Destiny's Magic (27 page)

“It's all we have,” Susan answered.

“Take the money, lady.” Zinnia patted her apron as if to make certain her firearm hadn't shifted.

Angela started to chew her bottom lip, but a scab stopped her. “I might be willing.”

Susan drew up her shoulders. “We aren't turning over a dime until you give some answers. Why did you take Pippin out of the orphanage? Why didn't you just leave him alone?”

“Thought he'd be my ticket back to Orson.” Angela simpered. “You know how it was with
our
husband. He knew how to hurt a woman and make her beg for more.”

Now that she'd known marriage with a real man, Susan didn't know what she'd ever seen in the bilge water of Orson Paget. She was sorry for asking. “When you get on that ship, do you agree to relinquish all rights to Pippin?”

“Yeah, I do.” Angela dug in her bosom to pull out a crumpled slip of paper. “Newt wrote this out this morning for me. That's my
X
. I trust it says you can have the boy.”

It did. Susan turned a suspicious eye on the brunette. “Why didn't Rufus West witness it?”

“Newt beat the hell outta him last night, tied him up so's I could get away. That was after Rufus beat the hell outta me for not getting the hush money.”

Zinnia laughed. “That's rich!”

True. But it didn't sound quite cricket, Angela's tale. Newt Storey, murderer and pirate, let this insect flee, when she could sting him and his partner-in-crime? “I don't believe you.”

“It's true. He ain't a bad sort down deep.”

Tell that to the widows and orphans of the
Delta Star.
Or to Burke. Especially to poor Velma Harken.

“Where are West and Storey?” Susan asked.

“Don't know exactly.” A shoulder shrugged. “Sunup, we got thrown outta our house. Couldn't pay the rent. Newt loaded Rufus up in the wagon. Said he'd take him to the boat shack, where he's got his shrimper drydocked. Ain't never been there, so's I can't tell you exactly.”

“Let's go to the booking agent.” Susan marched toward that particular shack. “It's time for you to get aboard.”

“Come back here, Susan.” Angela stepped out of the shadows. “Never said I'd settle for no lousy thousand dollars.”

Susan whirled around, a vicious pool of red before her eyes. “If you don't, Zinnia will pull her gun and drain your worthless head of brains.”

She grabbed Angela's arm roughly, but had second thoughts. How could she ever look Pippin in the eye again if she killed his natural mother?

Fingers whipped into the apron, and Zinnia pointed the derringer. “My pleasure.”

Angela shook off Susan's clutch. “Oh, stop that, you two! I'll take the thousand. Let me see it.”

Zinnia pulled an envelope from her pocket.

A quick look at the contents satisfied Angela, who started to tuck it in her reticule.

Zinnia shook her head. “Nope. None of that. You'll get on that boat first.” She bustled off to the booking office nearby, then came back to hand over the envelope.

Fifteen minutes later Angela Paget was safely aboard the
Duchess of Brighton
. The tall ship weighed anchor and headed into the middle of the great river's channel. Susan knew in her heart they would never see Angela Paget again. “That was the best thousand dollars ever spent.”

“What thousand dollars you mean, girl?”

Susan's gaze shot to a mischievous grin.

“That Iowa girl don't know Confederate money from good.”

Conspirators and friends, Susan and Zinnia both burst into laughter, hugging each other tightly. Yet Susan's tears sprang. If only the West morass would work out as well for Burke.

That was when the shot rang out.

The bad news reached Burke before he got home.

While he'd parlayed with Judge Duval about Pippin's custody, Remy Cinglure and a quartet of his men surrounded a boathouse across the river. The Eel and his accomplice got away, but not before killing a policemen and injuring Cinglure.

Burke rode hell-bent for rue Royale. He didn't feel a thing beyond sorrow for the detective and the others and fear for Susan and the boy. Susan—who loved him and carried their child.
His
child, there was no doubting.

This should have been the happiest day of his life.

He burst into the vestibule, rushed to the courtyard. His eyes searched for his precious wife. Instead, he got an eyeful of one spirited boy and three grave-faced adults. Wearing frowns were Throck, Aunt Phoebe . . . and a lanky, russet-haired cowboy.

Jon Marc O'Brien.

That explained the grave faces. And the reason Aunt Phoebe was speaking with Pip and holding him back.

In a loose-limbed gait the youngest O'Brien brother, one thumb tucked behind a gun belt, ambled toward Burke. He beat a ten-gallon hat against his thigh, once. “Needn't be troubled. I won't be staying.”

“Won't be because you're not welcome, Jones.”

Any other time he would have been in high spirits to see the brother who'd made himself a stranger for the past eight years. They needed to bury the hatchet.

Right now it worried Burke, not seeing Susan in the group. “Where's my wife?”

“Dad!” All eyes, Pip shot away from Aunt Phoebe. “You didn't tell me your brother was a real cowboy! He can lasso a real steer. And he sleeps un'er the stars. And he's played cards with some real Indians! Ain't that wonderful?”

Aunt Phoebe collared the lad. “Let's me and you go to the kitchen, sprig, and fix something cool to drink.”

Throck lumbered up to Burke. As soon as the lad was out of earshot, he ran both hands through his shock of gray hair. “Ye'd best steel yourself. Zinnia's been found near the city dock, shot in the back. She ain't dead—yet.”

“Susan. What about Susan!”

Jon Marc grabbed hold of his arm to steady him while Throck confirmed his worst fears: “West has your missus.”

A part of Burke died at that moment. His beloved wife, carrying his child, in the hands of hell. Out of his reach. “By God, I'm going to save them.”

It didn't matter, his useless arm. Even if it took hand-to-hand combat, Burke O'Brien would save a helpless woman and child. His woman. His child.

 

 

Brokenhearted over Zinnia, Susan straightened her shoulders and glared down the nose of a Colt revolver. Continuing the bravado that had kept her going for what seemed like hours, she said, “If you pull that trigger, you'll never get a dime out of Burke.”

Rufus West, his eyeglasses bent and his nose swollen, had her cornered in a warehouse near the city dock. Mama Loa be praised, Newt Storey wasn't with him.

“I want more than money,” announced the Eel. “I want to destroy O'Brien, so the world sees him as the weakling he is.”

She called up every memory she'd had or heard about this monster. While he had no compunction about killing anyone, especially a female, West also had a weakness for women.

Eels might creatures of the deep, but they were enough like snakes. Or she chose them to be. Susan knew how to charm snakes. She would seduce him out of that gun.

Casting a hypnotic eye, she murmured in a tone that seduced serpents, “You were my hero.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She had his attention, could see it in his bespectacled eyes and the way he ogled her body. “You set me free of Paget. Forever. I've yearned to thank you.” She moistened her lips and gyrated her shoulders. “I would have done anything that night in Natchez to thank you. I wonder what would be happening today if you'd taken me to your hotel instead of the wharf, hmm?”

Suspicion clamped over his absorption. He waved the Colt. “You've got a trick up your sleeve.”

Several. It was time to charm the disgusting excuse for a man. She scratched her bosom. “Burke O'Brien loves me. He would move heaven and earth for me,” she crooned truthfully. Then came the lies. “He isn't man enough for me. I like a chap who can give me a taste of danger, excitement. He cannot. You know about the magic lamp. He cajoled me into marriage, but he doesn't appeal to the dangerous. And all he does is whine over Velma Harken.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Why shouldn't you? You know I'm a dangerous woman. You first saw me at the circus. I saw your eyes on me in the hackney. You wanted me.”

“I considered keeping you for myself.”

“I know you did, Rufus. Such a shame you didn't do something about it. Here's our chance. I would rejoice to see O'Brien's nose to the ground. How better than to lie with his enemy . . .”

West's crippled hand shoved his spectacles up his nose. “Prove it. Expose yourself.”

“I'd get such a thrill from having your hands on me. Would you deny your new partner that thrill?”

Hesitating, he licked his lips. Lust got the better of him. He tucked the gun behind his belt and slunk forward. Following Zinnia's long-past instructions, she brought her knee up at just the right moment, hit just the right place. He squealed, grabbed himself.

She gathered her skirts and ran for her life.

A bullet struck her hip before she reached outside. It was as if a hot poker had run her through. She stumbled. Almost fell.
Got to get out of here.
Limping, she achieved the wide warehouse door. She meant to flee north, away from the Mississippi. Then she saw an armed man who looked very like Throck, only bald. Newt Storey.

Storey lifted a pistol. Onlookers scattered. Her life flashed before her eyes. But he didn't fire at Susan.

Another of West's shots rang out, missing her.

Hemmed in, she had no choice but to run for the levee.

 

 

Gun in hand, Burke ran toward Susan as she struggled up the embankment. The blood staining her dress terrified him.
Don't let her die!

“Duck, O'Brien,” a voice that had to belong to Newt Storey shouted. “ 'E's behind you.”

Burke whirled around. Pistol raised, Rufus West crept toward him. The cowboy, unnoticed and to West's left, aimed.

“No!” Burke shouted, lifting his left arm to fire. “He's mine!”

Jon Marc beat him to the trigger.

West fell.

Throck jumped Storey.

Burke's arm dropped. He'd been stymied in revenge.

But he could still save his wife and their child.

He dashed toward the levee. Hair flying behind her, Susan topped the riverbank.

Another blond woman dashed up, as if to help her. Velma Harken had come back from the dead!

Susan shied from the stranger who was no stranger to Burke. Her arms went up. She tottered, then tumbled into the river.

Burke flew to save her, dove into the murky water. But he couldn't swim. The sling, the splint, dragged him down. His foot tangled in a mooring line. His lungs filled with the Mississippi.

 

 

Susan came out of her haze. The fire still burned at her hip, but it had moved about. Where was Burke? She knew he wasn't there. She would sense if he were. Oh, God in heaven, please don't let him be dead, she prayed.

What about their baby?

Somehow she knew she rested in their bed at 21 rue Royale. A familiar man sat in a chair at bedside.

“Throck,” she whispered past a scratchy throat, and took his hand. The sweet fellow squeezed her fingers. How could she have ever suspected him of crimes?

“Wh-where is my husband?”

“Your da's downstairs with Pip. I'll tell him you're awake.”

Father. “No. Not yet.” She centered on the most important aspect in her life, repeating, “Where is Burke? Is he dead?”

“Nay. He's not dead or hurt. He's just not here at the moment. Ever'thing's fine. West is dead. Storey's in jail. Lloyds will pay the claims. 'Tis a happy day,” Throck ended, not sounding as cheerful as he ought to.

“Thank God. What about Zinnia? Is she dead?”

Throck chuckled. “Can't kill that gal. She's in the kitchen on a cot, ordering Phoebe and Tessa about.”

“That's good.” So many questions, so many regrets. “Throck . . . do you know I accused you? I'm sorry. So awfully sorry. You've always been wonderful to my husband. And you'll be wonderful for Aunt Phoebe. It will be nice, having you for an uncle.”

“ 'Tis nice of ye to say that, Suze. Just want ye to know, ye and the whelp have a home with me and Phoebe in case ye want it. I mean, in case ye ever want to, well, I don't know what I'm saying.” He rushed on. “Got a nice li'l cottage in the English section. Still planning on a Halloween wedding. Me gal'll be asking ye, and her sis, of course, to stand up with her.”

“I'll be honored. But what did you mean, give me a home? I thought you said Lloyds will pay the claims.”

“Just got me tongue-tangled, Suze, 'tis all.” Throck continued with wedding plans. “Jinnings said he'd stand up with me. I hoping for the cap'n too.” Too quickly, he added, “Jon Marc promised to be at the wedding.”

“Oh, how nice. I'm glad he's made up with the family.”

“Wouldn't go that far, Suze. But he promised me gal to dance at our wedding. Gone up to St. Francisville he has. He'll be back.”

“That's wonderful.” Susan glanced at Throck, wondering why he wouldn't speak of Burke. “Who saved me?”

“Velma Harken. She pulled ye outta the river, shoved the water from yer lungs.” The big man chuckled softly. “Always a good one to pull stuff outta people is Velma.”

“Velma's alive?” Susan asked, incredulous.

“Storey pulled a trick on Rufus. He and Velma cut off her hair and sewed it on wig rigging. 'Twas not a scalp yer hubby seen. Just a trick.”

“I'm so very glad for Miss Harken.”

“She and Remy Cinglure are gonna get hitched.”

“That is fine news.” Susan tried to smile. “I'm sure Burke is pleased all around.”

Throck scrubbed fingers down his mouth, admitting, “He ain't too pleased 'bout nothing at the moment. His pride's had another fall, seeing how Jon Marc took Rufus down and then had to jump in the drink to save the cap'n too.”

“Oh, dear. No! Is he angry with his brother?”

“Angry with himself is what. 'Twas sixty-four again.”

A tear rolled from her eye. Susan tried to swallow. “Water. Please.”

Throck poured from the pitcher. She drank thirstily. Restored to a certain degree, she sank back onto the pillows. “Tell Burke I want to see him. Now.”

“Suze, ye've been shot. Nearly drowned. Doc says you need rest. Go back to sleep.”

“Why?”

“ 'Tis best.”

What would keep Burke away? He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be angry if he was dead. A sharp pain in her stomach gave her a clue. Was he staying away because she'd lost the baby? With a gunshot wound she couldn't tell if the pain came from her womb or from her hip. She chose to believe his child hadn't suffered.

She thought of everything Throck had said, then demanded to know, “Why isn't Burke going to be your best man? Where is he? What's the matter with him?”

“He's drunk.”