Captured (28 page)

He followed her gaze, noting that the man had turned and was looking at them as well. Cole quickly sized the stranger up. He was tall and big; what had once probably been muscle was now settled thickly across his midsection. He wore the loudest plaid suit Cole had ever seen and carried a black derby in his hand. He was almost entirely bald, but what he lacked on the top of his head he more than made up for with the luxurious growth of dark muttonchop whiskers that covered the lower half of his face. He set down his drink and began walking toward them.

“Please, let’s go,” she urged.

Cole studied her curiously. Whoever the man was, Devon seemed desperately eager that they not meet. Which, of course, only made him all the more determined that they should. He leaned back in his chair and gestured casually to his drink. “There’s still the bill to be settled.”

She opened her reticule, snatched up a coin, and slapped it on the table. “Now!” she hissed.

He picked up the coin and frowned. “That’s hardly enough for a proper tip.”

“Dammit, McRae!”

“Devon, my girl! I thought that was you!” The stranger boomed out from behind her.

With a look of weary resignation on her face, Devon turned, only to be immediately engulfed in the big man’s embrace. When she pulled back, however, her smile was genuine, as was the affection that shone from her eyes and the warmth that softened her voice. “Hello, Uncle.”

Uncle Monty. Of course. When he received Devon’s telegram, the man must have decided to come in person, rather than simply wire her the funds she requested. Cole would have done the same damned thing. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” he drawled, coming to his feet.

“Well, er—” Devon stammered, her worried gaze shifting from Cole to her uncle.

“My good friend,” the man boomed, not in the least put off by Devon’s awkwardness. “Montgomery Persons at your service.” He pumped Cole’s hand, his face wreathed in a jovial smile. “You must be Boris—”

“No, Uncle Monty,” Devon quickly intervened. “There were some, ah, difficulties. This is Captain Cole McRae.”

“I see,” Monty’s smile faded for an instant, then it was back, bright as ever. “In that case, Captain, perhaps you’d be interested in hearing about an investment syndicate I’m putting together. Absolutely no risk, and I guarantee you’ll triple your money within a fortnight—”

“Uncle Monty,” she broke in again, “this may not be the best time.”

“Of course it is, my girl. It’s always a good time to learn how to make a fortune overnight, isn’t that right, Captain?”

“Actually,” Devon said as she stared up at Cole, her expression one of silent pleading, “the captain and I were just saying good-bye. Weren’t we?”

Cole met her gaze, then slowly grinned. “Not even close.”

She shot daggers at him with her eyes, then turned back to her uncle. “Why don’t I meet you later, back at your hotel—”

“Devon—”

“Please, Uncle.”

Monty stopped, looking from Cole to Devon. After a long, weighty pause, he said to her, “Maybe you’d like to tell me about those ‘difficulties’ you ran into.”

“I will, but later—”

Monty shook his head. “There’s no wedding ring on your finger, my girl. You’re not settled down in a fine house with your banker husband in Virginia. Instead, I find you in a waterfront tavern with a stranger, and you can’t quite seem to look your Uncle Monty in the eye.” He reached out, lightly cupping Devon’s chin as he tilted her gaze up to his. “Now.”

Devon licked her lips, looking worried. “I don’t want you to get upset. Remember what the doctor said.”

“I never get upset.”

Cole watched Devon roll her eyes. She took a deep breath, as if fortifying herself. “You see,” she began hesitantly, “there was a slight misunderstanding at the docks… minor, really… hardly a problem at all…”

“Jonas Sharpe and his man Ogglesby framed Devon for murder,” Cole interrupted curtly. “She was put on trial and convicted, sentenced to life imprisonment in Old Capitol Prison. I was charged with the duty of escorting her there.”

Devon balled her fists on her hips, glaring furiously at him. “Oh, that’s just fine, McRae. You couldn’t let me tell it, could you?”

Cole didn’t bother to reply. His attention was focused solely on Montgomery Persons as the man went from pink to scarlet to the most magnificent shade of purple he had ever seen.

“What?!” Monty roared, his booming voice sounding like an explosion in the noisy room. All sounds abruptly ceased as every head in the place swung to study the cause of the roar. “What?! He did what?!” he bellowed, bringing a beefy fist crashing down on top of the table, which nearly collapsed beneath the blow. “That low-life‌—‌son-of-a‌—‌bloody hell—” he choked out, too enraged to form a complete sentence.

Cole stepped protectively in front of Devon at the start of the outburst. But rather than being alarmed or frightened by her uncle’s temper, she simply sighed and sat down, completely immune. She glanced up at Cole and shrugged. “It’ll be a while now.”

“A while” turned out to be thirty minutes of cursing and fuming, until Monty recovered enough to bring his anger back under control and sit down. Cole listened as Devon related what had happened, carefully minimizing the details so as not to set her uncle off again. As far as explaining Cole’s own part in her misadventure, she said nothing more than that she’d been transferred into his care in Fort Monroe, only to escape later outside Washington.

When she finished, Monty leaned forward and patted her softly on the knee. “I’m sorry, my girl,” he said. “Your Uncle Monty delivered you out of the water and straight into the shark’s jaws, didn’t he?”

“No, everything’s fine now—”

“Hmph,” Monty snorted. “It won’t be fine until Mr. Jonas Sharpe gets back a piece of what he gave to you.” He swiveled around and looked at Cole, truly focusing on him for the first time. “You’ve finished your business here, Captain. You can go.”

“Not without her,” Cole answered.

Monty stared at him, his eyes hard, then he slowly rose to his feet. “I don’t care what your orders are, Captain,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “or what happened at that trial. I know my niece, and she would never stab a man in the back.” With a quicksilver motion, he produced a knife from the back of his coat and set it calmly on the table. “I, however, wouldn’t hesitate to do so. I can prove that to you within the next two seconds, or you can get up and leave now. The choice is yours.”

“Uncle Monty!” Devon gasped.

Cole stared up at him, remaining right where he sat. He glanced at the knife, then back at Monty, seeing that the man meant every word he’d said. Instead of being furious at the bald threat that had just been thrown in his face, he felt nothing but overwhelming relief. It was exactly the sort of fierce, protective gesture Cole would have made had their roles been reversed. “You’ve taken care of her, haven’t you?” he said.

“You’re damned right I have,” Monty growled. “And if you think—”

“Thank you.”

Monty blinked. He looked from Cole to Devon, then sank slowly back into his seat. “What exactly is going on here?”

“Nothing,” Devon answered quickly.

“Is that a fact,” Monty muttered, looking thoroughly unconvinced. He ran his fingers over his beard, his gaze speculative as he focused on Cole. “Have you come to drag my niece off to prison?” he demanded.

“No,”

“Then what the hell do you want with her?”

Cole cursed inwardly at the question. He hadn’t been able to sort out for himself what he felt for Devon. Defining it now for her uncle was impossible. Still, the man expected some sort of answer. “Devon and I—”

“What are you doing here, Uncle Monty?” Devon blurted, drowning out his words. She gave Cole a sharp kick under the table, as though she’d expected him to finish his statement with “Devon and I became lovers…”

Monty patted her hand, his tone distracted as he pulled his gaze away from Cole long enough to answer. “Did you think I wouldn’t come after receiving your wire? Besides, I missed you, my girl. Business hasn’t been the same without you.”

She looked both surprised and pleased. “You came all this way just to see me?”

“Damned good thing I did too,” Monty grumbled. He turned back to Cole, an intense frown on his face. “How long were the two of you in Virginia together? And no more interrupting me or kicking the captain beneath the table,” he added sternly, glancing at Devon. “I know all your tricks, and they won’t work with me.”

The man was sharp, Cole had to give him that.

“How long, Captain?” he repeated.

Cole leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, mildly curious to see where Monty was going with this line of questioning. “Long enough,” he answered coolly.

“All by yourselves?”

“Uncle Monty,” Devon broke in, “this has nothing to do with—”

Monty held up his hand to silence her, his eyes locked on Cole as he waited for him to speak.

“From time to time.”

“I presume you made arrangements for separate quarters.”

“I’m afraid not.”

Monty sank back into his chair, his dark eyes moving slowly over Cole. He shifted his gaze to Devon, whose face was scrupulously averted as she busily arranged the folds of her skirt. “I see,” he said after a long moment.

Devon finally lifted her head, revealing the soft rosy stains that flushed her cheeks. “Uncle Monty, I really think we should—”

“Now, now, don’t rush me, my girl. You know I don’t like to be rushed.” He let out a contented sigh and smiled at Cole. “How fortuitous it is for us all to have come together here, is it not? Amazing where fate will steer us…”

Cole wasn’t impressed by the man’s sudden burst of goodwill. Devon’s uncle was up to something. But whatever the scheme he was brewing, Cole wasn’t having any part of it.

“We all have our own motivations for stopping Jonas Sharpe, do we not?” Monty continued, as if musing aloud. “Devon needs to clear her name so she won’t have the accusation of murder hanging over her head for the rest of her life. You, Captain, need to stop Sharpe because of the threat the man poses to the Union blockade. And I, of course, must undo the damage that’s been done to my reputation.”

“Really?” Cole drawled. “And what reputation might that be?”

“I happen to be a professional,” Monty replied. “If word got out that someone of my caliber and expertise was taken in by the likes of Jonas Sharpe, my career would be ruined.”

“Of course,” Cole said, amazed at the absurd turn the conversation had taken. “Your career as a thief, con artist, embezzler—”

“I do no such things,” Monty retorted sharply. “It’s people like that who give stealing a bad name. I simply liberate funds that have been neglected due to carelessness. From time to time, I’ve also gratuitouslyacquired a few select pieces of art and jewelry. But no one has ever been hurt in the process.”

Cole arched a brow and looked at Devon, but she merely shrugged as if she’d heard the outrageous rationalization many times before.

“In any case,” Monty continued, “this is steering us away from the matter at hand.”

“Really? And what matter is that?”

“Jonas Sharpe, of course. I presume you have a ship in harbor, Captain.”

“I do,” Cole answered. The Islander had been refitted and repaired and was stronger than ever. Where she’d been primarily a sailing vessel before, she now boasted an engine and sturdy screw propellers aft, giving her more power and maneuverability. Taking the lead from the runners he’d pursued, Cole had ordered the ship painted a dull gunmetal-gray, thus giving her the same cloak of invisibility as the runners. There had been one final change: for all intents and purposes, the Islander had been destroyed that fateful day at sea. Cole christened his newly fitted ship the Ghost.

“Hmmm…” Monty nodded, as if deep in thought. “Capable of running the blockade, do you suppose?”

Cole frowned. “My duty is to man the blockade, not run it”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Monty sighed heavily. “I suppose that won’t work, then.”

“Good, it’s all settled,” Devon, who’d remained silent until that point, hastily broke in. “Uncle Monty, we really should be going—”

Cole knew he’d probably regret his next question for the rest of his life, but that didn’t prevent him from asking it. “What won’t work?”

Monty smiled broadly, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You see, Captain, a man in my position is privy to certain bits of information that may not be available to others. Take for example the rumor I heardwhen I first reached this lovely island. Jonas Sharpe has run into a bit of bad luck. You know, of course, that one of the warships Sharpe had constructed left Liverpool approximately a month ago. But it seems that you Yanks recently captured Captain Nathan Daniels, the man slated to take over the helm.”

Cole recognized the name, for he had heard as much while he was in Fort Monroe. The capture of Captain Daniels had been quite a coup for the Union Navy. What neither Cole nor anyone else had known, however, was that Daniels was the man Sharpe had chosen to take on the first in his fleet of iron rams.

“The word is out that Sharpe is looking for a new captain for his ship,” Monty finished.

Cole drew his brows together, studying Monty. “The Confederate Navy is full of commissioned men waiting for a ship. It should be no trouble at all for Sharpe to find a replacement for Daniels.”

“A commission in the Confederate Navy is a mark of neither ability nor experience, but simply the right political connections. Jonas Sharpe knows this as well as you or I. The best men are the ones running the blockade, and those are the men Sharpe is attempting to lure to his side.”

Cole leaned back in his seat, reassessing Montgomery Persons. He might be a thief, but he was also thoroughly knowledgeable about naval matters, incredibly resourceful, and apparently well-connected. And strangely enough, despite his glib talk and quick fingers, the man wasn’t completely unlikable.

“Of course, Sharpe won’t hand over his ship to just anyone,” Monty continued. “The man must be willing to prove his worthiness as a seaman. Whoever wants a go at captaining the frigate must first demonstrate his skill and daring by running the blockade into Wilmington.”