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And he was, of course, because she was gone.
IT WAS EASY ENOUGH to escape him; she could move quietly and with the speed of light when she chose … of course, she was exhausted, and laden with the heaviness of the salt water still soaked into her clothing. And still, she had managed to take him by surprise.
As he had done with her.
But now she knew; now, she would not take her eyes off him.
Even with this resolve, her heart sank; she was certain that he was telling the truth. The Yankee ship was going to go down, but not as Richard’s Peace had.
The men aboard the Union ship had survived, and they would be coming to the island.
Trying to keep a step ahead of him, and draw him away from Richard, she headed toward the western side of the island. Moving through the trees and brush, she burst out somewhere near the southwest, at a copse leading straight out to the water, to an inlet where old coral formed some kind of a seawall.
She bent over, breathing hard, pondering her next move—her way to save Richard—when she heard his voice again, and jackknifed instantly to a straightened position.
“You are stubborn, my dear. But you’ll not get away. Not this time.”
She stared at him, incredulous. How was he standing before her? How had he reached the copse before she had managed to?
“You’re supposedly some kind of officer of the law, is that what it is? Well, you’re insane. I wasn’t in Gettysburg to hurt anyone. And I’m not hurting anyone on this island. What, did they put you in charge of the blockade? Are you trying to starve women and children?” she demanded.
“I’m not in charge of the blockade. And the blockade isn’t to starve anyone, but instead to stop a war, and any reasonable student of military history is surely aware of that fact. But, no, I’m not in charge of the blockade. I’m in charge of rounding up would-be assassins.”
Up close, within an arm’s breadth, he did tower well over her and, while he appeared lean in what remained of his white cotton shirt, muscle rippled at his chest where the buttons had given way from throat to midabdomen. She looked into his eyes, however; his physical prowess was not something that really worried her.
“There are no assassins on this island,” she said. “In fact, this is my home. You’re rude. You’re trespassing.”
“You came off the blockade runner. This is not your home.”
“It’s certainly far more my home than it is yours, or the North’s.”
“It’s not a qualifying point at all—this island is deserted, and you came off the blockade runner. For that, you will answer to the government of the United States of America.”
His eyes glowed so darkly that they almost appeared to be red fire in the night. His features might have been chiseled for a great warrior statue, and he seemed to have the ego and arrogance of a god to go with the hard-wrought classicism of his face. She felt the urge to take a step back, but, of course, she would never do so. She wouldn’t lose.
“I am not a citizen of the United States of America, sir, and therefore, I will not answer to any government other than my own.”
He stared at her without speaking, and then shook his head sadly. “You people would prolong this war forever. You would watch thousands and thousands more die.”
“I am not fond of war!” she snapped back sharply. “But, sadly, I am not in charge of the state of affairs, and to my knowledge, the war still exists.”
She felt a strange chill; it was what she believed, and she so wanted it to be over. Every day was futile now; every day was just more loss of life.
“I have no intention of discussing my feelings regarding this war—or anything, for that matter—with you, sir.” She set her hands on her hips, trying for some form of dignity, which was actually quite ridiculous under the circumstances. Had someone called her bedraggled at that moment, it would have surely been a compliment.
He didn’t take a step toward her, but, hands folded behind his back, he took a step around her, making her far more uneasy than she wanted to admit.
“What is your name, and where are your accomplices?”
“I don’t have accomplices,” she replied.
“You were sailing that ship on your own?”
“I didn’t come off that ship. I live here.”
“You didn’t come off the ship, yet you’re caked with sand and seawater.”
“If I choose to take a dip at night, it’s no one’s concern.”
“The water just about has frost in it,” he said dryly.
“I am from here. I am accustomed to bathing through the year. One can become quite adept at the water in the islands,” she assured him.
“Interesting. I last saw you in Gettysburg. Stalking the president.”
“I was not stalking the president,” she said.
“I suggest that you tell me about your companions—or hang alone,” he said agreeably.
“You are an arrogant and extremely rude person, and I know your countrymen far too well to believe that many share your total lack of courtesy. I am guilty of nothing, and I suggest you leave me be, or the fate that awaits you will be far worse than hanging.”
He laughed, and for a moment she was, despite the circumstances, struck by just how appealing his dark good looks were.
Except, of course, he was an ass.
“I weary of this. Leave me be, and no harm will come to you.”
He shook his head, still smiling, and amused that she would dare to threaten him.
“You’ll excuse me?” she said, her tone equally modulated, as if they were in a fine drawing room.
He didn’t move. She stepped toward him, took one hand and set it on his chest, and pushed.
She had expected that he would go flying. He did not; she took him by surprise again, but he barely budged. His movement, however, did give her the escape she needed. With the foot and half that lay between them, she turned, and burst back through the brush and trees.
Where to go? Oh, God, where to go? She couldn’t lead him back to Richard….
Had Richard awakened to consciousness yet?
She tried leading the tall stranger deep into the trees, and far from the eastern spit of beach where Richard lay covered in the sheet of branches. To the northwest … that was the way she had to go. Again, she ran, swift as sound and the darkness.
But she could sense her pursuer at every turn.
She burst into another copse, aware that her strength was waning.
She turned back; she could hear noise on the island. The men from the Union ship had reached the shore at last.
How many men had survived from the Union ship? Oh, God, if the men thought that one of them was an assassin, indeed, they might not make the night.
She wanted to sink to the sand in exhaustion; she must not.
She turned again, forming a plan in her mind. She had to keep them away from Richard through the night, and in the morning steal one of their longboats. No one knew the coast and channels and the islands like Richard did. If she could steal one of the longboats, they could escape. That was it, a simple plan.
She stiffened, her muscles suddenly burning again as if the fire on the ship raged near once more; she felt him behind her, knew that he was there.
How?
She turned, and he was.
Just behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his body, sense him there.
He stared at her, waiting; she didn’t speak. “Agent Finn Dunne, miss. Pinkerton. By the power invested in me by the United States of America, I’m placing you under arrest for seditions and attempted murder.”
She gasped. “I’m not attempting to murder anyone! And you’re still an ass. I will not go anywhere with you.”
“I honestly suggest that you do. I can chase you around the island all night, or you can come with me now. You can bring me to your companion, and when the others arrive, we can administer medical aid to him.”
“I don’t have a companion.”
“Really, miss. I’ve seen whereabouts you’ve hidden your friend. Not very endurable alone and injured, and he probably does need medical attention.” He shrugged. “Such as we can offer.”
She shook her head, feeling lost, impotent and helpless.
She could escape. Eventually, she could escape.
But Richard …
“Whatever you’re thinking someone is guilty of doing, it’s not us.”
“You were on a blockade runner.”
“We are still at war,” she reminded him.
“Choice is yours,” he said softly. “Show me to your friend, and we can see to him. Keep trying to escape, and I will keep coming after you. I never give up, miss. And if my companions come upon your companion without my protection, well, I’m not sure how things will go.”
“You will not hurt Richard?”
“That I swear.”
“And I should believe you? Why?”
“My word is sacred to me. And besides, you really have no choice. I don’t know if you’ve heard it yet or not, but the Yankee longboats have reached the shore.”
“Then we will return to Richard,” she said.
He nodded. She was surprised when he looked at her curiously, head at a slant, dark eyes seeming to have that ripple of fire again. “Richard. Richard …?”
“Richard Anderson,” she said. “Captain Richard Anderson.”
He nodded and came closer to her. She bit her lip. She wasn’t going to move.
“And you?” he said politely. “Who are you? I don’t know your name, or who you are—even though I’m quite sure that I know exactly what you are.”
CHAPTER FOUR
TARA STOOD STILL, for a moment not sure that he’d said what she thought he’d said. Maybe her fear of discovery was becoming irrational. Maybe she was imagining things.
She stared back at him, desperately praying that she would show no emotion.
There were others of her kind; she knew that. And that “her kind” came in full-blood and half-blood—those who had an ancestor generations before, and had inherited certain traits. Her mother had done her best to teach Tara everything that she had known, that she had learned from Tara’s father. Tara had never actually met another of “her kind,” but she knew that someone was out there; she also had half siblings, and she often felt an emptiness inside, wishing desperately that she might know them. She had sisters and brothers and….
And a father.
Finn was staring at her. She tried to stare back at him, her head cast at an angle, a slight smile curving her lips.
“Yes,” Finn told her. “I said exactly that—I know what you are.”
She waved a hand in the air. “A Southerner?”
He laughed. “Well, that would be true, too, I imagine. No, I know what you really are. Half-breed. Bloodsucker. Vampire. Some might call you a succubus, demon or lamia. What they call you doesn’t matter.”
She shook her head, incredibly wary of the man who seemed to have her at his mercy. He’d been ahead of her all night long—even though she had managed a smooth escape from him at Gettysburg. She could have escaped him tonight, too, but for Richard.
“No tricks,” he told her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she assured him.
He indicated the path where they had ripped through the foliage in their chase. “I’m going to suggest that we head back—before the angry men who just lost their ship come upon your friend.”
She hesitated. “I’m telling you, neither of us is a spy. And neither of us is an assassin.”
“You’re both blockade runners.”
“Richard is a merchant, nothing more.”
He sighed. “Of course. But merchants running arms at times of war are by definition blockade runners. I am a tremendous believer in due process of law. If you come with me now, I can guarantee that nothing will happen to either of you on my watch. So, if you value your friend’s life …” He let his voice trail and indicated she begin walking.
Tara did so. She turned and began moving quickly through the brush, doing her best to make sure that every branch she passed slapped back into his face.
He didn’t say a word, he simply caught the branches.
She let her words trail over her shoulder at him, along with her anger. “Due process of law. That means you get us into a puppet military court, and see that we’re hanged.”
“If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear.”
“You’re looking for someone called Gator. I’m not Gator. Richard isn’t Gator. There’s no reason that you should suspect either of us as your man.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” was all he replied.
