The Topaz Brooch

by Katherine Lowry Logan

“Pete!” She hugged Rick again. “He’s here!” She ran toward the steps.

  Rick laughed. “Welcome back!” Thank God he was with Sophia. That saved him from an immediate ass-chewing.

  Pete met her on the staircase and swung her up into his arms. “What are you wearing?”

  “Clothes,” she laughed.

  “I prefer you in a dress. I can get to you quicker.” Pete hit the porch and carried her into the house. “You’re wearing a uniform!”

  “Marguerite made it for me.” Sophia clasped her legs around him, held his face in her hands, and he groaned when she kissed him. “What happened to you?”

  “I had a misunderstanding,” he said, shrugging it off. “Damn, I’m glad to see you.” Pete breathed against her lips, threaded his fingers into her hair, and tugged her head back, opening her for a kiss. His tongue delved deep into her mouth, and a raspy growl purred through his lips. Sophia’s chin tilted as she kissed him back.

  Thank God the nuns have left.

  Rick had seen enough. It was like a double date where he wasn’t getting any. He jerked his head away just as Remy and Philippe rushed into the room. “What are you all doing here?” Rick wasn’t any happier to see them than he was about watching Pete and Sophia, who were horny enough to make a man puke.

  “This is where the action is.” Remy cuffed Rick on the shoulder. “You could have stopped by to let me know you were back.”

  “Sorry. The general pulled me into this mess.”

  “When Philippe told me what was going on, I thought I could help out, so I grabbed my bag, and here I am.”

  “Good. I need extra magazines. Did you bring them?” Rick noticed a woman dressed in black with blue hair and an eye patch. He gave her a nod. Pete finally set Sophia down but didn’t let go of her. “Where the hell have you been, and what happened to your face?” Rick demanded.

  Pete threw his thumb over his shoulder. “Penny Lafitte’s men caught me at The Temple, where they were loading up ammunition for the general. They thought I was a spy, and were going to shoot me until she asked me what name they should put on my headstone.”

  “It wasn’t just your name, Parrino. It was when you said, ‘Semper fucking Fi’ that I knew you weren’t a spy.”

  Sophia smiled at the Goth Lady. “Thanks for not shooting him.”

  Penny gave Sophia a thumbs-up. “Sure thing, Soph.”

  Soph? Rick glanced at Penny, then Sophia, and then back at Penny. There wasn’t a thing about the woman that looked familiar to him. How did Sophia know her?

  “Who are you?” Rick asked.

  Penny bumped her shoulder against his. “Fuck that, O’Grady. Surely there’s something about me that looks familiar.”

  Rick squinted. Who the hell was this vulgar, one-eyed woman with blue hair?

  She lifted her eye patch, tilted her head, and waggled her eyebrows at him. “Does that help?”

  “Billie? I’ll be damned!” He gave her a sideways hug with only partial upper-body contact. “What the hell happened to you?” He didn’t know which of them smelled worse. “You look like shit, but I’m glad you’re safe.” He held her at arm’s length. “What’s up with the clothes and blue hair?’

  “I’m hiding from the British, and it’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

  Rick dropped his hold and took a step back. “I met a British officer who claimed he had dinner with you at Barataria.”

  She replaced the eye patch. “Lieutenant Bowes, I bet. What an asshole.”

  Rick shook his head. “Yep. What’d you do to piss him off?”

  “I thought they were reenactors playing a part. It turned out I was the only actor at the table. I didn’t know they were real, and I made a mess of things. What’d he say about me?”

  “That you’re Jean Lafitte’s mistress.”

  She choked out a laugh. “Seriously? What a goddamn idiot.”

  “Can you two catch up later and tell me what the hell’s going on here, and why Sophia’s wearing a uniform?” Pete said.

  “It’s the first Battle of New Orleans,” Penny said. “At seven-thirty, the Carolina is going to bombard the British encampment in the first of a three-pong attack.”

  “So, you know what happens?” Rick asked.

  “We’re safe here,” she said.

  Rick checked the function of his Glock. Satisfied, he holstered the weap0n. “You guys either stay or return to New Orleans. I’m going to join the general along the Rodriguez Canal.”

  “It’s so dark our boys get killed by friendlies,” Penny said.

  “I’m on the general’s staff. I have to be there,” he replied.

  “I’ll go with you,” Pete said.

  “You’re not going anywhere. You have a legitimate need for an eye patch.”

  “I’ll go,” Remy said.

  “You’re needed here to take care of the wounded.” Rick pointed at Pete. “And start with him.”

  “You can’t stop me from going,” Penny said.

  Rick growled. That was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn’t stop her, and wouldn’t seriously try…unless she was the Billie he knew. “I can ask you to stay, but it won’t do any good.”

  Then he asked Philippe, “What about Rhona?”

  “Marguerite’s with her.”

  Rick checked the time. “The Carolina is about to start bombarding the British encampment. Let’s beat feet.”

  “Wait,” Remy said. “What about extra mags?”

  “Give me what you have.” He glanced at Penny. “Are you wearing a vest?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Put one on or stay here. You’ll have to adjust the straps to fit you.”

  She gave him a side-eye. “I’ve worn one before.”

  “Sure you have. My bad.”

  Remy looked around the room to see if anyone had walked in before pulling a vest out of his bag. “I put this one on Kenzie and adjusted the straps to fit her. You two are about the same size, so the Velcro straps should only need minor adjustments.”

  “Thanks, Remy. That’ll save time.”

  While Rick loaded up with extra mags for his Glock, Penny stepped into the adjoining room to put on the body armor and returned a couple of minutes later. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Do you mind if I check the straps?” Remy asked.

  “Go for it,” she said.

  “The top of the front panel needs to be just below the sternum notch. Looks good.” He checked the back panel. “It dips even with the top of your shoulders.” He patted her sides. “The butt fit’s good. You’re okay. But you can’t wear that eye patch. You’ll need both eyes tonight.”

  She gave him a deadpan headshake. “Anything else you want to feel?”

  “Fuck, yeah.” Remy grinned. “But I’ll wait. Be careful out there.”

  Penny shoved her eye patch into her pocket and patted his cheek. “That smile’s a killer. See you soon.”

  “How many do we lose tonight?” Rick asked.

  “About twenty-five, with more than a hundred wounded,” Penny said.

  “You’ll be busy later, Remy. Do what you can.”

  “Just doan show up here wounded. If you do, you’re goin’ home.”

  “You’ll have a hard time explaining how I got shot with a nineteenth-century rifle.”

  “Bayonets cause more injuries than bullets tonight,” Penny said.

  “Charlotte can handle it, but she’d be pissed, so be careful,” Remy said.

  Remy, Sophia, Pete, and Philippe followed Rick and Penny out to the balcony.

  “Don’t wait up,” Rick said as he followed Penny down the steps that she took two at a time. She moved with ease and agility. But when she mounted her horse by holding the pommel and slinging her leg over the cantle without using the stirrup, he was damn impressed. If she had his six on the battlefield, he’d have hers, and they’d both get through the night without getting shot or freaking out.

  They trotted off into the winter nig
htfall. “When’d you get back to New Orleans?” he asked.

  “As soon as we hit the city limits, Pete went to find his wife, and I went to headquarters. Philippe said you’d ridden off with Jackson and Sophia, so I went to Marguerite’s to tell Pete, we picked up Remy, and here we are.”

  “How long have you been here? In the past, I mean?”

  “About three weeks, but it seems like three years.”

  “Been rough, huh?”

  “Yeah, it was pretty bad. I’d rather not talk about it. But thanks for coming back for me.”

  “I’m glad Pete found you.”

  Charlotte would say being captured by the Union Cavalry was pretty bad. Kenzie would say being tortured by the British was pretty bad, Amy would say being threatened by that creep in the belly of an ocean liner was pretty bad.

  So where did Penny’s pretty bad fall on that spectrum? As soon as he got back, he’d ask Pete if he got any information out of her. If not, maybe she talked to Sophia.

  And he was curious about her relationship with the pirate.

  The low clouds kept the stars away, blocking even a sliver of moonlight. They slowed their horses and walked them toward the canal. Sentries stopped them before they could reach the general.

  “I’m Rick O’Grady. I’m on the general’s staff, and this is—”

  “Penny Lafitte,” she said. “The general is expecting me.”

  The guard whistled and stood aside. “You’ll be watched. If you threaten the general, the guards up ahead will shoot you, and you’ll never see it comin’.”

  They rode up alongside Jackson. “The ammunition’s in place, sir,” Penny said.

  “Glad to hear it, Mistress Lafitte. Don’t suppose you brought it with you.”

  “I left it at your depot, where I was asked to take it. Have you heard from Jean?”

  “No, but his brothers are here. Pierre and his men will attack the rear of the British right flank, and Dominique Youx is on the Carolina.”

  “They’re going to help you beat the British, sir.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Rick discreetly checked his watch. “It’s coming up on seven-thirty, sir.”

  “Mr. O’Grady, pass along an order to maintain silence down the line.”

  Rick rode off and found Mr. Livingston, who started spreading the order, then Rick returned to the general as the men pulling two brass fieldpieces, crept across a landscape of cane stubble and oak trees draped in Spanish moss. Then they stopped and waited within five hundred yards of the British sentinels and formed a line perpendicular to the river just as the Carolina slipped past so close to shore the schooner looked huge.

  General Jackson’s horse pranced, and as the general looked through his telescope, he whispered, “Carolina.”

  The slack sails dropped and were furled by the Baratarians, who moved like ghosts around the deck. Right on schedule, Carolina’s guns broke loose in a flame-spitting roar. And the calm of the evening gave way to chaos as the shots blew through the British forces. The echoes of the blasts barely faded before screams from wounded soldiers cut through the darkness.

  The great guns blazed again, and the muzzle flashes revealed the full outline of the ship. For a brief moment, Rick remembered the trauma of the thunderstorm. The screams made this so much worse.

  An icy cold panic hit his veins fast as a freight train, and fear dared him to hyperventilate.

  Another salvo boomed, lobbing deadly iron into the British encampment.

  “Charge!” the general yelled.

  Electricity zapped through Rick the same way it did when he was about to jump out of a chopper into the foggy black night, having no idea how the next minutes or hours would go.

  “Charge!” the general yelled again.

  And the bugle calls of the enemy, veteran soldiers of the Napoleonic Wars, rang out in defiance.

  39

  New Orleans (1814)—Rick

  Rick and Penny galloped after General Jackson as he rode out into the middle of his troops, his saber held aloft, hollering, “Charge! Don’t shoot unless you can hit the enemy.”

  Gunfire quickly changed from sporadic to rapid volleys, and bullets zinged and ricocheted to the right, left, and over their heads. Rick was riding into battle on a goddamn horse, not in a Humvee, and the tight spot he was in—fucked!

  Within moments, he lost sight of Penny in the fog and the smoky debris that rained down on him. Visibility was jack with a side of shit. “Penny!” He turned in the saddle. “Penny!”

  She didn’t answer. They’d be lucky to get out of this with their asses still intact. “Goddamn it.”

  He was carried forward by a human wave pressing toward the enemy. Disbelief rolled over him. “What the hell?”

  He reined in his horse and turned in circles, looking for her. An explosion landed nearby, and his horse reared and pawed the air. Rick slid back and almost out of the saddle, and, fear zapped through him, freezing the sweat on his back, choking off curses as he struggled to stay mounted.

  Oh, Jesus. Not here. Not now.

  He grabbed a handful of mane and heard Elliott yell, “Don’t pull back on the reins.” After a few terrifying seconds, he gained control of the horse again, but now the acrid smoke from guns and other artillery nearly blinded him, and his eyes watered. Protecting Penny and staying close to Jackson divided Rick’s mission, and right now, he couldn’t see either one of them.

  The general survives this battle. Will Penny? Will I?

  The vibrations from the explosions were killers, making the blood vessels in his temples throb. Between a raging headache and worry about Penny, his gut churned in tsunami fashion. He was here for her, but there wasn’t much he could do to keep her safe.

  Soldiers fell in front of him, and more soldiers leaped over the writhing bodies just in time to catch a bullet and fall on top of their comrades. The fighting became so intense, and the two sides were so intermingled, that the soldiers were as likely to kill one of their own as the enemy.

  Both sides spoke English, so there was no distinguishing between American and British soldiers in the dense darkness. Rick fired at rifle sparks, while others swung the butts of their muskets at the sudden flashing of bayonets.

  It was a battle of a hundred small engagements, and adrenaline surged through his veins to his extremities, his gut, his brain.

  The yells, the cries, the bayonets clashing with swords, and the artillery shaking the ground were utterly disorienting. The only thing that could make this crazier than shit would be the sound of fully automatic rifle fire.

  Thank God, nobody has one.

  He couldn’t figure out exactly where the threat was. In front? In back? To the side? The fog consumed him.

  If not for an artillery blast that lit up the sky around him, he wouldn’t have seen the soldier’s bayonet in time to deflect it. He fired, but too late to stop the blade from slicing his left arm, which he ignored until blood soaked his jacket.

  There was no time to stop and tend to his wound, but if he ignored it and lost too much blood, he could fall off his horse and die. He tore off the bottom of his shirt and wrapped it around his arm to make a compression. The adrenaline rush was keeping the pain away, but it wouldn’t hold it off for long.

  Where’s Penny?

  “Damn.” He turned back and spotted the general’s white horse. But where was she? He could scream her name, but she wouldn’t hear him amid the gunfire and explosions.

  Order and discipline were lost in the smoke and fog. A cycle of retreat, rally, charge, and retreat again, had soldiers running back and forth over the scruffy sugarcane fields.

  The close-quarters battle raged on. Rick fired his Glock as the infantry fought hand-to-hand, bayonet-to-bayonet, and sword-to-sword. When he lost sight of the general, his goddamn heart raced so fast he spurred his horse hard while it leapt over fallen bodies to catch up with him. When he spotted Penny covering Jackson’s back, his relief was overwhelming.

&nbs
p; “You’re bleeding,” she said.

  “Just a little cut. Remy can fix it. Don’t ride off without me again.” Rick’s horse danced around hers. “You’re on my shit list! And until this is over, you’re on my hip. Not ten paces behind me, but on my hip or Jackson’s. You copy?”

  “The same goes for you. Do you copy?” she yelled.

  “Stay with the general,” Rick yelled over the gunfire.

  Her horse shifted, impatient with standing still. “You stay with him, O’Grady, or you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

  He would gladly stay, but when the general wanted a message passed along, he couldn’t say, “Find someone else.”

  The fog thickened and mixed with the gun smoke until it was impossible to spot the enemy. The Americans fired blind, again and again, re-loading and firing toward where the redcoats had been.

  As the fighting entered its second hour, the American artillery advanced, covered by the Marines moving alongside the river, blasting at the enemy. When they were met with heavy return fire, the Marines fell back.

  In a bold move, a British contingent made a rush for the artillery guns. When the general saw what was happening, he bellowed, “Save the guns, boys, no matter what the sacrifice.” Jackson spurred his horse and charged into the fray amid a shower of bullets.

  “Mr. O’Grady, protect the general!” Mr. Livingston yelled.

  Rick pushed to cover Jackson, firing into the fray. When Rick’s horse stumbled, he lurched in his saddle, accidentally jerking the reins. The horse whipped its head around and bit him, big teeth scraping on his boot.

  Damn horse. Where’s my fuckin’ Humvee?

  Muzzle fire flashed in the gloom, but even at close range, the darkness and clouds of gun smoke made it nearly impossible to distinguish the American troops from the British.

  “Hell,” barked the general. “We can’t fight what we can’t see. Pull back to Rodriguez Canal. Spread the order.”

  Rick raked the horse with his spurs and galloped into the teeming mass of soldiers to pass along Jackson’s order to withdraw to de la Ronde’s plantation. He fired again and again, ejected the magazine, and inserted another mag.

  “Fall back! Fall back!” he yelled.