“I have no idea what you mean.”
“You sidewinding sonofabitch. You knew all along I had nothing to do with that botched robbery.”
“How would I know that?” Halverson rounded his desk and swaggered toward the cell, cocky as a rooster. “I saw you double-cross your compadre…and then gun down the banker.”
“I never denied dropping…” He swallowed a surge of bile. “What was his name? Jonas?”
“Don’t know. Couldn’t question a dead man.”
Smug bastard. “What about the banker—you question him?”
“Now that was impressive marksmanship. A slug dead-center between the eyes.”
“Damn impressive, considering I fired once.”
“Three shots, two bodies, two rounds missing from your gun.” The lawdog’s brows rose. “Explain that.”
Daniel clawed sweat-drenched hair from the crease on his temple. “I couldn’t explain anything. Seems your marksmanship’s not as good as mine.” The marshal’s aim had been good enough to shave more than hide from Daniel’s head, though. For days afterward, he’d been unable to recall his own name. He still hadn’t filled all the holes.
“Just as well you couldn’t speak. Folks in these parts aren’t fond of Yankee drifters.” Extra twang slithered into the marshal’s drawl. “Maybe you should’ve picked a different town.”
“And spoil your fun?” Daniel rammed to his feet and stalked to the alley window. Less stench out there than in here, and the rats were smaller.
Yankee drifter. Daniel released a wry huff. Had he been in control of his faculties, he’d never have made that slip. He could dress the part of a displaced soldier, inhabit the role as well as any other he’d played, but without the Louisiana lilt he’d left behind with his boyhood, how were seceshes to know he was a son of the South?
Whatever powers controlled men’s fates had a wicked sense of humor.
Halverson’s laugh twisted the knife in his back. “Five days, Farrow. Enjoy ’em.”
****
Daniel braced his shoulders against limestone and stared into the past. Straight-laced Lucy’s offended glare disappeared bit by bit until a coy flutter of her lashes gave him permission. The buttons on her dress and the layers of fancy unmentionables beneath mounted quite a defense, but caressing her perfect skin had been worth the skirmish.
A grin slid onto his lips. He’d suffered no hardship bedding the mine owner’s daughter, and he would’ve made a second visit…but she gave him more than her body on the first run. Making off with the gold shipment thanks to her information… Now that had been a real pleasure.
He uncrossed his ankles and pushed from the wall. Releasing the memory on a gust of breath, he studied the iron straps holding the jailhouse door. His gaze snapped to the ring hanging on a peg behind the marshal’s desk.
Unbreakable jail. Unreachable keys. Halverson’s taste for sarcasm would be his undoing. Compared to talking prim-and-proper Lucy out of her clothes, convincing a drunk to toss him the skeletons… Parlor game.
He clomped to the opposite wall, then turned and paced back. “You’re late, old man.” If the marshal returned— The door’s hinges creaked. Daniel stopped in mid-step.
Old-sock stink preceded Henry into the jail. His battered top hat sat askew. A faded silk cravat, once bright red, hung untied around his neck, loose ends flopping against a flower-garden vest. The gaping frockcoat bore patches on its patches. The remnants of a dapper gent could’ve opened a saloon with the liquor fumes alone.
“Brought your supper, boy.”
With each of the souse’s staggering steps, mush from the plate slopped onto the floor. On a wobbly flourish, Henry bent, set down the meal, and tried to slide tin through a slit at the bottom of the cell’s door. The dish clanged against the bars on one side, then the other, and then the first again.
“Damn hole musta shrunk.” The inebriated relic reeled backward until he collided with a chair beside the marshal’s desk. The impact plopped him onto the seat, and his hat tumbled into his lap.
Daniel cleared his throat to hide a chuckle. “Be a lot easier to slip me the chow if you’d open the gate.”
Henry swung an unsteady gaze to the keys…and almost toppled from the chair. “Roy’d skin me alive.”
“Where is the marshal?”
“At the café. He’s powerful fond of Winnie’s bakin’. And her.” The derelict snorted. “Ain’t never gonna get that gal to marry him. That riverboat done left the dock.”
Riverboat. Tapped-out gambler? Daniel had never been tempted by a table, but he’d spoken the language all his life. Get the fancy fossil talking, earn his trust…
…and promise not to escape. “You don’t seem like anybody’s bootlicker, old man. Luck turn on you?”
“That’s a long, sad tale you ain’t got time to hear.”
“I’ve got nothing but time for the next five days.” He sallied to the bars. “What was your game? Roulette? Vingt-et-un? Hasard?”