“All the telegraph lines in and out of Cheyenne are out of commission,” Blake said. “Downed by lightning.”
“Well,” Longarm said, shaking the rain from his Stetson, “what do you boys want?”
“I’m in charge of the investigation,” Blake said. “We arrived from Washington, D.C., this morning. We have a coach waiting to take you to the hotel, where we can discuss this … mess in some detail.”
“That’ll be fine,” Longarm said. “I hope that you people are paying the freight. Things happened so fast that I didn’t have time to draw any travel money out of our Denver office.”
“You expect us to pay for your room?” Jones, a sour-looking man, asked.
“Sure,” Longarm said, not appreciating the combative attitude of these well-fed federal paper-pushers. “Also our food and whatever other expenses we need paid.”
Jones blanched. “Well, the hell with-“
“Fair enough,” Blake said, cutting off his man’s protest. “We’ll pay everything until you can get money sent up from Denver or we decide your information and involvement in this case is worthless.”
“Worthless!” Diana snapped. “Why, I doubt that you even know what Nathan looks like! Don’t talk like such an ass, Mr. Blake. You desperately need us.”
The man’s cheeks reddened. “We’ll find out about that real soon. Let’s go.”
They took a carriage straight to Drover’s Hotel, one of Cheyenne’s finest, and not a word was spoken in the cold, wet silence. There was confusion at the checkin desk because the desk clerk had booked Longarm’s room for one, not two people.
“We’ll share the bed,” Longarm said, appreciating the envy in the younger agent’s eyes.
Diana slipped her arm through his. “Yes,” she said, grinning brilliantly at the feds, “in fact, we would prefer to go to bed right now and have our little group discussion tomorrow morning. I’m feeling … well, rather exhausted.”
“Sorry about that,” Blake said, “but time is of the essence. We’ve got big trouble.”
“The lady said she was tired,” Longarm told them, his voice hardening. “I’ll have a few words with you after we’re comfortably settled, but-“
“Gawdammit!” Blake exclaimed. “We haven’t got time to coddle her!”
The muscles in Longarm’s jaws corded. It took some effort to turn to the hotel desk clerk and say, “Room key, please.”
“Number fourteen, Marshal Long,” the clerk said. “Haven’t seen you in here in about a year now.”
“Our budget has been a little tight,” Longarm said, “but these federal boys seem to have plenty of expense money. So send up some food. Roast turkey, steak … I don’t care. A bottle of whiskey and-“
“Now, wait just a damn minute!” Blake protested. “Don’t you think that you’ve pushed your luck just about far enough already?”
“No,” Longarm said as the four federal agents confronted him. “I don’t think so at all. In fact, I’ve taken an immediate dislike to all four of you, and you are really stretching the boundaries of my civility. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
Blake was livid. But, to his credit, he maintained his composure and managed to say, “The very minute you get the lady settled, please do your damnedest to join us in the hotel bar, Marshal Long.”
“I’ll eat first,” Longarm said, almost starting to enjoy himself. He glanced over at the hotel desk and added with a wink, “On second thought, I once had roast pheasant under glass and some excellent white wine and-“
“We will take care of it,” the clerk said, returning the wink. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
“You sonofabitch,” Agent Jones hissed. “You’re really asking for it.”
Longarm smiled. “Didn’t he say that your name was Jones?”
“That’s right.”
“If you keep pushing me, Jones, you’ll need to wear a bib and a tag so that you can still remember your own name. Catch my meaning?”
Jones was a big man, but not as big as Longarm, and now that his bluff had been called, he folded, nodding and backing away a little. “It’s just that-“
“Shut up,” Longarm told the Washington agent. “Don’t say any more.”
“Yes, sir.”
Blake snorted with anger and disgust, then spun on his heel and marched off toward the saloon bar with his three embarrassed agents in tow.
“No traveling bags?” a bellman asked.
“Just my saddlebags and the lady’s small valise,” Longarm said, handing them over to the man who led them toward their room.
As soon as they were alone again, Longarm and Diana tore off their wet, rumpled clothes and jumped into bed to make love. This time they did not hold back, but quickly brought each other to a lusty climax that left them both limp and gasping.
“Boy,” Diana said, grinning happily as she rolled over on top of Longarm, “you sure handled that stuffed-shirt Blake and his grouchy friends!”
“I never have liked the Washington boys,” Longarm admitted. “When they come to the West, as they do on occasion, I try to avoid them. We mix like oil and water.”
“Screw ‘em all,” Diana said. “Who needs them?”
“I could use their expense money,” Longarm said. “But other than that … you’re right. Still, I’m expected to cooperate.”
“Tonight,” Diana said, laying her head on his bare chest, “let’s just have a wonderful meal, a hot bath, and then make love for a couple of hours and fall asleep. In the morning, after a leisurely breakfast and more lovemaking, maybe we can get dressed and go down to see those irritating sonofabitches.”
“I’d better go down and talk to them tonight,” Longarm said. “But after our dinner and the bath.”
“And another session of lovemaking,” she added.
“All right.” Longarm chuckled. “Diana, you win.”
“No,” she said, tracking a faint scar on his cheek with her fingernail. “You win.”
It was nearly midnight by the time Longarm entered the hotel bar. By then the younger federal agents were all slightly drunk. Supervisor Blake had a difficult time looking serious and sober.
“All right,” Longarm said, taking a seat at their table and signaling for a whiskey, “let’s get down to the facts and leave the personalities out of it, okay?”
“Okay,” Jones said with the utmost respect.
“Shut … up,” Blake ordered his man.
“Well, screw you, Vincent!” Jones swore, grabbing his drink and swaying off in a huff.
“You hurt his damned feelings,” Longarm said, trying very hard not to smile.
Blake scrubbed his face. “We’re all just tired. We haven’t had much sleep since leaving Washington three days ago.”
“Then why don’t we postpone this meeting until tomorrow morning?”
“No!” Blake lowered his voice. “So what does the woman really know about Nathan Cox?”
“She knows how he moves.”
Blake blinked. “What did you say?”
“How he moves,” Longarm repeated.
“That’s bullshit!” Blake exploded, slapping his hand down on the table so hard, whiskey spilled out of their glasses.
Longarm fired up a cheroot and gazed at them through the steel-blue smoke. “Do any of you hotshots realize that Nathan Cox was once an actor?”
The surprised expressions on the federal agents’ faces told Longarm that they did not know Cox had been a thespian. “Who cares?” Pollack demanded to know.
“You ought to care,” Longarm told them, “because Nathan Cox has the ability to create many faces. Miss Frank has told me that he is an expert in disguise and that he could even be … that old gentleman sitting with his distinguished friends across the room from our table.”
The Washington agents all swung their heads around and stared at the obviously wealthy cattle baron or banker with his fine Stetson, tailored suit, and fancy boots.
“No way!” Matthews said. “We know that Nathan Cox is only thirty-one years old.”
“I have little doubt that Cox could make himself look seventy,” Longarm replied. “Miss Frank told me that he once surprised her wearing a wig and woman’s dress. She said that she would have sworn he was a young lady.”