Longarm and the Racy Ladies

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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

DON’T MISS THESE ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

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Chapter 1

Longarm lowered the newspaper to his lap and used the left sleeve of his brown tweed coat to wipe away the fine beads of sweat that had popped out on his forehead. He told himself he was sweating because the lobby of the hotel was hot tonight. It wasn’t quite ten o’clock, and the heat from a summer afternoon in New Mexico wouldn’t completely fade away until after midnight. So it couldn’t be a case of nerves making him sweat. Surely not. The big federal lawman was sitting in the lobby of one of the best hotels in Albuquerque. He had ridden down on the train from Denver earlier in the day and met the man he was supposed to contact this evening. Jim Harrelson was a United States deputy marshal, too. At the moment, Harrelson was sitting on the other side of the lobby, wearing a derby hat and a suit with a loud, garish check. He looked like the whiskey drummer he was pretending to be, right down to the reddish nose of a man who too often sampled the wares he was supposed to be selling. That wasn’t a clever bit of camouflage, Longarm knew; Harrelson really did drink too much.

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