Wildstar

The older man grinned. "Sure, if you'll call me Riley."

"Good," Devlin said, satisfied. "If you're agreeable, we can go down to the claims office this afternoon and fill out the paperwork."

"Today's Sunday. The claims office will be closed."

"Then we'll have it opened. That's one of the advan­tages of having wealth. You can afford to do business on your own terms. I only have a few thousand cash on hand, but I can wire my bank in Chicago to transfer the rest of the money here."

"Lord, I forgot about the money." Riley suddenly looked a bit overwhelmed, like he couldn't believe his good fortune. "I don't know what I'll do with so much all at one time."

"You'll figure it out." Devlin took a sip of coffee. "In addition to increasing the size of the mine crew, I'd also like to hire some help for Jess at the boardinghouse. She's working herself into the ground."

Riley's wondering look vanished as he shook his head firmly. "That'll have to be between you and Jess. I don't interfere with her business." He paused. "Jess doesn't know about you, does she?"

"About my having money? No. I didn't see a compel­ling reason to tell her." He didn't explain why he hadn't wanted Jess to know about his wealth. But he doubted Riley would take kindly to hearing such suspicions voiced about his daughter. Especially when all the evidence sug­gested they might be unfounded. Jess had yet to respond like any other woman of Devlin's acquaintance—a trait he found both refreshing and quite often infuriating.

"She won't be too happy to learn she's been cottoning up to a rich fellow," Riley commented.

The memory of just how Jess had cottoned up to him last night gave Devlin a distinctly lustful surge of pleasure, a feeling that was immediately tempered by sobering real­ity. Last night had been a profound mistake. It would have been far better for both of them if she had stayed a million miles away from him. Just as it probably would have been better if he'd told her who he was. "What exactly does she have against rich fellows?"

"Well, you see, she hasn't had too many good experi­ences with them over the years. Burke especially hasn't set much of an example. And I guess maybe I encouraged her . . . I taught her to believe that having money doesn't mean as much as having an upstanding character. Plus, her ma told her watch out for—" Riley suddenly faltered, his face coloring.

"I've heard the stories," Devlin said gently. "From what I can tell, your wife was a wonderful woman."

"She was. And I was damned lucky to get her. She might of been in love with Burke, but she married me," Riley added, his tone defensive.

Devlin remained silent. He had put some of the pieces together before now. Jenny Ann had chosen Sommers over Burke, not because of love but because of what Burke wouldn't offer her. Marriage and family. Just what Jess wanted. Devlin shied away from the thought. It seemed odd, though, that Jenny Ann was still the cause of this in­tense rivalry. Ashton Burke must have felt something stronger for her than simple lust to still be holding a grudge after all these years.

Apparently Riley was remembering those years, for his look grew distant. "I did my best for her, even if I couldn't give her any of the fancy things she deserved. If only I could've made that big strike before she died . . . I could've given her everything Burke was able to."

The pain in his voice made Devlin uncomfortable. Fin­ishing his coffee, he rose, thinking it kinder to leave Riley alone with his memories.

"If you'll excuse me?" he said politely. "I'd like to catch up on some of the sleep I missed last night. Will you wake me in a few hours so we can take care of our busi­ness?"

"Sure." Riley looked up, his brow wrinkling. "Are you gonna tell me what you aim to do?"

Devlin's smile was not a pleasant one. "It's simple. First I'm going to get the legal right to carry on this war my way. Then I'm going to have a little talk with Ashton Burke."

Chapter 12

The darkness was quiet and soothing. When Devlin brought a cheroot to his lips, an orange glow faintly lit up the huge bedchamber. Burke should arrive home any time now.

Devlin was actually looking forward to the confronta­tion. Until now he'd been hampered in his actions, unable to use the vast wealth he'd accumulated over the past ten years, or the power he'd grown accustomed to wielding— because he'd wanted to keep his real purpose quiet. But now he had little to lose, with the outlaws' trail cold. And now he was every bit as determined as Jessica to terminate Burke's career of intimidation and destruction.

He glanced absently around the shadowed bedroom as he waited. Not ostentatious but certainly opulent, with its crystal globe hanging lamps, satin gilt wallpaper, thick pat­terned carpet, and forest-green tapestry drapes. The huge four-poster bed was a masterpiece of polished walnut and rich brocade, while the comfortable, overstuffed armchair that Devlin was sitting in was covered with fine leather. Ashton Burke had excellent taste.

The silver king also had no apparent qualms about dis­playing his wealth. His mansion was staffed with an army of liveried servants, including footmen and a butler.

Devlin had met the butler earlier tonight. It had been a simple matter to learn of Burke's plans for the evening from Lena, and then confirm them with a formal call at Burke's residence in Georgetown, According to the butler, the Englishman was attending the opera.

It had been more simple still to wait an hour, then climb up to a second-story window under cover of darkness and let himself in. Much of the household was asleep now, for it was well after midnight.

Some ten minutes later Devlin heard the rattle of car­riage wheels on the street below. Eventually the murmur of voices reached him, then the sound of footsteps climb­ing the stairs. Finally the bedroom door swung open.

The room suddenly brightened as a fair-haired gentle­man in elegant evening dress entere

d carrying a lamp. He shut the door, set the lamp down on a small table, and be­gan tugging at his cravat.

Devlin thumbed back the hammer of his Colt.