The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(103)

Quillan tucked it under his arm and reached beneath the box for his journal. He felt about, farther back, then walked around and felt around the other side where it must have slid. He climbed back up and looked underneath, but the space was empty. Had he left it on the hill? No, he recalled putting it under the seat when he climbed in, before Pierce climbed in beside— He clenched his jaw. Not even Pierce could be that low. Or could he? Quillan stalked from the livery to the Traveler’s Home Hotel just across the street. He asked for Mr. Pierce’s room.

The clerk searched the register. “That would be room four, but I believe he’s at dinner. Just a short while ago he asked if anyone had inquired for him. Is he expecting you?”

“Without doubt.” Quillan went into the adjoining dining room and searched the tables for Roderick Pierce. The man was seated by the window, dining alone. Quillan crossed the room and stopped. “Where is it?”

Pierce stood. “Have a seat, will you? The meal’s on me.”

Quillan held out his hand. “My journal.”

Pierce smiled. “Sit first. Man alive, you’re a hard nut.”

“I’ll take that from a cheat.” But Quillan sat.

“Steak?” Pierce indicated his own plate. “It’s passing fine.”

“I didn’t come here to eat.”

Pierce waved his waiter over. “Another plate like mine for my friend.”

The man bowed and backed away. Quillan crowded the table. “My journal, Pierce.”

Pierce sighed, reached behind the half curtain along the window, and handed the journal over.

Quillan flicked the pages, swiftly noting his own handwriting, then laid it in his lap. “I suppose you’ll tell me you didn’t read a page.”

“On the contrary, I devoured as much as I could. Incredible writing. I’d hoped for more time before you discovered the loss.”

“You blackguard.”

“Not entirely. But I say, I never would have pegged you for a poet.”

“I hadn’t pegged you for a thief.”

Pierce smiled. “Thievery connotes intent to retain. I only guessed it would be one sure way to get you here tonight. And I was dying for a look at those pages.”

“I ought to blacken your eyes.”

“Maybe you ought, but I suspect you won’t.”

Quillan brought his fists to rest on the table. “Why not?”

Pierce nodded. “Because I read your journal.”

Quillan wanted to reach over and squeeze his throat. He lifted the journal from his lap and waved it in the man’s face. “Not even my wife has read this.”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t your memory.”

“I wouldn’t doubt you’ve copied it somewhere.”

Pierce held up both hands. “I give you my word.”

Quillan snorted. “Your word?”

“My tactics may be suspect, but my word is good.”

The waiter brought Quillan’s meal. He sat back as the plate was set before him, then tucked the journal once again into his lap. He looked down at the plate, the beef aroma causing the juices in his mouth to flow.

“Well, eat,” Pierce said, resuming his own meal.

Quillan took up his knife and fork, cut a bite, and chewed it slowly.

Pierce smiled, raising his brows and nodding. “Eh?” They spent their next minutes eating and washing it down with hot coffee.

Then Quillan pushed his plate away. It was the first hot meal he’d had in days, and it did sit well. “All right, you’ve got me here. What do you want?”

“The more I learn vis-à-vis your journal there, the more convinced I am these biographies will be a triumphant success. You read the article?”

Quillan wished he could say no. “I looked it over.”

“Then you know what I can do.”

It didn’t matter what Pierce could do. “How do I make it clear to you I don’t want my life in your pages?”

“In all fairness, Quillan, I could write them now. From what I’ve already collected—”

“And stolen.”

“True, in a manner of speaking. But that’s my job.”

Quillan shook his head, spread his hands. “What do you find so fascinating you can’t let it go?” He truly did not understand.

Pierce tapped his nose. “It’s just here, Quillan.”

“Then what do you need me for?”

Pierce bowed his head a little. “I’m a fair man. I want to split the fee.”

“Why? You have what you need.”

Pierce half smiled. “Well, I have enough to whet my interest, but not really to fulfill the contract. There are gaps.”

Quillan sat back with a sardonic smile in return. “Patchy work, is it?”

Pierce held up his hands. “Don’t start that.”

Their waiter came and cleared their plates. He laid the bill beside Quillan, who slid it over to Pierce. With a quirk of his brows, Roderick Pierce paid it, then he took a pad from his pocket and eyed Quillan frankly. “I’ve contracted three short sketches. I’m envisioning a rework of the news article for the first, to hook them in with a flourish. A little more detail on the bank robbery and your subsequent departure from home. Being an eyewitness to the train sequence, I need only your own thoughts.”