The Pirate & The Adventurer & The Cowboy

can get out of here."

11

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    T wo days after his marriage, Rafe strode past two startled secretaries and straight into Moorcroft's office. Moorcroft looked up at the intrusion, his expression at first annoyed and then immediately cautious.

    "Well, hello, Cassidy. What brings you to San Diego?"

    Rafe tossed the Ellington file onto the desk in front of the other man. Then he removed his pearl gray Stetson and hung it on the end of the sleek Italian-style desk lamp.

    "Unfinished business," Rafe explained, dropping into a black leather chair.

    Moorcroft hesitated and then opened the file. He scanned the contents, absorbing the implications quickly. When he looked up again, his mouth was tight. "So you knew about my pipeline into your office all along? Knew Hatcher was keeping me informed?"

    "I figured something was going on. He used to be a good man. One of the best. But he's changed recently."

    "Probably because you've changed." Moorcroft leaned back in his chair. "And he didn't like the change."

    "Is that right?" Rafe casually put his silver-and turquoise-trimmed boots on Hatcher's richly polished desk. "What didn't he like?"

    Moorcroft sighed mockingly. "Don't you understand? You were his idol, Cassidy. The fastest gun in the West. Hatcher thought he was working for the best and he liked being on the winning side. But during the past year he decided you'd lost your edge."

    "No kidding."

    "Afraid so. In his opinion you'd become obsessed with a certain woman and that obsession had weakened you. A young man on the way up does not like discovering his idol has an Achilles' heel. You were no longer the hotshot gunslinger he'd gone to work for three years ago. No longer the toughest, meanest, fastest desperado on the coast."

    Rafe nodded. "I think I get the picture."

    "Apparently for the past six months all you've done is plot revenge against me and worked on ways of getting Miss Lark back into your bed. Revenge he could understand, but not your single-minded desire to bed one specific lady."

    "Looks like I failed as a role model."

    "Something like that. It bothered him, Cassidy. When I contacted him on the off chance I could buy him, I discovered he was ripe for the picking."

    "And you offered him a way to prove his newfound loyalty to you."

    "What did you expect me to do?"

    "Exactly what you did do, I suppose."

    Moorcroft shrugged. "You'd have done the same. We live and die on the basis of inside information in this business, Cassidy. You know that. We take it where we can get it."

    "True. Going to give him a job when he comes looking for one?"

    "Hell, no. The guy's proven he's the type who will sell out his own boss. What do I want with him?"

    "Figured you say that."

    Moorcroft glanced at the Ellington file. "But in this case it looks like Hatcher may have been a little premature in writing you off. He's been feeding me false information almost from the start, hasn't he?"

    "Yeah."

    "And especially for the past week or so. It's too late for me to counter now, isn't it? Congratulations, Cassidy. Looks like you win this one." Moorcroft reached behind his chair and opened a small, discreet liquor cabinet. "You drink Scotch, according to Hatcher. Can I offer you a glass?"

    "Sure."

    Moorcroft poured Scotch into two glasses and pushed one across the desk to Rafe. Then he raised his own glass in a small salute. "Here's to the thrill of victory. I guess this makes us even, doesn't it? I got Spencer last year. You get Ellington this year."

    "It's not quite that simple, Moorcroft. Check the printout at the end of that file."

    Moorcroft hesitated and then reopened the Ellington file. He flipped to the last page and scanned the detailed financial forecast and spreadsheet he found there. Then he looked up again. "So?"

    "So Ellington was merely the first."

    "I can see that. Brisken was next?"

    "And then Carlisle."

    Moorcroft's eyes narrowed. "Carlisle? What do you want with it?"

    "Guess."

    Moorcroft slowly closed the file again. "Carlisle has a major stake in Moorcroft Industries at the moment. You take control of them and you have a chunk of me."

    "You've got it."

    Moorcroft swallowed the remainder of his Scotch in one long gulp. His fingers were very tight around the glass as he carefully set it down in front of him. "I was right, wasn't I?" he asked softly. "You are gunning for me."

    "That was the plan," Rafe agreed. He studied the San Diego skyline outside the window. "Ellington, Brisken,