Devil in Texas(53)

"Senator, I enjoy pleasure games as much as the next woman, but I'm not sure I understand what role you're asking me to play in this fantasy you've dreamed up."

"You think you're the only floozy who ever tried to blackmail me?"

"By stealing your underwear? Come now, Senator. Even you have to admit that's—"

Baron's fist lashed out. She hadn't anticipated the blow, so she didn't duck fast enough. Ears ringing, eyes stinging, she staggered backward, her hips striking the vanity.

But Sadie wasn't 13 and defenseless any more. With the fury of a wounded tiger, she snapped her wrist to draw her pistol.

"Touch me again," she spat, "and your wife will find lead in your underwear next time."

Baron's fist tightened over his walking stick. "Seems like you need a little lesson in firearms, Sugar Plum. Even my wife knows you don't draw a gun on a man unless you have the balls to pull the trigger."

Sadie drew a shuddering breath. She was a crack shot, but she'd never aimed to kill a man, and the tip of Baron's walking stick was only inches from her pistol's muzzle. If her bullet caused a wound that wasn't immediately mortal... Well, Baron's cane could do a lot of damage before she fired a second shot.

"Get out," she snapped.

His smile was far from pleasant. "Whatcha gonna do if I don't, Sweet Pea? You're all alone out here. Ain't nobody around to hear you—"

Another knock rattled her door.

"Miss O'Leary," an authoritative voice boomed. "Open up. It's Marshal Wright. I have questions about Tito Ferraro."

Her gun hand quaked with relief. She hated her show of weakness. But she hated even more that she'd given Baron a reason to silence her. Permanently.

"Come in, marshal," she called hoarsely. "Senator Westerfield was just leaving."

Baron's vengeful glare stabbed through her before he pasted on a horsey smile for the opening door. Wright doffed his hat. While the lawman's eyes were momentarily averted, Sadie hid her gun beneath her skirts.

That's when the strangest thing happened.

Baron began to wheeze.

He clutched his abdomen.

He staggered.

Alarm darkened Wright's craggy features as the senator abruptly crashed to his knees, puking all over Sadie's dahlias.

"What the—"

Before Wright could finish his sentence, Baron toppled like felled timber. Gurgling, he flailed on his back, blood-flecked drool dribbling down his chin. His chest heaved in great, labored gasps.

Wright muttered an oath, ripping open Baron's coat, vest and shirt. "Don't just stand there, woman! Fetch a doctor!"





Chapter 18



Devil's Eve. That's what Cass used to call the night before Halloween. In his youth, he'd looked forward to making a nuisance of himself, mostly as vengeance on Townie Folk, who'd treated him like dirt throughout the year. Cass had fond memories of pranking the high-and-mighty planter class back in Pilot Grove. He'd lopped off the heads of scarecrows, unhinged garden gates, overturned wagons, and painted picket fences a nauseating shade of pink.

Unfortunately, he hadn't had time to amuse himself this year, and not just because of his manhunt. Cass's mind kept straying to Collie. He was beginning to fear the kid had finally mouthed off to the wrong bully—namely, Hank. Collie hadn't returned to the hotel room last night, and the stable boy hadn't seen Rhubarb since 1 a.m.

Cass tried to tell himself he was wasting brain space to worry about the kid. Collie was notorious for disappearing acts that could rival any ghost's. On a night like Devil's Eve, what dyed-in-the-wool troublemaker wouldn't want to blow off a little steam? When Cass spied a surrey on the jail's roof, he imagined he saw Collie's influence in the mischief, especially after Sid yelled out the door:

"You can't hide that kid forever! You'd best get your loyalties straight, Cassidy, or you'll go down with him!"

Cass hid his smirk. Apparently, Collie was still at-large, rather than cooling his heels in the hoosegow.

But as the morning wore on, Cass's worry grew. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of Collie at the Commercial Saloon, the Barleycorn, or even Odd Fellow Hall. However, some craps players in an alley were buzzing with gossip—unbelievable gossip—about another person near and dear to Cass's heart. When he remained skeptical, one of the gamblers shoved a special noon edition of the Dispatch into his hands. The headline read:

Baron Poisoned by Chantelle:

Jilted Floozy Ambushes Senator in Hotel Dressing Room

Cass was pretty sure his jaw hit the dirt.

The article read:

"According to Dr. Berger, Senator Westerfield swallowed an overdose of arsenic by eating tainted soul cakes from a basket in Miss O'Leary's dressing room. Miss O'Leary declined to comment..."

Eight minutes later, Cass was kicking aside jack o'lanterns and sprinting up Wilma's porch steps. But the cagey madam had been expecting him. She cracked open the door before he could reach for the knocker.

"It's still too early for trick-or-treat, cher," Wilma greeted in her usual, unperturbed manner. She was dressed in some ceremonial Mambo costume, including a white robe and indigo apron that reeked of a pungent incense. Her dark curls were completely swathed in a silk scarf, patterned with amethyst, sapphire, and aquamarine swirls. Her ears were pierced by enormous gold rings, and when she cocked her head, another set of rings jingled from the long ends of her headdress.

"But it's not too early for costumes, I see." Cass pressed forward, but she wouldn't budge. He scowled. "Don't tell me you're still pissed about last night."

"I don't get mad; I get even." She flashed her Cheshire-cat smile. "And while I'm deciding on your comeuppance, you should know that Rexford Sterne stopped by. He left word he wants you to report to his campaign office. Double pronto."

"Sterne's not the boss of me."

"You're a newly minted Ranger, are you not?"

Cass scowled. He didn't think he would ever get used to taking orders. Especially from Sterne.

"Sterne can wait. I read the newspaper. I know you're hiding Sadie."

As if on cue, Cottonmouth and Gator stepped out of the shadows, flanking Wilma like a pair of copper-skinned gorillas.

"Sadie isn't receiving visitors at the moment."

"She'll receive me!"

Gator grinned, cracking his knuckles in a menacing manner. Cotton flicked the tip of his pigsticker with his thumb.

"Cher, be reasonable," Wilma soothed above her gorillas' posturing. "Sadie had a rough morning."

"I had a rough morning! I've been tracking an outlaw since 2 a.m., without a goddamned thing in my belly except the gnat I swallowed by accident!"

Wilma had the good grace not to smirk. "So you caught the outlaw, then."

Cass's jaw twitched with annoyance. Not exactly. But he did know Hank was hiding in town.

"I'm in no mood for a quarrel, Wilma."

"Then get some food, cher. And some sleep. In a couple of days, I'm sure Sadie will be feeling better."

Cass's heart stalled. "Feeling better? Did she get sick too?"

A dark flush rolled up Wilma's cheeks. "Of course not. But you threatened to truss her up like a turkey. After that nonsense in the Dispatch, Sadie's not in a forgiving mood right now. Give her some time. A week should do." Wilma blew him a kiss.

Then she closed the door in his face.

Cass blinked. If he hadn't been so shocked to see his reflection gaping back at him in the glass panes, he might have smashed his fist through her window.

So Sadie was still angry with him, was she?

Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat, like Baron said!