Lawman (27 page)

I did it. I'm the one who took the
money
.

He couldn't believe it. Didn't want to
believe it.

But he could not ignore it. Eventually, he'd
have to confront Megan with her supposed declaration of guilt, and
find the truth for himself.

Fury squeezed his chest. Weaving between the
few townspeople strolling the pathway, Gabriel increased his speed.
Fallen leaves and twigs crunched beneath his boots, and the music
and lights of Levin's Park flashed past.

Only a short distance ahead, Joseph Kearney
ran full-chisel beneath the cottonwood trees bordering the outside
edges of the park. His footfalls pounded, and his labored breathing
broke through the relative quiet that had blanketed the
presidio
with the coming of nightfall. Each one of the man's
harsh breaths served both as an aid to Gabriel's search—and as a
prick to his conscience.

What if Megan had been right? Christ, it
sounded as though Kearney's lungs were ready to explode with the
effort of the chase. What if he
were
hunting down an
innocent old man, Gabriel wondered suddenly—a man too unskilled to
defend himself against the likes of a Pinkerton agent and too weak
to run freely?

Good
, the trained, hunt-weary part of
him responded.
Then it will be finished quickly
.

Ahead, Kearney switched paths and ducked
down an alleyway parallel to the park. Behind him, Gabriel slipped
free his gun from its creased leather holster. Slowing slightly,
wary of an ambush, he followed.

His footsteps, only faintly muffled by the
unpaved dirt pathway, echoed hollowly from the pale adobe walls of
the building nearest him. He quieted his breathing and concentrated
on the sounds around him, listening hard above the thudding of his
chase-quickened heartbeat. He heard nothing.

Gabriel edged into the alleyway. His gaze
swept the bare rear sides of the shops and homes backed against the
murky passage, followed the alleyway's shadows clear to the far
side.

It was empty. No Kearney, no slamming doors,
no scuffle of footsteps fleeing into the streets beyond.

Disbelief rocked him.
Kearney had
escaped
?

It couldn't be true. Gabriel had been only a
few paces behind him. Hearing the ruckus Megan had raised at the
fountain, pausing to see that she was unhurt, had slowed him a
bit—but surely not by this much. Not by so much that Joseph Kearney
could have outrun him.

Nevertheless, the more thorough search he
performed next turned up nothing. He couldn't imagine how the man
had finagled an escape. Obviously, Kearney had more in common with
his wily, scheming daughter than Gabriel had thought.

Dispirited and wrathy, he made his way back
to Levin's Park. The fountain came into view, partly haloed with
bonfire smoke and surrounded by clumps of musicale-goers. Several
held glasses of Levin's ale in hand, and the yeasty scent of the
brew lent a tang to the air. Nearby, the bonfire still crackled,
throwing sparks to the starry sky and illuminating the faces of
those gathered round the fountain.

None of those faces, Gabriel saw, seemed to
belong to Megan Kearney.

Damnation. She had escaped him again, this
time with his own wrongly directed investigation as the means to
take flight. If he'd assigned a Pinkerton man to watch her, she'd
never have been able to escape...nor could she have endangered his
case in the process.

What lead was he to follow now, when he'd
neglected all else for the sake of keeping close to Megan—and she
had vanished from sight?

He pulled his hat low on his brow and moved
closer. The least he could do was retrieve his suit coat—and maybe
the fudge she had given him, too, Gabriel reckoned with an
ill-timed grin—and be rightly clothed for the rest of his search.
He spied the low stone wall where he and Megan had sat together,
recognized the set of the mortared stones that marked their
place...and saw that his things had disappeared, too.

The cheeky lass had taken his clothes—and
his candy, to boot!

Scarcely believing his eyes, Gabriel looked
again. The same bare stone wall met his gaze. He ambled nearer,
struck with unlikely hilarity at the notion of Megan Kearney
spiriting away his suit coat and the bundle of fudge. Doubtless,
she'd done it simply because she could. Simply to punctuate the
fact that she'd bested a Pinkerton man, and now had the trophies to
prove it.

He felt a sudden, ironic affinity with
McMarlin—and the lump on his head the she-devil of Tucson had left
him with. Now wonder his mentor had boarded the stage so quickly
this morning. Gabriel could hardly blame him.

At least Tom had been fully dressed at the
time.

Standing in his shirtsleeves and vest, he
thrust his hands into his pants pockets and looked toward the
fountain for the last time. In the water, something lumpy and
bedraggled floated past. He recognized it, and leaned forward to
snatch it from the pool's surface.

In his hand, Megan's monstrosity of a hat
streamed rivulets onto the leaves and dirt underfoot. He turned it
'round, mindful of the pride she'd so often displayed in her
millinery skills, and examined the hat's crumpled brim. Next he
brushed his fingers over the empty spots along the crown—spots that
should have been festooned with fabric blossoms and flowing lengths
of colored ribbon, and instead held only a few sewn-on blooms and a
single straggling hank of blue grosgrain.

Frowning, Gabriel feathered the bonnet's
sodden plume, remembering the jaunty way it had shaded her face
earlier. Megan had been prouder of this headgear than she'd been of
her sire. All at once, it seemed unlikely she'd leave it
behind.

Not if she could help doing so.

He clenched his fingers on her hat brim,
gripped with an unreasonable urge to smooth out its soaked, dirty
creases and make it fine again...gripped with an unquenchable need
to be sure Megan was safe.

In spite of his having left her alone.

Staring at the limp dyed ostrich feather
hanging crookedly against his forearm, Gabriel thought of the way
she had been thrust headlong into the search for her father. Hers
was a dangerous involvement, especially if Megan knew as much about
the workings of Kearney Station as he'd begun to suspect.

Had one of Joseph Kearney's cronies spied
Megan at the fountain and taken her away?

It happened at times that the criminals he
pursued used their families for shelter or barter. He had reckoned
before that Kearney might try the same, but Gabriel hadn't expected
the man to try anything so dire this early in the pursuit.

Had his detective abilities grown so
impaired that his judgment was now as faulty as his hold on his
suit coat had been?

It was possible. He recalled again his
progress toward the bonfire to nab Joseph Kearney, remembered the
moment when, only a few steps distant from being captured, the man
had looked up. He'd stared Gabriel fully in the face, had darted
his gaze to Gabriel's ready gun belt...and had not so much as
blinked.

The splash had come next. Kearney's head had
turned toward the sound, and Gabriel had been sure he'd seen
dawning recognition on the man's face when he'd spotted Megan in
the fountain amidst the crowd. Then—only then—he had fled.

It made no sense. Why would a guilty man
stand unflinchingly in the path of an armed Pinkerton agent...yet
run without hesitation at the sight of his only daughter?

As though he'd conjured them with his
thoughts, the familiar scents of coconut soap, dress starch, and
damp fabric reached Gabriel at the same moment as did the
realization he was no longer alone. The sound of a feminine,
vaguely husky voice confirmed it.

"You must be looking for this," Megan
said.

He looked up to see her standing beside him,
offering over the waxed-paper-wrapped bundle of fudge. At the sight
of her, relief swept through him, powerful enough to constrict his
throat with its intensity. He cared less for his case, Gabriel
realized in that moment, than he did for the woman watching him so
solemnly now.

"No," he said, forcing the word past his
aching throat. He closed his hand over the candy she offered and
lowered it much as he'd done before, unable to stop the grin that
sprang to his face. "I was looking for you."

If he'd expected his admission to draw some
starry-eyed reaction from her...it did not. Instead, Megan's
eyebrows dipped, betraying her confusion. In the startled silence
that followed, he saw her experiences had left more than her hat in
a bedraggled state.

She stood at his shoulder, looking
impossibly small as she huddled beneath an oversized garment
clutched together one-handed at her throat. It was his lost suit
coat, Gabriel realized, pleased beyond measure to see her shielded
in his stolen clothes.

Her hair, half-unwound from its knot, hung
in brown tendrils to her shoulders and collarbone. It clung in damp
strands to her neck, lending her a vulnerable quality he felt sure
Megan would have denied in an instant. Without her customary
headwear, she seemed smaller. More feminine. And, typically,
unreservedly determined. Within the frame of her hair, her pale
face stared defiantly back at him.

He grinned anew. Lord, but he was happy to
see her safe.

Shuddering, Megan scowled beneath his
perusal. "I don't know what
you're
looking so spoony over,
agent Winter. Itttt—" She paused, tightening her jaw to stop her
teeth from chattering. "It's obvious you've returned empty-handed,
so why you should have that silly, happy look on your face is
beyond my understanding."

She sniffed, rubbing her finger over her
reddening nose. The motion stirred her hair as well, sending a tiny
splatter of water drops pinging toward Gabriel's chin. She hadn't
even managed to dry completely from her dunking in the
fountain.

"It's not beyond
my
understanding,"
he said. It was ridiculous, giddy relief that had him smiling so,
though he half-suspected she'd kick him in the shin again—or do
something else quite like it—if he told Megan as much. He doubted
she would greet the news gladly.

Truth be told, neither did he. This came
dangerously close to a caring Gabriel didn't want to feel. He had
no room for it. No need for it.

All the same, a new besotted grin rose to
his lips. Fiercely, he quashed it. She was a troublesome female—and
possibly, a suspect in his case. He had to stay clear.

In defiance, Megan snatched her battered,
dripping hat from his hand. "If you're quite finished with this
cryptic nonsense of yours, I'd like to go d-d-d-dry off now."

"Why haven't you?" Gabriel asked. "I know
you know the way back to the Cosmopolitan. Or perhaps you had your
heart set on being escorted there by me, and didn't want—"

"Bosh." She frowned again, pulling her
clothes tighter against her throat. "I didn't go myself because you
have the room key."

She said it as though possessing the key
were a crime of the highest order—or at least the height of
thoughtlessness.

He grinned. "Lacking the key never stopped
you before," he pointed out, thinking of her midnight rovings after
himself, and poor McMarlin.

That coaxed a small, mischievous smile from
her. "Yes. Well. I didn't feel quite up to scaling that wall and
climbing up the balcony tonight, agent Winter," she said, teeth
chattering over the ending of his name. "I decided It was best to
wait for you."

To keep an eye on him, Gabriel would wager.
So she would know it if he came close to her father again, and
could prepare herself for yet another insane defense for Kearney's
sake.

A frost-tinged evening breeze swept through
the park, setting the cottonwood leaves aflutter. Beset with
visible shivers, Megan clamped her chattering teeth more tightly
together and stared at him expectantly, not even bothering to
examine her ruined hat.

Gabriel frowned. Something was seriously
amiss when a woman like Megan was disinterested in fashion.

"Still, I was surprised to find you here,"
he remarked, taking her elbow in hand to guide her away from the
fountain's edge. Beneath his fingers, her sleeve felt like so much
icy armor, with none of the warmth he'd grown accustomed to feeling
when he touched Megan. "When your father ran away, I thought you
would, too."

"I might have," she returned instantly,
defensively, hunching her shoulders within the protection of his
suit coat as they walked side-by-side through the park, "if I did
not believe in his innocence so strongly."

Belief, again. Would she never stop
hammering her groundless faith into him? Even cold and miserable
and certainly close to being defeated, Megan kept on.

Gabriel only wished her persistence didn't
stir something uncomfortably close to admiration—or envy—within
him.

"What will you do when I find proof that
says otherwise?" he asked.

"I'll fight you, of course. I've no doubt
any such 'proof' would be as wide off the mark as your
investigation." She gave him a sideways glance, then raised her
chin. "I am no quitter, agent Winter. I'll not rest until I see you
give up this h—h—hunt for my father."

Shivering harder, she nevertheless went on
walking, clutching his coat against her throat with one hand and
holding fast to her hat with the other. Megan would catch her death
of cold if he didn't get her someplace warm and dry soon. Damnably
stubborn as she was, her hotheaded arguments and the fire in her
eyes wouldn't be enough to stave off a chill, influenza, or
worse—not with her in soaking clothes and the night air moving
in.

He glanced up at the darkening clouds, saw
them sweep over the face of the moon, and lengthened his stride,
towing Megan along beside him. At this pace, she'd be likelier to
run out of arguments than she would be to reach the warmth of their
room at the Cosmopolitan in time.