Page 29 of Calder Country

The talk drifted to plans for new markets and more product, as they called it. Ruby pretended to focus on her meal, but her ears were alert to every spoken word. She would have plenty of new intelligence to pass on to Hargrave—maybe enough for the feds to make some arrests.

Could she trust them to free her father when she’d done what was asked of her—or would the agents walk away and leave her to deal with the situation? Even the signed release document from Agent Hoover might not be honored. She could no more count on him than she could on the likes of Capone and Colucci.

After dessert, Capone excused himself and went out to his private railroad car, flanked by his bodyguards. Ruby allowed Colucci to escort her back upstairs to her room. Braced for a confrontation, she faced him at the door.

“Thank you for a lovely evening and for your generous gift,” she said. “Keep me posted about the new planes. I’ll see you when the next shipment comes in.”

She took the key out of her bag and slipped it into the lock. Colucci leaned into the door frame.

“You can thank me by inviting me in, Ruby,” he said.

This was the moment for strength. “I know what you’re expecting, Mr. Colucci,” she said. “And I realize you’re my boss. But you have a wife who’s expecting a baby. And I have a firm rule against crossing the line with a married man.”

Colucci didn’t move. “That’s not how it works. Men like me and Al Capone, we have our wives and families. They’re like, sacred, untouchable, apart from the lives we lead. And then we have our girls—girls we pet and pamper and play with. They’re treated like queens. I could give you everything a woman might want, Ruby—clothes, jewelry, an apartment, a nice car . . .”

“So you’re asking me to be your mistress—is that it?”

“There are worse things to be. Look at you—you’ve got nothing. I could give you a world you’ve only dreamed of.”

“It’s a world I don’t want,” Ruby said. “Find yourself another woman. I’m your pilot, not your girl.”

He leaned closer, trapping her between the locked door and the frame. His breath was hot and damp against her face, his voice a throaty growl. “I’m not a man to take no for an answer,” he said. “You’ll change your mind. When you do, let me know. Just don’t make me wait too long.”

She braced herself to fight off his kiss, but he turned away with a rough laugh. “Sleep tight, Ruby. I’ll see you in your dreams.”

As he walked away, Ruby unlocked the door, slipped into the room, and secured the lock behind her. Knees shaking, she leaned against the door. In the silence, she could hear heavy footfalls going back down the hall toward the stairwell.

At least he’d walked away like a gentleman, she told herself. But no sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she heard the crash of a giant fist slamming into the wall, followed by a splintering sound.

The urge to open the door and look out swiftly fled. There could be just one explanation for what she’d heard. Leo Colucci had expected a different outcome to the evening. He was giving vent to his frustration.

Once the noise had faded, she moved away from the door and began pulling the dress over her head, fighting the temptation to rip it off. She never wanted to wear it again. One by one, she laid the gauzy garments in the fragrant, tissue-lined box and placed it on the dresser bench. Maybe, with luck, one of the maids would steal it.

Colucci had just shown her who he was—a dangerous, mercurial man who could become violent if he didn’t get what he wanted. Not that she was surprised—she’d never felt at ease around him. Now that he’d made his intentions clear, the safest course would be for her to run—change her name, leave Montana for someplace where Colucci would never find her. But her situation gave her no choice except to stay. Until Colucci and his like were under arrest, and her father set free, she was trapped.

The worst of it was the guilt. As Colucci’s mistress, she’d be privy to secrets that could bring down the whole Montana bootlegging operation and free her father. Was she being selfish, saying no to a man who made her skin crawl? Maybe Colucci was right. Maybe she would be forced to change her mind. But not yet. Please, God, not yet.

She would have a few days’ rest until the next shipment came in—maybe time to make a furtive trip to Deer Lodge to check on her father. But what was she thinking? Art was supposed to be dead. If it became known that he was alive, she would be exposed and probably killed. So would her father.

For now, unless she chose to sleep with Colucci, there was little she could do except perform her job as expected, keep her eyes and ears open, and report on what she learned. But she was walking a tightrope—a rope that was getting more fragile with every step. Sooner or later it would break—and she would have no one she could depend on, no one to save her. Her life would count for nothing. She was alone.

* * *

After the loss of her sister and her parents, Britta Anderson had sold the family home in town. She had moved into the quarters that were built onto the old log schoolhouse as a residence for the teacher. The rooms were small, and there was no plumbed-in bathtub. But conditions were no worse than they’d been when she was growing up on the family farm.

Tonight, she sat on the back porch in the rocker she’d brought from her old home. Her father, a skilled carpenter, had made it for her mother when their first child, her late brother, Alvar, was born. There was no way Britta could have left it behind, even though it was unlikely she would ever rock a baby of her own.

When the weather changed, she would take the chair inside. But for now, it was a pleasure to sit in the peace of the late night, with the stars overhead and the town slumbering around her.

On the next street over, stood the sheriff’s office and the city jail. Like the school, the facility had been built with attached living quarters. Sheriff Jake Calhoun lived upstairs from the jail with his little girl.

Tonight, with most of the block in darkness, she could see a distant light in the upstairs window. Did the handsome sheriff have company? she wondered idly. Could something be wrong, or was he just restless? Not that it was any of her business. She’d had a few dreams about the man, but she’d sworn off any interest in him when he’d married pretty Cora. Even with Cora gone, that hadn’t changed. There were younger, more attractive women waiting for Jake to pick and choose. She had missed her chance, and she had too much pride to try again.

A coyote streaked across the schoolyard and vanished into the shadows. Britta rose and moved the chair back under the shelter of the porch roof. It was getting late. She would change into her nightgown and read in bed until she got sleepy. That was one of the luxuries of being single. She could do whatever she wished.

She’d gone inside, put on her nightgown, let down her braids, and was about to switch off the parlor light when she heard an urgent rapping on the door. A woman alone couldn’t be too careful. Britta disliked guns, but she kept a baseball bat propped next to the door frame. Holding it ready, she called, “Who’s there?”

“It’s Jake. I need your help.” The voice was familiar, but its worried tone was nothing like she’d heard before. Pulse racing, she opened the door.

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