Runaway (10 page)

“Sir!” He stood, a man who had carefully watched politicians and men of means all his life. He kept his voice low, modulated, controlled. He was careful to be the embodiment of a man distressed, rather than one gripped by a deadly fury and obsession. “Who is this McKenzie? I must find Tara. It may mean her life! I have offered you a great reward, and more, sir, the very law is with me! If you refuse to aid me, I can only offer you the most dire consequences!”

Eastwood didn’t like the look of this man. Such a man, so evidently from the heart of northern society, meant trouble. Eastwood cursed the night in silence. If this fellow had only appeared moments earlier, or if the Frenchie and McKenzie had only played poker elsewhere …

Eastwood was a morose fellow, and it didn’t occur to him to blame himself for any of the tumult or drudgery
that befell him. Not that it mattered. This fellow didn’t want a piece of him. He just wanted Tara. And in Eastwood’s mind the girl, with her high and mighty ways, deserved a downfall at this fellow’s hands. If that’s what the fellow intended. Strange. The man kept talking about the law, but he didn’t want the law called in. Didn’t matter to Eastwood. This man was offering five hundred dollars for her. She sure was paying her way now. Eastwood couldn’t quite tell if this fellow wanted to strangle her or not. It was the girl’s fault. She caused trouble, she was trouble. He’d known it the first time he’d seen her, he’d just thought that she was the kind of trouble that might make him a lot of money. Hell, she’d turned down many a good offer from a decent man—including Eastman himself!—but tonight she was getting her comeuppance. She was already making good on three hundred dollars and when she was finally returned, she’d be worth five.

She would come back eventually, Eastwood assured himself. McKenzie had just liked the look of her. And it wasn’t that Eastwood was so friendly with McKenzie himself, but McKenzie came to New Orleans often enough, and naturally people talked about such a man. When he’d married a belle out of St. Augustine, he’d been the catch of the season, a rich, well-educated rake with a history of adventure behind him, a man determined on getting richer by settling and working freshly cleared lands just westward of the raw town of Tampa. McKenzie had made good, but the belle had died, and he now had the reputation of being a reckless adventurer once again. His interest in Tara Brent could only be fleeting.

There was no need to be unnerved, to stutter, to worry about this dandy demanding her now. All that he needed to think about was the kind of money—hard,
cash money—he was going to make when she was returned. With that kind of money he could even make himself forget the way she made him feel when he tried to touch her, like he was something that crawled. She wouldn’t be good once these fellows had all finished with her. Maybe, when his boys brought her back, he’d even find a way to have a few moments with her himself after all. Then she’d be sorry for the way she’d treated him.

And while she was still being sorry, she could go on to this dandy fellow here.

No matter what he wanted her for.

“Mr. Blank, I do assure you, my men are out there searching with the same fervor as your own. I am ready, sir—no, eager—to see that she is delivered to you. As to McKenzie, well, sir, he is a planter out of Florida—”

“I will have him ripped to shreds!”

“No, sir, you don’t want to tangle with him! He’s a bit of a rogue himself, but highly respected by the law, a rich man, and a powerful one.”

“No matter how powerful he is—”

“She will return here, sir, I swear it!”

Clive took his seat again, staring at Eastwood. A sardonic smile twisted his lips, his glittering eyes narrowed sharply upon the other man.

“For your sake, Mr. Eastwood, let’s hope that she does! Indeed, sir, if you’re a praying man, perhaps you should begin right now.”

Eastwood felt a shiver seize him. And he wasn’t a praying man at all, but suddenly …

He damned sure was praying.

W
hen the wedding was over, Jarrett McKenzie was determined that they move once again.

“Just where
are
we going now?” Tara asked him breathlessly, trying to keep up with him while he led her along, his hand upon her elbow.

“As far away from New Orleans as we can get,” he told her curtly. She watched his dark profile and a hot tremor snaked along her spine. He was striking, rugged, and, at the moment, dead-set determined. Tall and powerful. He knew nothing about her, nothing at all.

But she also knew very little about him.

Those black eyes of his were suddenly staring down into hers once again. She flushed, aware of his scrutiny, and aware that he was aware of it.

“I was just wondering …” she murmured.

“What?”

“Where you learned to fight like that,” she said softly.

He smiled dryly, arching a brow to her. “Like what?”

“So—fast,” she said. “You knew when those men were behind you. You threw that knife faster than that Frenchman could pull a trigger. I was just wondering—”

“Then you must just wonder away, right?” he interrupted, a challenge flashing in his dark eyes. “I promised you no questions. This is it, watch your step.”

This was it—where were they? She hadn’t been paying attention, but they had come back to the docks. Yet she couldn’t see much of anything, other than darkness.

She nearly cried out with surprise when he suddenly lifted her, for it felt as if he meant to drop her right into the water. But she found herself set down in a small boat, and he was swiftly leaping down beside her. The night seemed to have grown very chill. She hugged her arms about herself while he released the tie rope from a wooden pillar and sent them drifting out into the Mississippi. He picked up the oars and a powerful thrust sent them shooting down the river.

He was quiet. A touch of moonlight fell upon the river, igniting it in a soft glow. Cold, she continued to hug herself, facing him. The moonlight did not touch the dark, craggy contours of his face, and she could not see his eyes, or read his expression.

“You’re rowing us to Florida?” she asked at last.

She saw the white flash of his teeth as he smiled. “The
Magda
is just ahead,” he assured her.

Tara twisted around and saw the much larger craft upon the water. Lanterns were lit, and the vessel seemed very warm and welcoming. She gazed at her new husband again, trying to grasp the fact that she had actually married a stranger. “Is it safe aboard her?” she asked softly.

“Well, I hope so. I own it.” “Oh.”

“Robert told you I was rich,” he reminded her, studying her eyes now. She wondered what he was looking for within her.

“What didn’t he tell me?” she asked him.

“A lot, I hope. If we’re to lead mystery lives, it’s only fair that some part of my own past be kept secret, don’t you think?”

She shrugged, wishing she hadn’t spoken. And then she found herself thinking again about the way he had come to her rescue. He was amazingly quick, almost as if he were invincible. He had knocked out two men without even raising a sweat. And when the Frenchman had pulled that gun …

Yes, he was quick, and hard, and could show little pity. What if he discovered the truth about the woman he had married? A second tremor came cascading down her spine, and this time she felt very cold.

“Hello there!” came a friendly voice in the night. The oars lapped against the water once again, and then the dinghy was knocking against the sides of the
Magda
. It wasn’t a huge ship, Tara thought, but it did stretch at least seventy feet. She was sleek and new, an elegant ship. As they drew alongside her, Tara saw his handsome young friend Robert with the quick, easy smile staring down at them. A rope ladder was tossed down to them.

“Can you manage?” her husband asked her.

“Yes,” she said quickly. Too quickly. When she stood, she was afraid she was going to teeter right over. He caught her, at ease with the little boat rocking dangerously, and set her fingers about one of the rope rungs. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Within seconds she was aboard the
Magda
, McKenzie at her rear should she falter, and Robert on deck to sweep her over the rail. He was still grinning broadly, apparently very much pleased with what he considered
his
night’s work.

“Welcome, Mrs. McKenzie!” Robert said, catching both her hands and drawing her near to kiss her cheeks good-naturedly. She realized that there were four more men on the deck, watching, waiting, and a blush touched her cheeks. But McKenzie was behind her now, his hands on her shoulders. “Gents, this is my wife, Tara.
Tara, the first mate there is Leo Hume, and these other riffraff sailors are Ted and Nathan Nailor, and George Adair.”

“Hello,” she murmured, but the group of them grinned, bowing in return. The oldest of the lot seemed to be the one introduced as Ted Nailor, who she assumed must be Nathan’s father, for he seemed to be about forty, while Nathan couldn’t have been much more than seventeen. Both were stockily built redheads with freckled noses and quick, flashing grins. Leo Hume was dark and somewhat swarthy, as if there might have been a very dark Spaniard somewhere in his past, too, while George Adair was very tall and lean and dark haired and light eyed.

Ted was the one to address her, sweeping his cap from his head and bending very low. “Mrs. McKenzie, we are all ever-pleased to meet you—surprised, we do admit!—but delighted, and eager to serve you in any way!”

She smiled and was startled by the sudden prick of tears at the back of her eyes. She suddenly felt very much protected and surrounded by warmth. After so long a time of running, and after the people who had filled her life lately …

She closed her eyes. For a moment she could remember the busy streets of the very well-established city she had so recently fled. To her the city had been a dream. She had once thought that her future was there, and all that she needed to do was form it with her own two hands. It was different from the land of her birth, that of the rolling fields she had loved so well, but a place where too many people fought a land that refused to give a yield, where too many little children went hungry. A place where the very future lay in escape, no matter what the beauty.

She had been eager and so ready to love the city. It
had been filled with elegant buildings, manicured parks. There had been people everywhere. Clad in fine furs and jackets when the winters came and the temperatures plummeted. The men were concerned with business, the women with the latest fashions. The men talked politics, the women raved over the most recent musician to come to town; they laughed, lowered their voices, talked about one another. Society was tight. If the doors were shut upon one, they stayed closed. The matrons could judge harshly, watch like hawks. She’d been so careful. She’d tried so very hard to be correct. But it hadn’t really saved her. She’d nearly won, but
he’d
arranged it to appear that she had killed the one man who had done so much for her.

It would be cold there now. The first snows would have fallen. Everything would be clean and white. Beautiful, but cold. Like him. Like the man she had fled. A man who could spill the blood of his own closest kin to acquire what he wanted.

And he had been close tonight.

She had almost been seized.

When she thought of what the night might have brought, the tremors caught hold of her again. She shivered and felt the tightening of long, powerful fingers on her shoulder. McKenzie. He had brought her here. She had to remember that. With no questions about her past.

“Let’s get her under way, shall we, mates?” he asked lightly. “We want to be far gone by morning.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Ted agreed, but he smiled again to Tara. His eyes caught McKenzie’s over her head. “We’ve done the best we could, sir, on such short notice. But I think you’ll find your cabin amenable.”

He turned around, shouting an order to weigh anchor. The men all scurried to their posts, all flashing her smiles
as they did so. The hands on her shoulders suddenly propelled her along the deck.

“Let’s see what they’ve managed to find, shall we?”

He urged her down the deck to a crossways where the mainmast separated two cabins. Double polished doors led to his own, and he pushed them open ahead of her. Once again she blinked, adjusting to the muted light.

A single candle burned upon a large desk in the center of the cabin. Two silver trays were set on either side of the desk, covered and awaiting. It was a very handsome cabin with brass sconces set in the walls and brass accents on the desk and shelving. A large globe was set to the right side of the desk, and portside was a surprisingly large bunk. More surprisingly there was a large wooden bathtub that also sat to the portside of the cabin, and there were streams of steam wafting from it that seemed almost magical in the very dim light.

“They’ve planned well,” McKenzie murmured dryly. Striding by her he found something on the bunk that she had not seen herself. Tara felt a deep coloring flood her cheeks as she saw that it was a very pale blue nightgown.

Well, what had she expected? She had married him, she had agreed that she would be a wife. It was just that he was here now, dominating the cabin with his dark height and subtle masculine scent and power, and she wasn’t just trembling, she was shaking
.

“Supper and a bath. I imagine the bath looks best to you at the moment. Nice and hot.”

Actually the Mississippi looked better at the moment. Nice and cold. She suddenly couldn’t move. Thank God for the darkness that at least cast shadows over their eyes.

There was a bottle of wine on the table between the two trays, wedged between two crystal glasses. Someone had already uncorked it. McKenzie poured out a glass
and brought it to her. The shadows weren’t enough. She felt his eyes while he pressed the wineglass into her fingers, then swirled hers around. “Swallow quickly,” he suggested. “It might take the edge off the night.”

She did so mechanically, not realizing at first that by doing so she was agreeing to the fact that the night definitely had an edge that needed to be taken off.