Shadow of the Osprey (7 page)

He did not resist when she pulled his face down to hers. The kiss was at first soft and moist, then savage as her teeth bit into his lip. He pulled away and could taste blood in his mouth.

‘Hello Mister O’Flynn. Or should I say, Michael Duffy?’

‘How did you know?’

‘You might have only one eye Michael, but you still have the same soul,’ she said, stroking his lips with the tips of her fingers. The touch stung where she had broken the skin with her teeth and she felt him wince. ‘I knew you from the moment I looked into that eye and I saw the man you once were . . . and always will be. The same man that I had promised myself would be at my mercy one day. And now you are truly at my mercy!’

‘Does Fiona know?’ Michael asked as she tasted his blood on the tips of her fingers.

‘I don’t think so,’ she purred deeply. ‘My cousin is a romantic who would prefer to think that her lover died with his last thoughts being of her. Did you Michael?’ she teased. ‘Were your last thoughts of Fiona?’

‘There have been many times in my life when I have had last thoughts Baroness,’ Michael growled. ‘But mostly of regret for not having had the opportunity to kill your brother. But for now I must confess that I am confused as to why you are in my bed. The last time I saw you you were expressing a deep and abiding hatred for me.’

‘I want you Michael Duffy. I have always wanted you,’ she said in a husky voice as she slid her hand inside his shirt to feel the hard muscle of his chest, ‘from that day I saw you on the pier at Manly. But you were too besotted with my cousin to notice me then. And now I have you at my mercy as you fully know and can do with you whatever I wish. Even make you beg for me. Make you indulge me in my most depraved desires. And make you do whatever I want no matter how you should feel about any other woman in your life. Your life is mine because I know who you really are.’ She drew his face down to hers and her kiss was hot and passionate.

For the moment he was totally at her mercy. Whether he had free choice was a moot point as the lingering scent of her body was the desirable and musky scent of a woman. He was losing himself to her desire. The years of living in a world of sudden death and extreme violence boiled over into a passion to create rather than destroy, to give pleasure instead of pain. It had been a long time since he had experienced the sweet and sensual pleasure of a woman’s body. A long time since he had experienced the erotic pleasures she unleashed in him.

Penelope finally realised both a dream of revenge and a deep desire she had concealed even from herself. She drew him down onto the bed and her legs wrapped around his waist, locking him into her body. As he submitted to her will he was everything she imagined he would be: a magnificent lover who embodied all the maleness of a wild and untamed animal. She did not imagine love in the coupling of their bodies. No, her love was only for the dark-haired woman with the emerald green eyes who thought she had seen a ghost. She smiled triumphantly as she guided Michael’s head down between her legs. Hers was the power of a woman to use her body to defeat her enemies – especially if they were men.

Michael did not think of Fiona. He had long learned to seize the moment in the turbulent and dangerous world that had changed him from being a romantic dreamer to a hard-bitten, cynical soldier of fortune. For him love was something he had lost with his dreams of marrying the dark-haired beauty Fiona Macintosh. At least with Penelope he understood the violence of lust. Lust, the satisfaction of which was paid for or occasionally granted freely in his troubled life as a soldier.

‘The Baroness left immediately following the reception,’ Major Godfrey said with an edge of envy for the American’s luck in bedding the beautiful wife of the Prussian aristocrat. ‘She is currently, shall we say, in the arms of Mister O’Flynn in his hotel room, lucky blighter.’

Baroness von Fellmann had a reputation for being very discreet in her amorous escapades as Godfrey well knew. But visiting a man at his hotel was less than prudent. ‘Do you think she knows Mister O’Flynn from some other time?’ Horace asked him as both men conversed quietly in a corner of the Officers’ Mess at Victoria Barracks.

Godfrey shook his head. ‘I cannot see how that would be possible. As far as I know, the Baroness has never visited either Samoa or America. No, I would say the lady was smitten by our American friend. Nothing more.’

Horace frowned. He was not convinced that Mister O’Flynn and the Baroness had not met before. Although he could not say from personal experience anything about the sexual needs of a woman, he did know enough about the opposite sex to know a woman did not go to bed with a man she had only exchanged a few words with at a reception.

Horace was however in possession of information that she had first visited the gun dealer after she left her own reception party and then gone to the hotel where O’Flynn was staying. It was obvious that she had gone out of her way to locate the man and bed him. The whole situation was perplexing.

Mister O’Flynn seemed to have more of an interesting past than Horace had first suspected. He had a strange and intriguing accent under his Irish-American speech. One thing about being an expert in linguistics as Horace was, was the ability to read words and accents, as a hunter would interpret an animal’s tracks. He strongly suspected that Michael O’Flynn had either spent a long time in Australia – or had visited before.

The visit by the Baroness to O’Flynn’s hotel room seemed to confirm his theory that the American had been in Sydney previously although there was no record in existence to say so. So just
who
was Mister O’Flynn? The answer to that question just might prove more than valuable.

‘O’Flynn tells me you are very good with the cards, Horace old chap,’ Godfrey drawled, flashing a grin at his friend who was still brooding on the subject of Michael O’Flynn. ‘Care for a hand or two? For a few guineas?’

‘Dear chap,’ Horace replied in a sad voice. ‘One thing that I well and truly learned in the Crimea was never to play cards with an infantry officer. Sadly, you are not gentlemen like your brothers from the cavalry. No gentlemen at all.’

Godfrey gave his old friend a broad grin. ‘It was worth a try old chap,’ he sighed.

Horace finished his drink and excused himself from the Mess. Outside the barracks he hailed a cab. He was deep in thought during the trip back to his hotel. Manfred von Fellmann was up to something. What would the former Prussian officer do if he realised his Anglo-Australian wife was in bed with the American? Fortunately for O’Flynn the Baron was still in Samoa as far as he knew.

The English agent wondered at the intentions of the Germans and particularly of Manfred von Fellmann. He was Bismarck’s most trusted intelligence agent for the Pacific region. Whatever the Germans were planning had to be of vital importance to their strategic interests in what most European powers considered to be the backwater of international politics. Horace frowned as he passed by the tenement houses of Sydney. Why the hell had von Fellmann suddenly shifted his attention from Samoa to Sydney as British intelligence sources in Samoa had indicated? For whatever reason, he was sure that the mysterious Irish-American was the key to the whole enterprise. All he had to do was keep track of him and learn more about his past. He was sure that was the key to finding what was underlying the Germans’ sudden interest in this part of the world. And Horace’s keenly honed intelligence instincts told him too that O’Flynn was not all that he appeared to be.

Penelope lay in Michael’s arms. She smiled when she remembered how only two nights earlier she had held Fiona against her naked body in a similar manner. She gazed down at Michael’s battle-scarred body. How ironic that she and Michael had shared Fiona’s body at different stages in their lives.

There was little chance she would betray Michael to the police. He was a key player in her husband’s games of international intrigue. And besides, she mused as she watched him sleep, he was one of the best lovers she had ever bedded. She traced a long scar down his chest with the tip of her nail and smiled wickedly. ‘Oh Michael,’ she sighed softly so as not to wake him. ‘If you only knew the games I have planned for when we next meet you would most probably rather face the gallows.’

N
ear closing time in the depot Luke heard the raised voice of a man and instinctively knew Emma was in trouble. He had just completed final preparations for his journey up the track to the Palmer River and sat on the edge of a bale in the room behind the store. He was packing his swag when the vaguely familiar voice of the angry man drifted to him.

Without hesitation Luke was on his feet. In seconds he stood in the depot, confronting a big, broad-shouldered man who was towering over Emma. ‘You know when she will return,’ he shouted down at her, turning with a frown to face Luke. ‘You!’ he uttered in his absolute surprise at seeing the American prospector. ‘Thought you were long out of the colony.’

‘O’Keefe you goddamned son of a bitch. I was kind of hoping you were dead by now.’

O’Keefe stepped away from an ashen-faced Emma whose trembling hands went to her face in shock. She sensed the meeting of the two men could only lead to bloodshed. ‘A few have tried,’ he snarled. ‘But I’m still here, as you can see.’

‘I also see you are still good at standing over helpless women,’ Luke replied tensely. ‘You ought to try and do the same to a man.’

‘You call yourself a man,’ O’Keefe snorted as he shook his head. ‘You need a gun to back up your yellow streak.’

The blood drained from Luke’s face at the insult to his courage. O’Keefe was around ten years younger than himself and much more powerfully built and Luke had no illusions about the possible outcome of a hand-to-hand fight between them.

But the challenge had cornered Luke who knew he was facing a deadly situation where his opponent would be the probable winner. He had only one hope, albeit a slight one. ‘You still carry a knife?’ he questioned as he slid his big bladed bowie from the inside of his knee-length boot.

O’Keefe grinned as he produced a double-edged blade from his waistcoat. Momentarily frozen by the speed and intensity of the confrontation Emma finally snapped to fling herself at O’Keefe’s knife arm but he flicked her away as if she were nothing more than an annoying insect. Emma stumbled backwards and slammed into a pile of pots and pans sending them rattling in all directions. She knew she must fetch Henry to stop the fight before blood was spilled. But, as the two men circled, oblivious to her presence, O’Keefe blocked the doorway. Trapped, all she could do was watch helplessly. O’Keefe was grinning, taunting Luke who crouched slightly to balance himself on the balls of his feet.

‘Vot is das?’ a voice boomed from behind O’Keefe. ‘Vot do you play games like kinder?’ Luke let his attention shift for a split second to glimpse the figure in black framed in the doorway of the store. ‘Mien vife and I come to buy goods. Not see two grown men fight,’ the man in black with a great black bushy beard continued in a voice loud enough to shake the mightiest of gum trees loose of its leaves.

O’Keefe was poised uncertainly with the knife menacingly extended in his right hand. Luke could see that O’Keefe appeared unsettled as the voice behind him was an unknown quantity. Deftly, he slid the knife inside the sleeve of his coat, and turned to face the person who had spoken, a man around his own age, size and build. It was obvious from his accent that he was German and when their eyes locked it was also obvious that the stranger was not a man who displayed any fear. Without a word, O’Keefe pushed past the stranger and a pretty blonde woman who stood behind him and Luke slid the bowie back inside his boot.

‘Thank you sir,’ Emma said as the colour returned to her face. ‘You have arrived at a very opportune time.’

She flashed Luke a look of concern and he returned a brief smile for her benefit although he felt far from happy. He had come close to killing Kate’s husband – or being killed by him.

‘Ach. It is nothing,’ the man shrugged.

The pretty blonde woman smiled wanly at Emma as she took her place beside the big man in black.

‘I am Missus Emma James,’ Emma said. ‘And may I introduce Mister Luke Tracy from America whose life you may have saved by your fortunate arrival.’

Luke rankled at Emma’s presumption that he would be the one to be killed in a knife fight. It smacked at his male pride. But he said nothing and extended his hand to the man in black.

‘I am Pastor Otto Werner and this is meine vife Caroline,’ he said accepting Luke’s hand. ‘Vee are of the Lutheran missionaries sent out here.’

‘Pleased to make your acquaintance,’ Luke said shaking his hand. ‘I hope you don’t get the wrong idea about things around here. What happened was just a little misunderstanding between myself and the gentleman who just left. Nothing to do with the service in the store.’

Otto smiled knowingly at the American and released his powerful grip. ‘I am sure vot you say is right Herr Tracy. I am sure this does not happen every day.’ He turned to his wife and spoke in German. She smiled and nodded to Luke. ‘Meine vife, her English is still learning,’ Otto said. ‘Vee haf come here to buy supplies. Vee are going to a country man’s farm. His name is Schmidt and I believe his place is about fifty miles south of Maytown. Do you know him?’ he asked.

Luke shook his head and looked at Emma.

‘I am sorry Pastor,’ she replied. ‘But I don’t think I can help you. I don’t know the man. You could possibly ask the Native Mounted Police at their barracks. They do a lot of patrolling in that country.’

The Lutheran pastor smiled and shook his head. ‘I haf already asked. They say they do not know him. But vee vill find him,’ he sighed. ‘God vill guide meine vife and I to Herr Schmidt.’

Emma frowned. She was about to warn the pastor about the country south of Maytown. It was a dangerous land where a newcomer could easily get lost – or speared. But she refrained when she saw the set expression on the bearded face. He was a man of God and she sensed such warnings would be irrelevant to his mission. Instead she gave her attention to his list of supplies.

When they left the store Luke spoke.

‘What did O’Keefe want with you?’ he asked her. ‘I heard him hollering. I was worried he might do you some harm.’

‘He has been here before,’ Emma sighed as she pushed back a lock of hair from her face. ‘He accused me of not telling him the truth about Kate’s whereabouts, said I knew where she was and wouldn’t tell him. But I told him the truth. Kate is somewhere on the track to the Palmer.’

Luke frowned. ‘If he returns tonight I want you to fetch me immediately,’ he said. ‘No need to get Henry tangled up in this.’

Gently Emma touched Luke on the arm. She could see that the American was protecting her husband from the likes of O’Keefe. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘I will do that if Mister O’Keefe returns to the store this evening.’

Luke nodded. He felt guilty that he would be leaving at first light to search for Kate. It didn’t seem right to leave Emma and Henry to face the man who was Kate’s husband.

O’Keefe walked away from the store into the gathering night. He cursed the American’s good luck being saved from what he perceived as the certainty of death on his blade. Whoever the stranger was who had intervened had an air about him of a man not to be intimidated. And the big man in black might have sided with the American had the James woman called on him for help. Not that it mattered. He would settle with Tracy at a later time. For now he had a business to run and more girls to recruit to his brothel. Given time – and the right bully boys – he would be able to open a second premises to accommodate the extra girls coming up from down south.

The night was dark and O’Keefe turned off the main street busy with the crowds of miners in search of a good time. The back alley took him into a narrow lane bordered by a Chinese joss house and the rear of his own establishment.

‘O’Keefe!’ a voice commanded, just a little nervously.

A smallish man stepped from the shadows of the joss house. O’Keefe stopped in his tracks and turned to confront him. He sneered when he saw who had called his name. ‘You have some kind of problem I might be able to help you with,’ he challenged insolently, letting the deadly knife slip into his hand from the sleeve.

The smaller man stood apprehensively in the shadows licking his lips as he watched the burly brothel keeper advance towards him. ‘My missus is up there,’ he croaked, and O’Keefe could see that the man was both drunk and frightened.

‘I know you?’ he frowned as he tested the grip on the bone handle of the knife.

‘You took my missus to work for you when I was down on my luck,’ the man said backing away from O’Keefe. ‘She won’t come home with me.’

‘Then that’s your bad luck mister,’ O’Keefe said, baring his teeth. ‘She’s with a real man now.’

Suddenly the smaller man stopped backing away and stood very still in the shadows. From somewhere the two men could hear a woman’s raucous laughter and the cursing of a drunken miner. Sweat beaded the forehead of the man in the shadows. ‘No O’Keefe,’ he said in a strangely disembodied voice. ‘I think that’s your bad luck.’