, Rex. Danger and death threats come with my badge. Cass knows singers take stage names. If he asks me why I'm so eager to know Baron, I'll tell him I'm looking for a wealthy patron. Cass has no claim on me. I made it clear in Galveston we're through. Now get that train ticket out of my face. I don't report to you."

A muscle ticked in Rex's jaw.

Wilma broke the tension with a chuckle. Reaching across the table, she retrieved the envelope. "I would say I hate to tell you so,
mon ami.
But then, I'd be lying." She winked at Rex. "I'll take this nuisance off your hands, and consider us even."

"Wait a minute." Sadie shot a withering glare at her old friend. "You two had a
wager
?"

As discreet as Wilma was, she'd never tried to hide the fact that Cass used to come to her bed in Dodge, during the days when he'd been green enough to learn something. Wilma had originated his Rebel Rutter legend. Her joke had spread like wildfire, mostly because Cass enjoyed living up to his fame.

"Did you bet against me or Cass?" Sadie demanded in wounded tones.

"My bet was against Baron."

Grinning like the Cheshire cat, Wilma slipped the ticket into her bodice. "Now then. Let us discuss more important matters, like a new paste for your chestnut sideburns. And the code name you will use, when you communicate with Rex..."

* * *

One Week Later

Lampasas, TX

"Well, if it isn't the sweetest little rosebud—"

"Shut-up."

Cass smirked. Hidden by silver sage bushes on the alley side of the swanky Globe Hotel, he craned back his head to watch Collie in a third story window. The kid's ludicrous widow weeds and four-foot mourning veil made him look like a grandma-lumberjack. He was pushing Sterne's darkened casement higher to lower a rope.

"Did you remember to shave?" Cass demanded,
sotto voce.
"'Cause when we make our getaway, folks in the lobby'll think—"

"Still
yakking."

Cass snickered. After riding for a year with the Prince of Lock Picks, Cass was used to Collie's moods, but the boy was more surly than usual, thanks to his pet. Vandy had stolen a trout from the hotel's horrified, French chef and had broken $200 worth of crystal while fleeing out the window. Until Baron "fixed" matters with the manager, Collie was forbidden on the property. He'd been forced to concoct a disguise.

"What did you stuff inside your corset? Watermelons?"

"You gonna climb?" Collie countered in murderous tones.

"Well, I don't know. You gonna make it worth my while, sweetheart?"

"How 'bout I give you a shiner?"

Cass chuckled.

The rope finally swished within reach. He planted his boots on the limestone. To any insomniac, who happened to be peering through his shutters, Cass suspected his all-black attire would make him look like an enormous spider, crawling up the moon-splashed stone. To be caught in the night's cosmic spotlight would have strained the nerves of any self-respecting footpad.

But not Cass. Not anymore.

After Sadie had died, he'd started taking wilder, ever crazier risks. Cheating the devil, that had become Cass's way of coping with guilt. Tonight, he was actually hoping to run into Rexford Sterne. Ever since that pretentious, Scotch-drinking prick had stolen Sadie from his arms four years ago in Dodge, Cass had wanted revenge.

      Now Baron had reason to believe Sterne's sudden retirement from the Ranger Force had been a cover up for misappropriation of funds. Everybody knew that Sterne, who'd grown up on a cotton plantation, had a soft spot for sodbusters. Since Ranger pay was notoriously poor, Baron suspected Sterne had been siphoning taxpayer money until he could get sufficient backing from the Farmers Alliance to fund his election campaign.

Cass's smile was smug. No one wanted more than he did to find evidence that Sterne had tarnished the Ranger badge.

Now I have something to live for.

Hauling himself over his enemy's window sill, Cass began to drag the rope back up the wall. "How much time do we have?"

"Tito's good at smashing, not yakking."

"That's why I sent Poppy as back up."

At the mention of Baron's wife, Collie screwed up his face like he'd choked down castor oil. "
She'll
make Sterne run for the nearest saloon, that's certain."

"Works for me."