Payton's Woman (4 page)

“Stop.” She pushed
against his chest with both hands.

“I want you,” he uttered
in a growl.

“Let me go.”

Hearing the panic in her
voice, he regained control of his body. He put his hand over her mouth as his
other arm encircled her waist. “Be still. I’m not going to force you.”

She trembled in his arms.
For fear she’d fall, he pulled her closer. After she took a deep breath and let
it out with a ragged sound, he relaxed his embrace.

“What in the bloody hell
are you doing here?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.

“What?” She sounded
bewildered.

“How did you end up
alone in such a dangerous part of town?”

“I got lost.”

“Don’t treat me like a
fool,” he warned. “You didn’t come here by yourself. Who brought you?”

“I wasn’t with anyone,”
she insisted.

“Don’t lie to me,” he
snapped. “Who was he? Your lover?”

“Certainly not,” she
said with a huff.

“I didn’t think so. You
don’t strike me as that kind of woman. Is that why he dumped you out here
alone?”

“He didn’t dump—I mean,
that is, no one left me here. I was trying to get a carriage. I must have
walked in the wrong—”

“He was either a fool,
or a coward,” he interrupted her poor attempt at an excuse. “If you were my
woman, I’d never leave you here alone. But you already know that, since you
entrusted me with your life. I suppose that makes you my woman.”

“I am not your woman.”

“Aren’t you?” The back
of his knuckles smoothed across her cheek. He pressed against her chin and
tilted her head so the dim light glanced across her face. “Just because we
haven’t physically consummated our relationship, doesn’t mean you’re not my
woman. I’ve never felt this possessiveness, nor protectiveness for any woman. I
feel as if there’s an invisible bond linking us together.”

“Don’t do that.” She
grasped his wrist and pulled his hand from her face.

“You can quit worrying.
I told you I wouldn’t force you. If I was that kind of man, I would’ve already
had you.”

The sound of heavy boots
shuffling along the boarded walk alerted Payton. He pulled her deeper into the
alcove.

Three men stumbled out
of the foggy darkness.

“Shove off, mates,” he
ordered.

The trio seemed startled
at first, but continued their drunken stagger down the walk. Their footsteps
faded into the distance.

“We had better get out
of here.” He pulled her hood back into place before taking her hand.

They hurried along the
streets without stopping until they neared the Square.

“Where’s your hotel?”

“On Powell Street.” When
they turned the corner, she stretched out her arm and pointed. “There it is.”

A few feet from the
entrance of the hotel, he tugged on her hand and forced her to turn to him. “Time
to pay up, Angel.”

She gazed at his face.
His bold, masculine features weren’t gentled by the brighter lighting of the
Square. Nor the desire reflected in his eyes. She made a deliberate attempt to dig
through the little bag dangling from her arm. “How much do you want?”

“I told you I didn’t
want your money.” He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. “You
promised to give me whatever I wanted.”

She swallowed hard,
hoping to keep the shiver from her voice. “I asked you not to demand more than
I could give.”

“You should be able to
give me this. I want you to spend the day with me.”

“The day?” she repeated,
surprised at his suggestion.

“Aye. I’d like for us to
get to know each other better so you won’t be so afraid of me.” His tentative smile
vanquished the hardness from his features.

At times he’d behaved
like a savage pirate, yet his sensitivity astounded her. “I’m not so frightened
of you now.”

“Then it’s agreed. I’ll
be back for you in the morning. There’s a place called the Cliff House not far
from here where we could have a late breakfast. If it’s not too foggy, we could
watch sea lions play in the surf.”

“That would be nice.”
She almost sighed, but the reality of the situation hit her cruelly. She
glanced down so he couldn’t see her face. Her voice contained no emotion when
she spoke. “That won’t give me much time to sleep.”

“You’ll have a few
hours. I have something to do first thing in the morning. I’ll be back for you
around ten. Will that be good?”

“Yes, later would be
good. There’s something I have to do early also.” She had to pack her bags and
leave San Francisco at first light. By the time he arrived, she would be gone. “Ten
o’clock should be perfect.”

“It is perfect,” he
agreed. His smile warmed her. “This will be our third bargain.”

She placed her hand
against his chest when he tightened his embrace. “Does that mean three kisses?”

“That would be my hope.”
The dimple showed in his cheek.

Her heart thumped; her breathing
halted. Her lips parted as she anticipated his kiss. She slipped her fingers
beneath the open edge of his shirt and touched his naked skin. Her hand skimmed
across his muscular chest as she threaded her fingers through the crisp mat of
hair. Her mind reeled in wonderment. He seemed so strong, so powerful, yet he
treated her with tenderness.

Desire struggled with
her conscience. She’d never been with a man before, but she craved a night of
passion with this dark-haired pirate. Her body shivered at the thought of them
entwined in each other’s arms. She wanted to burn from his kisses while her
hands wandered over his naked skin. Tonight they could find pleasure in each
other’s arms, and for a few hours, she could push all dark memories from her
mind.

But he wanted tomorrow,
and that she couldn’t give. Tomorrow she had to return to the daunting task of
finding her brother’s killer.

Just before their lips
met, she turned her face from him. “I don’t want you to kiss me.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Perhaps it’s myself I
don’t trust.” At least that remark didn’t contain a lie. If he kissed her
again, she might give in to the passion that burned within.

“With the way you kiss,
we’d most certainly make a spectacle of ourselves in front of this respectable
hotel,” she gave as an excuse.

“You’re probably right.”
He breathed a heavy sigh as he released her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He held the door open
for her. After she entered, she turned back to him. She owed him too much to
send him away without a word.

“Thank you, captain. I
truly am grateful for all you’ve done for me tonight. In the short time I’ve
known you, you’ve saved my life more than once. You truly are a man of courage
and honor. And decency,” she added before turning away.

“Wait,” he said from the
entrance. “I don’t know your name.”

“My name?” Julia turned
back while trying to remember the name she’d used to register. “Smith. Sally
Smith.”

He cocked his head to
one side while he studied her. “You don’t look like a Sally. I think I’ll just
call you Angel.”

“Whatever you wish,” she
said, before continuing through the hotel lobby.

“Angel,” she heard him
call out from the doorway. “I’m not forgetting. You owe me three kisses.”

Chapter Four

The morning fog had not
burned off as Payton made his way down the street. The cool, moist air tingled against
the exposed skin on his face and neck. He only now realized the warm advantage
of a beard and long hair, but he wanted to look his best when he once again met
the angel who seemed to have materialized from the smoky haze of the tavern
last night.

The man at the public bathhouse
had probably thought Payton something out of the depths of hell when he’d pounded
on his door this morning and forced him to open early. A large display of cash
had made the proprietor more cooperative. Of course the man had charged him an
exuberant fee for a shave, haircut, and hot bath, but it’d been worth every
cent. He felt clean and civilized and no longer smelled like a tavern.

His pace slowed when he
noticed a crowd in front of the Double Eagle Shipping Company. A prickly
feeling on the back of his neck warned him this would be bad news.

The company was located
in the middle of the business district. Most of the spectators wore black suits
and starched white collars. He approached a well-dressed man at the back of the
crowd. “What’s going on?”

“Dead body.” The lack of
emotion in his voice revealed this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence even though
they stood in a better section of San Francisco.

“Do you know who it is?”

“The owner. Old man
Hennigan.”

“Bloody hell,” he swore softly.
“How did he die?”

The man shrugged. “They
were loading him into the meat wagon when I got here.”

Disgusted, Payton shook
his head as he watched the conveyance pull away. A dead man couldn’t give up
any secrets.

He looked back at the
shipping company. The crowd had moved from the front of the building where a solitary
figure remained in the opened doorway.

“Mr. Stover,” he called
out when he recognized him. “I’m Captain Tyler. I had an appointment with Mr. Hennigan
this morning.”

“He’s dead.”

“So I heard. What
happened?”

The man wrinkled his
forehead as he looked Payton over carefully. “What did you say your name was?”

He smiled as he smoothed
his hand over his naked jaw. “I’ve cleaned up some since I was here yesterday.”

“You surely have. Come
on in. I’ve got coffee on.”

Stover offered him a
seat by a large, oak desk while he poured coffee into a plan white mug. He
slumped into a leather chair across from Payton and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m
glad I don’t have to be the one to break the news to his wife.”

“How did he die?”

“Suicide.”

“Are you certain?” he
asked, shocked that he took his own life.

The assistant shipping
clerk nodded. “A bullet hole in his left temple.” His voice quaked when he
spoke, as though he recalled the scene in his mind.

“His
left
temple?”
he repeated.

Stover seemed to guess Payton’s
thoughts. “He was left handed. That’s why I’m certain it was suicide. Not many
people would have known that and been clever enough to put the derringer in his
left hand.”

“A derringer? I think I
would’ve used something bigger, just to make sure I did the job proper.”

“He did have something
bigger.” He leaned over the desk and lowered his voice. “That’s the thing. He
kept a Colt Dragoon around here for protection. You know what it’s like here after
dark.”

Payton nodded.

“I’m familiar with the
other firearms he had, but I’ve never seen that derringer before.”

“So you think it wasn’t
suicide after all?”

“No, I think he did it. Especially
with the way he’s been acting these last few months.”

“How’s that?”

“Very different. Like he
was scared all the time. Real nervous and jumpy.”

Stover must have realized
to whom he spoke. His body stiffened, forcing him upright in his chair. “The
old man turned white as a sail when I gave him your note and told him you wanted
to see him.”

“Then he was here
yesterday when I came by?”

“Yeah, but he ordered me
to tell you he was out.”

“I knew it.” Payton
swore under his breath. “I should have tried harder or done something more.”

“No sense blaming
yourself for his suicide. I saw how he was acting, but there wasn’t anything I
could’ve done either.”

“Do you know what
worried him? Was it his financial situation? Or something else?” He put a heavy
emphasis on the last question.

He could almost see the cogs
turn in Stover’s mind as he tried to determine if he should talk to a stranger
about his dead employer.

“There was nothing wrong
with his finances. His wife made sure of that.”

He raised his eyebrows
in silent question. That prodded Stover to continue.

“The shipping company
belonged to his wife’s family. Mrs. Hennigan came down here every month and went
over the books herself. If he didn’t have every penny accounted for, there’d be
hell to pay. Threatened to divorce him more than once and leave him penniless.”

“I’m beginning to see
why he killed himself,” he said half jokingly.

“What’s your interest in
this, Captain Tyler?”

Payton studied him while
deciding how much to reveal. “Have you ever heard of Lawrence Dunbar?”

“Oh, yeah.” His lips contorted
as if a dirty taste lingered there. “When the old man started running with
Dunbar’s crowd, that’s when the real trouble started with the wife. Betsy
Dunbar ran a brothel on Montgomery Street in the better part of town.”

“Dunbar’s wife?”

“No, his mother. Dunbar
would make friends with wealthy businessmen and take them to her place. She had
everything there. Prostitutes. Gambling. Opium.”

“His wife put a stop to
that when she found out?”

“Oh, yeah.” Stover
nodded. “That whole setup ended about five years ago, though. Betsy married one
of her rich clients. Frederick Collins I think his name was. Moved to his home
in Sacramento. I hear she’s quite the society dame there. Goes by the name of
Elizabeth now. Thinks it sounds more sophisticated.”

“So she lives in
Sacramento with Collins?”

A sharp crack of laughter
erupted from the shipping clerk. “Her husband’s dead. She got his fortune, his
home, and all the respectability his money could buy. Figure that one out.”

“I don’t think it’d take
a lot of thought. I already know what her son is capable of.”

“Why are you interested
in Dunbar?”

“I ran into him down
around Central America.”

“So that’s where he ended
up. I heard he went to the Bahamas. He got accused of murder right after his
mother married. Had to leave California real quick. What’s he doing there? More
gambling and prostitution?”