Time After Time (54 page)

“You have finished with my prospectus?” Mr. Camden looked pointedly at his son’s empty hands and Camden understood the implied admonishment. He had no business being out of his office if he hadn’t yet completed his task. Already, his father was annoyed with him.

“It is almost finished. I just — there is a situation, and I need — ”

“What are you blathering on about? What situation could you have possible run into while working in your office?” Mr. Camden’s voice hinted his words were only part question, part reprimand, and all impatient disdain.

Camden tried to quickly come up with the best way to describe what had happened and what he needed, as if there were specific words that would trigger a compassionate, helpful response from his father. Realizing that was futile, he settled on brevity. “Del has been kidnapped, and I need as many of your men as possible to help me find her.”

For at least the second time that day, Camden noticed a strange reaction in his father — a small jerk of his head accompanied by a dark glower. Camden could tell the man hadn’t meant to let his displeasure show so obviously by how quickly he schooled his features into an impassive mask. It confused Camden that his father would allow anyone to see such an involuntary reaction, no matter how briefly. Not that his father had any problem letting his anger or disapproval be known, just that it didn’t usually come in the form of small jumps and startles instead of a measured and purposeful response.

Camden brushed it aside. There was no time to worry about what his father was thinking. “I need your permission to gather the men from the docks and form searching parties.”

“Absolutely out of the question.” Mr. Camden sounded incredulous that his son would even suggest such a thing. “I am not pulling the men from their duties to send them off traipsing pointlessly around the city. Not when it will accomplish nothing but a wasted day of labor.”

Camden was about to press his case when he stopped himself.

He closed his mouth and took a step back, his body going cold. Something in what his father had said, in the
way
he had said it, sent a jolt of horrified suspicion down Camden’s spine.

“How do you know the search would be pointless?” Camden spoke the words very carefully, his voice low and biting. “How do you know it will accomplish nothing?”

Camden saw a flash of unexpected uncertainty in his father’s eyes before the man’s familiar mask of dangerous irritation slammed back in place.

“I do not
know
if the search will prove fruitless, I am simply not willing to sacrifice a day’s work to find out,” his father said carefully but firmly.

Mr. Camden sounded again like his usual malevolent, authoritative self. He spoke as if there was nothing left to discuss. But it was too late. It had been in his father’s eyes when Camden mentioned Del. He had heard it in his father’s voice when he declared the search pointless. Camden saw it in his father’s stiffness and the way his eyes darted from Camden to his desk.

His father knew.

He knew Camden would find nothing if he searched for Del throughout the city. He knew it because he knew where Del was, because he was the one responsible for her disappearance.

Camden’s breath caught and his mind reeled. His heart slammed against his chest. His skin dampened with cold perspiration. It seemed so obvious now. His father hated Del and what she was. He hated that his son wanted to marry her, so he had made sure it could never happen.

“What have you done with her?” Camden barely recognized his own voice. It was deep and gravelly, with no hint of equivocation or deference.

“I do not like your tone,” Mr. Camden warned. “I do not like what you are accusing me of.”

Camden took a step toward his father’s desk. His blood pumped through his veins, his muscles tightened. Everything about him was taut, ready to spring. “What have you done with her?” he repeated even more forcefully. “Where is Del?”

“Enough of this ridiculousness!” Mr. Camden stood from his chair and planted his hands on his desk, leaning forward. It was the posture he always adopted when he was trying to intimidate, but Camden barely noticed. “I will not stand for the insinuations and accusations. Stop engaging in fantasies. Go back to your office and finish my prospectus and do not let me see you until it is done!”

There was a part of Camden — the part of him that was still the small, scared boy he had once been — that wanted to obey his father’s commands. He felt it pull at him, a little voice that spoke to him of fear and consequence and duty, and he almost retreated.

But he fought it.

He dug deep into that part of him that was now a man, that loved Del and needed her and would do anything to find her and keep her safe. The part that would stand up to years of lecturing and threats and escalating violence and would defy the father who still had the power to intimidate him.

“I will not leave.” Camden spoke each word slowly and carefully. “Not until you tell me what you’ve done with Del.”

His father’s eyes widened and his face went red. He tensed to the point of vibrating. Camden saw the emotion boil in him, the anger at being questioned, the rage at being defied.

“What does it matter what’s happened to her? She’s just a whore!” his father spat. “She’s probably run off with any one of a dozen random men. And good riddance! To think you wanted to marry her, to sully our name and degrade our station by attaching yourself to such a creature.”

Camden looked wordlessly at his father, a feeling of unreality taking over him. It was as if he were looking at something that could not exist, that defied all laws of nature and went against everything known to humanity. His father was yelling at him, a note of shrillness creeping into his voice, and Camden couldn’t be moved to care. All he could think of was how he needed to find Del. How his father had to tell him where she was so he could go to her and make sure she hadn’t been taken from him forever. It was the only thing that mattered. All his father’s disappointment and judgment, all his anger and commands and threats, it meant nothing to him now.

“You will tell me where she is.” Camden closed the distance between him and his father in a few long strides. He planted his hands on his father’s desk, mimicking his father’s stance, and God help him, the man actually took a step back. “You will tell me now.”

His father began to sputter incoherently, too surprised or enraged to form actual words. Camden was about to repeat the commands, to lean in further and raise his voice and
even lay hands upon his father
if necessary to make him talk, when it struck him. He remembered earlier in the day when he had encountered his father in the corridor. He had been coming out of the records room and when he saw Camden, the briefest look of guilty surprise had crossed his face, like he was a boy caught pilfering sweets.

Del was in that room.

His father or one of his men had gone to her townhouse, struggled with her, and brought her here where his father had locked her in that room. He didn’t know exactly what his father had hoped to accomplish, but Camden knew she was there with the surety and infallibility of his love and devotion to her.

Without another word to his father, Camden turned on his heel and left the room. He stalked down the corridor, fighting the urge to break into a panicked run. He was barely aware of his father behind him, chasing him down the passageway, shouting at him to stop and cursing him for his perfidy. If he hadn’t been so utterly preoccupied with desperate worry for Del, Camden would have been completely gob smacked by the unprecedented absurdity of the scene.

He finally reached the records room, his father right behind him, still yelling. He called out Del’s name and tried to open the door, but it was, unsurprisingly, locked. Camden whirled to face his father and was about to demand the key from him when he was met with a hard slap across the face. It stunned him for a moment, the sudden and unexpected violence, and Camden staggered back a step.

“Stop this right now!” his father yelled.

Camden blinked at him. The man was completely out of control now, wild-eyed and shaking in fury. Camden had never seen him like this. Even at his angriest, even when meting out his most violent punishment, his father had always been controlled and methodical. Now he was like a mad man gone unhinged.

“Get back to your office!” His father was almost screaming now. He brought up his hand, preparing to strike again.

Camden didn’t stop to think. He was pure reaction now. He wasn’t Camden, the dutiful son; he was a man desperate to reach the woman he loved. That wasn’t his father, a man to be obeyed; he was nothing more than a threat to that woman’s safety and an obstacle to her rescue.

Camden grabbed his father by the lapel of his coat and propelled him backwards. He slammed him into the wall, lifting him off his feet. He let go, and his father fell to the floor. Camden cocked his fist back, ready to strike, prepared to beat his father into a bloody mass, when some semblance of sentience returned and he stopped himself.

He looked down at the man, trembling in fear on the floor, and Camden wondered why he had ever been afraid of him. Had his father always been so small? Had he always seemed so shrunken and shrill and ridiculous? Why had he ever let this man rule over his life? Why had he ever wanted his approval so desperately, fought so hard to avoid his disappointment? George Camden was nothing, just an empty shell of a bitter and lonely man.

Camden dropped to his haunches and his father shrank back against the wall at Camden’s nearness. Ignoring him, Camden reached into his father’s waistcoat and withdrew his ring of keys. Without another glance at the man who had once loomed so large in his life, Camden rose and went back to the door. There were perhaps a dozen keys on the ring, and Camden, in his desperation to reach Del, didn’t have the patience to try each one. Throwing the keys to the floor, he stepped back and then launched himself at the door, dropping his shoulder and putting his full weight and rage behind it. The door heaved and he heard the wood crack and split. One more hit and the door gave way in a flurry of chips and splinters, and Camden burst through the gaping hole.

Del was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, her wrists and ankles bound to it. Her head was down and her long, unbound hair hung in her face, obscuring it. For one numb, agonizing moment, Camden wasn’t sure if she was still alive. But then she moved and Camden could breathe again.

He rushed to her, murmuring her name. He knelt beside her and put a hand under her chin. He gently brought her head up, brushing her hair back so he could see her face. He gasped when he saw it, how she was gagged with a filthy rag, how her eyes were half-open as she struggled to stay conscious, how her hair was sticky and matted from a bloody cut just above her eye, how that eye was puffy and swollen from a hard blow viciously dealt. His rage came back full force. The blood pounded in his ears and his vision went dark and he was consumed with the urge to go back out to the corridor and beat his father until he was unrecognizable.

With a great and purposeful effort, he calmed himself. Going after George served no purpose. His father was a useless man and beating him would do nothing to help Del. And that was what mattered. Freeing Del, getting her out of here, and tending to her wounds was the only thing Camden cared about right now.

He untied the rope holding the rag in her mouth. “Del. Del, honey, can you hear me?”

“Camden,” she said, the words barely escaping from her dry, cracked lips.

“I’m here.”

Camden worked to untie the knots binding her to the chair. He was beyond frustrated at how his shaking hands made freeing her difficult. He wanted to rip the ropes from her wrists and ankles but he could see they were already bruised and raw, and he would kill himself before causing her any more pain. Finally, the ropes were undone and Del was free. He lifted her from the chair and gathered her to him, taking just a moment to revel in the feel of her against him.

“My God, Del, I was so worried I had lost you,” he murmured.

“You haven’t,” Del said, choking back a sob. “You’re here.” She spoke as though in wonderment, as though trying to convince herself he was real.

Camden squeezed her against him, battling his own emotions. He needed to be out of here, away from this place and his father and the temptation to exact vengeance upon him. He needed to get Del somewhere quiet and safe where he could tend to her and perhaps be convinced she was really all right.

He rose, still cradling Del in his arms, and left the room. In the corridor, he stepped over the still supine George and walked out of the shipping offices, never once sparing a backward glance for the broken man heaped on the floor.

• • •

Del held her breath. The touch of the wet rag to her bloodied wrist hurt, but she tried not to wince because it greatly upset Camden whenever he saw signs of her pain. Even with her effort, however, she wasn’t able to completely hide how tender her injuries were.

Camden stilled his hands as soon as she moved. “I’m so sorry for hurting you,” he said, his voice full of worry and concern.

He was frowning, brows knitted, with such a stricken look on his face that Del smiled weakly in an attempt to comfort him.

“It isn’t so bad,” she said.

“Let me fetch the doctor. I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m afraid I’m only making this worse.”

“No,” Del said, struggling to sit up in her bed, getting tangled in the bed covers and her nightgown.

“Shhh,” Camden said. He took her gently by the arms and eased her back against her pillows. “Don’t exert yourself.”

“You’re almost done cleaning the wounds and bandaging them,” Del reasoned. “There is no need for the doctor. And certainly no need for the questions and suspicions this is sure to cause.”

“Damn whatever suspicions he has. I will deal with him. What’s important is making sure you’re well.”

“I
am
well, truly.” Del put a hand on Camden’s arm, and she felt some of the tension and frustration leave him at her touch. “A little bruised, yes,” she added when Camden had been about to speak. “But it’s nothing rest and time won’t heal.”