Lannigan caught Conrad on the jaw with a looping right, then bored in and started to grapple with him. Conrad felt it when Lannigan plucked the Bowie knife from the sheath on his left hip. Twisting, Conrad got a hand on Lannigan’s wrist just in time to stop the man from plunging the blade into his side. Conrad hooked a punch with his other hand into Lannigan’s belly. Lannigan stumbled, off balance. Conrad gave Lannigan’s wrist a hard twist, caught hold of his shoulder, and rammed his own body forward against the gambler.
Lannigan screamed as the collision sent twelve inches of cold steel slicing into his gut. Conrad had managed to turn the knife so it was pointing at Lannigan before they crashed together.
Conrad let go and stepped back. Lannigan swayed, his fingers still wrapped around the Bowie’s handle. He pawed at it but couldn’t pull it free. It wouldn’t have mattered if he did. The damage was already done. Blood leaked out around the knife, and the crimson stain spread rapidly.
“Lannigan,” Conrad said in an urgent voice. “Lannigan, is it true? What you told me about the children ... is it true? You’ve got nothing to lose now by telling me.”
Lannigan was looking down at the knife handle protruding from his belly. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Conrad’s gaze, then started to laugh. The laughter was so hard it shook him and made the blood flow even faster.
Then he gasped, made a grotesque gurgling sound, and blood spilled from his mouth. His eyes opened wide but no longer saw anything. He pitched forward and lay on the ground motionless, curled around the blade that had ended his life.
Conrad stood looking at the dead gambler when he caught a glimpse of motion from the corner of his eye. He turned his head and saw Ling Yuan standing there.
“It is done,” the big hatchet man said.
“Yes, it’s done. Diamond Jack’s dirty work is done for him, so he won’t have to go to war against the rest of the Barbary Coast. That’s what he wanted all along, isn’t it?”
Ling Yuan didn’t answer.
“You’ve been lurking around here, haven’t you?” Conrad went on. “You’ve probably got a dozen more hatchet men hidden in the trees. If Frank and I had failed, you’d have killed Lannigan and made it look like one of us did it. But now you won’t even have to go to that much trouble. We took care of it for you.”
“Is Mr. Morgan all right?” Ling Yuan asked.
Conrad jerked a thumb toward the lodge. “He’s in there shot up a little, but he’ll be fine.”
Ling Yuan nodded and appeared to be satisfied. “His wounds will be cared for. We will bring your horses and help you get back to San Francisco.”
Conrad started to respond angrily and tell the man they didn’t need his help, but he changed his mind. Might as well get something out of this whole mess, he thought.
“Fine. I’ve still got business to take care of in San Francisco.”
Chapter 32
Conrad took Claudius Turnbuckle with him when he went to Lannigan’s house the next morning. Frank was back at the hotel, being looked after by Arturo, who seemed glad to have something to do again.
As they stepped down from Turnbuckle’s buggy, the lawyer said, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get Patrick Dugan and some of the other detectives who work for me? Lannigan may have left guards with orders to keep you from getting to his wife.”
“If he did, I’ll handle them,” Conrad said. “I’m not sure they’ll want to risk it when they find out Lannigan’s dead.”
“Mrs. Lannigan may call the police.”
“If she does, I’ll be gone before they get here.” Conrad took a deep breath. “I have to
Turnbuckle gripped Conrad’s shoulder for a second. “Of course you do, lad. Of course you do.”
“Wait here.”
Conrad went up the walk, through the lush grounds, to the house. When he reached the porch, he was surprised to see the door stood open a few inches. He hadn’t changed clothes since the battle at Lannigan’s hunting lodge the night before, and his Colt was still in its holster. His hand went to his gun as a bad feeling came to life inside him.
He pushed on the door. It made a little noise as it opened all the way. The inside of the house appeared to be dark and quiet. He stepped into a richly-appointed foyer.
A voice came from the dim, shadowy parlor to his left. “Is that you, Mr. Browning?”
Conrad drew his Colt as he moved into the sumptuously furnished room. Heavy drapes were drawn over all the windows, making it almost as dark as night. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he made out the figure sitting in a chair next to a fireplace. A large portrait hung over the mantel. Conrad’s gaze flicked to it and saw four people, two adults and two children. A family portrait, he thought bitterly.
“Mrs. Lannigan ...”
“You won’t need that gun,” Winifred said. “Dex left men here, but I sent them all away. They didn’t want to go, but I insisted. I knew either he or you would come, and I have nothing to fear from either of you.”
“Your husband’s dead.” He knew it was brutal to say it like that, so hard and cold, but one way or another, the woman had been a part of Pamela’s scheme.
“I know. I knew as soon as you came in. I ... had a feeling that’s the way things would turn out. When I saw you at the Kimball mansion, I could tell you were the sort of man who wouldn’t allow himself to be turned aside from what he wants.” She laughed hollowly. “I’m sorry to say you can’t have what you want, Mr. Browning. It doesn’t exist.”
Conrad tried to ignore the pulse hammering in his head and the sick feeling in his gut. “Then it’s true. What your husband told me about the children.”
“David and Rachel. My children. Yes, it’s true. I knew Dex would tell you if he could. He planned to gloat about it before he killed you.” She sighed. “He was an evil man. That’s why he was so ... well matched with Miss Tarleton. They should have been together. They were meant for each other.”
“You sound like you didn’t love him.”
“You don’t have to love someone to be married to them, Mr. Browning. Sometimes it’s enough just to be ... taken care of.”
Conrad kept a tight rein on his emotions. “You could be lying to me right now,” he snapped. “Just like your husband lied to me.”
“I could be, but ... you’ve never seen them, have you?” Winifred raised her voice. “David, Rachel, come down here, please!”
Conrad’s breath caught in his throat as he heard the sudden clatter of small footsteps on the broad staircase leading down from the second floor into the foyer. He turned. He had left the front door open, so there was enough light for him to see the boy and the girl who came down the stairs and stopped in the entrance to the parlor.
They were beautiful. Thick, dark, curly hair. Clean, innocent features. Strong, sturdy bodies. Keen, inquisitive, intelligent eyes. The sort of children any man would be proud to call his own.
But they weren’t his. That knowledge burned into his soul like a brand. No matter how hard he searched their faces, he couldn’t find a trace of resemblance to either him or Pamela. When he looked back at Winifred Lannigan, he saw her in them. There was no doubt about that.
“Yes, Mama?” the little boy said.
The little girl looked up at Conrad. “Who’re you?”
“Children, this is Mr. Browning,” Winifred said. “He’s come a long way to see you.”
“To see us?” the little boy said. “Why?”
Conrad swallowed hard and struggled to find his voice. Finally, he said, “I came to tell you ... what fine children you and your sister are ... David. I’ve heard ... so much about you ... and now I see that it’s true.”
Both children looked at him like he had lost his mind. Maybe he had.
