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  She ruthlessly pared it around ears, parted it in the middle, and slicked it down with water. The face in the mirror would now blend in with any of the better-dressed men in town, hat or no.

  As she straightened her tie in the mirror, a telltale glimmer brought her up short. Inez stripped the two rings from her left hand and set them on the washstand alongside the hairpins she no longer needed.

  Mark’s gunbelt and Navy Colt hung on the peg beside the wardrobe. She buckled it on, making sure the gun was visible. Walking the block to Cat’s parlor house would not be a Sunday stroll.

  The small Remington went into her trouser pocket: a backup. Then, she knelt and fastened Mark’s knife under her pant leg. His teasing rang in her memory. "A knife’s not for you, Inez. You don’t know how to handle it, it’d be more a danger than a help to you in a bad situation. Stay with the weapons you know best. Guns and words."

  Insurance.

  Inez fumbled through the pockets of Mark’s winter overcoat until she found Frisco Flo’s card. Flo’s remembered voice whispered: You’ll need this to get in.

  One more thing was vital to ensure her welcome at Cat’s doors. Inez checked her dress pockets and found five dollars. She went back to the office and checked the safe—empty.

  She upended her carpetbag and pried out the false bottom. Counterfeit twenties and fifties fell to the floor.

  Reflecting on the irony of using Cat’s own counterfeit to topple her house of cards, Inez rolled the money tight into her waistcoat pocket.

  Extinguishing the light, she opened the ink-streaked door and took a last look around the office, wondering when and if she would return. She thought of Abe, behind bars, their lives and reputations in shambles. Inez squared her shoulders. Time to find a guardian angel.

  999

  Negotiating the block to Cat’s high-class boarding house meant passing a half dozen saloons of various sizes and temperaments, a dancehall, a restaurant, and two lodging hotels of dubious repute. In near blinding snow, Inez circumvented five horizontal men—three puking on hands and knees, two lying inert on the boardwalk—and shoved her way through the surging throng. As she passed one murky saloon, she heard a woman scream just as a tangle of men boiled out onto the walk. Shouts were followed by the sharp report of a handgun. She pushed hard against the crowd that suddenly stopped to gape at the man bleeding and scrabbling across ice-encrusted boards. A policeman knocked her aside, shouting to others to clear the way. Inez hastened through the vacuum created by his wake. She spared barely a glance at Cat’s saloon. All her attention focused on the three-story brick structure next to it: the parlor house.

  Her hand finally on the door, Inez wheezed, trying to catch her breath and her equilibrium. At her knock, a man the size of a mountain answered the door and uttered one word: "Card?"

  Inez handed him Flo’s business card. He examined it, then peered at her. "Don’t recall your face. New to town?" Inez nodded. "Let’s see the color of your money, then."

  She extracted her bankroll, and as an afterthought, peeled off the five. Forcing her voice down into the tenor range, she said, "Keep it."

  He raised eyebrows that looked like fuzzy sausages and tucked the money into his waistcoat. "Stranger, you picked the best place in town to spend your money." He opened the door wide and Inez entered the foyer.

  Inside, the clamor of State Street was as damped as the lamplight. She could barely see the wallpaper, maroon with swirls of gold above walnut wainscoting. Ten paces away and on the left, an arched entry led to what she guessed was a parlor. Beyond that, stairs ascended to the upper floors.

  From the parlor room floated masculine murmurs and feminine laughter. A halting "Für Elise" stopped mid-measure, and the unseen pianist swung into a polished version of "Silver Threads Among the Gold."

  The scents of flowery perfumes—gardenia, violet, rose— combined with those of burning tobacco and wood. Over all lay the subtle spoor of musk and sexual commerce. The place smelled like a hothouse on fire.

  The doorman thrust out a ham-sized hand: "Your coat. And gun."

  Inez unbuckled the heavy belt, thankful for her hidden weaponry. Frisco Flo in a lilac Worth gown drifted out of the parlor, patting her peroxide curls. She spotted Inez and flashed a welcoming smile as bright as her hair.

  At the outer edge of her vision, Inez caught the doorman rubbing thumb and two fingers together meaningfully. Flo’s eyes flicked toward him and away; her smile and eyes widened as she sized up Inez.

  "Hello, honey. I’m Frisco Flo. Welcome to the best and cleanest parlor house in Leadville. The madam is busy," she batted her eyelashes, "so I’ll show you around. We’ve twelve boarders. Lovely, cultivated girls, every one." Her coy expression wavered. "You look familiar. Have we met?"

  Inez said hoarsely, "Georgetown. Mattie’s house. You and a red-haired woman. She here too?"

  Frisco Flo’s demeanor shifted from suspicion to panic. "Oh my." She looked nervously toward the parlor and grasped Inez’s arm with fluttering fingers. "Best not talk about those days. Past is past." Her smile rekindled as she drew Inez down the hall, but she avoided looking directly at Inez again, much to Inez’s relief.

  A familiar voice boomed from the parlor. Eisemer.

  Through the arch, she could see a portion of the parlor. Morris Cooke lounged in an overstuffed armchair, a beatific expression pasted on his solid Quaker face. A brunette sat on a nearby ottoman, languidly fanning herself. Cat’s distinctively musical laughter rose over the piano. Harry Gallagher strolled past Cooke, stopped, and pulled out his handkerchief, pressing it to the wounds oozing on his cheek. Inez stepped back, alarmed.

  Flo tugged on her arm. "You’re lucky. Some of Leadville’s most influential gentlemen are here. Being new in town and all, you’ll make some good contacts in addition to having a good time." She drummed restless fingers on Inez’s sleeve. "What’s your name and business?"

  "Smith," rasped Inez, too busy thinking of ways to avoid the parlor to come up with a clever name. "Freighting."

  Harry turned as she spoke. His eyes raked Inez. He frowned.

  Flo reached up and removed Inez’s hat. "Honey, that’s Harry Gallagher. A good man to have on your side in Leadville. Come on."

  Movement on the stairs caught Inez’s attention. She almost whooped in relief. Angel descended, dressed in white lawn more fitting for sultry weather than the dead of winter. Inez recognized the man behind her, straightening his cuffs, as a

  prominent Denver politician.

  "Her." Inez stepped away from Harry’s scrutiny.

  Flo’s gaze flew to Angel; her full red lips turned down in a pout. "What’s the hurry? I thought we’d get to know each other better."

  Inez dug into her waistcoat and extracted a fifty. "Is this enough for…" How long do I need? "A couple hours?"

  Flo’s eyes riveted on the money. Realizing that the fifty was probably overly generous, Inez added quickly, "Keep the difference. For your trouble." She tucked the bill into Flo’s ample cleavage. "Maybe next time."

  Flo emerged from her trance and twinkled, clutching the banknote.

  "Honey, you’ve got a date with a girl who can’t say no." She winked. "Angel’s no talker, so I hope you weren’t looking for conversation. But she’ll take good care of you. Angel," her voice turned businesslike, "treat Mr. Smith here nice for the next couple of hours so he’ll come visit again."

  Angel nodded. Flo turned and fluttered her fingers a last time at Inez. "Bye, honey. Nice seeing you again. Maybe next time, we’ll do more than talk." She sashayed back to the parlor.

  999

  Inez followed Angel upstairs to a dark, narrow hallway punctuated by doors. Angel opened the last door and beckoned. Inez halted.

  Angel beckoned again, impatient. Inez stepped over the sill and looked around while Angel lit the one lamp. The small room was neat, but simply appointed: a horsehair-covered trunk, a cheap lithograph of nymphs in a forest, a bed covered with a brown shawl, a braided rug, a washs
tand, and a small heating stove. Inez walked to the window and lifted the curtain. Angel’s room had the same view as Inez’s office, minus one block.

  Inez turned to see Angel loosening the pearl buttons of her dress with a professional smile and distant eyes.

  "No!" Mindful of thin walls, Inez whispered, "It’s me. Inez Stannert."

  Recognition chased confusion from Angel’s face.

  "Abe and I need your help. You know he’s been arrested—"

  Angel covered her mouth, shook her head.

  "You didn’t? But, that was two, three days ago! Where have you been?"

  Angel gestured angrily about the confining room, then pantomimed locking and throwing away a key.

  "Here? Who’s holding you prisoner?"

  She swept her fingers across one cheek: feline whiskers.

  "Cat DuBois?"

  She nodded.

  Inez moved forward and clutched Angel’s soft brown hands. "Abe’s accused of attacking Joe Rose’s wife and being part of a counterfeit gang. But if we can prove he’s not part of the bogus money game in Leadville and, better yet, reveal who is, I’m certain the charges will be dropped."

  Angel gazed at her, no response.

  Inez pushed on. "Llewellyn Tremayne and Cat came together from Denver. He engraves plates when he’s not painting portraits. Cat’s got her fingers in this too, I can smell it. You gave me Joe’s watch at the party—"

  Angel looked away.

  "Your note was written on one of Llewellyn’s scraps. You live here. You must have seen Llewellyn and Cat together, seen shipments come and go. There must be something. Something that will free Abe."

  Angel withdrew her hands and grabbed the shawl from the bed, wrapping it tight around her. She took two hatpins from her washstand. Turning the lamp low, she cautiously opened the door and drew Inez across the hall to the backstairs. Angel put a warning finger to her lips: Quiet.

  They crept down the stairs and entered a dark and silent kitchen. Angel flitted over to a door and set down the lamp.

  She inserted the two hatpins into the lock. A tense moment

  later, a click announced her success.

  Inez smiled. "Reading and writing isn’t all Abe’s taught you."

  A shy smile bloomed in answer.

  They crowded into a long, narrow storeroom, Angel pulling the door closed behind them. She made a beeline to the back wall while Inez followed more slowly past crates of foodstuffs and liquor. She paused to marvel at a label identifying the contents as twenty-four bottles of very expensive brandy. Business must be good if Cat buys this by the crate.

  She hastened to Angel, who pointed at a crate stamped Denver Mine and Smelter Supply Company. Inez slid Mark’s knife from her boot top and pried at a board while Angel busied herself with a locked metal trunk.

  The nails loosened with a squeak. Inez pulled up the end of the board and groped through straw, finally finding the wrapped banknotes. This is why Gus Brown was so interested in Joe’s Denver supplier.

  Angel tugged Inez’s jacket. The trunk was open; piled higgledy-piggledy inside were sheets of foolscap, bits of penciled drawings and etchings, four half-etched copper plates, and cans of ink.

  Inez looked at Angel. "Cat has finally run out of lives. She can’t wiggle out of this. Now, we’ve got to close it all up and make sure someone else finds it. And soon." She paused, her triumph draining away. Who? For the first time, she regretted bolting from Denver without a word to Gus Brown.

  Angel relocked the trunk. Inez pounded the sprung board back into place with the knife hilt, then slid her insurance back inside the boot. Back at the door, Inez stopped and laid an ear against the wood, listening.

  Not a sound.

  She gripped the handle, turned it slowly, and cracked open the door, intending to look around and check behind the door.

  The handle was ripped from her hand.

  Useless loomed on the other side, fist drawn back.

  Inez hardly had time to throw up an arm before the blow crashed into her face. Pain exploded, followed by darkness.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Inez awakened in another eruption of pain as her face and body slammed into the ground.

  She groaned and opened her eyes to complete blindness. The only sound a heavy breathing overhead. A tug—and a burlap sack was ripped off her head. A none-too-gentle foot rolled her onto her back.

  Staring down at her from what seemed an enormous height, Useless fumbled in his pockets. He finally extracted his filthy red kerchief and stuffed it into her mouth. It tasted of dirt, sweat, and mucus. She gagged and tried to tear it from her mouth, only to discover her arms were trussed up tight behind her.

  Another kick rolled her face down again. Useless’ footsteps and heavy breathing receded.

  A door slammed.

  Silence.

  Inez sniffed, identified the liquid dripping from her nose as blood, and wondered if her nose was broken. Then, she realized that escaping her current predicament with only a broken nose would be a blessing.

  Where am I?

  She concentrated on what her senses could detect.

  A ticking clock. The ornate legs of a chair or table. The wooly nap of a rug beneath her ear. The subdued flicker of an unseen fire behind a screen.

  It’s too deserted to be in the parlor house.

  A rustling caused her to turn her head gingerly. Angel, arms similarly restricted, rolled against Inez in a soft whisper of linen. She sat up and scooted out of sight, toward Inez’s feet.

  Inez wiggled her right foot: The knife is here.

  A tide of voices warned them of approaching company. Angel flattened herself to the floor and rolled away from Inez. Listening, Inez discerned Useless’ urgent tones and Cat’s musical ones.

  "This better be important." Cat’s words grew clear as the door opened. "I don’t like to be dragged away from clients on trivial matters."

  Footsteps, the clatter of a lamp glass, and a sputter of light came into being.

  "What have we here," Cat drawled, her shoes coming into Inez’s limited ground-level view.

  With a slither of silk, Cat sat down, her feet and the hem of her skirts not two feet away from Inez’s face. One satin shoe disappeared and reappeared as she crossed her legs. The shoe in the air seesawed, inches from Inez’s nose. "Angel, Angel, is this your doing? What am I to do with you."

  "She stabbed me with a damn hatpin," Useless interjected.

  "What is she doing with a hatpin and no hat? And why did you drag them both across the alley and into my home? Was this gentleman trying to take unpaid-for liberties? If so, you should have thrown him in the alley."

  "Ain’t no gentleman, Mrs. DuBois." Useless’ hand curled into Inez’s hair and he jerked her head up. "Look."

  Inez’s eyes watered from pain. Through shimmering tears, she saw Cat twirling opera-length pearls with a closed fan. Cat frowned and leaned closer.

  Her plucked and penciled eyebrows shot up. "Mrs. Stannert? What have you done to your hair? And what are you doing here? I thought you’d left town." She leaned back. "Tell me, Useless. Don’t leave out anything."

  Useless dropped Inez nose first onto the floor. Red stars streaked across her vision and nearly sent her back to oblivion.

  "Flo wanted me to check that Angel was okay. Her room was empty, so I went down the backstairs, heard Mrs. Stannert, and saw a light under the storeroom door."

  "That door was locked. How did they get in?" Cat sounded

  irritated. A nearby door squeaked open. "Catherine? Is it safe?" "Yes, love. Come in. You should hear this." Quick, furtive steps approached. Inez turned her head and

  saw Llewellyn transformed. Long hair exchanged for short, extravagant mustache replaced by the merest line above his lip. He circumvented the rug in rough and simple clothes, looking completely miserable without his ruffles.

  Llewellyn squinted at Angel, then Inez. "Who…?" "Your patroness, my love. She of the epic painting." "Mrs. Stannert?" H
is face paled. "In the storeroom? Did

  they find—" "Since they managed to unlock the storeroom, I think

  we’d better assume they unlocked your trunk as well." Llewellyn collapsed in a chair, staring at Inez. Cat’s voice turned brisk. "She left her sidearm at the door,

  of course. What else might she carry, Useless?"

  Useless rolled Inez onto her back. Inez could now see Cat and Llewellyn to one side, Angel to the other. Useless hovered above her.

  "She carries a pocket pistol." Cat gestured impatiently with her fan. Useless located the gun and handed it to Cat, who

  inspected it before setting it on the fireplace mantel. "Any

  thing else? Knives or what-not?" "She don’t use a knife." Inez kept her eyes steady on Cat and tried to breathe as

  normally as possible around the stinking kerchief. Cat tapped her lips with the fan, eyes narrowed in thought. "Search her. We’ll leave nothing to chance. Nothing."

  Grumbling, Useless patted Inez’s shirt sleeves and worked his way down her waistcoat. He extracted the bankroll from her waistcoat pocket and handed it to Cat.

  Cat flattened the money on her lap. "Fifties and twenties."

  She passed the bills to Llewellyn, who examined them.

  His breath erupted in an exclamation. "These are ours! Even the twenties, and I only did a sample run of them. Denver never got the samples or the plates from Rose." He gazed at Inez, eyes wide and dark. "You have them. Where are my plates, Mrs. Stannert?"

  Cat waved his words away impatiently. "The plates, the counterfeit, it’s all small potatoes. It means she must also have…" Cat leaned forward and said, deadly soft, "The map. Where is it, Mrs. Stannert?"

  Inez blinked twice in what she hoped passed for surprise.

  "Ask her about the plates!" squawked Llewellyn. "They took me a year to make. They’re flawless. Denver was ready to pay us a thousand apiece for them."

  Cat laid a soothing hand on Llewellyn’s shoulder. "When the map and title to the Lady Luck are mine, you’ll never need to engrave another set of plates or letter another saloon sign. Useless will work the claim, then we’ll sell to Harry or the highest bidder for tens of thousands, as planned. After that, you can paint to your heart’s delight. We’ll travel to Paris, London, visit all the grand salons where your art will be appreciated."