“Why not, Drew? That’s the way I feel right now.” Taking a step closer, she said more softly, “But you could change all that with just a few words.
When Drew still did not respond, Tricia said hoarsely, “You’re going to have to say it, Drew. I need to hear you say good-bye or I—”
Unable to bear a moment more of Tricia’s uncertainty, Drew scooped her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. He heard her soft gasp when their lips touched—or was it his gasp? He felt her melt against him, and his kiss surged deeper. He was lost in the wonder of all that Tricia was. He was quivering with wanting her when a sudden thud in the hallway preceded the sound of voices raised in a drunken argument, and reality returned.
Breathless as he pushed Tricia away from him, he whispered, “This isn’t the way I want things to be for us, Tricia. I don’t want you here in a place where your safety is protected by a flimsy lock on the door. I want you surrounded by people who value you, who will protect you with their lives. I want to know you’re as safe as you can be.”
Her voice turbulent with emotion, Tricia replied, “I’ll be safe if you take me with you.”
“That’s not true. I can’t even assure my own safety at present, but with Whit . . . with the two of us walking side by side or fighting back to back, we will be as safe as we possibly can be.” Drew saw the tears that filled Tricia’s eyes as he whispered, “But if you need to hear the words, here they are. Yes, even though I’m angry that you came, I’m glad to see you. Yes, I want you. Yes, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done to keep my distance from you at this minute, but I also know it’s necessary if I’m ever going to get to the bottom of what’s been going on since I arrived in Galveston.” Pausing, he whispered, “Do you understand what I’m saying, Tricia? Just like you, I need to hear the words, and I need to hear them now.”
Drew noted the moment when Tricia’s expression started to change. Sobering, she raised her chin. Her eyes filled with love, she whispered, “I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand that this is something you and Whit need to do together.” A quivering smile moved across her lips as she said, “I admit that I feel better knowing that Whit will be watching your back and you’ll be watching his. I figure that the two of you are a formidable force, and I couldn’t ask for more—except for it to be over.”
Nodding, Drew took Tricia’s arm. “Come on, I’d better take you back to Chantalle’s right now . . . before I change my mind.”
Tricia did not reply when Drew steered her toward the door.
Whit started toward them with an uncertain expression when they stepped down into the lobby. Drew said, “I’m going to take Tricia back to Chantalle’s, where she’ll be safe. If you want to use my room for the night, we’ll have a chance to talk when I get back.”
“That’s fine with me.” Whit tipped his hat to Tricia and started up the staircase as she and Drew moved toward the door.
A short time later, Tricia was pushing open the door to her room as Drew commented, “Your door is unlocked. You should lock it.”
“Why? I’m safe here.”
“Tricia, please . . . make sure you lock it from now on.”
Nodding, Tricia entered and turned up the lamp. He saw the tears that glinted in her eyes as she said, “Thank you for bringing me home, Drew. I know you worry about me, but I don’t want that. I’m safe here, so you can do what you have to do. I’ll be waiting.”
Moving closer to her, he looked down into her pale face. He brushed away a tear that had slipped from the corner of her eye as he murmured, “You said you needed to hear the words. I need to say them, too.” He took a breath and whispered, “I love you, Tricia. You’re my angel. You always will be.”
Tricia replied in a trembling voice, “I love you, too, Drew . . . so very much.”
Drew enveloped Tricia’s slenderness in his embrace.
The last remnants of his control slipped away when she raised her mouth to his and he kissed her passionately, lovingly . . . and nudged the door closed behind them.
Chapter Twelve
The constant click-clacking of the wheels continued in the predawn darkness outside the train window. Lying wakefully in a small stateroom as the train made its way unerringly toward Galveston, Jason looked down at Elizabeth. She was dozing in his arms, having been lulled to sleep by the steady rocking of their coach, but he had not been similarly affected.
As the sun began to rise, Jason studied Elizabeth’s emotionless expression, hardly able to believe that she wore his ring and bore his name, and that she was now officially his to love for the rest of their lives.
Their wedding in New York had been a simple affair attended by Mother Ella’s servants . . . and Trevor. It had been intended to be conducted in the elegance of the downstairs parlor, but was held at the last minute in Mother Ella’s bedroom when she became too ill to be moved. To the old woman’s obvious joy, Elizabeth had worn Ella’s ecru bridal gown. Jason cherished the memory of the woman’s joyful smile when Elizabeth and he exchanged their vows, and he knew he would never forget the moment when Ella drew him down toward her and whispered, “You’re a good man, Jason. I can rest now that I know you’ll take care of Elizabeth and she’ll never have to suffer alone the nightmares that plague her. Thank you for that. Thank you for giving me peace.”
It had been difficult to say good-bye.
Elizabeth stirred, and Jason frowned. So many uncertainties awaited them in Galveston. Elizabeth still had no memory of her childhood. If Chantalle was correct and Elizabeth’s pendant did bear the same crest as the ring that Whit Hawk had shown her, Elizabeth might soon be reunited with a member of the family that she had gone to the city seeking. Jason had not yet said anything to Elizabeth about that possibility fearful of raising a hope that might cause her more pain if it were dashed.
He had written to Chantalle, telling her the approximate date of their return and had asked her to arrange to have his quarters readied for them. He could only hope that the mystery of the crests would have been settled by the time they arrived.
Weighing heavily on Jason’s mind, however, was his certainty that Simon Gault’s collaboration with the enemy during the war, had resulted in the deaths of dozens of innocent seamen—his dear friend Byron Mosley included. He had sworn that he would expose Gault and achieve justice for his victims, however belatedly, and he did not intend to forsake that vow.
His congenial relationship with the men of the Galveston consortium had also led him to believe that, for some reason, Gault was trying to convince them that Houston was not a threat to Galveston’s commercial future—when he knew the exact opposite to be true. Jason needed to find out why before it was too late.
Jason watched as Elizabeth stirred again. She opened her eyes slowly. The gold and green sparks in their depths came to life when she asked, “What are you thinking, Jason?”
Overwhelmed by his love for her, he whispered, “That’s a secret.”
“A secret?” Elizabeth’s gaze dropped briefly to his lips. “I thought we didn’t have secrets from each other anymore.”
“You’re partially right. It’s no secret how much I love you, but the mystery of the many ways that I intend to prove my love still remains.”
Chuckling when Elizabeth flushed, Jason continued, “We can look forward to solving that mystery over the years to come, Elizabeth, but right now we need to think about getting our things together. We’ll reach Galveston in a few hours.”
“Galveston . . .” Elizabeth’s expression became uncertain. “I have a strange feeling . . .” Elizabeth forced a smile before continuing, “I’m glad you maintained contact with Chantalle while I tended to Mother Ella’s affairs. I’m happy that we’re returning to the city, but—I can’t explain why—I feel a strange sense of dread, almost as if one wrong move and our future together will be threatened.”
“Elizabeth—”
“It’s foolish, I know.”
“No, it isn’t foolish, but I’l
l make you a promise.” Earnest, Jason whispered, “You don’t have to worry about the unknown, because I’ll be at your side whatever happens—and I’ll protect you with my life.”
“I’m not asking that, Jason! I don’t want you to risk your life for any reason.”
When Jason did not reply, Elizabeth continued as earnestly as he, “Jason . . . you’re the most important person in my life. The future would stretch out black and cheerless for me if you weren’t there to share it with me.”
“Elizabeth—”
“It isn’t my future that I look forward to. It’s our future.”
Our future.
Those two words rang in Jason’s mind as the train continued rocking along the tracks. Emotion a hard knot in his throat, he was momentarily unable to voice a response. Strangely enough, a sense of dread similar to the feelings that Elizabeth had described had been the cause of his wakefulness through the night, but he did not dare to confess that thought to her. He had no desire to add fear to her list of uncertainties.
Those concerns foremost in his mind, Jason drew Elizabeth closer. He loved her. Now, while she lay in his arms, he wanted to show her that he’d meant every word he’d said.
Wordlessly, lovingly, Jason covered Elizabeth’s lips with his.
Drew came abruptly awake at the sound of movement in the hallway outside Tricia’s bedroom door. Momentarily disoriented, he reviewed the events of the night past—his highly emotional reunion with Whit, and then the long hours of loving he had spent with Tricia in his arms.
At the sound of footsteps racing past the door, Drew threw back the coverlet and reached for his clothes. He glanced at the window, where an early morning sun was shining brightly, then hushed Tricia when she sat up in bed questioningly. He dressed quickly, reached for his gun, and looked back at Tricia as she drew her wrapper closed around her. He motioned her out of harm’s way as he unlocked the door silently and pulled it open.
Startled to see Chantalle standing there in her flowered robe, he asked, “What’s going on, Chantalle?”
Chantalle swallowed and responded hoarsely, “I was just going to knock. I thought you were here. I heard you come in with Tricia last night.” She paused, and then said in a rush, “It’s Angie, Drew. Will just found her body in the woods beside the house. She’s dead. Somebody killed her.”
Expressionless, Drew asked, “How do you know it wasn’t an accident?”
“She was half dressed, and somebody had beaten her badly.”
Drew heard the sound of distress that escaped Tricia’s lips. She rushed to Chantalle and hugged her tightly. He heard her whisper, “I’m so sorry, Chantalle. I know Angie was a problem sometimes, but—”
“But she was one of my girls and I let her down.” Dislodging herself gently from the consolation of Tricia’s embrace, Chantalle said self-accusingly, “It was my duty to protect her, and I failed.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Chantalle.” Trembling as they approached, Georgia, Lily, and Mavis halted teary-eyed beside Chantalle. Mavis continued, “We all knew about Angie’s nightly ritual—that she sneaked out the back door and slipped into the woods to smoke her cigarettes every night before she went to sleep. We tried to tell her she was crazy to take the chance, that it wasn’t safe—especially after Willie was killed—but she said nobody ever saw her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mavis replied apologetically, “We knew your rules, and we knew how Angie was. None of us wanted to make her mad, because we were sure she’d make us pay somehow.”
“Have you notified the authorities about Angie’s death?” Drew asked Chantalle.
She nodded. “I sent Will directly to the Adjutant General’s Office. Colonel Madison should be here any minute with his men. I left Carlos with Angie’s body in the meantime.”
Drew mumbled, “First Willie . . . now Angie.” He said tightly, “You can’t leave the rear entrance of the house open anymore, Chantalle.”
Chantalle nodded. She swayed uncertainly, and Drew slid a steadying arm around her. “Come on, I’ll take you back to your room.”
“No, I’m all right.”
Drew scrutinized Chantalle’s determined expression and inwardly marveled. She would not allow herself to give in to weakness.
Tricia moved closer to Chantalle to provide support, and Drew said softly, “You know I can’t be seen here when Colonel Madison comes, Chantalle. I can’t afford to give him a reason to look into my background.”
“I understand. Do what you have to do to keep yourself safe. I’ll take care of everything here.” She turned toward the women beside her and said, “Come on, girls.”
Chantalle started back down the hallway with her women, and Drew turned toward Tricia. He said brusquely, “I need to bring Whit up to date on what happened. We’ll get to the bottom of this, Tricia. I promise you that.” His expression tight, he whispered, “In the meantime, I want you to lock your door behind you when you enter your room, and lock it when you leave, do you understand? I don’t want you to leave it open—ever.”
“You don’t have to worry, Drew. Chantalle will lock the rear door just as you said.”
“I want you to lock your door, too. Promise me!”
“All right, I promise.”
“I have to leave now.” Drew hesitated, and then whispered hoarsely, “Never doubt that I love you, Tricia, or that I’ll be back for you.”
His head snapping up at the sound of a military command being issued in the backyard, Drew kissed Tricia swiftly. He looked down at the key that Tricia had pressed into his hand.
“It’s a key to my door, but it works on the rear door, too.” Tricia continued softly, “Chantalle had an extra one made for me a long time ago. She may have forgotten, but I never did. It made me feel like I belonged to somebody, and I’ve never been without it . . . until now.” She swallowed and then whispered, “Come back whenever you can, Drew. Whenever you do, I’ll be waiting.”
Kissing her swiftly, Drew moved down the staircase toward the front door with a silent vow to return.
Simon sat still and silent in his customary place at the graceful mahogany table in Willard Spunk’s office conference room. He didn’t like the fact that the Galveston consortium meeting had been called so early in the morning—especially since he hadn’t received notification until the last minute. He noted that although bright shafts of morning sunlight lit the office cheerfully, the room was unnaturally silent as the members took their places without the casual small talk and greetings normally exchanged around the table. As far as he was concerned, that was fine. He didn’t feel like talking either.
Willard, short, balding, middle-aged, and with an occasional eye for the ladies that went ignored by most, was a conservative “city father” who was generally well respected. Simon had always enjoyed an amiable relationship with Willard, who considered him one of the city’s foremost businessmen. That fact was evident in the deference shown to him and his opinions, and in the manner in which Willard and the other members normally accepted his advice—advice Simon gave gladly and with a feigned modesty that appeared to impress every one of them.
Yet he could not escape the feeling that today was different somehow.
Simon looked at the consortium members as they assumed their customary places at the table. Joseph Weatherby, Jonathan Grimel, Douglas Forbes, Winston Lyle, Horace Greene, Martin Long, and James Carter—all seemed to avoid his eye as Willard convened the meeting—but Simon laid his unease to his own discomfiture. He had awakened that morning exhausted and sleep-deprived because of his visit to the wooded area near Chantalle’s house in the middle of the previous night. Angie’s unplanned demise annoyed him. He had intended to use her further, and she had cheated him of the evening’s full enjoyment. He disliked having his plans disrupted for any reason, most especially by a wanton whore who had proved unworthy of his attentions and trust.
It also annoyed him that because of his injured hand and Angie, he had arriv
ed at Spunk’s office irritable and out of sorts. The need to conceal his ill humor and to pretend a cheerful attitude did not improve his mood. He was unprepared when Willard turned toward him, his round face devoid of its usual smile, and announced that the consortium had decided against taking his advice and would not sign an agreement allocating municipal funds to cosmetic changes in the city while there was still a possibility that improvements to the harbor might be necessary.
Simon forced himself to smile. His tone gracious, he responded, “Surely you aren’t concerned about the rumor presently circulating that because the facilities of Galveston harbor are limited, Houston might take over its shipping business. That’s preposterous. You know very well that Galveston’s natural harbor is an asset that Houston does not have and that—”
“Yes, we know all that, Simon.” Willard maintained his sober demeanor as he continued, “But the consortium met at an emergency meeting yesterday and we made our decision then. We do not intend to sign any commitment that may limit our direction in the future.”
“An emergency meeting to which I wasn’t invited . . .”
“We thought it best that way.”
Simon stiffened. “Signing the agreement is a way of proving our confidence in the city . . . a way of dismissing the negative rumors. I cannot stress enough—”
“You’re wasting your breath, Simon. We’ve made our decision. This meeting was called today only to inform you before we made our decision public.” Willard glanced at the forum and said abruptly, “The motion stands that we should not sign an agreement limiting changes in Galveston harbor. Does anyone second it?”
Two yeas sounded.
“All in favor?”
There was a chorus of assent.
Willard slapped down his gavel and said, “The motion is passed and the meeting is adjourned.”
Startled by the swiftness of proceedings that totally ignored customary protocol, Simon watched as Willard headed for the door. When the other members followed, nodding wordlessly in his direction, Simon stood up slowly. The room was empty when he made his way toward the door, inwardly raging at the speed and efficiency with which his counsel had been overridden.
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