Angel in Black (31 page)

A pair of grimy hands snaked out and seized her arm. Katrina twisted and kicked him directly in the groin. He dropped to the ground, his howls of pain added to the ranting and raving of the one holding his head, the commotion loud in the quiet night. Katrina exited the darkened alley and glanced both ways when she emerged. To her right she saw scarface and the giant, alerted by the noise the drunks made. From behind came the third drunk, the others close on his heels. She ran to her left, five noisy men in pursuit.

The sudden clatter of horse’s hooves pounded down the cobbled street. She glanced back, a single horse and rider streaked past her pursuers, bearing down on her within seconds. With ease the man on horseback caught up with her and, leaning down, swept her up. Strong arms lifted her onto the horse before him and her only weapon clattered to the ground. Katrina struggled, but he had a viselike grip on her and to quiet her screams, he smothered her against his chest. He halted his horse and waited for the others to catch up.

“What is going on here?” he demanded.

All the men recognized Captain Grant Walker, well known around the docks as a smuggler and slave trader. With hooded eyes, Walker surveyed them, noticing the bleeding and stooped-over victims of the wildcat he now held in tow.

Mack stepped forward and spoke. “The li’tle bitch got away from Ralph an’ me. We were lookin’ for her when these blokes started after her. She belongs t’ me, Captain.”

“She didna’ belong t’ no one when we happened on her. She damn near split me skull with that stick of hers. An’ blame near busted Sid’s balls, she did. I say we share the bitch.”

Captain Walker’s laughter filled the still night, echoed off the walls of the empty street. “You mean to tell me five of you could not keep this little bit of a girl under control?”

His laughter mocked them, but none were foolish enough to say different. Deciding Katrina wasn’t worth the trouble, the three muttering drunks drifted off in search of some more ale and, perhaps, a more willing wench.

“Maybe you and Ralph should explain how you got your hands on this expensive piece of baggage. I’ll deliver her to your shack. Meet me there.”

Grant Walker looked down at the woman he held and nudged his horse into a gallop. Curious, he pulled her head back with a handful of hair and met darkened blue eyes spewing her indignant anger.

“Bloody hell,” he exclaimed. “No wonder they were lusting after you, woman. Despite the dirt, I can see you are a beauty.”

In minutes they were back to the place he knew she had managed to escape. Grant slid from his mount, keeping her well in hand. Once inside, he locked and bolted the door, whirled about just in time to miss her fist. He caught both wrists in one hand and shoved her against the wall to keep her feet from landing against his shins. Pressed hard against a hellcat squirming and fighting mad, he felt the flare of his own passions.

“Keep struggling and I’ll take you myself.” His words brooked no disobedience, and Katrina stilled, deciding submissiveness would serve her best for the moment.

“Now, if I let you go, do you promise to behave?”

Katrina made no attempt to answer but turned in stubborn silence away from his gaze.

“If you don’t promise, I’ll leave you to Mack and Ralph. I guarantee they will do things you’ve never imagined, and use you in ways a decent lady would find hard to bear. You would be worth a lot of money to me, and no matter what Mack’s reasons for having you are, I can buy you. Once you are mine, I’ll see no one harms you.”

Turning back to look at him, Katrina asked, skeptical, “And who will protect me from you?”

Captain Walker grinned, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I never use my merchandise, even when they’re as pretty as you. Should the need arise …” his pun made him chuckle, “there are always plenty of women in port willing to please me. Besides, I sell women for profit, yes, but I do not rape them. In Mexico, you would bring me a fortune.”

Katrina balked at being sold as a slave, but among her present choices, going with the captain was the safest course for now. A lot could happen between here and Mexico. It would give her time she did not have with Mack and Ralph. Her decision made, she gave her promise and Captain Walker released her.

Walker sat down and stretched his long legs out before him. He looked to be a middle-aged man, long and lean, fit from years at sea. Light blue eyes studied her and Katrina remained aware that beneath the casual manner lurked a dangerous man. His silvered hair and rugged sun-bronzed face might be considered appealing by most women, but she only saw a man who traded in human lives.

“Let your hair down.”

The command took Katrina by surprise and she merely stared at the man. “Go to hell,” she hissed.

“I want to see what I am buying, wench.” His own patience wearing thin, he snapped at her, “Do it, or I will do it myself.”

Abrupt and disturbing, Mack’s scarred face flashed across her mind. Hesitant, she obeyed and removed the few pins left in her hair.

Grant smiled as it fell to her waist in a shower of gold, the lamplight glistening off the lustrous curls. He stood and stepped closer and walked around her, deliberate and slow. Each step in his inspection blue eyes flashed angry and proud. He lifted a handful of her hair and smelled the faint hint of roses. From the cut of her dress and her speech, he believed her to be a lady, but something different also struck him. Perhaps the defiant tilt of her chin, or maybe the way she looked so calm and unafraid. When he had gone full circle and stood in front of her again, she met his gaze, steady and defiant.

“What is your name?”

“Katrina Easton.”

“How did you end up here?” Grant asked, his question blunt and to the point.

Katrina pondered what to tell him, the truth or a lie. Deciding on the truth, she answered, “I was married yesterday to the son of the man who murdered my family over nine years ago to steal our estate. He paid to have me kidnapped this morning, and it is my understanding, to kill me.”

Walker raised an eyebrow in amusement at her attitude — she seemed to have not a care in the world. “It should be simple enough to get Mack to sell you to me.”

“I doubt that,” she replied matter-of-factly.

Confused, Walker asked, “Why not? I know Mack to be a greedy son-of-a-bitch. For gold he would do anything.”

Katrina shrugged her shoulders, feigning disinterest in his opinion. “Maybe so, but by killing me, Mack and Ralph will also achieve some personal satisfaction.”

“You talk of dying so casually, Katrina. Don’t you fear what they would do to you?” The captain continued to watch her face for some signs of emotion. The lack of it, for some reason, disturbed him.

“No, I don’t fear them,” she said, and he believed her.

A banging on the door interrupted Walker, and he turned and yelled, “Quiet, damn it, lest I lose my patience with you two.”

The noise stopped and Katrina could hear Mack grumble, but he did not disturb the captain again. This made her more cautious; a man who could control filthy scum would be formidable.

“Now, why would that ugly bastard want revenge from someone as lovely as you?” Curiosity gleamed in Walker’s eyes.

“I ran into Mack and Ralph another time. They tried to accost me, but I managed to get away.” It was not a pleasant memory and Katrina paused, uncertain about revealing more.

The captain prodded her, unwilling to let her leave it alone. “That certainly isn’t any reason to kidnap and murder you. Tell me, I would know what happened.”

She remained silent for a moment. Deciding it made no difference one way or the other, Katrina told him. “They followed me with two others to the inn where I stayed and broke into my room while I slept. They tried to rape me; they may have intended to kill me, I don’t know. Mack’s scar and Ralph’s limp are the result of the attack. But they were luckier than the other two who died.”

Walker laughed. “Bloody hell, you’re a little spitfire, aren’t you? If I hadn’t seen some of your handiwork on those drunks out there, I’d find it hard to believe you. You’ve got more meanness and guts than most of the men on my ship.” He threw back his head and laughed again, long and loud. Luck was certainly with him tonight. What a gem he’d found.

His humor only irritated Katrina. “Now what?” she snapped.

“Patience, little girl; losing your temper with me isn’t wise,” he chided her.

Katrina stood before him, hands on her hips. “I am not a little girl. You,
Captain
, are no better than Mack and Ralph, and I will do whatever I can to be free of all of you. You sell women for profit, and to me, it makes you the lowest of bastards.”

Walker seized Katrina in a sudden move; her sharp, unyielding tongue caused him to lose his temper. He threw her down onto the mat and fell on top of her. Pinned beneath him, he captured her wrists in one hand and jerked them above her head. Furious now, he pulled out his knife and held it against her neck, the blade cold against her flushed skin.

“So, I am a bastard, huh? You still think so?” he whispered, his face only inches from hers.

“Yes,” Katrina spat, feeling the blade dig into her tender skin. “You are a filthy, low-down, scum of a bastard.”

Amazement and then a wicked grin spread across his face, and he chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Since I am a man of ill character, I should take you myself, and leave you to the curs outside.”

“Yes, I suppose you could,” Katrina agreed, her voice strong, refusing to give him the satisfaction of frightening her.

“You’re a hell of a woman, Katrina Easton, but it would be a shame to waste your beauty and spirit on those two idiots. You may be more trouble than you’re worth, but I’m willing to take the risk. And for you, I might have to reconsider my rules about mixing business with pleasure.” Laying his knife carelessly across her throat, he bent his head and kissed the soft flesh along the curve of her neck.

“But right now, I have business to take care of.”

Chapter Eighteen

“W
HAT DO YOU MEAN
she was kidnapped?” Blake grabbed Lawrence Langsford, out of control with fear and fury. Ryon pulled his brother off, knowing Blake could easily kill him in his state of mind.

Langsford held his wounded arm and attempted to explain further. The black scowl on Blake’s face made him fidget, his nerves frayed. “The carriage was waylaid at the edge of London; our driver killed. One man threw open the door and Katrina jumped out the other side and ran. A giant of a man grabbed her and put something over her mouth causing her to black out. I thought they meant to rob us, but the big man carried her off. I attempted to stop them but the first man slashed me with his knife. In a matter of seconds, they both disappeared. I assumed their intention is to ransom my niece.”

Blake’s voice remained hard, his eyes liquid fire. “You had no weapons to protect yourselves?”

“Of course not,” snapped Lawrence, the defensive feeling not to his liking. “We would have caught up with the rest of our wagons in no time at all. I never dreamed we’d be attacked. We weren’t out of the city yet … and in broad daylight.”

“What did these men look like?” Ryon asked; his tone less critical.

Lawrence cleared his throat before he began. “The man who caught Katrina was large and stocky. I noticed he was crippled. His nose looked to have been broken and one shoulder slumped lower than the other. But most of all, he walked with a limp, one leg dragging when he walked. The other was small in comparison, but fearsome-looking. He bore a monstrous-looking scar from his chin up through his eyebrow, the eye blinded and gruesomely disfigured.”

The room grew silent and grim. Startled, their attention turned to Blake when the glass he held shattered. “Those sons-of-whores — I’ll kill them. I will hunt them down and kill them.”

Blake started for the door but Ryon blocked his exit and demanded, “What is it, Blake? What do you know about Katrina’s kidnappers?”

Blake stopped dead in his tracks; agony and sorrow mixed with his fury. “Kidnappers, hell!” With a sudden helplessness, pain overwhelmed him. It took a moment before he could voice the horrendous truth out loud. “They are going to kill her.”

Everyone stood shocked. “What do you mean, Blake?” Ryon questioned and when Blake said nothing, he prodded further. “Explain yourself.”

“I mean those two bastards will kill her — I cannot make it any clearer.”

Ryon looked down at his brother’s bleeding hand and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. As he wrapped it to stop the flow of blood, he asked, “How can you be so sure? Did Katrina know them?”

Drained, Blake sank into a chair, all emotion driven from him leaving only numbness. Ryon handed him another drink. After he downed it, Blake explained. When he finished, no one spoke. Without another word, Blake strode from the room, braced to begin his desperate search.

B
Y THE END OF
the third day, Blake felt near insane from worry and fear. The nights proved to be worse torture than the days as dreams of his golden-haired girl haunted him. He decided it easier to avoid them and slept little, fatigue only adding to his foul, ugly mood. He ate only to satisfy Rebecca’s nagging and did not take time to shave or change his clothes; his time spent searching London for word of Katrina. Dirty and rumpled, his unshaven face hard and grim, his barely controlled violence apparent to all.