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    Longarm #429: Longarm and the Lady Lawbreaker
    Longarm #429: Longarm and the Lady Lawbreaker
    Longarm #429: Longarm and the Lady Lawbreaker
    Ebook159 pages1 hour

    Longarm #429: Longarm and the Lady Lawbreaker

    By Tabor Evans

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    About this ebook

    It’s up to Longarm to bring in a vicious vixen…

    Hell hath no fury like Naomi Foster, the felonious female that Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long has been charged with transporting from Wyoming Territory to Denver for trial. In theory, Longarm has help in the form of C. Burton Hood—but the young deputy-in-training is greener than a frog and hornier than a toad, both of which turn out to be big problems when it comes to watching their pulchritudinous prisoner.
     
    After Foster uses her feminine wiles to hoodwink Deputy Hood, it’s up to Longarm to catch the slippery siren—but he’ll have to dodge the bullets of bushwhackers, who seem to be coming out of the woodwork to take the lawman down…
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPenguin Publishing Group
    Release dateJul 29, 2014
    ISBN9780698144729
    Longarm #429: Longarm and the Lady Lawbreaker
    Author

    Tabor Evans

    More information to be announced soon on this forthcoming title from Penguin USA.

    Read more from Tabor Evans

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      Book preview

      Longarm #429 - Tabor Evans

      Chapter 1

      Custis Long yawned. Stretched. His eyelids fluttered as he fought against sleep. He had to get up soon and head for his own bed. In the meantime he was sated. Maria Lourdes Consuela Valdes lay tucked in close beside him, her breathing slow and steady in the aftermath of their coupling.

      Chill night air cooled the thin film of sweat on his flesh and somewhere on the street below he heard the sounds of a horse’s passage. Life could not get much better than this, he thought.

      The deputy United States marshal known as Longarm yawned again and rolled his head to the side. Maria Lourdes’s nipple jutted high off her left tit. The woman had the longest nipples he had ever seen. Sensitive, too. He considered toying with this one, but if he did that, he was likely to wake the lady. And Longarm was just too worn-out already to want another piece of that. Maria Lourdes was wild, but she could suck the life out of a man. She certainly had drained Longarm.

      Forcing himself to move, he swiveled onto the side of the feather bed and sat upright. Yawned again and scratched. Then he reached down and silently gathered up his clothes and his boots.

      He padded barefoot out of Maria Lourdes’s sleeping chamber to the outer room of her suite and stopped there to dress. He perched on the edge of a flimsy-looking chair to pull on his boots, stood again, and barely remembered in time to stop himself from stamping his feet firmly into the boots lest the noise disturb Maria Lourdes.

      Longarm stretched again and decided maybe he was waking up after all. For a minute or so there it had seemed in doubt.

      There was not enough light in the room to check himself in the mirror as only a very low flame burned in a single lamp, so he had to straighten his collar and tie by feel. And long habit made him check the position of the .45-caliber Colt that rode at his waist, his fingertips finding the polished walnut grips exactly where they should be, just left of his belt buckle with his holster canted for a cross draw.

      Once that was done he declared himself ready to face the world.

      Custis Long stood well over six feet in height, lean and whipcord tough with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His features were craggy, tanned by years of exposure to the elements. He had brown hair and a brown handlebar mustache. His eyes could seem golden brown at times . . . or cold steel at others.

      He wore brown corduroy trousers, a brown tweed coat and checkerboard shirt. His gun belt was black leather, as were his knee-high cavalry boots. On his head he wore a flat-crowned brown Stetson.

      Once into the upstairs hallway in Maria Lourdes’s rented house—she was in Denver for a month or two to shop, she said—he paused to extract a long, slender cheroot from his inside coat pocket. He bit the twist off the tip and deposited the speck of tobacco into a decorative urn on the landing, struck a lucifer, and lighted his smoke, grateful for the flavor of it after being without for some hours. Maria Lourdes, it seemed, did not care for the scent of tobacco.

      On the ground floor he smiled and nodded to one of the lady’s housemaids, this one small and dark and wearing a frilly apron over a plain black dress. She had flour up to her wrists and he supposed she was busy setting dough for Maria Lourdes’s morning biscuits.

      It must be grand, he thought, to be rich and have a staff of house help to do every little thing for you. It was something he would never know. And really did not care.

      Maria Lourdes’s wealth and below-the-border genteel upbringing did not, however, keep her from liking to fuck like a crazed mink. After a very casual meeting in a café close to the state capitol building, she had worn Longarm near to a frazzle.

      Not that he minded.

      Now, however, he wanted to go home. Go to bed. And get a deep, if not a long, sleep before he reported in to the office in the morning. He had been idle here in Denver for several weeks now and was looking forward to an assignment.

      He smiled a little, remembering the evening. And the lady. Then he let himself out into the night.

      Chapter 2

      Longarm woke too late to have breakfast at his boardinghouse. By the time he went downstairs the dining room table had already been cleared and he could hear the sounds of clattering dishes from the kitchen. Not that he wanted anything to eat. His stomach was still bilious after the previous evening’s indulgences, and his mouth tasted like someone had shit in it.

      Rather than going out to the street he went out the back way and around to the side of the back porch to where washwater was dumped. A patch of mint grew in the shade there. He bent and plucked a few stems. Chewing them sweetened his mouth considerably.

      From there he walked around to the front of the house and waved to a hansom driver who was sitting in the driving box of his rig half a block distant.

      Federal Building, he ordered as he climbed into the cab.

      Coming right up, gov’nor, the driver said. As soon as Longarm closed the cab door the driver snapped his whip above the ears of his horse, and the vehicle lurched into motion, swaying on its leather springs like a ship in a storm.

      It was only a short drive to the imposing, gray-stone U.S. Federal Building on Colfax Avenue.

      Longarm paid the cabbie and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes before he mounted the broad steps and entered the building.

      The United States marshals’ office was on the first floor. Longarm pulled the door open and stepped inside.

      Mornin’, Henry, he said to the office manager, hanging his Stetson on the hat rack near the door.

      Barely, the bespectacled clerk responded.

      What?

      Barely morning, Henry said. You’re late.

      Not very, Longarm said.

      Late enough to annoy the boss. He’s been asking for you.

      Longarm immediately brightened and asked hopefully, He has an assignment for me?

      That’s not for me to say, but I’ll tell him you’re here.

      Longarm snorted. Not for Henry to say, perhaps, but he most certainly knew. Henry knew everything that went on in U.S. Marshal Billy Vail’s office. Everything. Maybe everything that went on in the whole building, too, or so it sometimes seemed.

      Henry rose from behind his desk, lightly tapped on the door leading back to Billy’s office, paused there for only a moment before he disappeared inside leaving Longarm alone in the outer office. When he emerged again he stopped to gather some papers from his desk before once again entering Billy’s private domain. Finally he returned and motioned for Longarm to enter.

      ’Bout time, Longarm mumbled as he went in to see the former Texas Ranger who was his boss.

      Chapter 3

      Billy Vail—United States Marshal William Vail—sat behind his desk, bald and almost cherubic in appearance. He looked as though he would be squeamish about stepping on a bug, much less sending a .45 slug into the belly of a man. In fact Vail had more than held his own in the rough-and-ready world of the Texas Rangers before securing this appointment as marshal.

      To his great disgust, once in the job Billy found that the demands of the office kept him mostly behind a desk acting more as an administrator than a hunter of men. He did the job well, though, and his deputies would have followed Vail into the gates of hell itself. Moreover, they knew that if such a thing were ever to become necessary, Billy Vail would be out in front leading the way.

      Mornin’, Boss. Longarm fought down an impulse to salute.

      Vail looked up from the papers on his desk and grunted. Loudly. Longarm was not entirely sure how he should interpret that so he kept his mouth shut and waited for Billy to speak.

      Vail took his time about addressing his deputy, who was generally regarded as delivering the best results among the many deputies assigned to the Denver District . . . even if not always by approved methods.

      Finally Billy leaned back, the springs beneath his swivel chair creaking in protest, and laced his fingers behind his head. You’ve been sitting around with your thumb up your backside for more than long enough, Custis, so it is about time you get out into the field again.

      Yes, sir, I agree, Longarm said.

      I have something for you.

      Yes, sir, thank you, sir.

      Billy grunted again. Swiveled his chair around to face out of the window for a moment, then again swung around to face Longarm. This is not something I would normally give to you, Custis. You tend to go your own way with things and never mind the book. Or plain common sense.

      Yes, sir.

      So this time I want you to make an exception. This time I want you to do things exactly the way you are supposed to. No ad libbing, please.

      Boss, I don’t have any idea what you’re talkin’ about.

      Do you know something, Custis. Sad as I am to say it, I believe you. You really don’t have any grasp of proper law enforcement procedure. Billy shook his head, took a deep breath and went on. We have a new deputy assigned to this office. He needs to be . . . I was about to say he should be broken in, but I’m afraid if I do that you will take me at my word and end up really breaking him.

      Oh, now really, Boss, I—

      Quiet, please.

      Yes, sir.

      "What

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