The Lawman Claims His Bride

Chapter Four

By the time Logan rounded the corner onto Market Street, the wind had taken on a nasty bite. He turned up his collar against the cold and instinctively increased his pace. Hollow laughter rang out in the distance, followed by the slam of a door.

He hated this time of day. In the eerie, predawn light, when the world stood poised between night and day, a desolate sheen seemed to cover everything. The oppressive stench of rotting garbage and stale liquor added to his already bleak mood.

A shadow slithered across his feet, then disappeared.

He turned quickly, scanning the area with a narrowed gaze. He found nothing more than a stumbling drunk and a scrawny mutt digging for scraps in the frosted earth.

Frowning, Logan resumed his trek toward Mattie’s. Every few steps he stabbed a covert glance over his shoulder. He couldn’t shake the notion he was being followed, yet he didn’t get a sense of imminent danger.

Puzzling over the contradictory sensations, he arrived at his destination. The most elegant house on the block, the brothel’s pale pink stucco, sweeping ivy and heavily sloping roof presented an inviting picture of hearth and home.

It was a lie, of course. The temporary pleasure offered in this house only resulted in despair. For all parties involved.

What Logan couldn’t fathom was Megan’s decision to come here at all. What had she hoped to accomplish with her charity work? What had been worth putting herself in harm’s way?

When and if the time was right, he would ask her.

For now, he lifted the ornate knocker and let it drop with a loud bang. The abrupt sound helped focus his thoughts on the matter at hand.

He would get his answers this morning. Calmly. Methodically.

One question at a time.

The door swung open. Jack, Mattie’s notorious bodyguard, stood just inside the gaudy foyer. He stared at Logan with an unreadable expression on his round, scruffy face. With more brawn than brains, Black Jack O’Malley was as much Mattie’s lapdog as her protector. Nevertheless, the man had always shown Logan respect.

Logan would return the favor now. “Jack,” he said in a courteous tone. “Is Mattie here?”

Jack nodded. “She’s been expecting you.”

“Of course.” Logan didn’t bother hiding the frustration in his tone. The woman could have given him vital information when he was here before, but she had chosen to send him away with a head full of confusion and worry.

Games inside games.

When it came to Mattie Silks, some things never changed.

As though sensing his annoyance, Jack stepped aside and motioned Logan forward.

“I’ll let Mattie know you’ve arrived.” The big man circled around him. “Wait here.”

Logan remained in the foyer a total of five seconds before he’d had enough of cooling his heels. He strode past the entryway and looked around the main parlor.

Nothing had changed in his five-year absence. And yet everything about the decor seemed more…sinful. Alone, each piece of furniture might be able to pass for tasteful, but together the red velvet divans, ornate paintings and gold filigree defined decadence.

Megan did not belong in this house. For any reason. Logan would have to make sure she understood why she could never come here again.

A movement in the back of the room cut off his thoughts. Mattie Silks had arrived in all her overstated grandeur. Arms outstretched, a flirtatious smile pasted on her lips, she glided to a spot in the center of the room then relaxed into a scandalous pose. Typical Mattie Silks behavior. Control the situation simply to prove she could, even if that meant hurting people in the process.

Logan knew his role in this particular drama. He was supposed to take a moment and admire the woman.

He wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.

Biting back a wave of impatience, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and did his best not to glare.

Satisfied she had his attention, Mattie spun in a slow circle then continued toward him. With her blond, corkscrew curls bouncing wildly and her dress two sizes too small, she looked like a caricature of herself.

Adding to the absurd picture, she slowed every fourth or fifth step and struck a more ridiculous pose than the last.

Subtlety was not the woman’s strong suit.

Controlling the situation, now that was where she excelled.

She eventually came to a halt directly in front of him. Slipper to boot, she stood close enough for him to get a whiff of her cheap perfume. Normally, he’d step back and reclaim his space. Not today. Today Logan had his own point to make.

“Mattie.” He studied her dress with a critical eye. The frothy concoction of lace and blue silk was cut dangerously low in front and even lower in the back. “You’re as obvious as ever.”

“And you’re still the rude boy of years past.”

“Be careful,” he warned. “I’m also the U.S. Marshal of this territory now.”

“Ah, well, I won’t hold that against you. You see…

Marshal.” She looked pointedly at the tin star on his chest as she gave him a condescending pat on the arm. “I find myself in an accommodating mood at the moment.”

Logan firmed his jaw. Mattie Silks was never in an accommodating mood. Unless it suited her.

He opened his mouth to argue the point, but shut it just as quickly. Patience was his greatest weapon. He would let Mattie play her game, knowing there was too much at stake to lose her cooperation.

That didn’t mean he had to give the woman all the control.

Slanting a hard glance in her direction, he pushed past her and strode deeper into the room.

She was forced to follow him or stand staring at empty air.

It was a small victory, to be sure, but one he would use to his full advantage.

Unfortunately, his plans changed when his gaze landed on a chair off to his left—a very occupied chair. One of Mattie’s girls had yet to go to bed. Seemingly oblivious to his presence, she tugged absently at a loose thread on her dress.

Even with the glazed look in her eyes, Logan recognized the girl. Her name was Emily, no…Emma. She’d been a child when he’d left, barely thirteen. Her mother had raised her under this very roof. And all that that implied. By the way Emma was dressed, it was clear she was now a second generation “employee” of Mattie’s.

But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered Logan about the girl. With her slight build and pale blond hair, she looked a lot like Megan. Too much.

Logan experienced a moment of panic at the alarming similarities between the two, but quickly shoved the emotion aside. Unlike this girl, Megan had escaped her mother’s profession. She’d been given the chance to pursue a respectable life. With Logan. He would not let her down.

But what if he did? What if he couldn’t save her?

Mattie chose that moment to move back into his line of vision. Again, she stood too close. Again, he remained unimpressed. He wasn’t the green lawman anymore, the one who’d been taken off guard long enough to get another man shot.

“Just so we’re clear, Miss Silks.” He glared at the hand she’d rested on his sleeve. “I’m here for one reason only. To rescue Megan from her current…predicament.”

The madam smirked at him. “Your devotion is admirable.”

Her goading tone set him on edge. “Never doubt my loyalty. I will do anything.” He peeled away the fingers on his bicep, one claw at a time. “And I mean anything, to ensure Megan’s safety.”

“Well, then.” She perched on a nearby chair and folded her arms around her waist. “For once we have the same goal. Who would have thought?”

Who, indeed. As much as it galled Logan to admit it, even to himself, this woman—this brothel owner—could be the key to Megan’s freedom. Yet how could he trust such a person as this?

A jolt of helplessness whipped through him. But in the next moment, Trey’s words came back to him. The Lord will direct your way.

Was God at work even now? Could the Heavenly Father mean for Logan to ally himself with a woman like Mattie Silks? Even for a moment?

Logan was well versed in the Old Testament story of Rahab, the prostitute. God had used the most unlikely of women to help the Israelites defeat Jericho.

The Lord will direct your way…

For Megan’s sake Logan would try anything, including an unlikely alliance with a notorious madam. If only temporarily.

Swallowing his misgivings, he focused his thoughts on Megan, then addressed Mattie with a cool tone. “Look, Mattie, I’m not here to argue with you. I’m here to get information that will free Megan. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

To Logan’s utter surprise, the woman nodded. “You may rest easy, Marshal.” Her gaze turned serious. “I’ll do everything in my power to help your Megan.”

His Megan. Yes. She was his. She’d always been his. And always would be. “Good enough. First, I need to know how—” He broke off at the sound of rustling silk, only just realizing Emma was still in the room with them, openly listening to their conversation.

He grimaced at the girl.

Mattie’s gaze followed his. “Go to your room.” Her tone brooked no argument, but the girl didn’t budge.

A foolish mistake. One Mattie would surely punish her for later.

“I said leave,” Mattie ordered. “Or I’ll lock you in your room for two days without food.”

Logan knew the madam meant every word. Apparently, so did Emma. Shoulders hunched, eyes glued to her feet, she made her way toward the staircase leading to the second floor.

Mattie kept her hawklike gaze trained on the girl until she disappeared from sight.

Finished with the delays, Logan got straight to the point. “How did Megan end up in your private boudoir, when she’d come only to read to a sick woman?”

Mattie swung around, parked one fist on her hip and zeroed in on a spot just above his head. As she stood in that particular pose, ignoring him completely, Logan feared she wouldn’t answer his question. But then she flicked her hair off her forehead and focused on him once again.

“I moved her as soon I discovered Cole had arrived earlier than expected,” she said. “I wasn’t about to let that vile man get a glimpse of our dear girl.”

Logan pulled in a tight breath of air. “Why would you have worried about Kincaid seeing Megan?”

“Cole was one of my regulars. He had a penchant for…” Mattie cleared her throat. “Innocents.”

A wave of fury threatened to overwhelm him. For a blessed moment Logan let the anger come, let it flow through him and guide his next words. “If that was true, why didn’t you send her back to Charity House? Why move her to a place where he could easily get to her?”

Obviously used to dealing with angry men, Mattie held Logan’s stare without flinching. “Time was of the essence. I knew if Cole caught sight of her leaving, he might follow her. And then, well…” She held his gaze. “You understand my meaning.”

Yes, he did. It was her meaning that made it nearly impossible for Logan to think rationally. Too many terrible scenarios ran through his mind. “So you thought she was safe in your sitting room,” he said, forcing down his fury enough to avoid doing anything rash. Like shake the truth out of Mattie.

“That is correct.”

“Still doesn’t explain how Kincaid got to her.”

Mattie blinked. Then blinked again. “I had to leave her alone for a moment.”

Logan drew in another sharp breath. “Why would you do that?”

“Because a business matter required my attention.”

“What business matter?”

“I had to break up a fight between two of my girls.” She lifted her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I was gone no more than twenty minutes. When I returned, Cole was lying flat on his back with a knife stuck through his chest.”

Despite the growing urge to shake the woman, Logan made himself piece together the details in his mind. So far, Mattie’s story matched Trey’s. But there was a part of the tale where his friend had been unclear, a minor point that only Mattie could answer.

“Where was Megan when you first entered the room?”

Looking everywhere but at him, Mattie shifted to a spot just behind the chair. Only after the barrier stood between them did she continue. “Dig too deep into this murder, Marshal, and you may not like what you find.”

He scowled at the remark, wondering why she was warning him off. To protect herself? Megan? Or someone else entirely?

What did this woman know? Or rather, what was she refusing to tell him?

Only one way to find out. He kept his gaze on hers, reading every nuance in her body language, and repeated the question a second time. “Where was Megan when you entered the room?”

Mattie sighed in uncharacteristic resignation. “Lying on my settee, out cold.”

Shock rippled through his body, making him shudder. “She wasn’t on the floor?” Like he and Trey had assumed?

“Uh…no.”

Logan gaped at the woman for several heartbeats. Focus, he told himself. He had to focus on the facts. No more assumptions. No more mistakes. He had to think like a lawman. Not a man who’s greatest love had been attacked earlier tonight. “Tell me how Megan was positioned on the divan. Exactly.”

“She looked rather…” Mattie screwed her face into a look of deep concentration “…comfortable. Yes, that’s the word.”

Logan clenched his teeth together. Mattie was hiding something from him. “Comfortable, how?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She lifted a shoulder. “Her head was propped on a pillow and she was covered with a blanket. That sort of comfortable.”

A thousand questions exploded in his brain. But Logan kept his breathing slow and easy, his mind focused on his questions. “Could she have gotten that way by herself?”

“No.” Mattie’s fingers drummed along the chair’s rim. She continued avoiding direct eye contact. “The blanket was tucked neatly around her.”

Clinging hard to his composure, Logan worked the new information around in his head. Instinct told him there was only one explanation. The real killer had moved Megan to the settee. And then—then—he’d covered her with a blanket.

But why?

Neither gesture rang true.

Despite the fact that the details didn’t add up, Logan was certain of one thing. Megan hadn’t killed Kincaid. Now he could take her away from here, to the one place where he knew she’d be safe.

Then why did a sense of foreboding slide down his spine? What was he missing?

“I need you to think hard, Mattie. Did you see anything suspicious last night? Anything out of the ordinary?”

Her fingers tightened on the chair, the gesture turning her knuckles white. “I’ve been over the events in my head a hundred times. Nothing comes to mind.” She took a shuddering breath, but there didn’t seem to be any subterfuge in the act. “Nothing, that is, that will change the very real fact that Cole Kincaid is dead.”

An odd choice of words.

For once in their volatile eight-year acquaintance, Logan sensed she was telling the truth.

And yet…

There was something still missing from her tale, some valuable piece of information that would fit the other details smoothly together. Unfortunately, Logan had been down similar roads with Mattie Silks. She would never volunteer everything she knew, not unless he asked the right questions. If only he knew the right ones to ask.

The Lord will direct your way…

Logan rubbed a hand down his face. Please, Lord, what’s my next step?

As soon as he voiced the prayer in his head, he knew what he had to do. “I want to interview everyone who was in this building last night,” he said. “Starting with your girls.”

After a momentary hesitation, Mattie nodded. She actually nodded in agreement!

As much as Logan wanted to rely on her cooperation, he would be wise to remember this woman had been known to harbor criminals in her own bedroom. She could not be trusted. Not fully.

Dig too deep, Marshal, and you might not like what you find.

What was she hiding from him?

“When would you like to begin questioning my girls?” she asked.

Her cooperation was at odds with the Mattie Silks he knew. “After I look around the crime scene.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Cole’s body is already gone. Sheriff Scott’s deputy took him away over an hour ago.”

“I want to see the room where he was stabbed.” Trey was always thorough, but maybe he’d overlooked an important piece of evidence. Logan clung to that small hope.

Mattie pushed away from the chair and started out. “Follow me.” Without a single argument, coy look or detour, she led Logan directly to her private sitting room.

He didn’t second-guess her continued cooperation. Yet.

“Here we are,” she said, moving aside so he could enter the room ahead of her.

With a quick glance, Logan surveyed the small, confining space. Cataloguing the contents of the room, he counted a fireplace, a small sofa, a winged-back chair and a bookcase actually filled with books.

Surprised by the hominess of the decor, Logan worked his way around the perimeter quickly, with a smooth economy of motion that belied his sense of urgency.

There was something here. He could feel it.

Noting the trace of blood on the mantel, he ran his hand along the wood, searching for the groove where Kincaid had hit his head. After he’d attacked Meg—

Focus. Logan had to focus on the facts alone. No emotion. No thoughts of Megan. No dwelling on what had happened to her in this room.

“Give me another ten minutes to look around,” he said through a tight jaw. “Then send in the first girl.”

“Whatever you wish.” She turned to go.

“And Mattie?” he called after her retreating back. “I’ll need the names of last night’s clients, as well. All their names.”

She stiffened at the request, but didn’t turn around. “Are you sure this is the route you wish to take, Marshal?”

The woman was warning him off? A huge mistake on her part, especially if Logan found out she had a personal connection to the killer.

“One way or another I will find out who murdered Kincaid,” Logan said in the kind of ruthless tone a woman like Mattie understood. “I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it could mean life or death for Megan.”

Mattie lowered her head and sighed. “I’ll draw up a complete list of names later today.”

“Thank you.”

Normally, those two simple words would earn him a snide remark. But when Mattie spun around to face him, her eyes were filled with gratitude. And genuine sincerity.

“It’s good you’re home, Logan. Megan needs you, now more than ever.”

Caught off guard by the woman’s heartfelt words, Logan didn’t have a ready response. What the woman didn’t realize, what he hadn’t fully understood himself until last night, was how much he needed Megan in return.

And no matter who tried to stand in his way this time, he would never desert Megan again.

Chapter Five

Megan burrowed deeper under the blanket and forced her mind to relax. But no matter what position she attempted, peace eluded her. Too tired to sit up, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to capture a few moments of sleep.

Every part of her body hurt, resulting in an allover ache that went far beyond the physical. The pain brought an odd sense of relief, a bold reminder she was alive.

Alive was good. That meant God still had a plan for her life. Megan clung to that hope, even as dark thoughts tried to surface.

Shivering from a sudden burst of cold air, she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and took a slow, steady breath. The smell of blood and death hung in the air. She didn’t want to know why that scent was so strong. Why it seemed so real, so tangible.

Best to forget, a voice whispered in her head. Yes.

Yes. She let her mind go blank, let her sense of time and place garble in her head. The nothingness soothed her.

Distant, hollow voices buzzed around her, like an annoying mosquito.

She took another, slower breath.

At last, sleep began to claim her, promising a temporary respite, if only she could give in to the blessed darkness. She reached out to the void. But then the watery sounds in her head began to form into clear, distinct words.

“You must allow me to wake her.” The urgent request came from somewhere close by. “It’s not good for her to sleep this long.”

A low, menacing growl followed. “I said, leave…her…alone.” There was a deadly calm in the carefully spoken words. And an unmistakable threat. “I mean it, Shane.”

Dr. Shane was here?

“You have to trust I know what I’m doing, Logan.”

Logan, too?

Megan wanted to see him for herself, wanted to know he was real and not a dream like she feared. But opening her eyes required too much effort so she tucked the blanket under her chin and prayed for sleep to return.

“Step back, Logan. Or I’ll have the sheriff personally escort you out of here until I’m through examining her.”

A brief moment of silence filled the room.

“All right. Wake her.” Another pause. “But do it slowly. Don’t scare her.”

A masculine sigh accompanied the sound of footsteps. Very loud footsteps. Like hammers to nails, pounding relentlessly in her head.

She shied away from the noise.

“Megan.” A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Megan, you need to wake up now.”

She moaned in protest, even as her mind placed the familiar voice. It did indeed belong to Shane Bartlett, the doctor from the clinic connected to Charity House. She knew the man well. Trusted him implicitly. Not only because he was married to her good friend Bella, but because he was an exceptional doctor. Compassionate and thorough.

“Megan.” The hand shook her again, a little more firmly this time.

“Sleep,” she mumbled.

“No. No more sleep.”

She tried to protest again, but her mind drifted over a dark void of shifting images, images she couldn’t quite capture.

Best to forget…

If only her head didn’t hurt so badly.

Eyes still firmly shut, she lifted a hand to touch the tender spot above her temple. The movement sent unspeakable pain spearing behind her eyes.

Another moan slipped through her lips.

“Megan. You need to open your eyes.” Dr. Shane’s voice came at her stronger this time. More insistent. Closer.

Too close.

She snapped awake and sat up with a jerk.

A burst of light flashed before her, momentarily blinding her. She breathed in a quick gasp, blinked past the grit in her eyes, but the room remained hazy. The sickly odor of mold and something else filled her nose. What was that other smell?