Looking for a Hero (22 page)

“The man who would someday be known as Black Heart had captured Thomas Low and part of the crew. The rest of the men he'd pulled under his spell. From all accounts, Morgan Farrell had a certain charm about him.”

“Morgan Farrell?” Nikki frowned, looking at Kate. “Isn't that the name of your friend?”

“I'm sure it's just a coincidence,” Kate stammered, and even though she didn't want to hear any more of the story, she insisted that Gordon continue.

“Farrell was mad with his sudden power,” he said. “He had control of the ship, he had control of Thomas Low, and he had control of his own father. ‘I have taken orders from you long enough,' he said, standing before his sire, brandishing the cutlass he'd taken from Thomas Low.

“'Tis my turn to give the orders, and what I want most of all is for you to leave this ship.'”

“How was he going to do that?” Nikki asked.

Gordon grinned. “There was only one way. Overboard. Morgan Farrell was beyond reason. His mother was frightened and angry, and she slapped him, but Morgan laughed. ‘Bind them together,' he shouted to the drunken sailors. ‘Toss them over the side.' Thomas Low struggled in the arms of his captors. He wanted to save his passengers, but he could do nothing. He heard the Farrells begging for mercy. Suddenly…their cries stopped.

“That's when the child—Melody was her name—grabbed a dagger from one of the sailors and ran at her brother. She slashed at him with the knife, cutting his face. He was enraged that his own sister would do such a thing. He told her to jump. Again and again he yelled at her. She was crying, but he didn't care. ‘Jump,' he said. ‘Say your prayers, and jump.' And Black Heart laughed as the child disappeared over the side.

“It was at that moment that the sailors who'd turned against Low realized what had happened. Farrell had murdered his own family. They knew they couldn't trust a madman, so they turned on him. Low was freed. He was back in command, and Farrell was taken prisoner. Twenty-four lashes with the cat-'o-nine tails was the order. Eight was usually the maximum, but Low tripled it—eight lashes for each victim.”

Kate pushed away from the table, refusing to hear any more. Her glass tipped, but Gordon caught it before the remnants of her drink spilled across the oak tabletop.

“Are you okay, Kate?” Nikki asked.

“It's just the heat,” she said, going to the kitchen sink where the breeze blowing through the window hit her face.

Behind her she heard Nikki, Jack, and Gordon discussing the story. How could they believe such a thing? Morgan would never have killed his family. He'd loved them.

She'd seen the tears in his eyes when he'd talked of his sister. Seen them even in his sleep.

No man could cry that way if the deaths of his family had meant so little.

She looked out the window, into the dark, wondering if Morgan had gone, wondering if he was still waiting for his chance to sail away on
Satan's Revenge
.

Damn it! He couldn't go. Not until she knew the truth.

Outside she heard a noise, the rustle of bushes,
the crack of what sounded like a fallen tree limb. Next door a dog barked. Further away another dog howled.

Suddenly, Gordon stood next to her, holding out another glass of wine. “I apologize if the story upset you.”

“I've just been a little on edge lately.”

“Drink this. Maybe it will help.”

She took the glass of wine from him. He was smiling. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack lean over and kiss Nikki.

Thunder rumbled again.

Lightning flashed through the sky.

And outside she saw a face.

Morgan's face.

The wineglass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

Another bolt brightened the night—and the face was gone.

Nikki was beside her, an arm around her, offering her comfort.

Jack was cleaning wine and glass from the floor.

One picture after another flashed before her eyes, like an old-fashioned movie, but the scene she wanted to see—Morgan's face—didn't return.

Gordon Lancaster was staring out the window. Frowning. “It's getting late,” he said. “I hope you'll forgive me if I leave.”

“So soon?” Nikki asked.

“I like taking a walk at night.” He looked out the window again. “I should go before the rain comes.”

“Would you like a ride somewhere?” Jack asked.

Gordon shook his head. “No. No, thank you. You've been delightful company this evening, the food and wine were delicious, but now I must go.”

They went to the living room door. Thunder rang out again as they were saying their goodbyes.

“Mommy.”

The sound of Casey's sleep-filled voice drew Kate's attention. “What is it, honey?” she asked, walking halfway up the stairs and pulling Casey into her arms.

“I couldn't sleep. The thunder's too loud.”

“Don't worry about the thunder or the lightning. I'll take care of you.”

Kate joined her guests again at the door.

“Hello, Casey,” Gordon said, smoothing his hand over her curls. “Remember me?”

Casey rubbed her eyes and nodded.

Gordon smiled at Casey, then stepped onto the porch. “Good night, everyone. Thank you again for the evening.”

“Good night,” Kate said, glad to finally see him go, glad to see him disappear when he passed the hedges and a stand of palms.

“Nice guy,” Nikki said, linking her arm through Jack's. “Do you think you'll see him again?” she asked Kate.

“No. He's not my type.”

Nikki shrugged, thankfully not nagging her
about the man, then leaned against the doorjamb.

From across the street, Kate could hear Perry Como playing on the hi-fi, his melodious voice filling in the quiet moments when thunder wasn't booming through the night.

“What do you say we all go across the street and see Evalena?” Nikki suggested. She grabbed hold of Jack and danced around the room. “I think we could use a little light entertainment to polish off the night.”

“Why don't the two of you go?” Kate said. “I'm going to tuck Casey back into bed and try to go to sleep myself.”

“I want to go to Evie's,” Casey said. “Please, Mommy.”

Kate smiled. How could she refuse her daughter's plea, when she herself wanted and needed a distraction? Perry Como had eased Evalena's heart and soul for over fifty years; maybe he could ease hers tonight.

S
t. Charles Street was quiet, except for the sounds of Thomas Low's footsteps and the incessant thunder and lightning. It
was
Low's evil eyes Morgan had seen in the crowd in front of the coin dealer's shop. He hadn't imagined it, after all.

Thomas Low…their paths were destined to cross—but Morgan promised himself that this would be the very last time.

He crept along the edge of buildings, staying deep in the shadows as he followed his enemy. He could spring on him now and snap his neck, but killing Low out in the open was foolish. Already he was accused of murder. When Low died, Morgan would cover his tracks so no evidence would point his way.

Low stopped in front of a window, smoothed his hand over his hair, then turned. His pearly white grin shone in the light of a street lamp. His dark, depraved eyes stared directly at Morgan's hiding place.

“She's a beautiful woman,” Low said, his smile widening. “But it's the child who interests me most. So much like Melody.”

Low laughed, and Morgan's anger erupted. He ran across the street and down a narrow alleyway, chasing after Low. He wanted to put his hands around the murderer's throat. He wanted to squeeze the life out of him, then clap him in chains and let his body rot in a public place.

But Low was fast. Too fast. He pushed on a stack of crates and sent them careening down into the narrow road. Morgan hurdled over one and dodged another. Low turned to the left at the end of the alley and continued to run, zigzagging between buildings, up dark passageways, through small backyard gardens, with Morgan not far behind.

He couldn't lose sight of him. He couldn't.

Low jumped a fence, ran across a street, and still Morgan followed. Up one street, down another, right into the path of an oncoming car.

The driver slammed on his brakes and Low made it to safety, but the wheels screeched, and the car slid out of control on the damp pavement.

Morgan stumbled and fell.

The back end of the car spun around, heading straight toward him.

He lurched forward, getting out of the vehicle's way just as it hit a lamppost.

And then Morgan ran again.

But it was no use. Thomas Low had disappeared.

Standing in the middle of a grassy park, with thunder and lightning shattering the night, he cursed his foolishness. He should have killed Low when he'd had the chance. Damn the evidence against him!

He looked up and down the street one more time, wanting to find Low, but it wasn't vengeance that screamed through his thoughts, it was Kate, and Casey, and protecting the two people he loved more than anything on earth.

Again he ran, this time toward Kate. He'd hold her, shake her, and make her listen. He had not murdered the cowboy or the coin dealer, but he had a good idea who had. Thomas Low—the man who'd laughed with Kate this evening, but probably had more than merrymaking on his mind.

He had to protect her from that bastard. But he didn't want to frighten her, didn't want her to think that her life and Casey's were at risk.

He had to keep Thomas Low's presence a secret—for now.

Kate's house was empty when he arrived. Too damn empty.

The back door was latched, but the front door was open. He searched every room, every hiding place, but Kate and Casey were gone.

Lights shone brightly through the windows at
Evalena's. A man's soothing voice oozed through the screens, and silhouettes danced about the room—a child, an older woman, and the beautiful lady he loved.

He smiled, and took a deep, thankful breath. They were safe.

 

Morgan kept a watchful eye on the house across the street as he checked doors and windows, making sure Kate's home was locked and secure. When everything was just as he wanted it, he splashed cold water on his face, dragged a razor across his cheeks, and tried to look like the gentleman he longed to be again. Kate deserved a gentleman, not a pirate.

He snapped a white gardenia from one of the bushes before walking across the street and up the steps to Evalena's house. He listened to the giggling inside, to the sweet strains of music, and then he knocked.

He'd expected Evalena to answer the door, but it was Kate, sweet, beautiful Kate, who stood before him, looking more delicate, more perfect than the flower he held.

“Good evening.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah, Katie.” He tucked the flower into her hair before she could protest.” 'Tis good to hear your voice again.”

“Go away.”

“I cannot. I will not.”

Behind Kate, Morgan saw Evalena shuffling toward
the door. “Mr. Farrell! How wonderful it is to see you. Come in. Come in.”

Winking at Kate's frown, he stepped past her and into a room as colorful and welcoming as Evalena herself.

“Morgan!”

Casey ran toward him and he swept her into his arms, swallowing back the emotion that was filling him now. How could he ever have thought he could leave?

“You came back,” Casey said.

“And I plan to stay.”

“Forever?”

Morgan looked at Kate, at the way she was biting her lower lip, at the redness in her cheeks. “Forever, Casey. 'Twould take more than a hurricane to pull me away from any of you.”

“Well,” Evalena bubbled, “this calls for a celebration.”

Kate didn't believe him.
Forever?
How could he say that to Casey when he knew it wasn't true? It had to be a ploy, some way of charming all of them. He was going to leave. She knew it, and she was going to hurt like hell when he left again.

“Do you like Perry Como?” Evalena asked.

He nodded at Evalena, as if he knew who Perry Como was, then he turned back to Kate. He didn't move toward her, he didn't smile, he just stared at her with those mesmerizing blue eyes of his that she wished would look somewhere else.

“Do you dance, Mr. Farrell?”

“It has been many years. I fear someone would have to teach me.”

“Me! Me!” Casey chirped.

Kate tore her gaze from Morgan and looked at Evalena. “You know, Evie, I'm awfully tired. I think I'll go home and let you entertain Mr. Farrell.”

“No, Mommy.” Casey grabbed her arm and pulled her to the center of the room. “You can't leave. We've got to teach him to dance.”

“That's right, Katharine. You can't leave.”

She felt trapped.

Evalena bustled over to the old hi-fi, lifted the needle, and set it on the shiny black album spinning around and around. The opening strains of “It's Impossible” filled the room.

“Why don't you do the honors, Katharine?” Evalena suggested. “You're such a good dancer. I just know you can teach Mr. Farrell in no time flat.”

“Oh, no. I think I'll sit this one out. Probably the next ones, too.”

Kate sat in the S-shaped loveseat and watched Evalena put Morgan's right hand around her more than ample waist, then take his left hand lightly in hers.

“Casey, sweetie, would you start the song again?”

Casey ran to the hi-fi, very carefully lifted the needle, and set it perfectly on the record.

“All right, Mr. Farrell,” Evalena said. “Follow me.

Kate watched the sparkle in Morgan's eyes as his big feet followed the path of Evalena's scruffy slippers. A few times he came within inches of stepping on her toes, but when he did, he merely laughed and tried again.

“'Tis not at all like the minuet,” Morgan said.

“Oh, Mr. Farrell, you do say the funniest things,” Evalena quipped. “Of course it's not like the minuet. Men and women are allowed to touch in this dance. In fact, it's the number one ingredient. Why, dancing without touching would be like a wedding cake without the frosting—sweet, but not nearly sweet enough.”

“I want a turn. I want a turn,” Casey cried out, jumping up and down.

“Just you hold on a moment, sweetie. It might take one or two whole songs before Mr. Farrell has the hang of this.”

It looked to Kate like he'd gotten the hang of it and mastered it, too. And Evalena was soaking up his charm. She laughed with more enthusiasm than normal, her eyes positively beamed, and her cheeks continually blushed as Morgan plied her ears with one gentlemanly comment after another.

And then it was Casey's turn. Too small to be held the way he'd held Evalena, Morgan swept the little girl up in his arms and danced her about the room like a delicate porcelain doll.

Casey's pink cheeks brightened with a glow Kate hadn't seen since Joe was alive. She giggled, clutching her hands behind Morgan's neck.

Morgan beamed, too. His eyes never left Casey's. His smile never dimmed.

If she'd believed even one word of Gordon Lancaster's story, she would have plucked Casey from Morgan's arms and forced him out of the house. If she'd honestly believed he was a murderer in the present, she would be on the phone to Nikki right now—even if it meant interrupting her night with Jack.

But at least an hour ago, sometime during Gordon Lancaster's story, she'd come to the conclusion that she didn't believe any of it. Her heart told her to believe in Morgan, and she'd decided to listen. Still, she sure as hell wished she had something to refute all the evidence against him.

“Dance with my mommy, now,” Casey said, and coming out of half a daze, Kate saw two tiny bare feet, two big black boots, and small fingers tucked into a large, powerful hand.

“May I have the honor of the next dance?” Morgan asked.

Kate shook her head. She felt like a temperamental child, but she was afraid to touch him, afraid to want him. Most of all, she was afraid to lose him.

“Come on, Mommy. It's fun.”

All she saw when she looked from Casey to Morgan were a pair of intense hypnotic blue eyes.

“One dance, Katie. 'Tis all I ask.”

She shoved up from the loveseat, avoiding his touch, and stood in the very center of the room. She looked at Evalena standing by the hi-fi. “Why
don't you play ‘Hot Diggity, Dog Ziggity'?” Kate asked. “You know, something fast. I can teach Mr. Farrell a totally different way to dance.”

Evalena frowned. “Nonsense, Katharine. ‘Temptation' is what the two of you need to hear right now.”

Morgan smiled, his eyes glinting as he took hold of Kate's right hand and placed his left around her waist.

She slapped it away. “The music hasn't begun yet.”

“You are wrong, madam,” he said, his fingers inching around her side. “'Tis a beautiful melody I hear whenever you are near.”

“Like hell!”

He pulled her closer. “I believe, madam, the customary thing is for you to put one hand on my shoulder as we dance. I believe it's also traditional for you to smile at the man who holds you.”

“I don't go along with the traditional anything, Mr. Farrell.”

Evalena bustled across the room, bumping Kate's bottom with her own, knocking her easily off balance and into Morgan's chest.

“I taught you to be polite, Katharine. As long as Mr. Farrell's in my home, you'll show him the utmost courtesy. And, as you know full well, dancing is something we do in this house, and when we're fortunate enough to have a man to dance with, we move in close and rub bellies. Am I making myself clear, Katharine?”

Kate glared at her aunt.

“Good. Now, I'm going to start the music. I'll make it good and loud, too, so it will drown out all that nastiness you keep spouting.”

Evalena bustled over to the hi-fi and put it on the outermost edge of the record. Amid the scratches, Kate heard Evalena scuffle away, taking Casey's hand in hers. “Come on, sweetie. Why don't the two of us go into the kitchen and test the sweetness of my latest batch of lovebirds?”

“But we already tried them,” Casey moaned.

“The second time's usually the best. Trust me on this.”

Evalena and Casey disappeared much too quickly.

The music clashed against the walls, so loud Kate feared the neighbors might call the police. Then, Perry's low tones echoed around her as Morgan inclined his head and hummed along with the words he'd heard only once before, but seemed to know already. He nibbled softly on her ear.

“You are temptation,” he sang in that lilting tenor that made her stomach quiver. Her heart started to dance with the music, and her legs felt as if they'd been made of frosting, and were melting from Morgan's warmth.

Oh, God! What was he doing to her? She had to back away from his seductive touch before she lost all control.

His power was much too strong, though. She couldn't break away. Still he continued to sing, his words not exactly following Perry's, but Kate
couldn't care less at the moment. The words were aimed at her soul, words meant to mesmerize her thoroughly.

“I give you my heart,” he sang, his breath warm against her ear. “Take it, Katie. Take it, and tell me we'll never part.”

Tell him we'll never part? Ha!

She pushed out of his arms and backed away.

Into a wall.

Morgan approached, slowly, methodically, and his mouth slanted over hers.

She was lost.

 

Thomas Low stood at the window, anger building inside as he watched the dance and the kiss. He crushed a gardenia in his tightening fist, wishing it was the woman's throat.

The bitch simpers at his feet. Did she not believe the evidence I placed so carefully? Did she not hear my words about his treachery?

Look at the way he fondles her hair, strokes her cheek, so easily pulling her into his power
.

Damn him for taking what should be mine!

Damn him for loving and being loved in return!

His fingers relaxed around the gardenia. He opened his fist and gazed at what had once been a thing of beauty and now lay lifeless in his palm.

He saw the woman's face. The child's. Beautiful flowers, who could die just as easily as the gardenia.