“It appears I should have defined the word truth for you before we began, Blake, as its meaning seems to elude you.”
Devon drew in a tight breath, valiantly maintaining her composure. It had been idiotic for her to hope. Cole’s response was no different than anyone else’s had been whenever she’d tried to explain her circumstances. They’d all asked her for the truth, and then refused to listen when she told it. So be it. She wouldn’t waste another ounce of precious energy trying to convince him.
“As you will not answer,” he said, “you leave me no choice but to draw my own conclusions.”
She let out an inelegant snort. “Yes, of course. Surely a man of your vast intellect has me all figured out by now.”
He leaned back on his elbows, his long legs crossed at the ankles. “Would you care to hear?”
“Not particularly.”
“I think you prefer lies to the truth, stealing to honest work,” he said, ignoring her. “You’re intelligent but greedy, and want more from life than is rightfully your due. You were given some advantages at birth, but obviously those weren’t enough for you. You’re used to getting whatever you want, regardless of the cost to anyone else.”
Devon opened her mouth, and then abruptly closed it, swallowing her anger. What did she care what the man thought of her? She’d chosen her path, and had no apologies to make to anyone. Except to her brother, Billy, maybe, but it was far too late for that.
As a familiar, aching tightness choked her throat, she pushed the thought away and swallowed hard.
“Would you like to try again?” he asked.
Devon took a deep breath. Given her current circumstances, anger was a luxury she could little afford. But that didn’t mean she had to deny herself the fun of throwing her captor’s despicable attitude back in his face.
She silently bowed her head, as though weighing her options. When she lifted her eyes to his, her features were drawn in a mask of lost, weary innocence. “I suppose you’re right,” she said softly. “I really don’t have a choice.”
“I’m glad you finally realize that.”
Smug, arrogant, bastard. Devon gazed forlornly at the water. A small sigh escaped her lips. “My mother was an actress,” she began. “A woman whose beauty and talent were renowned throughout Europe. My father, the French duke, fell in love with her the first time he saw her perform. He swore he’d give up all his estates just to be by her side. But he was married, of course, so the affair was doomed from the start…”
“Blake…” Cole said warningly.
She paused, blinking in mock surprise at his intense frown. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?” she asked, thoroughly enjoying herself now. “Pity. That’s always been one of my favorites. Oh well, perhaps you’ll enjoy this. My mother was a savage Indian princess. She met my father, the sea captain, on a voyage to Africa. Their love was destined by the heavens, but alas, a deadly pox spread among the crew—”
“That’s enough,” Cole cut her off.
“Oh?” She relaxed against the trunk of the tree, determined not to show the slightest weakness or vulnerability, knowing all too well he’d only use it against her. She arranged her features into a mask of bored condescension and fanned herself with her hand. “Is it always this hot?” she asked after a few minutes.
He studied her in silence. “No,” he answered at last, “not in August.”
Devon nodded and swatted away a fly.
“Then it’s even hotter.”
She swung her head around to look at him. Was that meant to be a joke? Surely not. There was no trace of levity on his rugged features, no glint of humor in his eyes. She doubted the man even knew how to smile.
His next words proved her right. “It’s worse at Old Capitol. Washington was built on swampland, did you know that? The prisoners there die of malaria in the summer, pneumonia in the winter.”
Devon twirled her toes in the tepid water, sending ripples echoing across the smooth surface. “I presume you’re trying to frighten me.”
“Educate you,” Cole corrected. “And, God knows why, give you another chance at earning my help.”
“I see. And exactly what would I have to do in order to earn that help?”
“Tell me where I can find Sharpe.”
Devon swung her leg over the tree limb and jumped down onto the soft grass. She picked up her shoes and stockings, but didn’t bother to put them on.
Her eyes locked on his, her gaze cool and unflinching. “I wasn’t working for Jonas Sharpe. I have no idea where to find him.” She started to walk away, then stopped and turned slowly back. “Oh. There’s one more thing you should know,” she said. “I was telling the truth; I didn’t kill that man. I’ve never killed anyone…yet.”
Cole rose his feet as well, towering above her once again. His eyes darkened, but whatever comment he was about to make was lost as the sound of someone stumbling through the bushes distracted them both. Justin Hartwood emerged, brushing away the twigs and leaves that clung to his uniform.
“I thought I ordered you and the men to stay with the horses,” Cole said.
“Yes, sir.” Justin nodded and held up his canteen. “I was just gonna get a quick drink.”
Cole’s features turned to stone. “What were your orders, Hartwood?”
Justin came to a dead stop. He glanced at Devon, then quickly averted his eyes, staring at the ground; near his feet instead. A deep red blush crept slowly up his neck. “I was ordered to stay with the horses, sir.”
Cole responded with a tongue-lashing that seemed to Devon entirely inappropriate for the magnitude of the offense. It was hot, the boy was thirsty, and he wanted a drink. So what if he disobeyed an order? She watched in mounting fury as Justin silently endured the harsh reprimand, then turned and marched back to the rest of the men, his skinny shoulders stiff with unreleased anger and wounded pride.
Devon wasted no time in voicing her contempt for the way Cole had handled the boy. “I hope you enjoyed that,” she said in disgust. “You’ve finally succeeded in making him hate you.”
To her appalled disbelief, Cole nodded. He stared after Justin, his profile harsh and unyielding. “I hope so,” he said. “I hope Hartwood hates me enough to never risk disobeying another order in his life. I hope he lives through this damned war, and then long enough to tell his grandchildren what a mean, ugly bastard I was.”
That was the last thing in the world Devon expected to hear. It partly explained why her captor was so harsh with Justin, but it didn’t explain enough. She watched as he absently traced the scar that ran the length of his cheek, then, with a flash of intuition, made a connection. “Who’s Gideon?” she asked.
He jerked his head toward her, his eyes lit with anger and remorse.
“Last night,” she said, forging ahead with more courage than common sense, “you had a nightmare and you called out a name. Who’s Gid—”
“We’ve wasted enough time here,” Cole said, cutting her off. “It’s late, and I’m wasted enough time listening to your lies.”
Devon stiffened in anger but didn’t say a word. There was no reason to get upset, she told herself. So far, everything was working just the way she wanted. Cole McRae had been as easy to fool as the rest of her captors had been. In one critical area he’d believed her farce, and that was enough. By this time tomorrow, if not sooner, she’d have made her escape.
Cole rode behind his prisoner, watching her as she continued to bob up and down in the saddle. The woman was probably the worst rider he’d ever seen, and because of that, they were losing time, moving at only half the pace he’d planned. He should be furious, but he wasn’t. The slower pace gave him time to think, time to sort out the inconsistencies that had been bothering him for days.
Nothing about Devon Blake was as it should be. She was stubborn, willful, a consummate actress, and a talented thief. Yet she was both infuriating and strangely compelling. She undermined his authority, disobeyed his orders, and ridiculed his comm
ands. She worked for Jonas Sharpe, and deserved his loathing just on that basis alone. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
He watched her slim back, remembering what she’d looked like only an hour earlier with her skirts bunched up around her knees and her toes dangling in the stream beneath her. She’d been a picture of fetching innocence, and he’d sensed instinctively that the pose hadn’t been contrived. For if it had been, wouldn’t she have jumped on his offer to help her, rather than telling him in so many words to go to hell?
Instead she’d laughed at him. She’d sat there on the branch of that thick oak, her long, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and laughed at him. Mocked him with her absurd tales and unending lies. Cole had sensed clearly that it wasn’t personal. She simply didn’t trust him. He doubted she trusted anybody, and found himself wondering what had happened in her short life to make her so bitter, so cynical.
And so afraid.
He’d seen that too, despite how desperately she’d tried to hide it from him. The woman could control her expressions, moderate her tone of voice, and maintain a posture of haughty disdain no matter how difficult the circumstances. But she hadn’t yet learned to school the emotions that flashed through her eyes.
Cole was profoundly grateful for that. He found himself watching her eyes, studying them the way a sailor studies the sky, looking for storms. He could see them clearly in his mind, even though her back was to him. Soft shimmering green, framed by long, thick, sooty lashes. Amazing eyes. Devon Blake had eyes that would make even a plain girl pretty. On her they were breathtaking.
He tightened his jaw. Christ, he was beginning to sound as smitten as Hartwood. The woman was no more than a nuisance, and a dangerous one at that. Obviously he’d been too soft on her. It was his duty to make her tell him where he could find Sharpe, and if he needed to handle her more roughly in order to get that information, he would. It was a shame it had to be that way, but he didn’t care. He owed at least that much to the memory of his men.
That resolved, he turned his attention back to the trail. The path they followed was poorly groomed, little more than a shallow rut that meandered slowly northward. They traveled for miles beneath the cover of dense trees and overgrown shrubs. Eventually the trees began to thin and bright sunlight flooded the ground just ahead, indicating a clearing of some sort. Cole let out a low whistle, signaling his men to a stop. He spurred his mount forward, arriving at the edge of the clearing just as a piercing screech of metal reached his ears.
A train. The path ahead of them opened up to a low, empty field. A hundred yards ahead, a train wheezed to a stop. Cole swore silently as Rebel soldiers poured out of the forward coach, swarming over the open field like a plague of locusts. Straining his eyes, he saw bright glints of metal where the rails had been twisted off the track, most likely the work of roving Union scouts. Until the damage was repaired, the train was going nowhere. And neither were they.
Cursing his luck, he dismounted, motioning for his men to do the same. He reached for Devon. “Not one word,” he growled as he pulled her from her mount.
She simply glared at him in response, then shifted her eyes to look beyond him, her gaze resting on the train and the field of fifty or so well-equipped Rebs. When she turned back to Cole, a look of mocking challenge danced in her eyes.
He stepped closer. “Do one thing to endanger my men and I swear you’ll be dead before we will.”
The amusement he’d seen drained from her delicate features. For an instant, burning hatred flashed in her soft green eyes, then her countenance resumed its normal expression of cool disdain. “I understand,” she answered.
Cole’s eyes narrowed. That had been altogether too easy. His prisoner wasn’t a woman easily intimidated by threats, even if the threats were against her very life. “I mean it.”
“No doubt you do.”
He studied her a second longer, then abruptly released her. She turned away from him, moving with the stiff, awkward gait of one entirely unused to spending days in the saddle. She sat a few feet away from the rest of the men, her back to both Cole and the train. He frowned. Devon Blake was not one to be submissive. She had to be planning something.
After a few minutes of watching her, however, he changed his mind, vaguely surprised that she was finally heeding his threats. Devon sat silently by herself, plucking absently at the thick grass surrounding her. When she became bored with that, she dragged her fingers through her hair and began arranging it in a loose braid. Cole surveyed the rest of the scene. The horses were slackly tethered and remained saddled, ready to go. His men were alert, their guns cocked and ready as they watched the Rebs.
Everything seemed all right, but it didn’t feel that way. Cole glanced back at Devon. Apparently she’d finished her meager attempts at grooming, for now she was curled up in the grass, as though ready for a nap. He let her be, keeping a watchful eye on both her and the Rebs as they repaired the damage to the tracks.
It wasn’t until the shrill whistle blew, signaling completion of the work, that he was able to relax. The enemy soldiers boarded; steam poured from the stacks as the engines were stoked with coal and fired up. The train began to slowly rumble forward. His captive stood and stretched, looking sleepy-eyed and thoroughly mussed from her nap. Cole turned from her to address his men.
That was all the time Devon needed. Before he could guess what she was about, his captive flew past him and toward the horses, leaping into the saddle with an ease that left him temporarily stunned. He grabbed for the reins, but Devon was there first, jerking them free as she drove her heels into the animal’s flanks and spurred her mount forward. She burst through the thick underbrush, racing at breakneck speed after the train.
Cole let loose a furious oath as he grabbed his horse, leaped into the saddle, and tore out after her. Devon had about a twenty-yard head start and was making the most of it. She moved at a reckless gallop, leaning over her mount’s neck, pushing the animal even faster. The wind whipped through her hair, sending it billowing down her back like a dark cloud.
Cole grit his teeth. The woman could ride. Dammit to hell, she’d been able to ride all along.
Even so, he was better—not by much, he admitted grimly, but enough. He was able to close the gap between them, thundering up behind her as she rode level beside a freight car. It was a moot point now in any case. The train was moving at full speed, the steel wheels grinding against the rails, chewing up and spitting out anything that fell between them. Any attempt to jump aboard now would be pure suicide. He knew it, and surely she did too. Cole strained forward to pull her away from the speeding train.
He realized his mistake too late. He couldn’t reach her, nor could he stop her. Instead he’d moved in just close enough to panic her. Had he backed off, left a little more space between them, she would have seen the danger and moved away from the train on her own accord. But he’d left her no choice.
She stood in her stirrups and reached for the boxcar. Cole’s heart slammed against his chest. “No!” he roared.
He was too late.
Devon jumped.
CHAPTER 6
Cole watched in horror as Devon threw herself out of her saddle, her small body poised in midair above the grinding steel wheels for what seemed an eternity before she slammed against the heavy freight door. She grabbed for the iron beam that bolted the door, but was unable to grasp it securely. Her right hand slipped away, leaving only her left holding the beam, and her body dangling precariously above the churning tracks.
Cole didn’t hesitate. He leapt from his saddle, hurling himself toward the speeding train. He crashed against the boxcar and grabbed hold of a thin metal ladder that was bolted to the side. Finding the deep grooves that ran the length of the car, he dug his boots in, gaining a foothold as he stretched his body forward and reached for Devon. The wind whipped over him, roaring in his ears as he shouted her name.
She couldn’t hear him, or couldn’t t
urn if she did. He watched as she strained upward, trying to get a grip on the thick metal beam. It didn’t work. Her right hand slipped away once again, and this time her left slipped with it. She gave a cry of stark terror as her body plummeted.
Cole lunged for her, catching her as she fell. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him as Devon threw her arms around his neck. Their bodies locked together, hugging the freight door as the ground sped away beneath them. Their moment’s relief at having narrowly escaped with their lives dissolved instantly as the thin ladder to which Cole clung suddenly bent under their weight, jarring them both.
“Reach for the door,” he shouted in her ear. His own hands were occupied holding both her and the ladder, and he wasn’t about to let go of either one.
She shook her head in mindless terror, her small hands digging into his shoulders. “No, I can’t!” she cried.
“It’s all right, I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall.”
“No!”
The ladder cracked again. A bolt sprang free from above their heads, releasing the upper portion of the ladder and sending them hovering out over the tracks before they crashed back against the boxcar.
“Dammit, Blake, do it! Open that door!”
This time Devon obeyed. She stretched away from Cole, her hands shaking as she reached for the heavy metal bar. Cole held his breath. If the door was locked…
It wasn’t. Devon reached it and pulled back, slowly sliding it open. Cole felt another bolt give way, and didn’t wait for her to finish. They had one chance, and one chance only. He hung on to the ladder as he used his feet to shove away from the boxcar, propelling them in a wide arc over the churning tracks, then back toward the train. As they hurled toward the boxcar, Cole released the ladder, praying the momentum of the wide, swinging arc would send them through the open door, rather than crashing against the side of the car.
They weren’t going to make it. Cole realized that in a split second of awareness as they soared back toward the train. The opening wasn’t wide enough, he hadn’t pushed hard enough. Just as he braced himself for the inevitable, the train lunged uphill, and gravity completed what Devon had begun. The freight door slid wide open as they flew past and into the dark interior of the car.
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