His heartbeat picked up its pace as adrenaline rushed through him. He grabbed his hat, slammed it on his head, then stalked through the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” Rafael called after him, then followed on his heels. “Do you need help?”
He glanced at his deputy, his jaw clenched, his hand on the doorknob. “I might need you to keep me out of my own jail.”
Rafael stiffened. “What?”
Devlin opened the door and walked through, his pace quickening. Rafael followed him as he made a beeline past the small stable and into the street, coming up behind the carriage, speaking over his shoulder as he did so. “That man…that’s Seth Humbolt.”
“Is he an outlaw?” Rafael huffed, forcing himself to keep up with Devlin’s near run.
“No, but damned close to it,” Devlin answered though he didn’t have time for all these questions. “I want you to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t move. Hold him at gunpoint if you have to.”
“What’s going on, Dev? Who is at your house?”
“Frances Emerson Comstock. My mother-in-law.”
“Shit.”
As they approached the carriage, Rafael drew his pistol and aimed it at the man. “I wouldn’t move if I were you.”
“What the hell!” The man turned to look at him, a surprised gasp escaping him, then stiffening when he saw the gun as well as the person holding it on him. His eyes narrowed as they moved off the pistol and onto Devlin. “Goodrich. Bet you didn’t think you’d see me again.”
“Humbolt,” Devlin returned the greeting, knowing the man’s calm voice belied his violent nature. “Give me your guns. Slowly.” He gave a nod of his head toward Rafael but never took his eyes off the man. “My deputy won’t miss.”
Frances’ henchman did as ordered and unbuckled his gun belt. He didn’t seem happy about it, though. Not only had he been caught unaware and forced to give up his guns, but there would be hell to pay when Frances found out what happened. She was not a forgiving woman, as they both knew too well.
“The knife, too.”
Humbolt started to reach for his foot a little too quickly. “Carefully.” Devlin warned, knowing the man’s penchant for taking risks. Humbolt sighed as he slowly pulled up the leg of his trousers and reached for the knife he kept in his boot. He reluctantly handed it over. “You’ll pay for this,” he said.
Devlin handed everything to Rafael. “Don’t take your eyes off him. And if he tries anything, shoot him.”
“My pleasure.”
He left Humbolt under Rafael’s watchful eyes and strode up the walkway, trying to keep his temper under control. His heart was pounding much too quickly, feeling as if it were thundering against his rib cage, and his mouth was dry to the point he couldn’t even swallow. He entered the house, not at a run, but cautiously, as one never knew if Frances had another one of her henchmen with her or if she herself held a gun pointed at the doorway. She wouldn’t miss him at this distance, and he just didn’t feel like dying today. He had too much to live for.
He stopped short in the parlor, stunned yet suspicious of the tableau before him. Tresia and Frances sat at the little table where the chessboard was usually set, a coffee service between them. It was all very civilized, except it wasn’t. The tension in the room was so suffocating, he could feel it stealing his breath.
Tresia jumped from her seat and moved toward the kitchen doorway, nodding toward the back door, letting him know that Avery was outside in the yard. His gaze swept over her, noticing the paleness of her face, the darkness of her eyes, the stiffness of her body. He could only imagine what Frances had said to her. Despite whatever words had been said, Tresia’s first thought had been for Avery’s safety, for which he was grateful.
He turned his attention to his mother-in-law. She hadn’t changed at all, except maybe to become more arrogant, more forceful…and older, like she had aged ten years in the space of a few months. She was still as beautiful as she’d always been. “Frances.”
Frances smiled, but there was nothing warm or welcoming in it, and the hatred in her dark eyes was a tangible thing. “Are you surprised, Devlin? Did you think I wouldn’t find out where you took my granddaughter?” She remained seated, though her muscles were tense, as if she would jump up at any moment and attack him with her bare hands. Or pull that gun he was worried about. It was just a small derringer she carried in her pocket, but she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him right where he stood.
“I want to see her,” she demanded, but he wasn’t having it. He opened his mouth to deny her but never got the words out.
“Why don’t you ask Avery?” Tresia asked from the doorway, a little hesitantly, her voice shaking just a bit, her face still much too pale.
“Excuse me?” Frances turned on her, her eyes narrowing to slits, and the hatred he’d felt when he walked into the room doubled. “Who asked you to be part of this conversation?”
He saw Tresia stiffen and blink several times, yet she held her ground. “I’m the one who has been taking care of her. She should have a choice on whether or not she wants to see you.”
“That’s ridiculous! She’s a child. She needs to be told what to do.” Francis laughed, a hard, cold, brittle sound that had nothing to do with humor and everything to do with thinking she was better than anyone else. She turned toward him. “Tell your paramour her opinion is neither required nor sought. In fact, tell her that her duties—” she emphasized the word “—are no longer needed.”
“You remember what I did to Dr. Chambers, yes?” Frances stared at him, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raising upward, her hands still primly folded on her lap.
Yes, he remembered exactly what she’d done to the poor doctor who had the bad fortune to allow Hannah to die during childbirth. Frances had ruined his reputation, took everything from him. His patients, as well as his wife, left him, all because Frances was angry and vindictive. The last time Devlin had seen the good doctor, he’d been thrown out of a saloon, his clothes disheveled and stained, and too drunk to stand. A shell of the proud man he’d once been, before Frances began her campaign to discredit, demoralize, and just plain ruin him.
