The Men of Pride County: The Pretender (33 page)

She grimaced at that brutal telling. “Go on.”

“I didn’t find out until after I turned in my first report, the one in which I said I’d learned nothing at your farm. At that point, I’d begun to make plans of my own, plans that didn’t involve the survival of the Confederacy or the propagation of my father’s dreams. They involved me and the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

“But your father wouldn’t have accepted me any more than he did your Jassy. I had no proper lineage, no benefit to bring in marriage.”

“I didn’t care. For the first time in my life, I didn’t give a damn what he thought. Until I found out he was dead.”

He broke eye contact. Garnet tucked her palm beneath his chin, redirecting it so he couldn’t hide the conflict going on in his heart and mind.

“And you were devastated,” she finished for him. “Not to have admitted all that you knew would have been a betrayal of him and what he meant to you. I understand.” Those same feelings were a constant torment to her.

“What he was to me was an unloving and unforgiving figure who dominated my life, who made me ashamed to feel or think for myself. He had no respect for who I was or who I might have become. All he wanted was to see himself reborn in his son. It was the thought of his disappointment that made me amend that report. Even after he was dead, I was afraid to displease him. I’m sorry, Garnet. I never meant for anything to happen to you or your father. I didn’t know they would burn your farm. I didn’t know your father would die in prison. I wasn’t supposed to care.”

“But you did.”

He covered her hand with his and pressed the side of his face into it. Still he didn’t look away. “I went back for you. I was going to take you to my family to protect you, to keep you safe until I could come home. But you were gone when I got there. And you found someone else to protect you.”

There was no blame, no accusation in that last statement. Now was the time to tell him the truth.

“Deacon—”

“How much do you know about your husband?”

His sudden somber question interrupted her confession. “What do you mean?”

“How well do you know him? What do you know about his past?”

“Not much,” she admitted with a perplexed frown. “He’s a good man. He took me in without question, without … judgment. He’s caring and kind. He’s—”

“A thief, Garnet.”

“What?”

“He has a criminal record in Britain and in New England, and he’s here in Pride to con my neighbors into investing in a nonexistent improvement program so he can make off with their money.”

Her eyes welled up in confusion and denial. “I don’t believe it.”

“I wired a contact of mine in the government. He sent back a list of convictions and suspected involvements. Skinner intercepted the message and he was blackmailing me with it.”

That cut through her anguished mind. “Blackmailing you? Why? Why would he think hurting Monty would bother you?”

“Because he knew I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing ruin to your life twice. Tyler Fairfax didn’t shoot your husband, Skinner did. To get back at me, to get my properties, and to have you.”

“Me?” That squeaked out in dismay.

“Because I turned him in as a counterspy and ruined his reputation, and now he plans to destroy my life by taking everything I value.”

She swallowed jerkily. “And you value me?”

“You and our son.”

Our son …

Before she could assimilate and answer that shock, she received another in the form of a sneering voice.

“What a touching declaration. And you’re a fool if you believe a word of it.”

Roscoe Skinner stood at the partially opened door. He was wet, disheveled, and breathing in harsh gasps. And his eyes were stone cold.

“You see, Mrs. Prior, men like us never tell the truth about anything, do we, Reverend?”

Deacon set himself in front of Garnet, cursing his lack of a weapon. He had only his wits for a defense. He’d survived on them for years, but never had the stakes been so high.

“Like us? We’re nothing alike, Skinner … or should I say, Hermes.”

Roscoe blinked, then loosed a jeering smile. “You found Fairfax.”

“Before you could kill him. And he was in a talkative mood. Give it up, Skinner. You’ve no place to go with this. You’ve no leverage, no secrets, no place to hide.”

His gaze narrowed as he tried to probe the truth from Deacon’s slitted glare. “You’re wrong. When I tell the lady—”

“He’s already told me,” Garnet interrupted.
“And I’d rather deal with the truth than live under the manipulation of your lies.”

Roscoe’s gaze darted between them as his mind spun furiously to find another angle for his revenge. Deacon cut him off at the knees.

“Once again I’ll expose you for who and what you are. I can weather the scandal. I’m among friends. But you, you’re an outsider, a bad influence. And when Prior adds his testimony to Fairfax’s, you’ll be in prison, although I’d rather you be put before a firing squad. Wasn’t that your plan for me? You’ve lost, Skinner. Admit it.”

Outflanked and outmaneuvered, Roscoe smiled grimly. “I’ll concede for the moment, but all isn’t lost. Not yet. I may not be able to strip you of all your treasures, but I won’t be leaving empty-handed.” His expression stilled with deadly intention. “Tell me what you did with the money.”

It was Deacon’s turn to smile smugly. “What’s wrong? Wasn’t it where you hid it? You should have kept it with you. You should have known I’d be one step ahead of you.”

“You’re wrong, Sinclair.” And he pushed the door the rest of the way open so they would have a clear understanding of what he meant.

William stood beside him, the muzzle of Skinner’s pistol wedged under his chin.

“Now, where is my money?”

Chapter 24

“N
o!”

Deacon snatched Garnet back as she started to lunge off the bed. He shared her horror and alarm, but now was a time for cooler heads and careful actions.

“Let the boy go, Skinner. He has no part in this.”

Roscoe’s smile was a fierce grimace. “I don’t think so. He’s my only chance of getting out of here alive, and we both know it.”

“Let him go!” Garnet cried, straining against Deacon’s encircling grip. “Take me instead, just let the boy go.”

“Tempting, but he’ll be far less trouble. You see, Mrs. Prior, I’ve dealt with your family before. I was the one who convinced your father to work with us. It took some persuading, but in the end, he was happy to comply.”

“You liar! He would never have helped you!”

Roscoe shook his head sadly. “You enlighten her, Sinclair.”

“You go to hell.”

“I was the one who paid a visit to that quaint little farm. I wanted to meet the woman capable of charming Reverend Sinclair from his duty. I planned to sample you for myself. Imagine my disappointment when you slipped through my fingers.”

“I don’t have to imagine it,” Garnet spat. “I could see it burning for miles, you bastard.”

Roscoe chuckled. “Charming.”

“Let the boy go,” Deacon stated again. “It’s me you want, not some innocent child.”

“Is anyone truly innocent? Take this boy, for instance, already stained by the sins of his mother and father. You are his father, aren’t you?”

Deacon’s voice cut like steel. “You harm him and I’ll see that it takes you a long, long time to die.”

Roscoe’s laugh became a grating cough. He clutched the boy tighter, the muzzle shifting to his temple. William stood still and silent, though his whitened lips quivered. His eyes were fixed on Deacon with a pride-shattering confidence, as if he hadn’t the slightest doubt that rescue would be forthcoming. Deacon wished he shared that faith as he restrained Garnet from doing the same crazy things he was considering within the panic of his mind.

“I want the money, Sinclair.”

“Then you’ll let the boy go.”

“No. I’ll let the boy live. He comes with me.”

Garnet sagged on weakened knees, her wail of protest slashing Deacon’s heart. He shook his head. “The boy stays here with his mother. You take the money and disappear. You’re a professional. They’ll never find you.”

Roscoe gave another raspy laugh. “They won’t, but you would, wouldn’t you? You’re just too damned good at what we do. I’d spend the rest of my life waiting for you to pop up and calmly slit my throat. No, thank you. It ends between us right here. We both know that.”

Garnet took his meaning like a staggering blow. She could lose both of them in the next few moments, both the man she loved and the child she adored. It couldn’t happen that way. She wouldn’t let it. She straightened, making herself a shield in front of Deacon.

“Take the money. I’ll make sure he doesn’t follow you.”

Skinner looked from her determined features to the penetrating chill of Deacon’s glare. “Sorry, ma’am. You’re one hell of a woman, but you’d never be able to hold him back. He’s too much like me.”

“You’re wrong. He’s nothing like you. He’s put the past behind him. Once you’re gone, you’ll be just another unpleasant memory. He may be the driving force in your life, but you’re nothing in his.”

Deacon saw by the sudden cold glitter in Roscoe’s eyes that those were the wrong words to say to him. He read of the man’s irrational
jealousy, of his consuming desire to be first, to be better. And that would never happen as long as he believed Deacon had bested him.

“He won’t be doing me any favors by letting me live, Garnet, and he knows it. He knows that I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering why I didn’t catch on to him sooner, knowing that my slowness and stupidity almost cost your husband his life. Who do you think this town is really going to blame? They’ll blame me for bringing the likes of him here, then not protecting them against him. He knows if I go after him, I’ll lose you, and if I stay here, the fact that he got away with the money will eat at me like a disease. Either way, he wins and I lose.”

Roscoe smiled, liking the twisted logic behind his claim and the idea that Deacon would suffer long after he was gone. Liking it very much.

Deacon sighed heavily, his shoulders taking a defeated slump. “I’ll get you your damn money, Skinner, then you get the hell out of my life. Enjoy the fact that I’ll spend the rest of my days behind a dry goods counter while the woman I love lives under my roof with another man and you’re living high off my mistakes.”

“Get it.”

Deacon relaxed his hold on Garnet reluctantly, needing to know she’d do nothing rash. “Trust me,” he whispered against her hair, and he was rewarded by the briefest of nods. It was enough.

Not sure what he was up to, Garnet remained
still, her heart pounding in her throat, her desperate gaze locked to the sight of her son with a gun to his head. But she trusted Deacon, just as William did. His words might suggest resignation, but his muscles were coiled tight and ready to strike. Perhaps Skinner, in his vanity, had forgotten that the Confederacy had bred no deadlier warrior than Deacon Sinclair.

She didn’t move as Deacon stepped away from her. She heard him rummaging behind her, retrieving the cash from its hiding place. Then he was beside her, a reassuring hand touching her between her shoulder blades. And between his palm and her back, she could feel the definite imprint of a pistol.

“Here.” He tossed the bundle of greenbacks to the floor at Roscoe’s feet, then adopted a sullen glower. Hampered by his wound, Skinner tried to bend down but couldn’t.

“Pick up the money, boy.”

As William knelt down, Roscoe grabbed onto his shirt collar for control, but his attention was on Deacon. And his smile was cold and shrewd.

“As much as I like the idea of you wallowing in misery for the rest of your life, I’m afraid I can’t quite believe it. All in all, I think I’ll be better off knowing that you’re dead.”

He leveled the gun on Deacon, giving William a sharp jerk to bring him to his feet. The boy cried out and that was all it took for one hundred plus pounds of fur and fury to launch itself on the gunman.

As Boone’s jaws clamped around the arm restraining William, Roscoe released him to shake off the big animal. William scrambled forward, and before Deacon could catch her, Garnet lunged toward the boy, putting herself in the path of Deacon’s aim. Boone became a bristled barrier in front of the child. And with a survivor’s instincts, Skinner seized Garnet, exchanging one hostage for another.

But this time, Deacon had a pistol leveled at his forehead.

Struggling to control a squirming woman who did everything she could to plant her elbow into his injured side, Roscoe finally had enough of it and stilled her with the rap of his gun butt against her brow.

“Mama!”

Deacon’s gaze went flinty and ice cold.

Roscoe dragged Garnet’s limp form up in front of him, hiding behind her as he edged back toward the door. Deacon took a step to follow and Roscoe’s pistol touched to her temple.

“Don’t try it, Sinclair.” He cocked the pistol, backing out into the hall. “You’re not that good.”

“Yes, I am.”

With that steely claim, Deacon fired. His entire life stopped in a heartbeat as Garnet was pulled over backward to land on top of Roscoe as the roar of a gun’s discharge echoed down the hall. On the periphery, he heard screams and shouts of alarm, not even registering them as coming from the servants, from William and his
own mother. His whole being channeled down to one narrow, desperate focus: on the woman lying motionless on the floor.

God, let me be as good as I needed to be
.

Roscoe Skinner was dead, a neat hole in the center of his forehead, no longer a threat to anyone. But had he had time to pull the trigger in a last gesture of hatred and defiance?

He took a stiff step closer.

Her eyes were closed, her features gently composed as if she were sleeping. The blood in her hair and pooling brightly on the floorboards beneath her head said otherwise.

He went weak. Darkness and despair dropped him to his knees, where he was vaguely aware of Boone brushing past him. As he wondered numbly how he was going to survive, the dog began whining and licked at Garnet’s face. After a moment, her hand lifted frailly to push the slobbery-tongued animal away. And Deacon’s breath returned in a mind-blinding rush.