Wildstar

To his surprise, he actually enjoyed the novelty of the situation at first. After the clinging, cloying women in his past, Jessica's indifference was like-a breath of fresh air. But as the week wore on, the novelty began to wear thin, and Devlin began to see her resistance as a challenge.

By week's end, he'd become determined to make Jessica admit her attraction to him. He would never let their relationship go so far as to compromise her virtue or claim her innocence, certainly, but a good dose of flirtation wouldn't do her any harm. She needed to loosen up, in any case. Jess was too rigid, too tough, too hard for a woman—although he had to admit there was nothing hard about her curves or lithe grace, or the motherly side that she showed to her rough boarders. Still, she needed to get more pleasure out of life, and he sure would like to be there when it happened.

As illusive as Jessica proved to be, Devlin's main goal in coming to Silver Plume was even more so. After the first morning, he made little progress toward finding the gunmen who had robbed the Colorado Central. During his tenure as night guard, no one attempted to sabotage the Wildstar mine. In fact, no one even came near. He seemed to have reached another dead end.

Riley appeared to view the lull as a victory. "Looks like Jess was right, Mr. Devlin. You acting as our guard is working—maybe even enough to scare Burke off. I'm much obliged to you."

Riley's appreciation, however, did little to relieve Dev­lin's frustration.

Hoping to stir things up, Devlin went into town Satur­day night, purposefully seeking Ashton Burke. It seemed as if every miner in Silver Plume had flocked there with him. From the sounds of it, the saloons and dance halls along Main Street were doing a rip-roaring business. Plinking pianos and screeching fiddles and lusty songs were accompanied by laughter and shouts and hearty applause—the revelry of hardworking, hard-drinking men and the hard-living women who entertained them.

Devlin was at his third gambling hall, standing to one

side watching the action at the keno table, a drink in one hand, when, oddly, Burke found him.

"Good evening, Mr. Devlin," Burke said in his uppercrust British accent, adding when Devlin nodded politely, "You aren't playing. Is the company not to your liking?"

"Keno never has been my game."

Burke paused, evidently interested in holding a conver­sation. "I've been hearing some interesting tales about you, sir."

Devlin smiled blandly and took a sip of his bourbon. "Have you?"

"Rumor has it that you have joined forces with Riley Sommers in his mining enterprise."

"Rumor would be right."

Burke's smooth jaw tightened. "I took you for a smart man, Mr. Devlin, but that doesn't seem to be a particularly intelligent move on your part."

"No? And why not?"

Instead of answering, Burke asked, "How much is Sommers paying you?"

Devlin shrugged. "The pay's good enough."

"I can triple it."

He raised a black eyebrow and smiled. "I thought you told me you expected loyalty in a man. How loyal would it be if I were to leave Sommers's employ in favor of yours?"

The chill in Burke's blue eyes could have frozen molten metal. "It would not be wise to make an enemy of me, Mr. Devlin."

"I'm sure it wouldn't." He bit back a smile of satisfac­tion as Burke ground his teeth, obviously chafing at his impotence.

"Speaking of rumors," Devlin added pleasantly, "there's a substantial one going around that Zeke McRoy was the man who shot Riley Sommers. I understand McRoy used to work for you."

"I don't," Burke replied coldly, "care for your implica­tion, Devlin. Not every misfortune that occurs to Riley

Sommers is the result of my disagreement with him. Per­haps McRoy had his own reasons for disliking him."

"Perhaps. McRoy did work for you, though?"

"He did. I fired him for disobedience six months ago and haven't seen him since."

Devlin expected that to be the end of the conversation, but Burke still wasn't finished probing, it seemed. "There is a railroad baron in Chicago by the name of Devlin . . . C. E. Devlin. Are you any relation?"

"I know of him. Devlin's a common enough name, though. I've met one in just about every state I've been in." He held Burke's gaze levelly, knowing that if the sil­ver king was truly interested in finding out who he was, it could easily be done.

Burke let the noncommittal answer drop, however, and with a curt nod turned away.