J.A. Johnstone - The Loner - Crossfire

Conrad said, “It’s a long story, and I’ll make sure you and Jessup Nash get all the details later.”

“If you decide to leave Nash out of it, I won’t argue with you.” Before Conrad could respond to that, Mrs. Carlyle stopped and nodded her head. “Over there, under that big painting of Madison and Roberta ... that’s Lannigan and his wife Winifred.”

Conrad tried not to be too obvious about staring at him. The man was tall and rather rawboned, with an angular face and white hair that was somewhat premature for his age, which Conrad put around forty. The woman standing next to him, smiling radiantly in a light blue gown, was about ten years younger, with a pile of lustrous black curls on her head and a richly curved body that filled out her gown nicely. She was pretty rather than beautiful and had a sweet look about her face. She didn’t strike Conrad as the sort who would be married to a powerful criminal ... but he supposed there was no particular type for doing such a thing.

Lannigan was talking to several well-dressed men while his wife stood by smiling pleasantly. Conrad kept drawing his eyes back to her for some reason. Leaning closer to Francis Carlyle he asked, “Lannigan’s wife’s name is Winifred, you said?”

“That’s right.”

“Was he already married to her when he bought the Golden Gate and started working his way into San Francisco society?”

“Why, I don’t really know. I might be able to find out for you.”

Conrad nodded. “If you could do that, I’d appreciate it.” He wasn’t sure why he was so curious about Winifred Lannigan, but he had learned to follow his hunches.

“Why don’t you and Mr. Morgan wait over there for a few minutes?” Mrs. Carlyle suggested, pointing to a small alcove. “I’m assuming you don’t want to talk to Lannigan just yet?”

“That’s right.”

On the way from the crowded ballroom, Conrad snagged a couple glasses of champagne from a passing waiter who carried a tray full of them. Frank took the delicately stemmed glass Conrad handed him and frowned. “I never cared much for this fizzy water.”

“Just sip it. We’ll look more out of place if we’re not drinking, and we already look odd enough, what with my battered face and your obvious hatred of that suit and cravat.”

Already Conrad had spotted quite a few people who looked familiar to him, even though he didn’t remember their names. Some might remember him, though, so he avoided conversation by stepping into the alcove.

He didn’t want word spreading that Conrad Browning was in attendance. That news might make its way to Lannigan’s ear, and Conrad didn’t want to ruin the surprise fate held in store for the saloon owner.

While Frank sipped his champagne, Conrad used the glass to help shield the bruises and scrapes on his face from view. He looked around for Francis Carlyle, but the woman had disappeared into the crowd.

“Conrad? Conrad Browning, is that you?” another woman’s voice asked.

Conrad had no choice but to look over and smile at Roberta Kimball, the hostess of the night’s affair. She was an elegantly beautiful middle-aged woman with honey-colored hair only lightly touched with gray. She gasped quietly as she got a better look at Conrad’s face. “Dear Lord, what happened to you?”

“Just some unpleasant business that has no bearing on this party,” Conrad lied. He leaned closer and kissed Mrs. Kimball on the cheek. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

“And you, too, of course. When Francis Carlyle told me you were in town, I knew I had to have you here so all your old friends could see you again. Oh, Conrad, I’m so sorry—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I know. I appreciate that, Roberta.”

“After the tragedy, you should have come back here. We would have taken care of you.”

Conrad nodded. “I thought it best to keep busy.”

In his case, keeping busy had meant tracking down the men who had kidnapped and murdered Rebel and finding out the truth from them, the truth that ultimately had led him to Pamela Tarleton. He had kept busy, all right ... busy killing.

“I don’t believe I’m acquainted with this gentleman,” Roberta said as she turned to Frank.

“Allow me to introduce an old friend of mine, Frank Morgan. I hope it’s all right I brought him along this evening. Frank, this is Mrs. Kimball, our hostess.”

“I’m mighty pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Frank said with a polite nod.

“Of course it’s all right, Conrad. Mr. Morgan, please make yourself at home.”

“Yes, ma’am. Much obliged.”

She frowned slightly, as if his manner puzzled her, but before she could say anything else, Francis Carlyle reappeared. “Roberta, you simply must go set Madison straight. He insists it was two years ago you made that voyage to Hawaii, instead of three.”

Mrs. Kimball shook her head. “I swear, poor Madison is getting so forgetful. Excuse me, Conrad, Mr. Morgan. Please, enjoy the party.”

“We will,” Conrad told her.

Once Mrs. Kimball had moved away into the crowd, Francis Carlyle said quietly, “I found out what you wanted to know, Conrad. Lannigan and his wife were married shortly after he bought the Golden Gate. She’s a widow from somewhere back east.”

“She doesn’t hardly look old enough to be a widow,” Conrad said.

“Widowhood can happen any time. In her case, she didn’t just get a husband, she got a new father for her children.”

“Children?” Conrad repeated. A hollow feeling suddenly spread through his stomach.

“That’s right. She has two. They were babies at the time, actually, so it must not have been very long since her husband passed away.”

“Two ... children.” Conrad’s voice sounded strange in his ears, muffled by the sudden pounding of his pulse inside his head.

“That’s right. A boy and a girl.” Francis Carlyle paused. “Someone told me they’re twins.”

Chapter 27

Frank’s hand closed around Conrad’s arm to steady him. “Are you all right, son?”

“Son?” Mrs. Carlyle repeated.

Conrad had never been the sort who would pass out at unexpected news, but for a second the ballroom had spun crazily around him. No, not just the ballroom, he thought. The whole world had tilted off its axis and was turning the wrong way.

His children— his children! —had spent the past three years living with a vicious criminal. Conrad had thought all along Pamela had hidden the twins. But she hadn’t. She had merely disguised them as the children of that woman Winifred, that supposed “widow” from back east. Conrad had no doubt she was actually the nurse who had accompanied Pamela and the twins from Boston. She had been paid off to marry Lannigan and pretend to be the children’s mother. Everything was shockingly clear.

“My God, Conrad, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mrs. Carlyle said. “What’s going on here? What’s so special about the Lannigan twins?”

“They’ve taken his name?” Conrad grated.

“That’s right. I think he legally adopted them.”

Conrad dragged in a deep breath and forced himself to steady his nerves. “Thank you, Mrs. Carlyle. You’ve been a big help to me.”

“Oh, no. You don’t get off that easily. I want answers, Conrad, and I want them now.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. He pulled his arm loose from Frank’s grip and started across the room toward Lannigan. Behind him, he heard Mrs. Carlyle ask Frank what in the world was going on, but Frank didn’t answer. He maneuvered through the crowd after Conrad.

Spooked by the look on Conrad’s face people stepped out of his way, opening a lane across the big room that led straight to Dex Lannigan. Conversations died away and a strained silence spread in Conrad’s wake. He saw Lannigan look up and recognize him. Stunned surprise settled over the man’s face.