“I want to look in on him,” she told Marcie. “He was bound very tightly. Look at his hands. His fingers are swollen.”
“What do you think you’re going to do about it, Florence Nightingale?” He poked her with two fingers to keep moving.
Jane was satisfied that she had already done something about it. At the sound of her voice, Max had lifted his head and was staring at her through his one good eye. Jane immediately turned in the doorway and planted a hand on the frame on either side. This barred Marcie from entering, but more importantly kept her face from his view. When Max started straining against his bindings, she shook her head. It wasn’t enough to keep him from doubling his efforts when Marcie’s face appeared at her shoulder.
“Max! Stop! Please, stop. Whatever happens, Max, you need to tell Morgan this is what I wanted. I want you to promise that you will do that for me. I could not ask Rabbit. It would not be fair to him.”
She had no idea whether Max committed to doing what she asked. Marcie grabbed one of her wrists and pulled it behind her back. He might have hurt her if she had struggled. She did not. She reminded herself that he was taking her where she wanted to go.
Gideon kicked the door shut once they were inside Mr. Webb’s inner sanctum. No one moved until Finn struck a match and located a lamp. He burned the tips of his fingers lighting it because he did not want to use another matchstick. When Gideon cuffed him, he merely shrugged and sucked on his fingertips.
“Put the lamp on top of the safe,” said Gideon. “Then sit your ass in that chair.”
“Mr. Webb’s chair?” asked Finn. “Behind his desk?”
“Don’t get too excited. No one’s asking you to run the place.”
“Do what he says, Finn.” Morgan knelt in front of the safe. “And stay put.” Morgan set his ear to the safe’s door and spun the lock.
“He should watch, though,” said Gideon. “And learn. It might figure into his future.”
“Shut up, Gideon. I need to hear this, not you. Is there a glass anywhere around?”
“No.”
“Finn, look in Mr. Webb’s desk drawers.”
“Already found it.” Finn held it out to Gideon. “Right next to the bottle of sassparilly he takes for his rheumatism.”
“Clever boy.” Gideon passed the glass to Morgan, who put the open end flush to the safe door. Gideon pushed aside some papers on the desk and hitched his hip on the edge. He rested his Model 1875 Remington against his thigh.
Morgan pressed his ear against the bottom of the glass and spun the lock again. He began to work in earnest. He estimated he could safely take five full minutes to crack the combination. He decided he would use every one of them.
“How much time?”
Gideon checked his watch, a gold-plated timepiece that had once belonged to his father. It was the only thing he took from Zetta Lee when they parted ways. He used a thumbnail to flick it open. “Fifty-four, no, fifty-three minutes.”
Jane did not permit Marcie to push her into the bedroom. She walked in under her own steam, chin up, shoulders braced.
“You ain’t goin’ to the gallows,” Marcie said. “Or the—what’s that French thing with the blade that cuts?—”
“A guillotine.”
“Yeah. You’re not goin’ there either. Like you told your man in the room, this is what you want. It’s real good of you to say that. Eases my mind some that it won’t come to rape. You’ll understand that I’ve had my fill of that accusation.”
Jane picked up the folded linens at the foot of the bed and carried them to the rocker. She set them down and turned to face him. Her eyes dropped to his gun belt. “You can put your gun on the dresser, or if you like, you can put it on top of the wardrobe.”
“What I like is to keep it at my side.”
“Your whores do not complain?”
His crooked grin changed the line of his scar. “Seems funny hearing you say somethin’ like that.” His eyes grazed her from head to toe. “I’ll give up the gun if you loosen your hair.”
Jane hesitated. The idea of this man touching her hair was repugnant. She had only ever unwound her hair for Morgan. He acted as if she were giving him a gift. Sometimes she thought it belonged more to him than it did to her, and now this man, this awful man, wanted to touch it.
“Yes,” said Jane. “Of course.” She put her hands to her head and began to remove the pins.
Marcie unstrapped his gun belt and put it on top of the wardrobe. “Guess you better come over here.” He crooked his finger at her. “I don’t think much of calling you Mrs. Longstreet. What’s your name?”
