The Night Is Watching

She was stunning. But then he remembered that he knew, as of last night, that she was stunning naked, as well.



Something he shouldn’t be thinking about now.



“I was just about to go in and work on the skull,” she told him. “Are you sure you want me to finish?”



“I’d like it if you did. We can get her a coffin and bury her. I think she’d like your artistry—for you to rebuild the lifelike appearance of her face, that is. She was reputed to be a little vain, you know.”



Henri Coque walked up to them, a smile splitting his face. “It’s all going wonderfully. I admit, I was worried. I’m always worried when using nonactors. But the lynching went off perfectly. And have you seen all the vendors? They’re set up behind the saloon and Desert Diamonds. We have more vendors this year than ever before, and with what they pay for their licenses, the town will be flourishing!”



“Congratulations, Henri.”



“Would you get into your Trey Hardy apparel, Sloan? Next year, we should reenact his shooting,” Henri said excitedly. “We’ve never done that, you know, because we can’t fit spectators into the jail. But where there’s a will, there’s a way! I’ll work on it. Come on, Sloan, let’s go get your costume.”



Sloan started to excuse himself to Jane but saw that a little girl was asking to have a picture taken with her beneath the theater sign. Jane seemed puzzled at first and then realized that her costume made her a tourist attraction. She smiled and posed with the child.



He went in with Henri and made his way down to Cy Tyburn’s dressing room, where he could procure a plumed cavalry hat and Civil War butternut-trimmed cavalry jacket.



“You could let your hair grow out,” Henri told him. “Then you’d be the spitting image of Trey Hardy.”



“I think your chances of the ghost cutting his hair are better than your chances of me growing mine out,” Sloan said. “In case you’ve forgotten—it’s hot as hell out here.”



Henri shrugged and they returned to the street.



Jane had become a celebrity. She was now with a group of Boy Scouts.



He was surprised when Henri, still standing near him, said, “Good thing you’re hanging around today, Sloan. I like Chet, he’s a solid deputy. But he’s still a kid. What with the stuff going on, I’m glad you’re here.”



“We’re fine whether I’m here or not, Henri. County sent over some men. They’re all in uniform, as you can see them in the crowd. Their presence will let any would-be rabblerousers know that we’re watching.”



“Yeah, but I’m glad you’re in town, Sloan,” Henri said again. “Hey, the shoot-out is coming up next!”



Sloan studied the activity in the street. People were pouring in and out of Desert Diamonds, the saloon, the stables—and even the spa. He saw Heidi bringing out a tour group of ten; the stables charged a hefty sum for every tour they took out and he could see from the sign in front that they’d sold out for the day.



Everything was going well.



Jane was now posing in front of the theater sign with Alice, Valerie, Cy and Brian. He smiled slightly. Brian Highsmith had always thought of himself as a lothario. “Bad boys get the chicks, you know?” he’d told Sloan once. He seemed to like having his arm around Jane; Sloan wasn’t so sure that she was “feeling the love” in return.



As he watched, his cell phone rang. He reached into his pocket for it.



It was Johnny Bearclaw.



“Sloan,” Johnny told him, “your bug has gone off. I heard shuffling. There’s movement in the mine shaft.”



“I’m on my way out. I want you to ride with me, Johnny.”



“I’ll get the horses ready.”



He hung up quickly and went over to interrupt the “Kodak moment.”



“Jane, can I see you, please?”



“Sheriff!” Cy protested. “We’ve become a sensation! We’re better than ever with Agent Everett. She can work tomorrow, can’t she?”



“I’m not taking Agent Everett away,” Sloan assured Cy, although he didn’t understand why Cy was so worried. Brian might play the “bad boy,” and “bad boys” might be popular, but Cy did all right for himself. He was tall, blond and built. He had plenty of charm, too—and he knew it.



“Good!” Valerie said happily. “I’m always glad to have a fed with a gun around! Especially since we’re missing Jennie today. Where’s our stage mom? Haven’t seen her yet.”



“Maybe she’s getting into costume,” Cy said with a shrug.



“Yeah, running late!” Brian murmured. He grinned as if they were conspirators. “I think Jennie’s been getting it on lately. She crawled up to her room really late a few times in the past week.”



“Jennie—getting it on?” Valerie asked. “Seriously? With whom?” She giggled.



“Oh, for a sweet young thing, that was cruel!” Alice told her.



“Not cruel, just...”



“Truthful?” Brian suggested.



“Well, let’s face it. Jennie isn’t going to be the next swimsuit model of the year,” Cy commented. “Still, it was cruel, young woman,” he said to Valerie. “There’s someone out there for everyone!”



Sloan shook his head, unimpressed by the actors’ banter, and turned to give Jane a questioning look. She wasn’t wearing her customary holster.



“Strapped to my thigh,” Jane said softly. But she was heard.



“Sexy!” Brian told her.



“Safe,” she said, her tone harsh.



“Excuse me. Like I said, I need to speak with Jane for a minute.”



“Okay, you’re the sheriff. Steal our prize act for the day!” Brian said with mock dismay.



He took her aside. “That was Johnny. There’s someone in the mine shaft. I’m heading out there.”



“I’ll go with you,” Jane insisted.



“No,” he said firmly.



“I’m an agent. Not an actress. This is fun, but I don’t think you should be going in there alone. You—”



“Jane,” he broke in. “I know you’re a competent law enforcement officer, and that you can use a weapon.”



“Well, then?”



He hesitated, about to say something he hadn’t wanted to admit before. “Jane, I need you to be the one who knows where I am in case something happens. Jay Berman was from New York, yes. But I still believe he was killed by someone out here. Someone who’s aware of the old legends—someone who thinks he can find the gold, perhaps, or someone running an illicit scheme out here.” He lowered his voice. “That means I don’t know whom to trust. What if one of my staff talks to the wrong person? For the moment, anyway, the fewer people involved, the safer I’ll feel. Johnny will ride with me. Just make sure you keep hearing from me every hour or so.”



“All right,” she said slowly. “All right, but you know I’m going to be a nervous wreck.”



“And you know that it’s the best way for me to work this.”



“I’m not so sure about that,” she said. “You could call in Newsome...”



“I will,” Sloan told her. “But I don’t want to cry wolf. I want to have some idea of what’s really going on here. And I don’t want to scare anyone away from the mine shaft, not when it might be a piece of the puzzle.”



“Should I stay here in town?”



“You’re making a lot of kids happy,” he said. “And you’ll be closer to my property and the Apache and mine sections of the trail ride if I do need you.”



Jane touched his arm and moved closer. “Ghosts might appear, but facial reconstructions do not complete themselves.”



“We’ll get back to work soon,” he said. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t help disliking the fact that his great-great grandmother was a pile of bones and decayed, dried-out tissue and fabric on a slab at the county morgue, while her skull was riddled with markers and clay down at the police station.



Still, that couldn’t compare with a man who’d just been murdered, even if he hadn’t been the most upstanding citizen.



He was also certain that they needed to establish the identity of the long-dead man who’d been found at the Apache village.



Somehow it all connected. He knew it.



“I’ll keep in touch,” he told her.



“You’d better.”



As he left her, walking around to the rear to get his patrol car, he thought that while it had been far more grueling to be a cop on the mean streets of Houston, being here was disturbing in its own way. A different way. In Houston, it had been easier to recognize the bad guys; here, he was afraid, he was looking for someone who might well be a friend.



Driving out of town, he could see the Silverfest celebrations taking place in the cordoned-off section of Main Street.



People were in high spirits. Most were convinced that a tourist killed in the desert had nothing to do with them.



And most of them were right.



In a few minutes he was back at his place, where Johnny Bearclaw had the horses saddled. Sloan mounted Roo, while Johnny took Kanga.



“We’ll probably run into the trail group,” Johnny told him.



“Yeah, I know. We’ll wait until the group that’s out now has moved on to the Apache village. It won’t look strange that we’re out there,” Sloan said. “There was a murder.”



“I’m ready for anything.” Johnny patted his holster.



Sloan carried a .357 eight-shot Magnum. He saw that Johnny had prepared with his weapon of choice, the 629 six-shot .44 Magnum. He’d had that weapon as long as Sloan could remember, but he didn’t carry it often.



Leaving the property and entering the trail, they caught up with Heidi and her tour group about halfway through. He noted that Heidi wasn’t alone; her older brother, Lars, just out of the military, was riding second with her. Sam, another of the tour guides, was carrying, too.