Looking for a Hero (16 page)

Grabbing her hand from the railing, he shoved something small and gold into her palm, then squeezed her fingers into a fist around it.

“That, madam, is a gold doubloon. It is worth a small fortune, or so I have been told by a very curious St. Augustine shopkeeper. I have many of them. I have jewels, too. Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds—and any one of them, my dearest Kate, will more than pay for the room and board you have given me.”

He took hold of her other hand and placed another doubloon inside, also tightening that hand into a fist. “That is for the generosity you will continue to show me, because I have nowhere else to go and am of no mind to look for other lodging. When I am ready to leave, I will give you even more.”

“I don't want anything from you, especially ill-gotten goods.”

She started to throw the doubloons in his face, but he trapped her fists in his hands. She could almost hear the grind of his teeth. “You have a closed mind, madam. One that concocts its own beliefs in people, without seeking to know the truth.”

“That's not true.”

“What do you know of my life before or after I became a pirate? You know nothing, Kate, only what you read in those spurious books in your dead husband's office. I am a thief, a murderer. And I have a black heart that is as cold as the icy Atlantic. Believe the worst, if you want. I will not attempt to tell you anything different. But I will tell you one thing, where you are concerned: I do not always take what I want when I want it. If I
did, you would have been in my bed days ago.”

With that he was gone, his long legs, his furious pace, carrying him down the street and out of sight.

And tears rushed from Kate's eyes, tears she didn't bother to wipe away, tears that were shed because she wanted him in her life but didn't have the courage to make room for him in her heart.

 

No one stared at him when he walked into the public house. The men did not seem to care that his hair was longer than most other men's, that he wore rings in his ears, or that he had a menacing scar on his face. They seemed to be interested only in the darts they were tossing, the billiard balls they were hitting, and the comely redhead leaning against the bar watching them with a seductive smile and teasing eyes.

Morgan skirted past them, ordered a rum from the innkeeper, and made his way to a table in a darkened corner of the tavern, not too far from a door with an exit sign above it. Years of hiding, of being cautious, had taught him to look for a ready means of escape, should the need arise.

He leaned back in the hard wooden chair and sipped his rum. It tasted watered down, an inferior quality, to be sure. Still, it warmed his throat, and if he drank enough, it might dull the ache that ripped at his heart.

Damn fool woman! She fought him with every ounce of breath, but beneath her resolve, he sensed passion burning to be shared. She had
loved her husband, perhaps she still did, but he'd been dead many a year and 'twas long past time she stopped denying her needs.

He tossed down a swig of rum and thought about the heat of Kate's skin against his, the radiance of her emerald eyes, the silkiness of her hair when it smoothed over his cheek. He longed to hold her in his arms, to sweep his hands along the curves of her body, over her soft, lush breasts. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her mouth, wanted to slide his fingers up the insides of her thighs, and stroke the warm, moist center of her being.

He wanted to love her—at least once before he made his way back to his own time. He wanted to drag memories of her back to the past with him, because, God forbid, he'd never find anyone like her again.

“Would you like another rum?”

The voice startled him, and Morgan looked into the eyes of the tempting redhead he'd seen leaning against the bar. She could readily ease the need raging in his loins, but it wasn't a quick tumble that he wanted.

He wanted Kate. Rum might quench his thirst, but it could never numb his desire.

“One more,” he stated, swallowing the last drop in his glass. He pulled a wad of green bills from his pocket and placed one marked with a 50 in the woman's hand. “Bring me a better quality this time. Something stronger.”

She stared at the money, then looked at him and
smiled. “Maybe you'd like some company, too?”

He shook his head. “Just the rum.”

“You're sure?”

“Aye.”

The woman laughed. “Suit yourself.”

He wanted Kate, but the rum would have to suffice.

Again he leaned back in the chair and studied the intricate drawings on the paper money. The coin dealer had given him far more than he'd ever expected for a gold doubloon and a silver piece of eight. The man had wanted to purchase even more, but Morgan had seen the gleam in his eye as he'd studied the coins. No doubt they were worth far more than the cunning devil had offered.

Still Morgan had taken the money. Using gold and silver for his purchases the day before had drawn too much attention. The paper money he'd used to pay for his drinks had raised not even one brow. 'Twas best to stay inconspicuous.

The redhead slid another glass of rum in front of him, then sauntered off, her slender hips swaying before his eyes. Disinterested in her too obvious moves, Morgan took a sip of the rum, favoring the way this darker and more potent drink burned his throat. At last he'd found something that suited his needs.

Across the dimly lit room, the door opened, letting in a stream of streetlight and a woman who looked vaguely familiar. Blond. Of average height.
Pretty, even though she had a hardened expression on her face.

She was the woman he'd seen on
Satan's Revenge.

Morgan leaned back, letting the shadows cover his face, and listened intently to the woman's exchange with the innkeeper and redhead.

“There's a strong possibility he's dressed as a pirate,” the woman said. Her back was to Morgan as she addressed the fellow behind the bar. “A big guy. Long dark hair. I'm sure you'd remember him if you saw him.”

The redhead turned her head, looking at Morgan over her shoulder. A generous smile curved her painted lips, and she moved over a step or two, so Morgan wouldn't be seen by the woman from the ship.

Morgan winked, pulled another one of the bills from his pocket, and tucked it under his glass then quietly, stealthily, opened the exit door and slipped out of the tavern.

The night was warm, humid. Dark, threatening clouds littered the sky, but thankfully the streets were still buzzing with people, and he wove between men, women, children, and hand-holding couples until he was far from the inn.

When he neared the shop where he'd sold his coins, he slowed. A crowd swarmed in front of the building, and that same yellow and black ribbon that had surrounded
Satan's Revenge
had been strung up to keep the spectators from getting too close. Red lights flashed on top of nearly half a
dozen vehicles, and people in various uniforms scurried about.

Two men bearing a stretcher emerged from the shop. A black bag rested on top, its silhouette taking the form of a man—a man with the same exceedingly large girth as the coin dealer Morgan had spent time with earlier.

He moved closer, peering over the shoulder of an elderly gentleman whose height came close to matching his own. Morgan watched the blond woman from the ship walk up the street and stop beside the vehicle where the stretcher had been placed. She gripped the edge of the door, stared at the black bag for a moment, then shook her head. She twisted around, exchanged a few words with a man in uniform, then looked out at the crowd, searching, Morgan imagined, for him.

“Hey, Sergeant!” someone called out from the door of the building, and the woman turned and walked toward the shop, disappearing into the well-lit interior.

Morgan expelled the breath he'd been holding. He was guilty of nothing, but still he had to hide. Going back to
Satan's Revenge
was his only option. He could stay out of sight there, and when the ship was repaired, he could sail away.

And never see Kate again.

'Twould be for the best
, he told himself, although his heart ached at the thought.

Working his way through the mass of bodies, Morgan came to a sudden stop when he saw a pair of cold brown eyes staring at him through the
crowd. An instant later, they were gone.

Morgan's pace quickened as he shouldered through the gathering. The eyes had looked familiar. They'd looked evil, vile, like the eyes of Thomas Low. But Low had survived the storm three hundred years ago. He'd died at his estate in Dover—he hadn't traveled through time.

Still, Morgan searched the crowd, looked up and down the street, but he saw no one with eyes like Thomas Low's.

'Twas the murders that had made him see those evil eyes. The coin dealer's death brought back too strong a reminder of what Low had done to Morgan's family. No wonder he'd seen those eyes in the crowd. The sooner he got back to his own time, the sooner he wreaked his revenge on Thomas Low, the sooner his mind would ease, and he'd cease seeing Low in his nightmares—and in the faces of strangers in a crowd.

I
t was well past midnight when Kate uncurled her body from the front porch swing and stood at the railing. For long hours she'd waited for Morgan's return. Now, she hoped that if she waited just another minute or two, she'd hear his boots crunch on the walkway, see the moonlight shining on his hair.

But he did not come.

Off in the distance she heard the mournful cry of a siren, the barks and howls of dogs disturbed by the noise. Deep inside her chest, she thought her heart had ceased to beat, that the only thing
keeping her alive right now was the worry that pulsed in her brain.

Was he hurt?

Dead?

Mad?

Ready to strangle her for being so cruel?

She wondered if she would ever see him again.

His smile.

His scar.

The dimples at the corners of his mouth.

When she shut out all the noises and sights around her, he came to her in an instant, his azure eyes sparkling brighter than all the wishing stars in the nighttime sky, his hair swirling in the wind, wrapping around her like millions of silky ropes, pulling her close, so very, very close.

Once again she could feel the whispery touch of his lips on her jaw, the feathery caress of his fingers over her cheeks. And his words. My God, his words. “Ah, Katie. I will miss you greatly when I go.”

“Don't go,” she whispered into the air, and prayed that the breeze would carry it to his ear.

Another siren screamed, its sound reverberating through the thick, humid night, through her fearful thoughts.

She had to find him. She had to.

If only to see him one last time, if only to kiss him good-bye.

Running into the house and up to her bedroom, she slipped out of her shorts and into jeans and tennis shoes, wrapped a light sweater about her
shoulders, and shoved her house key and wallet into her pocket.

The grandfather clock downstairs struck one time as she rushed through the door and out to the street. The bars in the old part of town would still be open and she hoped he'd stopped off in one for a drink. Of course, there was always the possibility that he was sitting on a park bench, staring at all the new and different things in this century, or that he'd gone to the
castillo
, or to his ship.

He could have left this century entirely.

That thought ate away at her. She had to find him.

No cars passed her as she strolled up St. George toward the center of the city. It was quiet. Much too quiet. Even though she knew it was senseless, she peeked behind bushes, around trees, and in between houses lining the street. She peeked into the dark recesses of one bar, and when she saw no one familiar, she admitted to herself that Morgan would have gone to his ship—and he would be trying to go back home.

She headed for the bridge that would take her to the island where the ship was moored. Just before she reached the Episcopal church, the sound of footsteps joined hers on the street. Her heart slammed in her chest, and she jerked around, but no one was there.

No one.

She walked faster, and the steps caught up with hers again.

Her strides lengthened. Her pace quickened, faster, faster, as a lump formed deep in her throat.

Another block. Another. Still the heavy, evenly spaced footfalls followed her. Could it be Morgan, watching her every move? No, he wouldn't frighten her that way.

She came to a dead stop at Cathedral Place, and spun around, ready to confront whoever was stalking her trail. But there was no one in sight.

Not a man.

Not a woman.

Not a child, or even a dog.

She was all alone.

In the dark.

And she was frightened.

She jogged the next block, wanting to get away from the confinement of buildings, desperately needing to get to the bridge and out into the open where she could have a better view of what—or who—was around her.

When she saw the marina, she took a deep breath and slowed her pace. She hadn't heard the footsteps for nearly a block. She hadn't seen another person at all, and she laughed, sure that her imagination had been playing tricks on her.

“Good evening.”

The sudden, unexpected voice surprised her. Her shoe stubbed on a raised section of sidewalk, and she tripped, but an elegant hand reached out and caught her before she fell.

“I did not mean to startle you,” the man said
in a slow, deep, vaguely accented voice. “Forgive me. Please.”

She pulled away, instantly putting her hand over her chest, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart, but the effort was useless.

The man looked harmless, but still she was alarmed by the way he'd appeared out of nowhere.

“Lovely night for a walk.”

“I'm meeting someone. A friend.” The words rushed out of her mouth as she backed away, tripping again, and once more she nearly lost her balance.

The tall, slender man with jet black hair and a well-trimmed beard and mustache cupped her elbow. He looked as if he could have stepped out of the pages of
GQ
, but that didn't make Kate want to stop for a chat.

“I really have to be going.”

“Perhaps I should escort you. I'm sure your friend wouldn't mind, not at this time of night.”

“No, thank you. I'll be fine.”

He smiled, and she couldn't miss his pearly white teeth, his icy brown eyes. “Be careful, then.”

She rushed off, not looking back, her jog turning into a run as she reached the Bridge of Lions, a run that consumed nearly all her breath, all her strength. At the far end she stopped long enough to look back across the deserted bridge, but the man who'd helped her was nowhere in sight.

She closed her eyes, saying a short, simple prayer of thanks, and adding one for protection,
then heard the sound of a car's engine slowing down beside her.

Her eyelids flashed open, but it was only a patrol car, and her sister-in-law sitting behind the wheel shaking her head. “What on earth are you doing out here?” Nikki asked.

Kate let out her pent-up breath and slowly smiled at the most welcome face she'd seen since Morgan had gone away. “Taking a walk,” she stated. “What does it look like?”

“It looks foolish. Get inside. I'll take you home.”

Kate shook her head. “It's been a long day. It's been an even longer night, and I just want to get some fresh air.”

Nikki rested her arms on the open window, her face frowning with skepticism. “What's wrong, Kate?”

“Nothing. Honest. I couldn't sleep.”

“Is Casey okay?”

Kate nodded. “She's been at Evalena's the last few nights—plotting, I'm sure. Evie found a man for you, and now they're both trying to find someone for me.”

“Might not be such a bad idea. A good man might keep you off the streets at night.”

“I'm not looking for a good man, or any man, for that matter. You know that.”

“Yeah, I said the same thing until Jack came along. I always thought I'd end up single, or married to a cop. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd end up with a museum curator.”

Nikki stuck her head back into the car and answered
a call on her radio. “I've got to go,” she said, turning again to Kate. “Why don't you join Jack and me for dinner tomorrow night?”

“I don't know.”

“No arguments, Kate. You need to get out more, and I don't mean walking at night by yourself.”

“I like to walk.”

“Well, it's not such a good idea. There was another murder a few hours ago.”

Panic ripped through Kate, worse than the dread she'd felt when she'd heard the sirens earlier, worse than the fear she'd felt when she'd seen the stranger on the street. “Not anyone we know?” she asked, trying to sound calm.

“A coin dealer. Someone fairly new in town.”

Kate let out a rapid sigh of relief.

“You're awfully edgy tonight,” Nikki said. “Let me take you home.”

“I'm fine. All I want to do is walk. Be a friend, please. Don't nag.”

“If I didn't have to go, I wouldn't give up so easily,” Nikki said, shoving the car into gear. “Tell you what: I'll come by for coffee in the morning, and then I'll nag you until you tell me what's troubling you.”

Another call came over the radio. Nikki smiled and brought their conversation to an abrupt end. “Gotta go.”

Kate watched Nikki's car speed across the bridge, and when it was out of sight, she picked up her jogging pace, making her way down old
familiar streets as she headed toward the ship.

The disquiet of the night prickled her nerves, made her jump at every abrupt noise. Down a dark alley she heard the clank of a metal trash can tipping over, heard the sounds of two dogs yipping, as if they were fighting over the garbage.

A black-and-white cat darted out from the shrubs and raced across her path, and a scream froze in her throat.

Don't be afraid
, she told herself.
You're almost there. Just a little further. A little further
…

Just as she thought those words,
Satan's Revenge
came into view, the ancient warship rising above the water like a phantom from another world.

Someone had set up searchlights at her bow and her stern, and they waved now, back and forth through the night. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung from one end of the ship to the other, and a makeshift gangplank ran from the pier up to the deck.

Kate worked her way to the police car parked at the edge of the dock, waiting, watching for the guard to disappear, or at least move to the far end of the ship so she could run up the plank and sneak on board.

Her wait wasn't long, but the gangplank wasn't going to work. It was too visible, too lit up. There was only one other thing she could think of. She'd have to climb the anchor chain hanging from the bow of the ship into the water below.

Never in her life had she done something so crazy. She told herself she should go back home,
but she'd come this far, and she wasn't running away now. This was her last chance to find Morgan.

Crouching low, trying to stay out of the searchlight beams, she raced toward the bow and didn't stop to think before she leapt the short distance from the pier and grabbed onto the heavy chain.

Her hands slipped on the cold, damp iron, but she managed to dig her fingers between the links and hold on tight, climb quickly to the top, and then swing her feet over the railing and onto the deck.

Bending over, hands on knees, she took a few seconds to catch her breath, then slowly stood, realizing suddenly that she was on a vessel that had traveled across centuries—in the blink of an eye.

Her entire body trembled at the thought, and she reached out a steadying hand and gripped one of the cables securing the mast. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, having the oddest feeling that she'd stepped back in time, but the searchlights waved through the sky, and the familiar black-and-white lighthouse stood watch in the distance.

Still, she could almost hear the shouts of sailors as if the ship clipped across the waves, the clash of steel against steel, and booming cannon fire as if pirate fought pirate and galleon fought warship.

And she could easily picture Morgan Farrell standing at the helm, legs spread wide for balance, arms folded powerfully over his chest as he shouted out orders.

Above her she could hear the creak of the mast, the snap of rope, the whistle of wind blowing in from the sea, and behind her the soft, almost silent step of a booted foot.

Her body tensed.

Oh, God. What had she gotten herself into?

Another step in the dark.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clapped hard over her lips, and a powerful arm wrapped around her chest and dragged her kicking and struggling away from the moonlit deck, into the deep, dark shadows of the night.