Kimberly Nee - The McKenzie Brothers

title page

The Pursuit

The McKenzie Brothers book 1

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Kimberly Nee

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An imprint of
Musa Publishing

Copyright Information

The Pursuit, The McKenzie Brothers #1, Copyright © Kimberly Nee, 2001, 2010

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

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This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

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Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130

www.musapublishing.com

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First Published by Aurora Regency/AMP, July, 2010
Aurora Regency is an imprint of Musa Publishing

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This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

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ISBN: 978-1-61937-019-7

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Editor: Celina Summers

Cover Design: Kelly Shorten

Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna

Warning

This e-book contains adult language and scenes. This story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the country where you made your purchase. Store your e-books carefully where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.

Chapter One

Brunswick, New Jersey 1823

Katherine Bainbridge sighed, resisting the urge to draw the back of her hand across her forehead. It wouldn’t ease the discomfort brought on by three days of relentless heat and sticky air. It was hard to believe it was still spring; it felt more like the dead of summer in the crowded tavern. If the bloody heat wasn’t bad enough, the thick blue-gray clouds of cigar smoke only added to the fact that air was hardly fit to breathe.

Brunswick was perfect for her. It was a harbor town, with plenty bustling crowds from all walks of life. There were three boarding houses, all with available rooms to let. Most importantly, there were four taverns scattered about the waterfront, each in need of barmaids. And the Bayside Tavern was by far the most preferable of them all. Although she was a novice, Miller took pity on her and gave her a job. It was working out rather well and Katherine was beginning to feel at home. Thoughts of London grew farther from her mind with each sunrise.

“Kat!”

She jumped, spinning around. Agatha gestured wildly at her.

What now?

Katherine wove around tables of men involved in heated games of whist or lively discussions to join Agatha at the bar.

Before she could say anything, Agatha thrust a tray towards her. “Miller says you’re to get this round of drinks over to them gents in the far corner.”

Katherine nodded as she eyed the tray laden with glasses of amber liquor and pints of golden ale. Miller knew she was still a bit clumsy but he took perverse joy in giving her the worst of the worst to serve.

Glancing over at the corner, she groaned at the raucous cluster of men. “But that isn’t even my table. It’s Maggie’s.”

“I know but Maggie’s a bit busy at the moment. So for now, it is all yours.”

Heat crept into her cheeks.
A bit busy
meant only one thing at Bayside. Maggie was upstairs and she wasn’t alone. Miller didn’t mind if his barmaids did a little whoring on the side. His only rule was that he received a portion of the profits.

Not that I have to worry about that.
She accepted the tray from Agatha.
I would rather starve in the gutter than be reduced to selling myself.

Still, who was she to judge? A verse learned in her childhood came roaring through her brain:

Let he who is without sin
—

She bit down hard on her bottom lip, allowing the discomfort to block the rest of the verse. She had work to do. She hefted the tray onto her shoulder and cut through the crowd to the table in the far corner, ignoring the tossed-out suggestions and slaps on her backside. They were all-too common occurrences and if her hands weren’t full, they would have earned their owners a cuff to the ear.

Miller was the one who’d shown her the right way to clout a man in order to cause the most pain but leave no visible mark. It didn’t take long for her to perfect the skill. Now she could dart out of arm’s reach before the man being cuffed could grab her. Katherine hoped the heat flooding her face would recede by the time she reached her intended table.

Finally, she cut through the swath of drunken men and set the tray down with a rattling thud and a rather undignified, “Ooof!”

There were four of them around the table. They had been chatting as she approached, but their conversation died away. Now all of them were eyeing her like a pack of wolves surrounding a lamb.

“Easy, sweetheart. You’re likely to hurt yourself if you aren’t careful.”

The deep voice felt like a caress to her ears. Katherine turned to the source, her sour response dying on her lips as she looked into eyes of the most unusual shade of brown she’d ever seen. They were an equal mix of brown and gold, not quite amber, but very close.

That penetrating gaze held hers for a long moment until one of the others spoke up. “Uh, McKenzie? If you don’t mind? The rest of us’d like our drinks.”

“I beg your pardon.” She glanced down at the collection of glasses on her tray.

Why couldn’t they have ordered the same drinks? She frowned, lifting her gaze to them again. “I’m afraid I’ve no clue as to who gets what, then.”

The gray-eyed man sitting directly across from her leaned back in his chair, slinging his arm over its back. “Where’s Maggie?”

“I’m afraid she’s on — ah — a bit of a rest.” Heat crept into her cheeks once more.

The man threw his head back and let out a roar of laughter. “A rest, eh? Is that what you wenches are calling it these days?”

She glared at him. “I beg your pardon? I’m not certain I heard you correctly.”

“Easy, Jefferson.” The same man who had warned her to be more careful broke in. “Unless you relish the thought of a lapful of cognac.”

Jefferson’s laughter died away. He glared at her with those thundercloud eyes. “Ease up yourself, McKenzie. She’s only a bar wench. Rather difficult to insult a bar wench, don’t you think?”

She’d had quite enough of being referred to as a
wench
. She couldn’t box Jefferson’s ears without good reason and, unfortunately, name calling wasn’t reason enough. She swallowed her irritation as she lifted the glass of cognac.

“I do believe this is yours, sir.” She stretched over the table to set it before Jefferson with as much dignity as she could muster.

McKenzie chuckled. The pit of her stomach knotted at the throaty huskiness of his laughter. “Lucky for you, Jefferson, this one has the patience of a saint.”

“Lucky for me, eh? Rather, lucky for
her
, wouldn’t you say?” Jefferson grumbled, reaching for his drink.

“The brandy’s mine, miss.” The man sitting beside Jefferson smiled at her as he reached for his drink and the cognac for Jefferson. “The bourbon’s for Georgie and the world would grind to a halt if Garrett asked for anything other than whiskey.”

As he doled out the remaining glasses, she bobbed her head. “Thank you, sir.”

A wink and a nod. “Of course.”

“Easy, McCallister. Far as I remember, you have a wife waiting for you back home,” Jefferson grumbled, still looking unhappy as he sipped his drink.

George lowered his hand from Jefferson’s chest. “And you don’t, Jefferson? You need to worry less about his marital state and more about your own.”

Katherine shifted her tray, holding it like a shield as she surveyed the foursome. “Is there anything else I can get for you gentlemen this evening?”

“Not right now, sweetheart. I’m certain we’ll think of something in time.”

She turned Garrett and his hypnotic dark gold eyes. Not only were they beautiful, but they made her blood rush through her veins with such heat that she actually felt a bit lightheaded. She swallowed hard against that rising warmth. “Very well. Maggie should return shortly.”

That gaze never wavered and she couldn’t miss the way his irises darkened. “Tell her to take the rest of the night off, sweetheart. I’d much rather see
you
bobbing around us instead.”

The lightheadedness swirled through her with more strength, but she managed to say, “Well, be that as it may, it would be wrong of me, when it’s
her
table and
her
wages.”

“Then simply point me in the direction of one of
your
tables.” He ignored the chortles of the men sitting with him. “We’d be happy to move.”

“Ah, but that would hardly be fair either, would it?” Unable to resist a spot of flirting, she smiled and took a step backwards. “You gentlemen have a good evening.”

Katherine hurried back to the bar before the people seated at her tables could complain. She tried her best to shove the amber-eyed devil from her mind as she served her other tables. She felt a flash of disappointment when the group in the corner rose to leave.

As they disappeared through the door, she sighed but didn’t have time to dwell on it. There were many more thirsty customers to take care of and many more ears to box.

As she made her way back to the bar, a familiar pair of beady-looking dark eyes locked on her. She froze. Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat.

Gerald Sanders’ smile was lopsided, as if his head had been cleaved in half then put together crookedly. His rubbery lips were shiny with saliva and he drew the back of one claw-like hand across them as he lifted his tankard in her direction. Katherine’s full tray went smashing to the floor. Miller scurried around the bar, waving his arms.

“What the hell are you doin’?” He shoved her over backwards in his haste to pick up the broken glass from the floor.

“I am so sorry!” she gasped, crouching down beside him to hastily gather the shards in her ale-stained apron.

He rolled his eyes and waved her away like a pesky insect. “Gather up the garbage. I’ll get this cleaned up. Aggie? The broom!”

Katherine jerked her head up, her gaze going to the far corner. The table was now empty — completely cleared, in fact. She blinked once, twice…no trace of the toad-like man who’d been there moments ago. Was it possible she had imagined Sanders?

Her hands trembled so badly the shards she’d picked up hit the floor again. She stumbled backwards, but caught herself before she could hit the floor, gathering her skirts to right herself once more. She cleaned up the glass, carefully piling the shards in her apron, then took them out back to dump.

As the night wound down and the tavern emptied, the barmaids went about helping Miller tidy up. Since she was the most recently hired, Katherine was given the job of taking the refuse to the pile out behind the building. It was a thankless task and she hated every moment of it.

She held her breath as she emptied her apron into the garbage heap. The air was barely fit to breathe, as rotting food combined with salt air, fish, and God only knew what else to create a most unholy stench.

Katherine exhaled with a heavy
whoosh
as her head pounded, and she hurried away from the stink. Near the front of the tavern, the smell wasn’t nearly so powerful but more tangy from the salt water of Raritan Bay, whose waters lapped at the bulkheads lining the harbor. She rubbed her aching neck for a long moment, listening to the peaceful slap of water against wood.

It was a clear night, the full moon bathing the buildings around her in a beautiful light. She was thankful for those silvery beams as she was none too fond of the dark. It was a lifelong fear but had grown worse since the night she left London.

She thought back to the man in the corner.
How was it possible?
Perhaps he was nothing more than a figment of an imagination gone wild.

He was real. The chill in her blood told her so.

“No,” she whispered, rubbing her sore muscles again. “Don’t think about that. You must never
ever
think about that. Far better to pretend it never happened.”

She turned to head back to the tavern when she was grabbed from behind by steely arms. Her scream was no more than a muffled snort as a hand clapped solidly over her mouth and an oily whisper slipped over her ear.

“Evening, love,” Sanders murmured. “Remember me?”

Blood pounded in her temples. She dragged air into her lungs to scream, but it was smothered by the grimy hand grinding her lips into her teeth. Thoughts tore through her head as she remembered the way he’d lifted that tankard and offered up that gloating smile of triumph, of how he’d overpowered her once before and could do so again, of how there was no one there to help her.

Just like that night in London, when he’d pounced on her, when he’d pinned her beneath him. There’d been no one to help her then, either. If it hadn’t been for that squirrel —

How could he possibly be in Brunswick when she was so certain she’d killed him?

Terror rushed like icy water to fill her but angry heat quickly burned off the chill. He’d kill her, no doubt.

Fighting back was her only option.

She stomped down with all the force she could muster, grinding the thick heel of her heavy leather boot into the top of his foot. He howled with pain and released her. “You bitch!” he roared, grabbing his left foot in his hands and hopping about. “Bloody hell!”

Katherine didn’t stop to scream. She was free. Without looking back, she raced down the alley between the Bayside and the warehouse.

She glanced over one shoulder, saw him bearing down on her with outstretched hands. They resembled claws, bent as if ready to wrap about her throat and squeeze the life from her. Her scream bounced off the buildings as she tried to run faster.

A shadow emerged at the far end of the alley and became solid. A man. Even with those moonbeams, she couldn’t see his face.

Dear God, does he have a partner now?

She thought about stopping for a moment but could hear the rough, uneven panting behind her. No. She’d take her chances on barreling over the man at the end of the alley.

That man was not moving. Rather, he simply stood there, as she ran straight at him.