“Bounty hunter?” Roger and Sadie crowed simultaneously. “Are you mad?”
“No, only vindictive,” she said enigmatically.
Roger motioned for her to follow him into the office to ensure complete privacy. Then he gestured for Eva and his sister to take a seat on the brocade sofa. “What the devil is going on?”
Eva shrugged evasively. “The business I want to conduct requires the skills of a particular kind of man like Mr. Raven. He’s known to be the best and that’s who I want.”
“If you need assistance, why not call upon the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency?” Roger recommended. “You know they are reputable.”
Eva had considered it, but since local and state newspaper reporters constantly followed the detectives’ cases, she feared Lydia’s name might be leaked. The last thing she wanted was a public scandal. Her nineteen-year-old sister was too vulnerable and too sensitive to gossiping peers.
“I came here for information, Roger,” she declared, avoiding his direct question. “So how do I contact Mr. Raven?”
“I cannot begin to imagine what you are up to, but it sounds intriguing,” said Sadie, her blue eyes glinting with interest.
When Roger crossed his arms over his chest and clamped his lips together, Eva sighed impatiently. “If you won’t help me then I’ll try another source.”
When she bounded to her feet and headed to the door, Roger grumbled under his breath. “All right, Miss Persistence, I’ll tell you what you want to know. As luck would have it, J. D. Raven arrived in town earlier today,” he reported. “In case you haven’t heard, he’s half-Cheyenne, half-white. And yes, he’s said to be deadly accurate with every weapon imaginable. But he’s not the kind of man our friends and colleagues associate with directly.”
Eva flicked her wrist dismissively. “You know I refuse to follow the dictates of snobbish society. I associate with whomever I please. I want Mr. Raven because his success rate is legendary when it comes to tracking down men who don’t want to be found.”
“From what I heard at the party this evening, he showed up at Marshal Doyle’s jail with two of the three fugitives he’d been tracking,” Sadie declared.
“What happened to the other one?” Eva asked curiously.
“Dead and buried,” Roger replied. “According to rumor, Raven doesn’t place a cross on the graves, just an X so Indian deities and the Lord Almighty won’t have to bother with the sinners. Plus, he plants them in the ground, facing away from the rising sun.” He flicked his wrist casually. “I’m told it’s some sort of Indian tradition that eternally curses evildoers.”
“You are full of all sorts of helpful and interesting information,” Eva praised. “Do you also know where I can find this legendary avenger of injustice?”
“You should let me handle this,” Roger advised.
Eva shook her head decisively. “This is a private matter and I will take care of it myself.”
His shoulders slumped and he shook his sandy blond head in defeat. “Fine, but you should go in disguise so you don’t cause a stir. The London House is the place where Raven roosts when he returns from his forays.”
“Thank you.” Eva grasped the door latch. “I might be out of town for a few days so please check on Lydia for me.”
Sadie frowned worriedly, but she said, “Of course, whatever you need. You know you can always count on us.”
When she opened the door to leave, Roger burst out indignantly, “You really aren’t going to tell us what this is about?”
“No, I’m sorry but I can’t right now. I’ll explain later,” she promised on her way out the door.
J. D. Raven collapsed on his bed, exhausted. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he’d picked up in a saloon on his way over from Marshal Emmett Doyle’s office. He expelled a weary sigh and took a drink. The liquor burned its way down his throat to his belly then he took another sip.
He stared at the saddle and saddlebags he had tossed in the corner of his hotel room. “Damn sons of bitches,” he mumbled before he took another swig.
If life were fair, Buck—the best horse he’d ever had—would be brushed down, eating hay and resting comfortably in the livery stable right this moment. “But life sure as hell isn’t fair,” he said to the room at large. “I’ll drink to that.” And he did.
A firm rap on the door forced Raven to roll to his feet. “Who is it?”
“Emmett. I brought your bounty money.”
Just to be on the safe side, Raven grabbed his pistol, moved to the left of the door then peeked out to make certain it was the city marshal.
“Besides the bounty, I also have a word of warning for you,” Emmett said as he ambled inside. “Buster Flanders’s widow just stormed out of my office. She swears revenge after you killed her husband.”
“She wouldn’t be the first,” Raven murmured as he brushed his hand over the three-week growth of beard and mustache he hadn’t bothered to shave during the manhunt. “I’ve had lots of death threats.”
Emmett shrugged his thick shoulders. “Well, this woman says she intends to dance on your grave when you end up like her husband. She also wants to know where you planted Buster.”
“At the bottom of a deep ravine. Took me an extra two hours to climb down, make sure he had expired, cover him up and climb back to the ledge to retrieve the other two criminals.” He glanced at the marshal. “Dance on my grave, huh? That’s a new one.”
Emmett stared solemnly at Raven. “Buster Flanders has lots of kin and so does his wife. You’ve been marked for death so you better watch your back, in case she hires someone to repay you for killing her husband.” He dropped the pouch of money in Raven’s hand then gave him three new bench warrants. “These men are reported to be preying on miners and prospectors near Purgatory Gulch and the other camps in Devil’s Triangle to the southwest of here.”
“These will have to wait until I train a replacement for Buck.” Raven tucked the warrants in his saddlebag. “I’ll get to them when I can.”
Emmett nodded. “I’m real sorry you lost your horse. And remember what I said about the spiteful widow’s threat. She’s been passing word around town so be on guard, Raven.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Raven said as Emmett exited.
Sighing heavily, Raven plopped on the bed and helped himself to another drink. Five minutes later a quiet rap on the door prompted him to reach for his six-shooter. Hell, now what? he wondered. Considering the possibility of Buster Flanders’s kinfolk gunning for him, plus a few others along the way who had vowed revenge, Raven adhered to his motto. Stay alert or die. It was the code of the Cheyenne and of the wilderness. Carelessness got a man killed in a hurry.
Raven came silently to his feet. “Who is it?”
No one answered so he eased up beside the door again. There had been times when outlaws had shot through doors, hoping he was standing in front of them. Raven never faced a door directly.
When the quiet rap came again, Raven snapped open the door, grabbed the unwanted guest by the throat then jerked him inside. A gurgling yelp erupted from the kid in the oversize hat and jacket. Snarling, Raven slammed the kid’s thin shoulders against the wall and loomed threateningly over him. If the widow had hired this brat then Raven vowed to scare the bejeezus out of him and send him running back to the widow.
“You’re messing with the wrong man, brat,” Raven growled viciously. “Get the hell out of here and don’t come back or I’ll gut your carcass and throw it to the wolves.”
The kid’s chocolate-brown eyes widened then narrowed in annoyance. Raven didn’t usually have trouble with his scare tactics, but the kid boldly reached up with a gloved hand to pry his fingers—one at a time—from his neck.
“Back off, you buzzard. I came here to hire you and I can pay good money for your services.”
The kid’s voice sounded feminine and Raven squinted to appraise the shadowed face beneath the wide-brim hat. When he used the barrel of his pistol to knock off the kid’s hat, a cascade of curly auburn hair tumbled free. The woman was young. Twenty-two or twenty-three, he guessed. Despite her smudged cheeks, she was stunningly attractive. Although her thick-lashed eyes were her most striking feature, her Cupid’s bow lips drew his rapt fascination.
