Jo Goodman (55 page)

Made speechless by Grant's twisted, facile explanation, Jonna simply blinked in astonishment. If he could toss off these lies on the spur of the moment, she had no doubt he would be extremely effective with time to prepare a defense. She looked sideways at Decker. He seemed unaffected by Grant's revelations.

"Salamander
and
Chameleon,"
Decker said.

"What about them?"

"They're slavers."

"Really?"

"And they're yours."

Grant shook his head. "I can't say what purpose those ships have been put to since I sold them, but I am interested in how you've come by this information. Is it possible you've returned to your old thieving ways, Captain Thorne?"

Graham Denison had had enough. His drawl was soft, and his voice was without any real menace. Somehow that made him seem more dangerous. "I say we just kill him."

Sheridan swiveled slightly and faced Graham. "Who the hell are you?"

It was not Graham who answered. Rachael's whisper was husky with emotion. "He's Falconer," she said.

Jonna cast a startled look at Decker. She had heard Rachael say that name earlier, with the same hushed reverence. When Decker walked into the room behind Graham, Jonna assumed she knew which of the men Rachael was referring to. Decker's complete calm helped Jonna mask her own confusion.

"Falconer?" Grant asked. He had convinced himself that he had misunderstood Rachael earlier. "Is this true, Thorne?"

Decker shrugged. "I told you I would help you make his acquaintance."

"But the paper," Sheridan said.
"The Liberator
reported—"

Graham nodded. "You must be talking about Matt Willet. I'm sure everyone in Charleston has come to realize they were mistaken about poor Matt. He's no more likely a candidate to carry the Falconer name than say... oh, I am." Graham indicated Rachael with his hand, but he never took his eyes from Sheridan. "But you have this young woman to tell you it's a name I sometimes answer to. More usually I'm known as Graham Denison." His flint-colored eyes shifted just once to Decker. "I don't mind killing him," he said. "Unless you want to?"

Decker pretended to consider it. Finally he said, "I'm still hopeful we can resolve this in court."

Graham's indifferent shrug caused him a moment's sharp pain. He sucked in his breath and managed to make it seem that he was only impatient with Decker's line of reasoning. "It's your decision, of course." He pointed to Rachael. "But I believe she'd be grateful if we killed him."

Grant was wary, but not cowed. "I told you what happened to her," he said.

"You've hurt her," Jonna said quietly. "In ways I'm only beginning to understand. You used her to expose stations on the Underground. You used her to betray people who were trying to help her. Tell us what really happened to your hand, Rachael."

Rachael's head bent. She stared at her crippled hand. She was quiet for so long that Grant began to hope she would say nothing while the others despaired of her speaking. "He held me down," she said at last. There was no emotion in her voice, but tears slipped free of her lowered lashes and slid over her cheeks. "He held me down while they greased my hand with meat drippings. The dog they brought in was half-starved. It had to look real, he told me. It had to seem I was so hungry for freedom I would mutilate myself to get it. I screamed and screamed...." Her voice trailed away. She didn't look up, but she could feel their attention on her. "He told me not to worry. There would be people who would help me, he said. I should only remember their names and their faces and where it was that they took me in. And if I came across one named Falconer I should remember everything and tell him all of it." Now when she fell silent her dark eyes lifted to Graham. "And I have remembered, but I've never said a word. Not to anyone."

Graham nodded. "I know you didn't. There were others he sent out, and they weren't as strong as you."

"If I had never passed through Miss Remington's home, he wouldn't have seen me there and he wouldn't know about her station on the Underground. I wouldn't have told him. I never told him about any of the others. He couldn't have made me tell."

"I believe you," Graham said gently.

Rachael used one corner of the blanket around her shoulders to dry her tears. Feeling was absent from her voice as she spoke. "I think you should kill him."

Grant's dark eyes narrowed. His gaze seemed to pull Rachael's attention to him, but she didn't flinch. "Slut," he said softly under his breath. Satisfied to see her eyes darken with a mixture of pain and anger, Grant turned to Decker. "Let's have done with this, shall we? You have a story. I have a different one. We can produce any number of witnesses to support each of us. Is there really any point in pursuing this when Remington Shipping will be ruined?"

Decker placed a light restraining hand on Jonna's wrist. "You're not making a convincing case to save yourself," he said. "It seems that killing you would be a more satisfactory solution than making your lies public."

"You don't believe me about
Chameleon
and
Salamander,
do you?" Grant said easily. "I assure you the sale of those ships was done several years ago. I have papers to prove it. It's unfortunate that you didn't steal those when you rifled my files." A thought struck Grant. "You know, I may have something right here that would show you..." He reached for the desk drawer that was closest to him. Before it was opened more than two inches Grant cried out from the unexpectedly sharp pain in the back of his hand. At first he didn't understand it. In spite of where the pain was located he thought his fingers had been slammed in the drawer. That would have made sense. What did not make sense was the knife that appeared from nowhere and was now lodged deeply in the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. Dazed, he lost the opportunity to pull it out. Decker did that.

Holding the finely honed scrimshaw blade against the corded muscles of Sheridan's throat, Decker finished opening the desk drawer. He did not glance down, but felt his way around the space. "I see," he said softly. "You do have something in here." He pulled out a pistol. The weapon's polished maple butt was smooth and cool to the touch. He held it out to Graham. "Is it primed?"

Graham checked it. "Primed and ready." He tested the weight of it in his hand then raised his arm. "And aimed."

Nodding, Decker took his knife away from Grant's neck. He used it to extend his gesture toward the cabin door. "Although killing you sounds just fine to me, I like the idea of you facing a jury instead. Remington Shipping will survive, I'm sure. Certainly Jonna's not frightened by your threats. And as for Mr. Denison, now that he's safely north of Mason-Dixon, he's prepared for the public to know he's Falconer. I suggest you step lively topside, Grant. Jack Quincy and the rest of
Huntress'
s crew are probably anxious to discover what's happened down here. They need to see that we have you well in hand and that Jonna's perfectly safe."

"I'll go first," Jonna offered. She stepped into the passageway and waited just long enough to be sure that Grant was following.

Graham kept the pistol leveled at Grant and went after him. Decker paused beside Rachael. He hunkered down and touched her wrist. "Stay here until we have him safely on deck and secured on
Huntress.
I'll come back for you then. It will only be a few minutes."

She looked at him in some confusion.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

But Rachael's confusion had nothing to do with Decker's statement. Her concern was larger than herself. "That's all?" she asked. Disbelief edged her husky voice. "You're not going to kill him?"

"No," Decker said. He could hear footsteps receding quietly in the passageway. He did not want to be far behind. Sheridan didn't know that Graham was holding himself upright by sheer force of will, and Decker didn't want him to find out. "We're not going to kill him."

"But I—"

Decker had no more time to explain himself. "You're safe now. I'll be back right away." He held out his scrimshaw knife and laid it in her open palm. "Here, take this. No one will hurt you." He stood and hurried out the door.

Jonna smiled widely as she stepped on deck and saw Jack Quincy on board
Huntress.
Members of the clipper's crew had subdued Grant's men, and now they were sitting side by side at the sloop's rail, connected by a rope that looped through their bound hands. The tow lines had already been rigged, and the clipper dwarfed the sloop, forcing her to ride in the wake.

Jeremy Dodd took Jonna's elbow and escorted her to one side as Grant stepped out of the hold. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "Fine." She turned to watch Grant. He was remarkably unaffected by the capture. His ship, his crew—all confined, yet he acted as if it were of no account. Was it really possible that he would be believed? she wondered. She remembered how easily the lies came to him. People were never eager to believe they had been duped. Grant's friends in the abolitionist movement might rally to his defense rather than admit they had been deceived by him. Was he counting on that?

It was as if Grant knew the path of her thoughts. He gave her an arch look, his handsome features unmarred by worry. "It's not over, Jonna. Not in any way. You know I don't give up."

Jonna gave him no reaction. She had to believe that he was wrong and that it
was
over, else she would be moved to kill him herself.

Graham Denison heard only part of the exchange as he came topside. Frowning, he motioned to Jeremy. "Do you know how to use this?" he asked, indicating the pistol.

"Aye," Dodd said. "I'm good with it, too."

"Then take it and keep it aimed just like this."

Jeremy and Jonna came forward at the same time. Jeremy took the weapon, and Jonna took Graham's arm. Her touch was all he had been waiting for. He leaned on her heavily, finally acknowledging the depth of his pain and the extent of his weakness. Jonna pulled his arm around her shoulder, and when one of her crew offered her assistance she shook her head. This was a weight she wanted to bear. This man had saved her life. More than that, he had saved Decker. "Thank you," she whispered.

A moment later Decker appeared. He surveyed the situation and held up a hand in Jack's direction to indicate that all was ready. "Bring her alongside
Huntress,"
he told his crew. "Mr. Sheridan is going to be a guest on a Remington clipper."

Men went to work immediately on both ships. The slack in the towline disappeared as the sloop was hauled in close to the clipper. Jonna's insides roiled as the deck pitched sharply under her feet. Grinning weakly at Decker who was watching her closely, she managed to hold her balance and the contents of her stomach. She shook her head as he started to approach, so he stopped in his tracks, considered her a moment, then went back to helping steady the sloop.

Graham saw the quick exchange between them. Not a word was spoken, but everything had been communicated. "Does Decker always do what you want?" he asked Jonna.

Jonna gave him a sideways glance. "Hardly ever. Is that what you thought just happened?"

"Well, it looked as if—" He stopped, caught by the flurry of movement from the hold. He held up his free hand, palm out. "No! No, don't—"

Following the direction of his gaze, Jonna cried out the same alarm. "Decker! Stop—"

Rachael had nothing to fear from Decker. He was too far away from her to halt her mad run at Grant Sheridan. He yelled a warning, but realized that even that was going to come too late. At the first shout Grant had turned toward Graham and Jonna and made himself an even more vulnerable target. He only saw Rachael's approach out of the corner of his eye. The knife Rachael held in her fist glinted once before it was buried deep in his shoulder.

Grunting with the sharpness of pain and the impact of Rachael who had run full tilt into him, Grant stumbled sideways. He tried to throw Rachael off, but she clasped her legs around his thighs and held on. One of her arms locked around his neck. She withdrew the blade and plunged it in again, this time solidly in his back.

Her bruised face was not contorted in rage. There was no fierce anger in her dark eyes. Her features were strained as the limits of her strength were tested, but it was only that, nothing more. It was as if she had made peace with her hatred and was acting accordingly. Emotion was no longer guiding her. She had arrived at the conclusion that killing Grant Sheridan was a rational solution.

Grant fell to his knees as the blade was lifted for a third assault. Decker's arm stayed Rachael's hand this time. Only the tip of the knife caught Grant, but it sliced his skin cleanly. Almost immediately a thin thread of blood appeared at the base of Grant's ear and wound around to his throat. Decker's hand closed over Rachael's wrist. He squeezed hard and her fingers opened convulsively. The knife dropped and slid out of reach on the next roll of the sloop. Jeremy bent down, careful to keep his pistol aimed, and picked it up.

Decker hauled Rachael off Grant. She offered no resistance when he passed her to one of the crew, but she would not be led away. She watched without emotion as Decker knelt beside Grant and rolled him onto his back. No one spoke. There was the sound of water slapping against the hulls of the ships, and there was the sound of Grant's labored breathing. It seemed to her that one was no louder than the other.