by Sharon Wray
Allison reappeared, holding the arm of a limping woman. Isabel?
Heat and smoke blinded him, making everything around him hot and dark. But he didn’t care. Not about Isabel or fire or treasure. All that mattered was Allison. And she was alive.
* * *
Allison struggled to hold on to Isabel and breathe at the same time. The heat burned her face and hair, and her eyes watered. When the door had burst open, all she’d seen were flames and smoke—until Zack appeared with his bare chest, soot-covered muscles, tattooed arms, and his hair undone and smoking, as if it’d been singed. Her wild man.
He wrapped something around his face and forced his way in as if not caring about the flames and smoke and imminent danger. She stumbled off the altar and into the aisle. The pews were burning now, and one of the windows cracked. Smoke swirled, sending her and Isabel to their knees.
“Allison!”
She heard his voice but couldn’t see and couldn’t move. Isabel crawled ahead but Allison’s breath got caught in her dry throat. Panic began and her hands and legs shook.
Suddenly, she was airborne. Someone had picked her up and was carrying her outside. Fire reached for her, heat melted the rubber soles of her sneakers, and the hair on her arms burned off.
“I’ve got you.”
Zack? She wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed her face against his neck. “Isabel?”
She coughed out the word and wasn’t sure he even heard until he said, “We have her too. You saved her.”
* * *
Zack carried Allison toward the rectory, where Rafe had parked his truck. Rafe had Isabel already on the ground, his emergency medical kit out, and was seeing to her wounds. Pete lay nearby, shirt off and a bandage around his chest, eyes closed.
One good thing about ex–Fianna warriors and ex–Green Berets? They had decent combat medic skills.
Zack laid Allison on the ground near Rafe and fell onto his back next to her, his arms wide. The morning light had appeared and he’d hardly realized it.
Nate came over to check Allison, and Zack forced himself upright. “How is she?”
Nate helped her sit so she could cough, and he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Then she drank two bottles of water, four gulps each. “We should get her, Pete, and Isabel medical attention. The women may have suffered smoke inhalation. And Isabel has been shot.”
“I’m okay.” Allison coughed for another thirty seconds.
Zack pulled her into his arms and he could hear her labored breathing.
While Zack held her, Nate took off her sneakers. The soles had melted and he needed to check her feet. They weren’t burned, but they were red, like her arms and the rest of her exposed skin. Even her hair had been singed. “Do you feel faint? Or nauseated?”
“No.” She coughed again. “Emilie?”
“Safe.” Nate brushed her hair out of her face “We need to get you checked out by a doctor. Just to be sure. We have one we trust, but we have to take you to him.”
She burrowed against Zack and shook her head.
Zack glanced at his buddy still lying on the ground. “How’s Pete?”
“He’ll be okay—oh shit.” Nate pointed across the street.
Zack turned to see three men step out of an SUV. “Why is Kells here with Horatio and Fortinbras?”
“Don’t worry.” Nate gripped Zack’s shoulder. “Take care of your woman. I’ll deal with Kells.”
Nate crossed the street, and Kells walked with the warriors who, despite having their hands tied behind their backs, moved freely, with no gags or blindfolds.
Nate and Kells engaged in a convo that required lots of hand motions.
Many minutes later, Allison asked, “Where’s Isabel?”
She moved against his chest and he bit his bottom lip. His skin wasn’t severely burned, but it was sensitive. Like a bad sunburn. Still, no amount of pain would make him release her.
“Rafe tended to her shoulder and Luke took her to the rectory. It’s also used as the part-time sheriff’s office and there’s a one-person cell in there.”
“She’s locked up?”
“Until we get her medical treatment, we need to keep her safe from Remiel and figure out what to do with her.”
Allison flung her arms around his neck. Her tears soothed his skin. He knew, in a then-and-there kind of way, that even if he had to move to Virginia, he was never ever letting her go.
Chapter 48
Allison tightened her arms around Zack and held on for at least twenty minutes. She didn’t care that her skin felt like it was melting off or that her breathing sounded raspy and labored and hurt like knives in her throat. Together, they watched his men put out the fire. As the group moved around with buckets and hoses, Zack told her each of their names. The way he said them, with so much pride and love in his voice, proved how much they meant to him.
She withdrew from his arms, stood, and grabbed his wrist. Despite her bare feet catching on the rocky ground and the blanket irritating her sensitive skin, she dragged him closer to the church. The fire was out, but Rafe and three other men were still soaking everything, trying to put out embers in the grass. The steps hadn’t burned completely and she went up and stood in the doorway. The cold water soothed the soles of her feet.
Zack had told her that he and his men had put out the fire because there was no fire department on the Isle. The Isle’s local law enforcement—a sheriff and part-time deputy who were also brothers—had gone out of town, and Detective Garza wasn’t officially helping them. Apparently, the Isle was too remote and too poor for anyone to care about and the people of the Isle were good with that. They preferred to be left alone.
She was just so glad Zack and his men had found her.
“What are we doing?” He kept one hand on her waist as they entered the building. Everything was soaked and smoke still rose from the ashes. They made it down the aisle together, dodging charred debris and puddles.
“You’ll see.”
“Hey,” Rafe said from the doorway. “This isn’t safe.”
She turned and saw Rafe standing with Detective Garza, Vane, Cain, and Ty, all wearing variations of combat pants, T-shirts, and concerned frowns. “I want to show you something.”
Despite her bare feet, she didn’t stop until she stood near the altar. “Does anyone have a flashlight? And I need some buckets of water.”
Vane and Ty went to get the water while Detective Garza handed her a penlight. The wall behind the altar had disintegrated. She shone the light on the window high above an altarpiece covered in soot. Because the back siding outside the church had partially burned off, some light peeked through.
“Hey.” Rafe moved ahead of her. “I didn’t know there was a window here.”
“It was sandwiched between a false wall inside and the back siding outside.” She moved the light around so they could make out the design. “This church is called Saint Mary of Sorrows. Mary had seven sorrows, but there are only six windows. Three on each side.”
Zack took the light from her so he could aim it higher. “This window—it’s the crucifixion.”
“The seventh sorrow,” Rafe whispered. “I got married in this church and never realized.”
She coughed again but didn’t want to tell Zack that her lungs hurt. “Look at the floor.”
They all did, and she heard their collective gasp.
“Mercy Chastain is buried here?” Zack said, the exhaustion competing with the awe in his voice.
“Yes,” she said.
The men returned with two buckets of water each, and she asked them in between coughs, “Can you rinse off the altarpiece beneath the window?”
Vane shrugged. “Sure.”
Vane and Ty dumped two buckets of water on the altarpiece, and black, sooty water ran onto the floor. She stepped aside t
o protect her feet. While they drained the other two buckets, she raised her face to the sky visible through the burned-out ceiling. Clouds had moved in.
“What are we doing?” Zack whispered in her ear.
She rewrapped the blanket around herself. The shadows around them floated away and rays of bright light warmed her head. “When the sun hits, look at the altarpiece over Mercy’s tomb.”
Zack tightened his arm around her waist.
The floor in front of her lightened, and she said, “Just watch.”
The sun’s rays traveled across the dirty floor, highlighting Mercy’s name in the stone, and up the altarpiece. Set in three pieces, with the middle protruding out farther than the side pieces, it spanned the width of the window above it. In the middle, the tabernacle had gold doors, while the panels above and beside it had been decorated with images of Mary and the three archangels—Gabriel on the right, Raphael on the left, and Michael in the middle, above the tabernacle.
The piece could’ve come out of a Middle Ages church—until the sun hit it.
Through the rays, there was no mistaking the brilliant sparkling colors. Gold, reds, blues, pinks, greens, and every other color one could imagine, shimmered.
Like treasure.
“Wait.” Rafe moved closer. Then stopped. “What the hell?”
Vane touched the tabernacle doors. “Is that gold? Set with…diamonds?”
“The entire thing is made with Henry Avery’s treasure,” Allison whispered. “Melted down, reworked, ground down, and reset into an altarpiece—technically called a retable—by Joshua Linguard in 1704.”
“It’s incredible.” Detective Garza ran a hand over a panel representing the Annunciation set with rubies and sapphires and amethysts. “I can’t believe this has been hidden here for centuries.”
“Wow,” Cain said with his hands on his hips. “Just wow.”
The sounds of car engines came from outside, and Rafe said, “Alright, gentlemen. Recess is over.”
“What are you talking about?” Zack asked.
Rafe pointed to five large black SUVs that had parked in the road between Mamie’s Café and the scorched church. “There’s still work to be done.”
Allison, Zack, Rafe, and the rest of Zack’s men left and stood on the unburnt grass near the rectory and part-time sheriff’s office.
Horatio and another man, who introduced himself as Fortinbras, bowed their heads, their hands zip-tied together. The last man stood off to the side with his arms crossed. The very tall ginger set his gray gaze on her. He didn’t even try to hide his dislike. He had to be Kells.
The SUV doors opened and men got out.
“A few of the Prince’s men,” Zack whispered in her ear.
A few? She swallowed and her throat ached.
A moment later, Rafe was moving her and all of Zack’s men into one line, shoulder to shoulder, with Horatio and Fortinbras behind them.
Kells stood off to the side, still glaring at her.
Sixteen warriors moved gracefully to make a similar wall opposite Zack and his men. Two sides lined up across—and against—each other. With at least twenty yards separating them, Kells’s men stood on one side, the Prince’s warriors on the other.
“We’re not going to fight.” Allison pulled on Zack’s arm. “Are we?”
Seriously? She had no shoes, no weapon, and was still nauseated.
He moved her so she was slightly behind him. “I hope not.”
Nate, who stood next to her, chuckled. “We’re making a trade. Rafe is doing the honors.”
When the men were settled on both sides, Rafe walked to the center. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop watching the way he moved. It was both beautiful and terrifying.
Rafe held up one hand. “We’re here to make a trade. First, Alex Mitchell, brother of the Prince, in exchange for the warrior Fortinbras.”
Laertes opened one of the SUV doors and Alex stepped out. He wasn’t bound and he walked with purpose and determination. He wore the most annoyed scowl she’d ever seen, and she tried not to smile. Alex stopped in front of Rafe.
Behind her, Kells cut Fortinbras free and the warrior walked to the middle as well. He bowed his head to Alex as they passed, but Alex ignored him and beelined for Zack.
Once Alex positioned himself on Zack’s other side, Alex said under his breath, “You fucking owe me.”
Zack nodded.
“The second trade will be the warrior Horatio in exchange for Lady Tarragon.”
“What about Emilie?” Allison whispered.
“I don’t know.” Zack moved toward Rafe. Except Rafe held his hand out in a stop motion. Zack ran his fingers through his hair until Allison took one of his arms, lowered it, and held his hand.
All gazes focused on the same SUV Alex had just gotten out of. Laertes opened the door and Tarragon emerged. He took her arm and escorted her to Rafe.
Rafe’s gaze widened and he started flexing and unflexing his hands.
That’s when the murmuring started among Zack’s men.
“Dear God,” Nate whispered. “What happened—”
“Remiel,” Allison said in a loud enough voice for all of Zack’s men to hear. “Remiel is what happened to Tarragon’s face. And she’s Remiel’s niece.”
A few of the men coughed, and Zack started swallowing and blinking like he’d just choked on Red Hots. “I’ve seen her before. In the window at your house in Charleston. I thought she was a ghost.”
Allison rested her head against his warm arm. “A lot of people thought that.”
Luke whispered something in Nate’s ear. Then Nate sent Zack a strange look.
Meanwhile, Kells undid Horatio’s ties and the warrior with the swollen face moved forward. When he reached Tarragon, he kissed her hand. Then he walked until he was reunited with his men.
While Rafe spoke softly to Tarragon, Nate gently disengaged Allison from Zack and drew him back behind the men. “We have a problem.”
“Noooooo!” Tarragon picked up the skirt of her dirty sheer blue nightgown and ran in the other direction—right into the arms of the warrior Laertes.
Rafe hurried over to talk to Laertes and Tarragon.
Zack and Nate reappeared on either side of Allison. Both of their faces had gone hard and angular. Something was definitely wrong.
Rafe came back to the center and cleared his throat until everyone focused on him. “The Lady Tarragon has asked the Fianna for asylum and they’ve agreed to care for her. The trades have been made. May we all go in—”
“Wait!” Zack strode toward Rafe. With his long black hair undone, full arm tattoos, and bare chest covered in dirt, blood, bruises, and cuts, he was an imposing figure.
At least Allison thought so.
She glanced at the other men and wondered if they were used to stuff like this.
“Where is my sister?”
Kells left his line of men and hurried to the center. Once there, he grabbed Zack’s arm. She couldn’t hear what the men were saying, but it didn’t matter. The world around her wobbled and she felt nauseated. “Nate? Is there a bathroom in the rectory?”
“Yes.” He took her elbow. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and said, “I’ll be right back.”
Since everyone was focused on Zack, Kells, and Rafe, no one noticed her running to the rectory. She made it just in time. Once she finished throwing up and the dry heaves eased, she washed out her mouth and returned to the office. It was a basic room with some cabinets, a gun case, a desk, two chairs, a few windows, and…a cage in the corner.
“Isabel?”
Isabel sat in the corner of the cell, her legs drawn up and her head resting against the wall. Her shoulder had been bandaged and the white pressure gauze contrasted with her black hair that hung around her shoulders. “What do you want?”<
br />
Honestly, Allison wasn’t sure. “Do you need anything?”
Isabel slowly turned her head until their gazes met. “Let me out.”
Allison touched the cold metal bars. “I can’t do that.”
“Even if I give you the information about Zack’s men?”
Allison knelt. “If you have information to help Zack and his men, you have to tell them. The Fianna are here. They can offer you asylum like they offered Tarragon.”
“Tarragon is a fool. The Fianna can’t be trusted.”
“They’re more trustworthy than Remiel.”
Isabel used her good hand to grip a bar and stand. “One isn’t better than the other. Men who are beautiful, brilliant, and unloved are the greatest purveyors of the truth. That makes them the most dangerous.”
Allison stood. “I don’t understand.”
Isabel shook her head. “When you have nothing else in your life, objective truth—the reality that can be ignored but never be denied—becomes your only solace. Your only reason for living. Even if it breaks a man’s heart and turns him into a monster.”
“That’s not—”
“True?” Isabel laughed until she coughed. “It’s the only truth. Hell, Mercy Chastain knew that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mercy Chastain was a poor woman during a time when that was a dangerous proposition. A barmaid in a brothel. A woman who had an affair with the most wanted, most notorious pirate in history. A woman who had a baby out of wedlock, who took a house from a man she wasn’t married to. A woman who was accused of witchcraft not because she was guilty but because she could lead those in power to the greatest treasure ever stolen. A woman who negotiated her own release by promising a cipher leading to the treasure.”
“How did you—”
She laughed roughly. “Stuart told me.” She gripped the rail and pushed herself closer to Allison. “Mercy knew the truth about men. She played their game—no, she outplayed their game. She understood there was a chance Henry would kill her once her accusation was dropped, so she came up with a cipher that would keep men running around in circles for centuries. A cipher—and a hidden key—meant to protect her child but ended up protecting you.”