Impassioned Deceit

Guthalungra, Queensland, Australia

1879

Hannah Wagstaff stood at the back of the Guthalungra Hotel, tucking her skirts into her waistband, her gaze drifting up to the ripe fruit on the mango tree. If she could find a way to get some, she could have a snack while her father was busy with his meeting inside.

She glanced around, searching for something to climb on to help her reach the lower branches. Some crates piled up near the back door of the building caught her attention, and an idea came to her. Hurrying over to them, she carried as many as she could back to beneath the tree. Stepping on top of the rickety step she’d made, she reached for the fruit.

Frustrated they still remained just out of her reach, she lifted herself up on her tiptoes, her arm stretching out, her fingers scraping against the bottom of one of the fruit. Suddenly, she began to sway slightly, the crates supporting her creaking and groaning, sounds of snapping wood echoing beneath her.

“Buggar it!” she cursed, tumbling down with the crates.

She braced herself, preparing to hit the ground with an uncomfortable thud. Instead, masculine arms engulfed her, protecting her from danger. Her gaze shot up immediately to see the most hypnotizing green eyes staring at her.

“Have to admit, that’s not the most ladylike exclamation I’ve ever heard.”

She struggled out of the stranger’s arms. Her feet firmly on the ground, she awkwardly straightened her attire, untucking the hems of her skirt and letting them fall back against her legs. She didn’t know who this man was, but she didn’t have to wonder what his opinion would be of her behavior.

“What did you think you were doing?” the man asked.

She stood straight, refusing to be chastised like a child. “I was trying to pick some mangoes, but I was too short to reach them, so I improvised.”

He walked over to the lower branches, and picking two of the ripest fruit, he brought them back to her. “I assure you that asking for help would have been a much safer option.”

Her brow furrowed as she took the fruit. Of all the things she’d expected, his casual kindness had not been one of them.

“What are you doing out here? Are you lost?” he asked.

“My father is attending to some business inside, and he sent me out here to amuse myself until he’s finished. Apparently, a hotel is no place for a young woman.”

Hannah began to wonder if standing out here with this man was really any safer. The way he looked at her, studying her as if she were some new, interesting artifact, made her stomach quiver and her hands tremble. She wasn’t scared. She didn’t really know what she was feeling.

“Thank you for picking the mangoes for me,” she finally said awkwardly with a smile. “Would you like one?”

“Thank you, but I picked them for you.” He was silent for a few seconds. “There’s something you could give me though.”

Uneasiness filled her. “What is that?”

He smiled, his hands going into his trouser pockets. “Your name.”

A smile spread across her lips, all concern vanishing. “Hannah. And you are?”

“Patrick,” he replied. “And like you, I’ve been banished out here by my father so he can deal with some business matters.”

Hannah pulled her pocket knife from where she kept it in her skirt and went about peeling one of the mangoes. Cutting off a slice of the orange fruit, she held it out to him. “Please share them with me. It’s the least I can offer you for helping me. Besides, it appears we both have some time to fill.”

As he went to take the offered piece, her hand slipped, the blade of her knife slicing his finger. Seeing him flinch in pain, she dropped the knife, grabbing his hand to inspect the wound.

“I’m so sorry. My hands were slippery from the fruit.”

He tried to pull his hand away. “I’m sure it’s just a nick.”

Ignoring his nonchalant remark, she lifted his finger to her mouth, her lips engulfing it as she sucked away the blood. Pulling his finger away from her lips, she again examined the wound.

“It appears you’re right. It looks far worse than it actually is.”

The pair stood there, their hands still touching, his brow furrowed as he studied her.

Realizing what he must be thinking of her behavior, she dropped his hand.

“My hands are all sticky now from that fruit,” she remarked, trying to make light of the situation.

“There’s a hand pump behind the shed we can use to wash our hands,” he told her. “I’ll show you.”

Hannah followed him behind the shed and held her hands under the outlet as Patrick cranked the lever for both of them to wash their hands. Lifting her skirts, she wiped her hands on her petticoats.

“Do you want to dry your hands?” she asked him.

He walked over to her and dried his hands quickly on the fabric before taking a step back from her.

“I must say no woman has ever offered me her petticoat before.”

She giggled. “I was only offering you a way to dry your hands, not suggesting you wear it.”

He laughed at her statement. “Where are you from?”

“I live in Inkerman with my parents and my sister. How about you?”

“I live not far from here with my parents,” he replied.

Again, silence fell between them, each glancing around as if trying to find something to say.

“Will your father mind if we go for a walk?” Patrick asked.

She shrugged. “Probably, but he’s not here to tell me not to.”

The pair strolled away from the hand pump and out across the small field behind the hotel. As they traveled further and further away from the building, Hannah couldn’t ignore her growing nerves. She’d never been alone with a man before, not even for a walk.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asked. “Do you think I intend to take advantage of you while you’re out of your father’s watchful eye?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. You have been awfully kind to me.”

He glanced at her. “And chivalry is a crime, is it?”

“Of course not, it’s just...I mean, this may seem foolish to you, but I’ve never been alone with any man before.”

“That’s not surprising. You’re a beautiful woman. Your father would no doubt keep a constant watch on you.”

She nodded. “He does try to.”

Again, he glanced at her, his gaze narrowing. “Are you saying he doesn’t always succeed?”

She hesitated for a few moments, not sure how much she should tell this man. “Let’s just say how I desire to spend my time isn’t always condoned by my father.”

There was a moment of silence. “And how would you rather spend your time?”

She sighed, studying her surroundings, her mind drifting. “I want to discover this new country of ours, and find those freedoms we were all promised we’d find here.”

“I can see why you would clash with your father with that opinion,” he stated. “Freedom isn’t a word often embraced.”

“But why?” she asked, forgetting herself. “What is so wrong with a woman wanting to be able to hold hands with a man without rumors traveling that they’re engaged in some clandestine affair? I can’t even talk to a man without being scolded. It’s like any relationship between a man and a woman is sinful and should be kept behind closed doors.”

He turned to her. “And you don’t think affairs of the heart should be kept in secret?”

“I think...” Her words drifted off as she suddenly realized the direction this conversation was going.

Looking out of the corner of her eye at her companion, his tall, solid build so close to her, she wondered if he would even be able to understand what she was trying to say. For all she knew, he was as etiquette bound as every other man she’d met in this town, more concerned with rules and appearances than he was with discovering genuine, passion-driven emotions. There was only one way she would find out.

“You must take many women on walks such as these?” she commented.

He shook his head. “Hardly any at all. The few I’ve taken usually only speak when spoken to, and are mostly interested in the next social function or how much their outfit should cost.”

She glanced over at him. “You don’t sound as if such things interest you.”

“They don’t.”

Hannah’s gaze shifted to look in front of her, this man now even more of a mystery to her. “So how would you rather spend your time instead of rubbing shoulders with the town’s most wealthy families?”

He shrugged. “I like simple things like reading, or exploring the undeveloped parts of the town. There’s a fishing hole not far from here that I’ve visited several times too.” He turned his head to look at her. “All those things must sound so very boring to a woman like you.”

She quickly shook her head. “Not at all. I was thinking how nice it would be to join you on one of your fishing trips sometime.”

He stopped, turning to face her, looking somewhat amazed. “I’d like that. We could even take a picnic with us.”

Feeling almost giddy at the thought, she smiled. Suddenly, he reached out to her, his fingers brushing loose strands of hair away from her face.

“You look so beautiful when you smile,” he said softly. “Your whole face lights up.”

Her cheeks heated, and she was certain he’d be able to see her blush.

His hand fell away. “You must have been given many such invitations by the men in this town.”

She shook her head. “None that I have welcomed as much as yours.”

Silence fell between them, their gazes joined. Hannah had never met a man like Patrick before, who claimed to want something far simpler—personal—out of life. Now that he was here with her, within her reach, she didn’t want this moment to end.

“I’d like to see you again,” he blurted out. “I mean, it would please me...that is, I desire...”

She giggled at his awkwardness. “I would have assumed a man as handsome as you would have more practice at such civilities.”

He shared in her humor. “I must confess there haven’t been many women I’ve desired to lay eyes on again as much as I do you.”

Her eyes narrowed, her humor fading. “Tell me why you want to see me again.”

* * * *

Patrick O’Doherty stood staring at Hannah, his mind swimming with all the answers he could give her, knowing the wrong one would send her straight back to the hotel and her father. That wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her to stay with him for as long as they had.

“Because I’ve never enjoyed another’s company as I have yours these last few minutes,” he finally answered her. Seeing doubt creeping into her expression, he knew he’d have to do more than just flatter her. “When I saw you standing on those crates, your legs bared by your tucked-up skirts, I was intrigued as I’ve never met a woman who would dare be seen in such a manner. When I held you in my arms, your softness pressing against me, you ignited a desire in me unlike any I’ve felt before.”

She raised her brow. “Your need to see me again is driven by your desire?”

He’d have to choose his words better. “Of course I desire you. You’re a beautiful woman. But I want to see you again to see what else you are. I mean, if the few moments of conversation this morning are anything to go on, I find you one of the most mysterious and interesting people I’ve met.”

Silence surrounded them, and Patrick was certain his bad choice of words had ruined any chance he had of getting to know this woman better. The thought of her turning away from him filled him with a disappointment unlike any he’d ever felt before.

“Hannah,” a man’s voice yelled, sounding far away.

They both looked back at the hotel, and Patrick saw the faint figure of a man standing under the mango tree. He’d been so lost in the company of this woman he only now realized how far they’d walked.

Turning back to Hannah, Patrick prepared himself for her rejection. She had every right to give it, especially after his mangled attempt to flatter her. A woman as beautiful and intriguing as her deserved a man who could hypnotize her with delicate words of seduction.

He was just about to tell her he understood her reluctance to see him again when he felt her lips on his, her body softly pressing against his. Before he could react, she’d broken their embrace, and grabbing her skirts in her hands, she backed away from him slowly.

“There’s a waterhole not far from here,” she said nervously. “I can meet you there in an hour.”

He smiled. “I’ll be there.”

She turned and ran toward the man calling her. Patrick watched her figure growing fainter and fainter, his hand going to his still-wet lips. Who was this woman he wondered as he walked back to the hotel, his gaze watching as she stepped into a carriage, the man who’d called her following her. He must be her father. Had he seen his daughter’s show of affection? Patrick couldn’t be certain. All he knew for sure was the warmth that had filled him as their lips joined, her intoxicating, sweet smell hypnotizing his senses in the few moments before she disappeared as quickly as she’d entered his life.

The hotel only a few yards away, he stopped under the mango tree where he’d first met Hannah. Looking down at the ground, he saw the mangoes he’d picked for her, a glint of metal shining between them. Reaching down, he picked the object up and examined it. Hannah’s pocket knife. Placing it in his jeans pocket, he smiled. It wasn’t like any other feminine memento he’d heard of, but he’d keep it until she asked him for it at their next meeting. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he met her at the waterhole, but even if all he did was pass the basic civilities with her, it would be better than never seeing her again.

* * * *

Jack O’Doherty and Neville Wagstaff sat in the Guthalungra Hotel, a pint of beer in front of each of them.

“Why did you send for me?” Jack asked, staring into his still-full glass. “I thought we agreed never to make contact again.”

“I know, but this is important.”

Jack finally looked up at him. “So is the life I’ve built here. I have a family now, a profitable cattle business, and I won’t jeopardize that for anyone, not even you.”

Neville’s brow furrowed. “I have just as much to lose as you do, but I had to warn you.”

Jack’s gaze narrowed, concern filling him. “Surely after all these years we can no longer be in danger. We moved towns, making certain to distance ourselves from that life completely. There can’t be anything left that could connect us to what happened in Ravenswood.”

“It’s Glen Rawlings,” Neville rasped out in a low voice. “He’s in town, and he’s looking for us.”

“What?” Jack exclaimed. Noticing the curious onlookers, he lowered his tone to avoid drawing any further attention. “That cannot be. How did he find us?”

Neville shrugged, his jaw clenching. “If he’s back, he can ruin everything for both of us. He’s the only other one who knows what happened that day.”

Jack thought for a moment. “He committed more sins that day than either of us. We may have been thieves, but it was he who killed those people in that carriage.”

“But we can’t prove that.”

Jack’s lips pursed. “I can. I kept the brooch Glen took from that woman, as well as the plans he drew. I’ve even got the newspaper article with those they believed responsible at the time.”

Neville’s gaze narrowed. “You kept it all? But why? If anyone ever saw it, you would have gone to the gallows for certain.”

Jack nodded. “That was why I kept it, to ensure if it ever eventuated, I wouldn’t hang alone.”

“You think I’d betray you?” Neville gasped.

Jack lowered his gaze. “Wealth does funny things to a man. Makes him forget his friends and where he came from.” Silence fell between them until Jack finally raised his gaze to look at the pained expression on Neville’s face. “It was not you I feared would hand me over for my crimes, old friend. Who I feared was Glen.”

“But the robbery was his idea,” Neville reminded him. “It was he who knew about that couple and when they’d be traveling. He planned it all.”

Jack couldn’t believe that after all these years Neville hadn’t figured it out. “Did you never wonder how he knew such information? Or how he could be certain there would be no police patrolling the area that night?”

Neville’s confusion was plain to see.

“He was a police detective in Ravenswood at the time,” Jack revealed. “He knew where every shipment of gold was going and how to get to it untouched.”

Neville shook his head. “Surely you’re mistaken. Such a thing can’t be true.”

“It’s as true as I’m sitting here,” Jack said. “I found his badge in his saddlebag one night when I went looking for matches. I never told him what I’d discovered, but I didn’t trust him from that day forth either.”

“That’s why you were so insistent we both leave town with our share of the gold?”

Jack nodded.

“But Glen found us, even after all these years,” Neville said, his voice trembling. “And if you’re right about him working for the police, he can ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for here, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“You let me deal with Glen,” Jack said firmly. “Once he knows I have enough proof to drag him down with both of us, I’m certain he’ll go on his way and leave us to our lives.”

“What do I do if he comes after me first?” Neville asked nervously.

“He won’t,” Jack assured him. “After all, it was me who left him to the mercy of the police back in Ravenswood, ensuring he appeared as guilty as could be when they found him. If he comes after either of us, it’ll be me he looks for first.”

Neville didn’t look convinced. “I need to get my daughter and get out of here.”

He stood from the table and started to turn away, but Jack reached for his shoulder, stopping him. “It would be safer for both our families if this is the last time we meet, old friend.”

Neville glanced back at him. “Stay safe, my friend.”

Jack’s hand fell away, and he watched his childhood friend walk out of the hotel. It saddened him to know this was the last time they’d ever see each other, but it was for the best. If he was right, and Glen would come looking for him first, it was safer for Neville and his family that they not be connected.

Dropping some coins on the table to pay for their drinks, Jack walked out of the hotel and went in search of his son. Despite how certain he sounded when he told Neville he’d take care of Glen, Jack couldn’t ignore the fear creeping up on him.

He’d seen how easily Glen had butchered those people all those years ago in Ravenswood. Since Jack had fled town, he’d heard of other similar incidents. He couldn’t prove Glen had been responsible for them, but reading in the newspapers that he’d been the first officer on the scene each time, Jack couldn’t help but wonder.

But if Glen had been involved in so many heists, he’d be a wealthy man by now, so why had he come chasing Neville and himself? Whatever the reason, Jack was certain it couldn’t be good. If he’d tracked them down after all these years, despite their extensive efforts to change their appearances and distance themselves from their previous life, Glen wanted something only they could give him. But what?

He stopped at the rear door of the hotel and looked outside to where his son stood underneath a mango tree. Jack had worked hard to ensure Patrick and his mother knew nothing but a comfortable life. Neither of them knew about the sins from Jack’s past that enabled him to purchase the cattle stations he now owned. For their safety though, Jack feared he’d have to confess all. Glen would stop at nothing until he had what he came for...which was what? Money? Property? Surely by now Glen had ample of both.

Hearing a noise behind him, Jack turned to see the bartender stacking crates of alcohol.

“Would you know a Glen Rawlings?” Jack asked him, not expecting much of a reply.

The bartender stopped what he was doing, standing and stretching his back. “He’s the police commissioner near Inkerman.”

“You wouldn’t know where he lives, would you?” Jack asked, searching for information. “I suppose some big mansion somewhere.”

The bartender laughed loudly. “Hardly. He stays most nights at one of the hotels in the area. Rarely pays his tab from what I’ve been told, but they let him stay so as not to attract too much trouble from the rest of the coppers.”

Jack’s heart sank. This was why Glen had come looking for Neville and himself. He’d lost everything...but how? Surely there had to be someone who would know.

“Patrick!” he yelled to his son as he drew nearer. “Hurry and get in the carriage. I have to make a few stops before we return home.”

Walking over to join his son in the carriage, Jack knew he’d have to put a few securities in place at the bank in case Glen got the better of him. With his wife and son left to the mercy of that bastard, they’d lose everything in a matter of months and be out on the streets.

“What’s the hurry?” Patrick asked.

Jack eyed his son, not wanting to tell him too much. “I’ve just got some more business matters to attend to.” He saw the disappointed look creeping across the young man’s face. “You look disheartened. Did you perhaps have other plans that I’ve interrupted?”

Patrick nodded. “I was supposed to meet someone at the waterhole near here.”

Jack pondered his son’s words for a moment. Maybe it would be best if he handled the matter at the bank without company. “I can drop you there on the way.”

* * * *

Patrick walked toward the waterhole, the sound of his father’s departing carriage drifting off in the distance behind him. He had come here to swim several times over the years, finding it a welcomed solace from the heat in this country. Was that why Hannah had invited him here? He could think of no other reason. Even if his assumption was wrong, and this visit was brief, he was just happy to be seeing her again.

As he neared the water, his gaze went to the dark-haired woman sitting on the bank, her feet dangling in the water. He was going to announce himself, but in truth, he didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat nervously, hoping that would be enough to draw her attention.

She turned to look at him, a huge smile filling her face. “I feared you wouldn’t be able to come.”

“My father dropped me off on his way to deal with some business in Inkerman,” he explained. “He’s going to collect me on his way home.”

She stood and stepped toward him. “How long can you stay?”

He shrugged. “Maybe an hour. Maybe longer.”

The pair stood there, their gazes joined. He wanted to ask her so many questions, hungering to know just who she was.

“Can you swim?” she asked. “Or we could just go for a walk around the area.”

Her uncertainty confused him. “Why did you ask me to meet you here?”

She bent down and slipped off her shoes. “A swim seems like a better idea in this heat.” Her hands went to the buttons on her blouse, unfastening them.

“What are you doing?”

She giggled. “You can’t expect me to go swimming in this. I’ll drown from the weight of it.”

Patrick watched as she stripped down to her chemise and drawers before turning and running into the water. Hesitating only a moment longer, he took off his shoes, then his shirt, throwing it beside her clothes.

“Is that all you’re taking off?” she asked.

He walked toward her and waded through the water until he was only a few feet from her. “I think it’s for the best.”

She began to giggle. “Are you shy?”

He shook his head, sharing in her humor. “I just think what lies beneath my trousers is a bit too much of an introduction given we only met an hour ago.”

Her laughter began to fade, and he watched as a cheeky grin spread across her lips. “I’ll take my chemise off if you take your trousers off.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You can’t be serious?”

She raised her brow. “What if I am?”

The pair waded in the water, their gazes joined, each wondering if Hannah would indeed go through with her side of the bargain. Patrick knew he shouldn’t encourage such behavior, but the thought of being so close to this woman—and so revealed—both thrilled and scared him. Never had he met a woman so forward, and he needed to know now more than ever if she was serious or just all bluff.

“You have yourself a deal,” he finally said.

Hannah hesitated slightly before reaching down in the water and pulling her chemise up over her head, throwing it on the bank.

Patrick could feel his hands trembling as he reached into the water to remove his trousers. Pulling the saturated denim from the water, he threw it on the bank near Hannah’s chemise.

“Is this why you asked me here? To undress me?” he asked.

She giggled nervously. “I just thought we could get to know each other a little better.”

“I’d say you’ve managed that.”

She shook her head, her laughter fading. “Anyone can take their clothes off. It’s something special to reveal your soul to another though.”

“Ask me anything,” he offered without hesitation. “I will tell you every secret I have.”

She thought for a moment. “How long were you watching me under that mango tree?”

He smiled. “Seconds...minutes. Had you not fallen, I would have watched you for hours.”

“Why?”

He reached out to her, his fingers brushing her cheek. “You looked so beautiful, and I know I had no right, but I wanted any excuse to go to you, just to speak to you.”

“And now?” she asked.

His hand fell away from her. “You made me feel something this morning, something I’ve never felt before. Then when you kissed me...I needed to know if I could make you feel the same thing.”

Wading toward her, his body pressed against hers. When she didn’t push him away, he leaned into her, his lips taking hers softly. His arm went around her waist, holding her to him. Her naked breasts molded against him, burning a fire in him.

Feeling her shudder, he hesitantly pulled away from her, studying the glazed look filling her eyes. He had no doubt that should he try to take this woman’s passions right now, she wouldn’t refuse him. He wanted more than this though.

“Who are you?” he asked softly.

She held his gaze, not answering him. Was she scared? Or did she not want to reveal her true identity to him?

“Hannah, I—” But his words were cut off by her lips on his, hungrily kissing him, her hands gripping his shoulders as one of her feet slid up his naked leg, her thigh wrapping around his hip. His hand went to her bottom, holding her against his swollen manhood, needing her to feel just what she was doing to him.

The distant sound of an approaching carriage dragged him from his impassioned state, forcing him to break their embrace and look around. Seeing a carriage approaching, he knew it must be his father returning for him.

“I have to go,” he said, his voiced strained. Pulling away from her, he swam quickly to the bank. Stepping out, he pulled on his trousers and reached for his shirt before turning to see her wading in the water. “I want to see you again.”

She swam toward the bank and stepped out onto the grass. His breath caught in his throat as he watched her pull her chemise on, covering her naked breasts.

“You’ve seen more of me than any other man.” She giggled, turning to look at him.

His eyes narrowed. “Is that why you asked me here? To try to seduce me?”

She shook her head. “I had thought to get to know you a little better, but I couldn’t ignore the way you made me feel...the raw emotion you stirred in me.”

The sound of the carriage grew closer. Hannah shifted to hide behind the truck of the tree beside the waterhole.

“Please say you’ll meet with me again,” he begged.

“To finish what we started in that lake?”

He shook his head. “So I can find out what else I can desire about you as much as your beauty.” When her brow furrowed, he smiled. “I want to know everything about you—who you were as a child, your favorite color, everything.”

She returned his smile.

“Patrick!” his father yelled from the slowing carriage.

He glanced at his father, then turned back to Hannah. “I have to go.”

She nodded. “We shall have to find each other here again soon.”

Not wanting to leave this woman, but knowing he must, he turned and went to hurry toward his father’s waiting carriage.

“Blue!” she yelled after him.

He turned back to her. “What?”

“My favorite color,” she explained with a smile. “It’s blue.”

Returning her smile, he turned and ran to his father’s carriage. He wanted to see this woman again soon. He needed to.

* * * *

Glen Rawlings dismounted from his horse at the front of the O’Doherty station house and looked around. The property was vast, far more so than he’d expected. Stepping up to the front door, he knocked loudly. Silence. He knocked again. Still no one answered.

Walking around the house, he pressed his face against the windows one by one, trying to look inside. It was nowhere as grand as he’d envisioned, the furnishings far more practical yet still comfortable.

But where was Jack? The bartender at the Guthalungra Hotel had assured him this was the address when he went there yesterday. He’d been quite surprised to learn he’d only missed finding Jack there by almost an hour.

Hearing a horse approaching behind him, he turned to see who it was. Part of him hoped it was the woman he’d been told Jack was married to. From what he’d heard, she was quite the beauty, and he was eager to see for himself if the rumors were true.

“What are you doing here, Glen?” the rider asked once he was closer.

Glen smiled as his gaze met Jack’s. “Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“You were never my friend.” Jack scowled as he pulled the horse to a stop and dismounted.

Glen’s smile faded. This was going to be far harder than he’d first imagined. “Well, business associate then.”

Jack stood a few feet from him, his hands on his hips. “I asked what you were doing here.”

“I thought while I was in town we could catch up on old times. Maybe you could introduce me to your lovely wife and that son of yours.”

“They aren’t here, so it appears you’re out of luck.”

Glen pretended to frown. “What a shame. I’ll have to come back again to meet them another day.”

“You can quit with the charade. I know why you’re here,” Jack said harshly. “You’ve run out of money and think Neville and I will give you everything we’ve worked for.”

Glen laughed. “Worked for? Stolen gold bought this place.”

“The same amount that you were more than happy to pocket all those years ago. Unlike you though, Neville and I made something of our lives and used that wealth for good.”

Glen scowled. “You used it to feather your own beds and nothing else. And unless you pay me what I want, the police around here will be told exactly that.”

Jack stood firm. “Blackmail?” He laughed. “It won’t work. You will never get a dime from me.”

Glen’s gaze narrowed. “You have grown either very brave or very dumb over the years.”

“And you have grown very confident if you think your colleagues in the police station will turn a blind eye to the murders you committed that day.”

“What do you mean by colleagues?” Glen asked cautiously.

Jack laughed without any humor. “Did you really think me such a mug that I wouldn’t figure out you were a copper? I guess you shouldn’t have kept your badge in your saddlebag.”

Glen remained silent, his fury burning as he realized Jack wasn’t as simple as he’d always assumed he was. Still, just because he knew the truth, what could he do with it? After all, no one was going to believe such an accusation against the police commissioner.

Jack sneered at him. “I knew one day you would hand Neville and me over to the police for all your crimes. After I watched you butcher that couple in their carriage, I realized you had no honor at all...not even amongst thieves. I swore there and then I’d never be in the position to be used by someone like you ever again. It took years, but finally I used my share of the gold to earn myself a life of respectability. I learned how to read and write, how to run a business, but most importantly, I learned how to uncover the most hidden secrets of a criminal.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jack walked toward him, only inches now separating them. “I kept everything,” he hissed, his hot breath brushing Glen’s cheek. “I have every note, every map you ever penned. Even the timetable of the guards you gave me so we knew when that carriage of gold would be unguarded. There’s the news article which states you were apparently first on the scene, mysteriously covered in blood.”

Glen’s fury merged into panic. With all of this in his possession, Jack could go to the authorities any time. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Now, you will get off my station,” Jack ordered. “You won’t come back here or go and find Neville. If you do, everything I’ve hidden away will be taken to the police.”

Glen reached in his jacket pocket, his fingers gripping around the bone object there. This wasn’t why he had come here, but it now appeared he had no other choice. Pulling the dagger from its hiding place, he plunged it into Jack’s stomach, his movements hard and fast. The other man struggled against him, but Glen didn’t budge, the bone handle of the knife held firmly in his hand.

Jack fell against him, his body growing week. “I have the brooch.”

The words were rasped out, but Glen heard them as clear as day, and his blood ran cold. That single piece of evidence could send him to the gallows. Every photograph taken of him these last few years he’d worn the ring matching the pattern on the brooch. If that brooch were to be uncovered now...

He pushed Jack’s dying body away from him, watching as he fell to the ground, his hands gripping the bloody hole in his gut. Glen gazed down at his weakening body.

“I didn’t want this,” he explained.

Jack tried to talk but instead coughed up blood.

Glen knelt beside him. “All this proof you claimed to have won’t save you now.”

“I knew one day you would come and find me,” Jack rasped. “When I was told of the money you’d lost, I had to do something to protect myself...to protect my family.”

Glen smiled evilly. “I’ll be certain to protect your family for you after you’re gone.”

Jack stared up at him, death filling his face. “The secret of your crimes won’t die with me...” His words drifted off as death consumed him.

Glen stood, looking at his hands and the blood covering him. He couldn’t stay here. Should Jack’s wife and son return home and see him like this, standing over a dead body, they wouldn’t care that he was the police commissioner. They would hold him accountable for what happened to Jack. Running to his horse, he pulled himself into the saddle, his hands gripping the reins tight.

“Hey you!” a man yelled from some distance behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Glen didn’t turn around. He couldn’t for fear of being seen, or worse, recognized.

“Father?” the voice behind him yelled.

It was Jack’s son. Glen kicked the horse hard in the flanks and sped away, never once glancing back.

* * * *

Patrick pulled on the horse’s reins, stopping the animal and quickly dismounting.

“Father?” he yelled, his gaze going immediately to the still body lying on the dusty ground.

He ran toward the body, falling to his knees beside his father, studying the bloodied wound in the older man’s gut. His line of sight shot to the man on horseback now hurrying away from the station. Dust surrounded him as the horse’s hooves pounded on the dusty earth, Patrick squinted to try to make out something about the man he could recognize. Red hair, like the sunset.

His gaze went back to his father, checking for any sign of life. There was none.

“No!” Patrick screamed into the air, looking around for a reason as to why his father might have been attacked.

The door to the house was still shut. Cattle appeared undisturbed in the yards. He patted his father’s trouser pockets, feeling a small wad of money there. This was no robbery, so why was his father lying here in a pool of his own blood?

Forcing himself to stand, Patrick looked around him. There was no one there who could help him. The station hands were all out in the paddocks working. His mother was still in town at the bank where his father had summoned her to meet him earlier. His heart ached as he thought of how his mother would react upon her return to find her husband dead. Whoever did this needed to be found and brought to justice.

He was just about to go into the house to send for the authorities when his mother’s carriage pulled up. Patrick hurried over to her, wanting to save her from witnessing the sight of his father’s dead body. His already aching heart shattered as he told her of her husband’s fate, tears filling her eyes as she began to swoon in front of him. Reaching for her, he caught her before she could collapse on the dirt.

“The police have to be sent for,” he told her, trying to stay focused on what needed to be done. “I’ll send the driver to the station.”

Leaving his mother for a few moments, he quickly went to the driver and told him what had happened before ordering him to hurry as fast as he could to the police. The driver hurried back to town, and Patrick returned to his mother.

“I’ll get you inside and make you a cup of tea,” he said. “The police should be here shortly.”

He wasn’t sure how long passed before a carriage was heard pulling up at the front of the house. He was about to stand and go out to see if it was the police when his mother’s hand rested on his arm.

“Someone needs to tell the workers what’s happened,” she said. “You go deal with that. I’ll speak to the police.”

Not wanting to argue with her, Patrick went out the back of the house, and saddling a horse, he rode it out across the station in search of the workers. He didn’t want to be dealing with this right now, but nor did he have a choice. The workers did need to be told, and his mother was far more equipped with dealing with the police than he was.

Catching sight of the men on horses in the west paddock, he steered his horse toward them. With his father dead, it was now his responsibility to keep this place running. He had to be strong when he told the workers about his father, ensuring them their jobs were safe and the station would carry on like always.

He pulled on the reins, stopping a few yards from the station hands. “Father was attacked near the house.” His tears threatened, but he couldn’t afford to show weakness in front of these men. It wasn’t the done thing. A tear escaping his eye and running down his cheek, he knew his emotions had betrayed him.

“How bad is it?” one of the workers asked hesitantly.

Patrick’s lip trembled. “He didn’t survive. Mother is talking to the police now.” Horror and sorrow filled the men’s faces. “You can continue working if you want, or return to your quarters until morning.”

“What’s going to happen to the station?” another worker asked.

Patrick sighed, trying in vain to rein in his emotions. “I’ll take over running it.” Not lingering to see the workers’ reactions, he turned the horse, and kicking it hard in the flanks, the animal sprinted back in the direction of the house.

Arriving at the house, he quickly dismounted and walked inside to see a red-haired man talking to his mother in the sitting room. Reaching for the loaded rifle that rested against the hutch in case of snakes, he lifted it in his arms and aimed it at the man.

“Hold it right there, you murdering son of a bitch!” he roared.

Both the man and his mother turned to face him. “Patrick! What in devil’s name do you think you’re doing?” his mother gasped, rushing toward him. She placed her hand on the barrel of the gun, lowering it.

“I saw the man who killed Father leaving the station on horseback. He had red hair.”

The man looked confused. “As does half the population of the town, boy.”

“This is Glen Rawlings,” his mother explained. “He’s the police commissioner who’s come to investigate what happened to your father.”

Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “They send detectives to investigate, not commissioners.”

“I’ve seen crimes like this before in the area, and I wanted to come myself to see if they were connected.” Glen reached in his pocket and pulled out his badge, showing it to Patrick. “Now, you would do well to put that gun away, boy. Your poor mother has seen enough blood shed today.”

Patrick kept a watchful eye on the man.

“I’ll need to search the property for any signs of what the intruder might have been after. The house too.”

His mother nodded, but Patrick shook his head. “There’s no point. This wasn’t a robbery. Whoever killed my father came for him and nothing else.”

“You sound very certain of that,” Glen said.

“He had money in his pocket that wasn’t taken, and the front door of the house was still shut when I arrived home.”

His mother’s hands went to his arm. “Let the man do his job.”

Glen eyed him suspiciously; Patrick could feel the man’s eyes boring into him.

“And you say your father was dead when you arrived home.” Glen continued to study him. “And how was your relationship with your father?”

Patrick lunged at him, stopping only when his mother reached for him, shifting to stand in front of him. “You will stop this now,” she ordered firmly.

“I know all about your temper from the file we have on you at the station,” Glen sneered. “You broke that man’s nose, didn’t you?”

Patrick struggled to control his temper. His mother’s hands pulling at him, he gazed down at her, seeing the desperation in her eyes. She had just lost her husband; did he really want to be the reason she lost her only child too?

He stood strong and straight, looking back at Glen. “My father and I had a good relationship. If you don’t believe me, ask the men who work here.”

He held Glen’s gaze, daring him to challenge what he’d just said. Suddenly, the other man shifted his gaze to Patrick’s mother. “I didn’t mean to cause you any further distress, Caroline, but it is routine for me to ask such questions. If you could spare me a few more moments of your time, I’d like to go over the kind of lifestyle your husband had. Maybe it can lead me in the direction of some associate who might have meant him ill will.”

Letting go of Patrick, his mother walked with Glen to the chairs and sat down. Watching as they spoke, Glen shooting the occasional glance at him, Patrick knew there was something about this man he didn’t trust. The sooner he finished his investigation and was out of this house, the better off they’d all be.