Deadly - Deadly Desire Part 13

Hart said.

"I'll go," Shoz said, his silver eyes glinting with what Francesca was afraid was blood l.u.s.t.

"I think the rest of us should begin by canva.s.sing this area. Maybe someone saw the abduction. I want a description of the coach and the driver. I'm going to go to Mrs. Van Arke's. It's a long shot, but maybe she has an idea of where Craddock is or how he can be reached. Everyone should check back at this house in three hours so we can a.n.a.lyze what we have learned."

Francesca had drifted away from the group of men to stare out the window. She was rewarded when she saw Brendan Farr on Fifth Avenue, speaking with two detectives. Her heart lurched with more unease.

If Shoz was guilty, then this man could destroy the Bragg family.

She did not trust him.

"Francesca?" It was Bragg, having moved to come stand beside her. "Farr is going to try to find out why you were interested in Craddock the other day."

"I know. He will have to tear off my fingernails to get any information from me. I am very worried, Bragg."

"I can see that. Care to share why?"

She glanced over her shoulder at the men, but they were making plans and speaking among themselves. "Shoz is guilty. I feel certain of it."

Bragg started and stared. Then he expelled his breath. "G.o.d, I pray you are wrong!"

She gripped his hand. "I want to follow Farr, Bragg. He is up to something. Did you see his face when he realized Craddock had abducted Chrissy?"

He looked at her.

She said, "He is not going back to headquarters. He is hailing a cab."

Bragg's gaze shot to the window and the avenue that was across an acre of snowy lawns.

"He is hailing a cab when he has a coach and driver of his own. Now isn't that odd?"

Francesca murmured.

Bragg hesitated. "Very. I'm coming with you," he finally said.

"What is he up to?" Bragg breathed in her ear.

His breath was warm and disturbing; it reminded her of his equally disturbing touch the night before. She shifted; they were both seated in the backseat of a cab and parked a few carriage lengths away from the front door of a seedy hotel on Forty-fourth Street and Fourth Avenue. Just a few blocks away was Grand Central Depot. Fair had walked into the hotel a moment ago, with two detectives. "Is it possible that Craddock is here?" she asked with excitement.

He placed his hand on her arm, restraining her. "Let's wait and see," he said.

It was hard to be patient now. She nodded, briefly meeting his gaze; then, as there was no sign of either the chief of police or his two men, she shifted in order to face Bragg. This was hardly the time or the place, but she had to know. "What did Leigh Anne want?"

His eyes widened, and then he sighed heavily, raking a hand through his sun-streaked hair.

The gesture was not characteristic of him. "G.o.d knows."

That was hardly a satisfactory answer. "She wants you back, doesn't she?" She found it hard to breathe properly as she spoke. But she simply had to know.

He stiffened and their gazes met. "What she does not want is to become a divorcee," he said.

"You told her?" she gasped. "I despise the woman," he said harshly. "Yes, I told her. I'm not sure what her game is,Francesca. But she can cause me tremendous trouble, and she can hurt you, too." His gazedarkened as their eyes met. "Don't you dare worry about me," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "I shall always worry about you," he said simply. He was so grim. "Can we discuss my wifeanother time?" She nodded, then said, "Did she say anything about me?" He sighed again. "Yes." "Bragg!" He smiled slightly. "I could not resist. She asked if I loved you. I said yes." Her heart turned over so many times that she lost count of the flips. How had she eventhought herself attracted to Calder Hart for even an instant? Love warmed her thoroughlynow. "Why are you staring at me like that? Is this news? Have I not told you how I feel, severaltimes, in fact?" Tears came to her eyes. She kissed his cheek impulsively. "Yes, but it is different now, isn't.i.t? I mean, with her here in the city." "The situation is different, yes. But my feelings have not changed." His tone changed. "Fairis coming out," he said tersely. Francesca twisted and saw Fair standing on the bottom of the three small steps leading upto the Fourth Avenue Hotel. He was speaking to his men. They nodded in compliance towhatever it was that he had said, and then they all split up. Fair got into his waiting cab, andthe moment it was out of sight, Bragg threw open his door and they both rushed out of thehansom. "Wait right there," Bragg shouted as they raced up the three front steps and inside the hotel. At the front desk, which was no more than two foot long and stained with scars and tobacco,Bragg pounded on a bell. The small lobby, which had a single chair and table and anoverflowing ashtray, and was more of a cubicle than anything else, was empty. A very heavyclerk came out of a back room. He yawned at them. "More flies? Ain't here. Checked outyesterday." Bragg and Francesca turned to gape at each other. Then Bragg faced the clerk, saying,"Joseph Craddock checked out yesterday?" "That's right, but I already told the other copper that." Bragg and Francesca looked at each other again. Dread filled her now. "He knew -or thought he knew-that Craddock was here. And he never said a word!" she cried.

"I am aware of that," Bragg said, his jaw hard.

"Why? When a child's life is at stake? Why?"

His gaze was black. "He wants to find something to hold over me, Francesca. It is as simple as that."

"That is hardly simple!" Francesca cried. She faced the big clerk. "Do you have any idea where Craddock has gone? Did he say anything? Leave any word?"

"Nope. He paid his bill and walked out, not even a 'thank you very much.' " The clerk eyed her now with some lascivious interest.

"Show us to his room," Bragg said.

The clerk nodded, and a few minutes later Bragg was unlocking the door to the room Craddock had used for an entire week. The shades were mostly down and the small, square room was cloaked in shadow. Bragg stepped in first and went to the single lamp by the bed.

It was a gas lamp; he turned it on and lit it.

Francesca grimaced. The room was small and dirty and it smelled suspiciously like urine.

The cot was unmade, the sheets appearing rather dirty. A rag rug that was torn and muddy was in the center of the floor. A few pegs were on one wall, as was a very poor watercolor

painting of a vase of flowers. One lopsided bureau with a water pitcher and stained gla.s.ses completed the interior.

Bragg walked over to the bureau and began opening drawers. Francesca went to the single window and looked out on a small, black alleyway where a trash can lay on its side. Then she turned to the bed, not particularly wanting to touch anything. She lifted the sheets and looked under the pillows, but nothing was present.

"Come here," Bragg said harshly.

Francesca turned and saw him holding a piece of newspaper. "What is it?"

"It's an article about cattle ranching," Bragg said quietly, reading. "It's about the difficulties ranchers are facing today in the western part of this country, and it's dated August 2, 1901."

That was a half a year ago. "Does it mention your grandfather's ranch? The one where Lucy and Shoz and their children live?"

"It mentions the D and M, all right," Bragg said, looking up. "But only insofar as it is a model for other ranchers to follow. There's a whole paragraph here on Shoz and some of the innovations he's made." Bragg stared at her. "It even mentions that Shoz was a lawyer, but the son of a rancher himself. It does not mention that he was in prison, or that my grandfather began the ranch. This article is about ranching and subsequently about Shoz as a rancher.

There is not a word in here about my family," he said, his gaze on hers.

Francesca shivered. "So this is how, after all these years, Craddock found Shoz. Shoz was telling the truth. Craddock hates him. This isn't about money; it's about revenge."

"It most certainly is," Bragg said grimly.

Francesca moved closer to him. "If this isn't about money, what about Chrissy?"

He met her gaze. "I am praying she is alive," he said.

Francesca had to return home at some point-she had been expected earlier that morning, shortly after the arrival of their train. Her intention was to be back at the Hart mansion at three that afternoon, along with the rest of the family.

She prayed that by then someone would have come up with a lead that would take them to Craddock and Chrissy.

Now she entered the marble-floored foyer, gathering up her composure, as surely she would soon face Julia's wrath. She refused to think about the fact that Hart had lied in order to protect her from being caught in her own web of deceit.

The house was oddly silent.

Francesca handed her coat and hat to a houseman. "Wallace, where is everyone?"

"Upstairs in the Blue Suite, Miss Cahill," he said.

Francesca was bewildered. The Blue Suite was used for houseguests, but as it was the most luxurious accommodation they had, only an extremely important visitor was ever placed there-like a duke or an earl or the president of the United States. "Do we have company?"

"It is Master Cahill," he said. "There has been an accident."

She felt her eyes widen and her heart stop. "What?! What kind of accident? Is Evan all right?"

"Dr. Finney has just left," he began.

But Francesca could not wait. If Evan was at home, then something terrible had happened, and she lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs to the third floor. The moment she skidded onto the landing, she heard her mother's voice, followed by Maggie Kennedy's. The door to the Blue Suite was open. She raced down the hall and into the sitting room.

The first thing she saw was her father, seated on the sofa in front of the hearth. He had his head cradled in his hands. The gesture was a despondent one.

"Papa?" She ran to him, but even as she did, she could glimpse into the bedroom, for the door was wide open. Evan lay in bed, his head swathed in a bandage. Maggie and his mother hovered over him. "Papa? What happened?"

He looked up and she saw that his eyes were moist with tears he would not shed. "Your brother has been in a barroom brawl," he said.

"A barroom brawl?" she echoed stupidly.

"He has suffered a concussion, two broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and far too many bruises to count. He almost lost his eye, from a kick, I believe." Andrew stared at her grimly.

Francesca could hardly believe her ears. She ran into the bedroom.

"Mrs. Kennedy, please, do not trouble yourself," Evan was saying in a low, pain-filled voice.

"Ssh. The laudanum makes you dry. Did you not hear Dr. Finney say you must drink plenty of water?" She sat by his hip, holding a gla.s.s to his lips.

Evan was propped up on numerous pillows. He had a bandage around the top of his head and one across his eyes. Even so, the left side of his face was horrifically red and purple.

His right wrist was in a plaster cast. He wore pajamas, but the nightshirt was open, revealing that his torso was also tightly bandaged.

Francesca was pierced with anguish just looking at him.

Julia stood not far from Maggie. She heard Francesca and turned. The moment she saw her daughter, she burst into tears, although she did not make a sound.

Francesca rushed forward and they clung to each other. "He will be fine, Mama, just fine,"

Francesca said. But her mind was finally functioning. A barroom brawl? Her brother did not brawl. Hadn't he said something about being worried about his creditors breaking his neck?

Was it possible?

"Thank you, Francesca," Julia whispered, recovering her control and breaking away from the embrace.

Maggie was fussing with the covers now. "There, you should sleep. I heard Dr. Finney say so."

Evan smiled at her. Even black-and-blue and bandaged like a mummy, he was devilishly handsome. "Has anyone ever told you that you are an angel, Mrs. Kennedy?" His tone was somewhat slurred.

"No one has; you are the first," Maggie said cheerfully. "Now close your eyes, Mr. Cahill.

Sleep is the best way to get you back on your feet."

His eyes drifted shut, and he was smiling.

Maggie stroked his brow, bandage and all, as if he were one of her children. Then she turned, her eyes wide, horrified. "Who could have done this?" she gasped, staring at Francesca. "I have seen my share of fistfights, but this is almost as if someone wished to kill him!"

Julia began to tremble.

Francesca laid her hand on her mother's shoulder, giving Maggie a warning look. "Come, Mama; come sit down with Papa," she said.

Julia did not protest. Francesca led her into the sitting room, where Andrew sat staring into the fire. The moment Julia sat down beside him, he pulled her into his arms. Julia sobbed soundless while Andrew said, "This is my fault. I chased him out of the house. This is my entire fault."

"This is hardly your fault!" Julia cried. "Oh, G.o.d, he is so badly hurt!"

"There, there, he is a strong young man; Finney said so. Besides a few broken ribs, why, he will be up and about in no time," Andrew soothed.

Francesca was relieved to see them caring for each other again, and she hurried back to the bedroom. Maggie stood at the foot of the bed, apparently watching Evan as he slept.

Francesca hurried to stand beside her. "Evan?"

There was no answer.

"Evan?" She walked over to him, but his eyes were closed and unmoving.

"He's asleep, Miss Cahill. Please, do not wake him," Maggie said, sounding very shaken.

She was extremely pale now.

Francesca returned to her side and took her hand. "What did Dr. Finney say?"

"That he is young and strong and very lucky. He has been kicked viciously in the kidneys, Miss Cahill. Dr. Finney says it will be some time before he is up and about."