The Gambler by Lois Greiman Read Free Book Online
Authors: Lois Greiman
but she ignored it. She should have gone back long ago, but she'd been certain someone would find Raven's body and follow her.
But there was no way of knowing if he was dead. She was letting terror lead her mind. Raven Scott wasn't dead, she told herself firmly. He'd merely fallen from the loft. He was young and strong. Too young and too strong. She remembered his hands on her and shivered again. She had done what needed doing. Anyone would understand that, and now she was safe, for it was not yet dawn and no one had found her.
Slinking from the shadow of the porch, she glanced about. Although she was alone and unthreatened, she was also lost.
The streets of Deadwood seemed twisted and unplanned, but Charm hurried down the rutted roads, breathless and wary, until she saw the inn. Crouching against the corner of a general store, she stared through the uneven darkness, watching for movement, for some sign of trouble. All was quiet. Still, she dared not try the front door. Even if it had been left unlocked, someone might be hiding in the interior.
It was simple enough to find the window of Jude's rented room. It had not been so many hours before that they had escaped that way. A rail fence ran below the slanted roof.
She climbed now as quietly as possible and finally wriggled up a rough post to the rooftop. The shingles were softened from years of rain and grey-green moss. They made only a quiet protest as she crept across them.
The window was open. Charm drew a relieved breath. She'd left a narrow shim there to keep it ajar during their escape, but had worried it might have been removed before now. With one quick glance over her shoulder, Charm slipped into the soothing safety of the darkness within.
"Jude," she whispered, keeping her steps cautious and short. Now would not be the time to crash over a chair and announce her arrival. "Jude." Holding her breath, she bumped against the mattress and felt along its surface to find her father. He was there. Thank God. So her luck had returned after all. "Come on. We gotta go."
"So soon?" asked a voice from the darkness.
Charm shrieked, pivoting about. A match scratched to life. It flickered unsteadily then illumined the tilted half-smile of Raven Scott.
"You!" Her voice was barely audible. "You're not dead!"
Raven set the flame to the wick of a nearby lamp, then shook out the match and watched her in silence. "Disappointed?" Her face was smudged with dirt and framed by the disheveled, untamed mass of her mane. But it was her eyes that held his attention. They looked like those of a cougar as, wide and shocked and unblinking, they stared at him. "You must have found yourself one hell of a hiding place," he said.
"How did you get in?"
Her voice was very weak, and for an instant Raven wondered if she might faint. But then he remembered who she was. The killer woman. Fainting was unlikely. Murder, on the other hand...
"It wasn't difficult." He considered taking a step forward, but every inch of his body ached. If he moved, she would surely see his weakness, something he could not afford to reveal. Not with her. "Burle let me in."
Her brow wrinkled slightly, and for a moment it seemed he could see her mind work. "But... Jude?" She turned slowly, almost as if she were afraid of what she'd see.
The old man lay unconscious on the bed. His legs were spread, his boots still on, and his mouth ajar. He snorted in his stupor and twitched.
She said nothing. In a moment she turned back to Raven. Her expression was unreadable again, as if she'd found that secret place where she stowed her emotions.
Raven knew she'd see the whiskey bottles strewn beside the bed. Was she surprised by Jude's condition, or had she seen him intoxicated a hundred times before?
She took a deep breath and pursed her lips now. Neither narrow nor frail, her face possessed strong, well-defined bones and an unexpectedly full mouth. "It's your fault."
Her words yanked him from his examination of her. "And how
But there was no way of knowing if he was dead. She was letting terror lead her mind. Raven Scott wasn't dead, she told herself firmly. He'd merely fallen from the loft. He was young and strong. Too young and too strong. She remembered his hands on her and shivered again. She had done what needed doing. Anyone would understand that, and now she was safe, for it was not yet dawn and no one had found her.
Slinking from the shadow of the porch, she glanced about. Although she was alone and unthreatened, she was also lost.
The streets of Deadwood seemed twisted and unplanned, but Charm hurried down the rutted roads, breathless and wary, until she saw the inn. Crouching against the corner of a general store, she stared through the uneven darkness, watching for movement, for some sign of trouble. All was quiet. Still, she dared not try the front door. Even if it had been left unlocked, someone might be hiding in the interior.
It was simple enough to find the window of Jude's rented room. It had not been so many hours before that they had escaped that way. A rail fence ran below the slanted roof.
She climbed now as quietly as possible and finally wriggled up a rough post to the rooftop. The shingles were softened from years of rain and grey-green moss. They made only a quiet protest as she crept across them.
The window was open. Charm drew a relieved breath. She'd left a narrow shim there to keep it ajar during their escape, but had worried it might have been removed before now. With one quick glance over her shoulder, Charm slipped into the soothing safety of the darkness within.
"Jude," she whispered, keeping her steps cautious and short. Now would not be the time to crash over a chair and announce her arrival. "Jude." Holding her breath, she bumped against the mattress and felt along its surface to find her father. He was there. Thank God. So her luck had returned after all. "Come on. We gotta go."
"So soon?" asked a voice from the darkness.
Charm shrieked, pivoting about. A match scratched to life. It flickered unsteadily then illumined the tilted half-smile of Raven Scott.
"You!" Her voice was barely audible. "You're not dead!"
Raven set the flame to the wick of a nearby lamp, then shook out the match and watched her in silence. "Disappointed?" Her face was smudged with dirt and framed by the disheveled, untamed mass of her mane. But it was her eyes that held his attention. They looked like those of a cougar as, wide and shocked and unblinking, they stared at him. "You must have found yourself one hell of a hiding place," he said.
"How did you get in?"
Her voice was very weak, and for an instant Raven wondered if she might faint. But then he remembered who she was. The killer woman. Fainting was unlikely. Murder, on the other hand...
"It wasn't difficult." He considered taking a step forward, but every inch of his body ached. If he moved, she would surely see his weakness, something he could not afford to reveal. Not with her. "Burle let me in."
Her brow wrinkled slightly, and for a moment it seemed he could see her mind work. "But... Jude?" She turned slowly, almost as if she were afraid of what she'd see.
The old man lay unconscious on the bed. His legs were spread, his boots still on, and his mouth ajar. He snorted in his stupor and twitched.
She said nothing. In a moment she turned back to Raven. Her expression was unreadable again, as if she'd found that secret place where she stowed her emotions.
Raven knew she'd see the whiskey bottles strewn beside the bed. Was she surprised by Jude's condition, or had she seen him intoxicated a hundred times before?
She took a deep breath and pursed her lips now. Neither narrow nor frail, her face possessed strong, well-defined bones and an unexpectedly full mouth. "It's your fault."
Her words yanked him from his examination of her. "And how