Authors: Jo Goodman
"What?" Ethan Stone asked, his voice impatient.
"Nothing." Jarret was sensitive to his friend's mood. He couldn't recall a time when he'd seen Ethan coiled so tightly. Taking off his hat, Jarret slapped it against his thigh. Dust motes, gathered on the long rail journey from St. Louis to New York, scattered in the air and collected in a pencil-thin sunbeam. Jarret slipped the black felt hat back on his head and raised the brim a notch with his forefinger. His boots tapped lightly on the polished wooden floors as he and Ethan crossed the hallway. Dim gaslights flickered in their wake. Jarret's hand drifted absently along the outside of his coat to the gun at his hip.
"You won't be needing that," Ethan said, catching sight of Jarret's movement out of the corner of his eye. "There's not going to be any violence."
"So you say." Still, he let his hand fall. Jarret knew Ethan was coming to Jay Mac Worth with the best of intentions; he didn't know if that carried weight with Jay Mac. Jarret didn't think much of Ethan's strategy. Facing down the father of the woman he had abducted and seduced, well, it wasn't a plan that recommended itself to Jarret. He had counseled Ethan against it and gotten nowhere. In the end, the best Jarret could do was to volunteer to cover his friend's back. Ethan said he wasn't anticipating violence, but Jarret realized John MacKenzie Worth had his own reputation to consider. He could very well think it a father's prerogative to shoot the U.S. marshal who had put his daughter, indeed, his entire family, in life-threatening danger.
Jarret didn't envy Jay Mac's position either. He knew some would say the railroad tycoon deserved whatever he got, and they would say it was because Jay Mac had trampled the Lord's commandments most of his life. Jarret thought it was because the man had five daughters. Where was the peace of mind in that?
Ethan was concerned with only one daughter: Mary Michael. The safety of the other four was Jarret's job. He began clicking off on his fingers. "Mary Francis. Mary Margaret. Mary Schyler. Mary... Mary..."
"Renee," Ethan said. "Mary Renee. Michael says she's called Rennie."
"Rennie," Jarret repeated. He thought about it a moment, then shrugged. "I'll just holler Mary when I want one, and they'll all come running."
One corner of Ethan's mouth lifted in a tautly amused grin. "If you think any one of them will come, let alone on a run, well, ah hell, Jarret, find out for yourself—the way I did."
Jarret laughed quietly. The sun lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. His smile faded only as he felt Ethan's tension return. He looked away from Ethan and noticed for the first time where they were.
The letters on the frosted glass were glossy black and outlined in gold. John MacKenzie Worth. That was all. Nowhere did it say Owner, Northeast Rail Lines. It would have been a waste of black paint and gold leaf. Just about everyone in the country knew of Jay Mac. His rails moved a nation. Jarret Sullivan found himself uncomfortably impressed. Damn, he thought, what had his friendship with Ethan Stone brought him to now?
Ethan's hand twisted the glass doorknob, and they filed in.
Jay Mac's secretary looked up. The jerk of his head was as stiff as his blackened mustache. "How can I help you... gentlemen?"
Jarret's smile returned, this time derisively. It was clear the secretary didn't think much of their wrinkled dusters and sweat-banded hats. Officious little toady. He let Ethan handle him. He also let the toady get a glimpse of his Remington.
John MacKenzie Worth swiveled in his large leather armchair as the door to his office opened. The deep burgundy leather held the aroma of cigar smoke. It was the way he liked it, even before he'd given them up seven months earlier. He'd bargained with God for the safe return of his daughter Mary Michael, and God had been kind.
"Your two o'clock appointment is here," Wilson said. "He's brought someone with him."
"Show them in, Wilson." He looked beyond the secretary's shoulder and saw two men approaching the office's threshold. "Never mind. They've found their own way." He stood up, came around his desk, and dismissed Wilson while holding out a hand to his visitors.
They both looked bone weary, stiff from days and nights of train travel to which neither was accustomed. They did not have the appearance of men who tolerated confinement, much less enjoyed it.
Jarret stood back while Jay Mac extended his hand to Ethan. In the short time it had taken them to cross the office, Jarret had been aware of the rail man's regard. He had studied them long and hard, with the impassive expression that Jarret relished facing across a poker table.
Jay Mac was several inches shorter than Ethan, but it was something Jarret noticed only as Worth was turning away. The father of all those Marys had an aura of authority and power that lent him a stature that didn't physically exist. He had a thick head of dark blond hair, turning to ash at the temples. No surprise there, Jarret thought. All those daughters. The miracle was that he wasn't completely gray. Or bald.
Jarret found himself grinning again. It drew Jay Mac's attention.
"This is Jarret Sullivan," Ethan said as Worth's implacable green eyes drifted to the man at his side. "I've asked him to help. We go back a few years together, since the Express days."
Now Jarret felt the force of Jay Mac's stare. What was the man thinking? Was he being measured against Ethan or against any man? Listen, he wanted to say, I've got no designs on any of your daughters. None. Instead, he remained silent and let Jay Mac size him up.
Jarret Sullivan was just over six feet, putting him on a plane with Ethan. There was only a superficial resemblance between the two men. Jarret was slightly broader in the shoulders, but leaner overall. Long-limbed, he held himself loosely, so that he appeared lithe rather than powerful. There was a sense of calm surrounding him, a lazy watchfulness that made him seem more relaxed than he actually was. A faint lift of one corner of his mouth signaled Jarret's sometimes cynical, sometimes genuine, amusement of what went on around him. He was never as removed from events as his remote, dark blue eyes seemed to indicate.
The deep sapphire eyes were a startling feature in a face that was tanned and weathered by the sun. The sharply cut jaw and patrician nose gave him the arrogant air of a blue blood. The beard stubble on his chin and jaw made him look dangerous. His hair was dark blond, too long at the nape for New York fashion, but somehow suited to him.
"Sullivan?" asked Jay Mac, finishing his assessment. "That's an Irish name, isn't it?"
Jarret had little patience for Jay Mac's scrutiny, but in deference to Ethan he made an attempt to answer politely. He couldn't resist a credible Irish brogue. "County Wexford on my da's side."
Jay Mac chuckled. He indicated the chairs in front of his desk and asked Ethan and Jarret to be seated. He stood, leaning back on the edge of his desk, and lifted the black lacquered box of cigars beside him. Raising the lid, he offered them to his guests. "I gave them up myself," he said. "But I wouldn't mind smelling one burning. I don't think that would be going back on my promise."
Jarret accepted one after Ethan passed. He heard his friend ask, "Promise?"
Jay Mac closed the lid, clipped and lit Jarret's cigar before he answered. "I made a bargain to stop smoking if God returned my daughter safely." He vicariously enjoyed Jarret's second-hand smoke. After a moment he straightened, sighed, and went around the desk to his chair. He sat down and gave Ethan Stone his full attention. "I got your telegram five days ago," he said. "It seemed to me God was going back on His word. I never said as much to Moira or Mary Francis. They'd be sorely disappointed to hear me talk that way, but it's what I've been thinking."
To a casual observer Jarret seemed removed from the conversation, even uninterested, intent perhaps on nothing more than the flavor and aroma of his cigar. The casual observer would have been wrong. Jarret's hearing was fixed on the names he had just heard, filing the information away. Mary Francis was Jay Mac's oldest daughter, a nun with the Little Sisters of the Poor in Queens. Moira Dennehy was Worth's mistress and, according to Ethan, had been for more than twenty-five years. Moira was also the mother of Jay Mac's five daughters. Five
illegitimate
daughters all named Mary. Jarret managed to temper his amusement by exhaling a blue-gray ring of smoke.
"Tell me, Mr. Stone," Jay Mac was saying, "how much danger is my daughter really in?"
Jarret felt Ethan's glance, but he gave it no attention. He remained comfortably stretched in his chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles, and continued to give every indication that he was enjoying his cigar. Ethan, he knew, couldn't affect such calm. There was tension in every line of his body.
"If I didn't think that Houston and Detra would come looking for her, I wouldn't have wired you or come here myself," he said. "She will need protection. I don't believe for a minute that Houston and Dee will slip away quietly and live the rest of their lives in anonymity. If you'd seen the look Houston gave your daughter as he was being sentenced, you wouldn't believe it either."
Jarret's hooded glance became still and watchful as Jay Mac picked up a letter opener and tapped the flat of it lightly against his palm. Jarret recognized the agitation and anger in the gesture. An irate father might just plunge it into the heart of the man who hurt his daughter. Ethan's tin star wasn't much protection. Jay Mac probably bought federal marshals the way other men bought a shirt.
"I didn't want her testifying at their trials," he said sharply. "That should have been your job alone."
"She would have been subpoenaed," Ethan told him. "She was a witness to almost everything."
"I have you to thank for that, don't I?" He slapped the letter opener a little harder against his skin. "And if you don't think I could have kept her from testifying, you're seriously underestimating my influence."
"You couldn't have bought me, Mr. Worth."
Jarret had to give his friend credit for standing up to Jay Mac. The fact that Worth was right didn't make it easy for Ethan. Mary Michael had witnessed robbery and murder and ended up in the thick of everything because of Ethan Stone.
"I don't want your money," Ethan said.
Jarret wondered if he could have said that. He relaxed slightly as John MacKenzie Worth backed down and looked away. The letter opener was tossed on the desk. It skittered across the surface and spun like a compass needle before it fell still.
"I was just blowing off steam," he said.
Ethan nodded once, accepting the near-apology. "You never tried any bribery at all, did you?"
"My daughter knows me too well. She warned me not to do it. Warned me, not asked me. Michael would cut off her right hand before she asked me to do anything for her. She insisted on testifying; said it was her privilege and her right. Stopping her would have meant losing her, Mr. Stone, and that's the one thing I won't have. Michael and I don't always see things the same, but God knows, I love her."
Jarret glanced at Ethan and knew Ethan felt the full weight of those words, the entire responsibility. Ethan Stone had crossed half a country to put things right with Mary Michael. Jarret Sullivan had come for the money.
Picking up a cut glass saucer, Jarret knocked a little ash off the glowing tip of his cigar. He began to explain the situation to Jay Mac, since Ethan's hurried telegram had been short on details. "Detra Kelly had the help of a guard at the woman's prison. Apparently she seduced him." His lazy grin deepened. "I don't think it hurt that she also promised a sizable share of the robbery money that's never been recovered."
"I didn't hear about her escape until she aided Houston in his," Ethan said. "That was ten days ago. Michael testified against other members of the gang, but they were either injured or killed in their escape attempt. Houston himself may be wounded, but his lover managed to get him away. They've eluded every search party sent after them."
"Ethan and I split from the main posse and tracked them as far as St. Louis," Jarret said. "I lost them then. The trail went cold." The knowledge still rankled. He was good at what he did, but he still had to prove it to Dee and Houston. Having one or both in hand before he left New York was the only way to do it.
"Houston and Dee could already be in the city," Ethan said, "and I doubt we'll find them first. Have you acted on the suggestions in the telegram?"
"Moved my family out?" Jay Mac asked. Incredulity was clear in the expression. "Mr. Stone, I couldn't have moved Moira and my daughters out of New York this week with anything less than the 7th cavalry." He put on his spectacles, took his watch out of his pocket, and glanced at the time. "Ninety minutes from now my daughter is getting married. They've been planning and carrying on for months. The news of Nate Houston's escape made them pause for all of a second. They went right back to choosing flowers for the church and arguing about the menu for the reception. Took their cue from Michael, they did, and when she wasn't concerned, they weren't concerned. Or at least pretended not to be."
Jarret watched Ethan out of the corner of his eye. His friend was pale. At the mention of the wedding it seemed that the blood drained from his face. When Jay Mac offered them both a drink Ethan accepted, then knocked it back as if it were water. Jarret sipped his own, his amusement rooted in the fact that Ethan was so deeply in love that he wasn't thinking clearly. Jarret's attention shifted to John MacKenzie Worth. The old codger was crafty. "Ethan told me you have five daughters," he said. "Now which one would it be that's tying the knot?"