Riot started to climb down the ladder, and Tobias stopped him with a hiss. "You sure it's safe?" The boy eyed the weathered boat dripping with ocean water.
"You don't have to accompany me, Tobias."
"I can't swim."
"Neither can I."
"Aren't you supposed to reassure me—you being an adult and everything?"
"I don't lie to reassure."
Tobias blew out a breath.
Jin started making chicken noises at the boy. Not to be outdone by a girl, Tobias quickly scrambled down. The moment his feet touched the bobbing deck, he threw himself into the cockpit, and clung to a line.
"Cast off, Jin." There was a tiredness to Isobel that made Riot want to take her straight back to his home and pour her a hot bath, but she was not a woman to be coddled. "Where to?" she asked.
"Hospital Cove."
Jin hopped back aboard, and Riot moved to help Isobel with the jib. As they worked, he kept his gaze on the docks.
"Trouble?" she asked under her breath.
"A man was asking after you yesterday while the Lady was still in her berth."
She muttered an oath. "I suppose you saw the newspaper?"
"I did. Tim filled me in on the rest." Their eyes touched, and he held her gaze; the weight of events sat between them.
"Did you wait for me all night?"
"That's awfully egotistical. Even for you, Bel."
She snorted.
When the jib had caught the wind, Isobel and Riot stepped into the cockpit. Tobias was trying to get Jin to give up the tiller, but the girl wouldn't budge.
"Tobias, leave her be. Keep a northeasterly course, Jin. We're heading to Angel Island."
"Yes, Captain."
Isobel looked at Tobias. "And you, young man—don't leave this cockpit."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Good, because if you even think about it, I'll turn you into a rigging monkey and send you aloft."
The boy's gaze traveled upwards, then farther still to the top of the mast. He looked like he might be sick.
"Keep your eyes on the horizon. I don't want to mop up your breakfast."
Leaving the two on deck, Isobel climbed down the companionway. Her movements were stiff, and she held herself just so. Riot shut the hatch behind him.
She squared her shoulders. "What did this fellow look like?"
"Average."
"Average?"
"That's precisely what I asked Mr. Covel."
"He's not very helpful," she admitted.
"How badly did those policemen rough you up?" he asked.
"Just a few more bruises for my collection." Her eyes flickered to the side, a moment of hesitation. "It was more the cage that got to me. I don't much like the idea of going back there." For a moment, she stood utterly vulnerable, completely stripped. There was a plea in her eyes that he had seen in men who'd rather be shot than go to prison.
Something had shaken her. Something had changed.
"What happened in the alley? Tim said someone else was there."
She ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know. I keep going over the sequence of events. There was smoke, and then someone ran past me."
"Woodsmoke? Gunpowder? Chemical?"
She shook her head. "I'd say it was some kind of firecracker."
"Was there a sound?"
Color spread over her cheeks. "I was so focused on escaping that I'm not sure my ears were working."
Riot nodded. "Not uncommon. For a good many years, whenever I was in a gunfight noises fell away and my sight narrowed to a tunnel. I couldn't even hear the gunshots."
She cocked her head. "And now?"
He lifted a brow, a kind of shrug. "I've become accustomed to men trying to kill me." But he'd never get accustomed to Isobel being in danger. "Considering the events in the alleyway and the newspaper article, Parker Gray and his lot may have found you."
Isobel slumped on the berth bunk and rested her head in her hands. "Remember, Riot, I usually do at least three reckless things per day." Her voice was muffled by her hands.
Shaggy hair curled over the nape of her neck. He placed his fingers over that spot, and when she relaxed, he sat down beside her. "Do you mean to say that entering a notorious criminal den and picking a fight wasn't the only reckless thing you've done since I last saw you?" He tried to keep his voice light, but failed.
She glanced over at him. "Alex saw me at the inquest."
Another man might have asked, 'Are you sure?' But Riot knew better. He trusted her instincts as much as he trusted his own.
Her answer shed light on his concerns. That's what had changed—that was why she looked hunted. "And it spooked you," he observed.
"Something like that."
"Kingston knows about the Pagan Lady from the police report I filed after Curtis's death. So the 'average' man asking questions yesterday might have been one of Parker Gray's men or a detective working for Kingston."
She'd winced at her brother's name, and now quickly stood. "You need to keep as far away from me as you can—"
"We've been through this already, Bel."
"Yes, but it's only a matter of time before I'm cornered."
"Do you plan on leaving California?"
Isobel stopped in her pacing tracks. "I…" She hugged herself, looking lost, and then her mood shifted like the sea. "Damn you, Riot. Don't you have anything better to do? One man asks about me at the docks, and you spend all night lying in wait for me." But her anger sounded tired rather than genuine, an old armor she reached for in distress.
Unruffled, he shifted with her mood. "On the contrary, I had a pleasant visit with Tobias, and it gave me a chance to take in the fresh air."
"Fish gut-filled air," she growled.
"I didn't wait all night, Bel," he said gently. "I only went to the docks after I received word from the harbor patrol that the Lady was spotted sailing back to San Francisco."
She clenched her jaw. "You need to stop worrying about me. I tend to disappear for days on end."
"Approximately when should I start worrying?"
"Never."
He crossed his legs. "I would hope that if I disappeared, you'd come and rescue me sooner than that."
Isobel relented. "Three days."
"That's nine reckless things later. Your trail will grow cold, and you could very well be dead."
"You found me before."
"A near thing."
"You like a challenge. Why else would you love me?"
"How could I not love you?" he returned softly.
"You've had me every which way. You can turn off the charm now."
"I'm afraid it's chronic where you're concerned."
The comment softened her edges. "Three days," she stressed. "And then you can put on your deerstalker and come rescue me."
His eyes danced. "That is one hat I do not own."
Isobel studied him for a moment. "They're not very flattering," she agreed. "You know it's damn annoying when you don't yell back. It makes me feel a fool."
"You're between a rock and a hard place. Sometimes anger is a good thing. So is talking."
Isobel slumped, defeated. He wished for all the world that she had held on to that rage. "When I see him…Alex…I slip back into the role I played—the simpering society wife. I hate that. I hate him. I hate myself for failing."
Riot stood and took her hands. "Is the game over yet?"
She looked up into his eyes. "No, but the stakes don't involve just me anymore."
Riot drew her into an embrace, and buried his fingers in her hair. "We'll manage," he whispered. "At worst I'll return the offer that you made to me and break you out of jail."
He felt her smile against his neck. "You probably have more experience with jail breaks," she murmured.
"As a matter of fact, I do. But not nearly as much as Tim."
She pulled away. "Is there anything you haven't done?"
"I haven't married you."
&nbs
p; "You're mad, Riot."
The edge of his lip quirked. "You can commit me after we're married. For future reference, I was rather taken with Bright Waters Asylum."
Isobel gave a bitter laugh. "I'm sure Alex will be happy to commit me." There was something in her voice, some urgent fear. That note gripped his heart. What precarious positions they were in. Yet another problem, another tangle, with no way out. He kissed her temple.
"You've solved another one of my cases," he murmured.
This piqued her interest. "Oh?"
"Jin. Miss Cameron asked me to find her."
Isobel glanced towards the hatch. Her gaze turned inward, as if she could see the Lady's course from inside the boat's belly. Satisfied that they weren't in imminent danger, she focused on him. "After Tim bailed me out, I came here wanting to sleep and found my boat gone."
"Jin stole the Lady, but didn't get far, so you shed your dress and swam to the boat," he finished the rest.
She nodded in confirmation.
"I'm surprised you didn't toss her overboard."
"The thought did cross my mind," she admitted.
"The two of you appear to have worked things out."
Isobel sat on the settee and surveyed her cabin. The lantern swung lightly on its rope, and a tin cup slid back and forth on the table. The saloon appeared to have been recently cleaned. "More or less, after she screamed herself hoarse. But I'm not sure if her newfound respect for me is sincere. She may be angling for something."
"You sound like you did your share of screaming as well."
"I like to holler at the wind. It's good for the soul."
"Did Jin tell you what upset her?"
"Mei is leaving for China in the next few months."
"She's made no secret of it."
"And then the mission tried to force Jin to take the Haffkine vaccine. It was the match that lit her keg. Between you and me, I would have climbed out of the window, too."
"Will she return to the mission?"
"I don't know, Riot. I haven't gotten that far with her yet."
"Miss Cameron suggested that I take my time in returning her. Jin is the worst girl she's ever had. That's saying something."
"Well, the child isn't my concern." As if to emphasize that sentiment, she scrubbed her hands along her thighs. "Why are we going to Angel Island?"
"I have a present for you."
"Oh?"
"Lincoln Howe."
Gray eyes lit with excitement. "By God, I love you, Riot."
19
Hospital Cove
Lumber shipments. Mundane, yet carefully guarded. Another set of lists: Girls bought and sold, opium, gambling proceeds. Also mundane. —Z.R. Journal Excerpt
THE SEA HAD SPENT its fury, the fog had rolled away, and the sky celebrated with a burst of blue. The Pagan Lady glided from Raccoon Strait into the protected cove of Angel Island. A decommissioned warship, the USS Omaha, was moored in the cove. Her masts had been cropped and a large covered structure added to her deck. Isobel frowned at the wooden-screw sloop.
"Think of where she's been," she said softly, for his ears alone. "And now she's chained to the ocean floor."
Riot felt her shudder.
Detention barracks, a disinfection plant, laboratories, and barracks for staff huddled around Hospital Cove. Two small cottages stood higher up on a climbing hillside, nestled amid oak, madrone, and eucalyptus. With calm blue-green waters surrounded by trees swaying in the breeze, the cove might have been a perfect retreat—a vacation resort a mere ferry ride away. But a dilapidated wharf ruined the effect.
As they neared, Riot spotted a cluster of immigrants disembarking from a steamer. They were loaded down with all their worldly possessions, shivering in the cold, and being herded together by officers barking at them in a strange tongue.
Isobel dropped the mainsail, and guided the Lady towards a floating dock off to the side of the larger wharf. Jin hopped from boat to dock, and caught the moor lines.
A blue-uniformed health officer hurried down a ladder. "You can't anchor here. This is a quarantine station," he called.
Riot stepped from rail to dock. "I have business here."
"What's your business?"
"I'm here to see Dr. Kinyoun."
"I'm afraid he's busy."
Riot handed over his card. "I'm a patient man. I can wait."
The officer scrutinized his calling card. Thick paper and the embossed raven on the front always seemed to make an impression, or perhaps it was the grandiose name—Zephaniah Ravenwood was a name demanding respect. "You're not a reporter?" He eyed Riot's tailored suit, and then his hip, looking for a weapon. But Riot wore his revolver in a shoulder holster.
"Have you had trouble with reporters?" Riot asked.
"With the plague outbreak and the resulting backlash, yes. All kinds. Death threats even. You name it."
"Hence your assigned guard duty."
"That's right."
Riot turned to appreciate the view. "Dismal duty."
Despite his heavy wool coat, the younger man shivered. "It looks beautiful, but it's desolate."
Riot looked to the cluster of shivering immigrants. They would be soaked with disinfectant and left to wait in the cold. He bit his tongue, not mentioning that part, and put on an amiable face. "It's warm in the saloon if you'd like to come aboard."
"I'm afraid I can't, Mr. Riot."
"I didn't get your name, Officer."
"Cummings. Nicholas Cummings."
Riot shook his hand. "I'll wait here until you hand my card over to Dr. Kinyoun. He'll be eager to speak with me."
"Why is that?"
"I'm here about a missing officer of yours."
"Missing?"
"Lincoln Howe."
"I'm afraid I don't know him."
"That's why I need to speak with Dr. Kinyoun. As you said, death threats and backlash. A man's life is in danger." It was the truth.
"I feel like that every single day. I keep telling myself to head somewhere warmer before this weather kills me. It isn't the most pleasant post." Cummings gave a nervous chuckle. "Well, Dr. Kinyoun will be angrier if I turn away someone he'd like to see, so you might as well come along." He spoke more to himself than to Riot, as if he needed to reaffirm his decision.
"Thank you, Mr. Cummings. I'd like to bring my associate as well."
Without asking permission, Isobel climbed over the rail.
"Oh, right then. Can't hurt."
Watson crouched, tail flicking, preparing to jump. Isobel thrust a finger at the cat. "Watch those two."
As if it were his idea, Watson sat down and casually turned his head towards the children. He narrowed his eyes and flicked his tail.
Riot looked at the children. "Do not leave this boat." But their eager nods did nothing to reassure him. Before Riot could climb the ladder to the wharf, Isobel beat him to it, shooting upwards with all the speed of a rigging monkey.
He followed at a more decorous pace, and when he neared the top, she offered a hand. "Careful, sir." He gripped her hand, and let her pull him up onto the wharf. With her cap, thick coat, and hoarse voice, Isobel's male guise would convince all but the extremely observant.
As Cummings led them away from the wharf, he glanced longingly at the wooden structure with smoke billowing from its chimney. The road was thick with mud and it spattered Riot's trousers. At least, he thought, the mud will cover the cat hair. Cummings showed them into a sterile hallway. Their footsteps echoed in emptiness.
"Just this way."
Dr. Kinyoun's office was orderly and neat, its walls decorated with diplomas and awards. As they waited, Isobel studied the plaques. His achievements were taking up considerable space.
"Ravenwood mentioned a Dr. Kinyoun in his journals," she said.
"I seem to remember him critiquing one of the doctor's papers."
"He certainly appears qualified."
Riot chuckled.
"What?" Isobel asked.
"A remark Ravenwood once made. He called displays like this 'framed egos'."
Isobel smiled. "Did Ravenwood frame his egos?"
Riot shook his head. "He liked to frame particularly vehement letters written to him in response to his critiques on an expert's field of study."
"Isn't that nearly the same?"
"When I asked the same question, his reply was 'I never said there was anything wrong with an ego.'"
Isobel's eyes sharpened on him. That gaze seemed to go right through his flesh, down to his bones, and even into his thoughts. "Did Ravenwood just remind you of all that?"
"No. Only memories."
She nodded.
The door opened, and Joseph Kinyoun managed to scowl at both of them simultaneously. He quickly discounted Isobel, and focused on Riot. Portly and balding, he had a cleft chin and a jaw set in defiance. "I suppose you're here to 'debunk' my findings. It is bubonic plague. It's clear as day and I'll not say otherwise. I'm an expert in this field of study. I know plague when I see it."
Ego at its finest, Riot thought. Ravenwood was usually right. He didn't say anything. The man seemed happy to talk.
"I have all my findings here. All the records." One after another, Kinyoun slapped the reports down. "And I used carbon paper, so don't think about destroying these for your precious merchants and paid-off politicians."
Riot flipped through the files. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know what I'm looking for."
Kinyoun curled his fist. "So they don't even send a man who knows what he's looking at. That's what's wrong with San Francisco. They don't understand the danger. Ignorance is rampant. All they care about is their money. Lives are at stake, and they send me some idiot gun-for-hire who likely only knows his way around a barroom."
"I believe you corresponded with my partner, Zephaniah Ravenwood."
Dr. Kinyoun's forehead creased. "I remember Ravenwood."
Riot tapped his walking stick. "An opinionated man, to be sure."
Kinyoun grunted. "Intelligent. Misguided. Pompous."
"I worked with him for twenty years," Riot said.
"You poor man. Where is the old Scrooge?"
"He was murdered three years ago."
Dr. Kinyoun moved to straighten one of his framed diplomas. "I can't say I'm surprised and I'm not especially sorry, but it's always a shame to lose a man of science. Cummings said you're here about a missing officer?"
Conspiracy of Silence (Ravenwood Mysteries #4) Page 11