by Patti Berg
The knock came again, and then Kate heard the door open.
Kate grabbed a pair of cutoffs from the back of a chair and struggled into them, and was pulling a T-shirt over her head when Morgan jerked up in bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nikki’s downstairs.”
“Good. We can tell her the truth, and she can begin looking for Low—even though I’ll find him first.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Kate said in a rush. “Give me a chance to tell her everything. If she sees you she’ll overreact—she’ll probably arrest you and ask questions later.”
She thought he was going to argue with her. Instead, he smiled. “Very well, madam. You talk to Nikki, and I’ll check on Casey.”
“Thank you.”
Kate blew him a kiss as she dashed out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
Nikki stood in the center of the living room. In her hands she was holding the wallet and ring, and she looked at Kate as if they were strangers.
“Is your pirate here?” Nikki asked.
“No. I told you he left yesterday.”
“I don’t believe you. Not anymore.”
Nikki brushed past Kate, her hand moving to her gun as she put a foot on the first stair.
“Don’t go up there. Please,” Kate called out, but Nikki ignored her.
Upstairs a door slammed, and Morgan’s haunting cry echoed against the walls and through Kate’s nerves. “Casey!”
Glass shattered.
Something hit the floor.
Kate ran, but Nikki beat her to the top of the stairs.
Morgan was lying on the floor in the doorway to Casey’s room.
Nikki drew her gun and motioned for Kate to stay back, but all Kate could think of was Casey, and Morgan. She slammed against Nikki’s shoulder in her rush to the room, throwing Nikki off balance.
The gun fell to the floor, and Kate saw a booted foot kick it away as Nikki bent to retrieve her weapon.
A hand clamped over Kate’s mouth, and she heard the familiar voice.
“Well, well, well. We meet again.”
Thomas Low’s arm tightened around her waist, and the fingers that covered her mouth worked their way down to her breasts.
“Let her go,” Nikki said, sounding calm, in control.
“That is not possible. After all, she is what I came here for.”
Kate fought the fear rising inside her. “I was going to tell you about him,” Kate stammered. “He’s the one you’ve been looking for, not Morgan.”
“You?” Nikki asked. “You’re the murderer?”
“Aye, that I am,” he said proudly, no hint of remorse in his voice. “Murder is something I do quite well.”
“What have you done with my daughter? Please. Tell me,” Kate cried, struggling to look toward the empty room, the unmade bed, and the man she loved lying lifeless on the floor.
“She is alive. Have no fear. As for your friend—I imagine he’s dead.”
Kate tried to control her anguish, to free herself of his hold, but she wasn’t successful at either. Tears filled her eyes, blurring everything around her, even Nikki.
But she saw her sister-in-law move in spite of the sword held against her, saw her go for the gun, saw Thomas Low lunge, thrusting the blade into Nikki’s stomach.
Kate screamed.
She saw the pain in Nikki’s face, saw the dark red stain forming on her shirt as she crumpled to the floor.
Low pulled her away. “Do not struggle, Kate. Be good, and you will see your daughter again.”
He dragged her through the house and kitchen, his hand returning to her mouth to keep her from I screaming. His strength was too powerful to resist, and the knowledge that he had Casey made her willing to go anywhere he asked. The garage door was already open, and he shoved her through the passenger door of the Chevy. He climbed in behind her, coaxing her toward the driver’s seat with the tip of his blade.
“Head toward the ship,” he told her.
“I need my keys.”
He held them toward her. “You should not keep these where just anyone can find them, Kate. You made it quite easy for me to get into your house, and now you’re making it easy to drive away. Go.”
Her hands were shaking so hard she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to start the car, but the engine turned over immediately and she pulled out of the garage, down the driveway, and headed toward the bridge.
Her heart ached for Morgan, for Nikki. They could be dead or dying, but she could do nothing to help. Right now, she had to think about Casey, and it was her fear that kept her going.
“Where’s my daughter?”
“On the ship. If you do as you are told, I might let you see her again.”
“What are you going to do to us?”
“I have not decided.” The edge of the sword wedged at the base of her neck. “You have seen the scars on Black Heart’s face and back. Those, as you no doubt have heard, are the results of my handiwork.” He laughed. “Do you think the man you slept with last night will find you as pretty if you are scarred, like he is?”
Morgan thought his head had been split in two, but still he managed to push himself from the floor. There was blood on the carpeting. It coursed over his forehead and into his eye. He was dizzy, and then he stumbled over something behind him.
The blond-headed woman he’d seen on the ship lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Nikki—Kate’s sister-in-law. He knelt beside her, turning her gently. He saw the agony in her face as her eyes opened.
“Gordon Lancaster,” she whispered, then gasped for breath. “He has Kate…and Casey. You have to help them.”
“Aye. But I must help you first.”
“No. Please.”
He didn’t listen. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to Casey’s bed, tugged the sheet away from the mattress and ripped away a strip. He folded it into a compress and placed it over I the gash he knew full well had come from the tip of Thomas Low’s blade.
“Hold this against you.”
He lifted her hand and put it on top of the now blood-stained sheet.
“Call nine-one-one,” she told him, looking toward the small pink telephone sitting on the table next to Casey’s bed. He had never used the telephone before, did not know what “nine-one-one” even meant, but he did as Nikki’d said.
He listened to the voice at the other end, and he asked for help, answering every question he possibly could until he finally shouted, “I don’t have time to answer any more of your bloody questions. A woman needs help.”
He slammed the phone down, and smiled weakly at the woman looking up at him with a slight grin on her face and tears dripping out of the corners of her eyes.
“Hurry. Please,”
A moment later, Morgan was downstairs, recovering his weapons from the top of the cabinet where he’d left them but a few days before. He strapped the leather belt about his waist and shoved his cutlass, dagger, and pistol into their? appointed places.
Thomas Low would surely die this day. He ran outside into the driving rain. Thunder bellowed.
Lightning crackled and snapped. And suddenly he was three hundred years in the past, living the horror all over again.
Chapter 22
He left a corsair’s name to other times,
Link’d with one virtue and a thousand crimes.
LORD BYRON
THE CORSAIR, CANTO III
Nikki’s car sat at the end of the walk. Morgan hadn’t driven without Kate’s assistance, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He ran to the car and climbed behind the wheel, confused by the great number of instruments that stared at him—far more than were in Kate’s vehicle.
But the keys were where he expected, and he turned them just as he’d watched Kate do. He released the brake, pulled the lever to drive, and pressed on the right pedal.
The car shot forward, and he eased his foot away. Too slow. Too slow. He touched it again, gradually building up speed, until he was moving d
own familiar streets.
The wind howled through the doors. It beat against the car. Palm fronds blew across the street, and paper and other trash slashed at the windows. Still he continued to forge ahead.
The city was coming to life, but few people challenged the storm. Darkness prevailed, leaving no room for the early morning light. Only an occasional vehicle passed.
The car roared right along with the storm. He headed over the bridge, swerving almost uncontrollably with each blast of wind. Ahead of him he saw the lighthouse, and the masts of Satan’s Revenge.
Kate’s car was parked not far from the ship, and he stopped next to it. The doors were open, and there was no one inside, but he gave thanks that his ship was still in the harbor, and he prayed that Kate and Casey were safe.
Satan’s Revenge rode the roiling waters like a harpooned whale, and he ran toward her as she was breaking free of her moorings, and straining away from the dock. The gangplank was gone. He couldn’t make it to the ladder stretching up her hull, so he ran along side her, vaulted across a stretch of sand and sea, and caught one of the mooring ropes as it snapped from the ground. He swung across the foaming water and slammed against the hull.
A wave hit him, threatening to tear loose his hold, but he’d not be stopped.
He climbed, hand over hand, dragging himself to the deck of the ship. He gripped the railing and peered over the side, hoping to see Kate and Casey, but he saw nothing.
He slid over the side and dashed across the rain-slick deck, hiding behind a stack of crates.
Through the pounding rain he heard a well-remembered voice.
“That sweet little daughter of yours will be mine tonight, if you do not do as you are told.”
Bile rose in Morgan’s throat as he remembered what had happened to Melody and his parents. He refused to think of something similar happening to Kate and Casey.
He peered over the wooden crates. Kate stood at the helm, her hands holding fast to the wheel. Rain pelted her. Wind swept her hair into the swirling gale. But she aimed her fiery green eyes directly at Low.
“I told you,” she screamed, her voice full of tears and hate. “I don’t know the first thing about sailing a ship this big.”
“You will before the day is out. It is impossible for me to sail it on my own. That means, my dear, that you must be the crew.”
In his hand, Low carried the cat-o-nine-tails, one of his favorite weapons, and he cracked it against his hand as he paced the deck in front of Kate.
“Where’s my daughter?”
“Do not concern yourself with that.”
“You told me she’s on the ship?”
Low inclined his head, his short dark hair streaming with rain over his brow. He smiled, a look Morgan remembered too well. “She waits for me below.”
Kate lunged toward Low, but came to an abrupt stop. Morgan saw the length of rope binding her wrists to the wheel. He had brought this pain upon her. God forbid, he had to save her.
“It is useless to struggle, Kate,” Low said. “You are powerless against me.”
“Go to hell!” she screamed. Her lips quivered in anger and fright. But Morgan knew damn good and well it wasn’t for herself she feared. It was for her child.
He crouched low, stealing across the deck, and slipped down the hatch leading to his cabin.
It was dark inside, but the whimpering of a child led him toward the bed.
“Casey?” he whispered.
He heard naught but a soft, tear-filled cry.
When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he found Casey curled up on the center of the mattress, her hands and feet bound, a gag tied about her mouth.
He lifted her into his arms, cuddling her close as he removed the rag.
“Shhh,” he cooed, softly pressing his lips to her forehead. “Tis all right, Casey.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.” Her hands and ankles had been bound with rope that was cutting into her skin. Carefully, hoping to cause her little pain, he loosened a knot around her wrists, and pulled her close when she cried.
He hummed an old lullaby as he untied the other knots, then rocked her gently, hoping to ease some of her fear. “I will not let him hurt you,” Morgan whispered. “Do you trust me, Casey?”
She nodded.
“Then you must do whatever I tell you. You might be frightened, but I promise no harm will come to you.”
“Where’s my mommy?”
“She’s on the deck. We have to save her, too. But you have to be quiet. No matter how scared you are, you can’t scream, or cry, or run from my side—unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”
Again she nodded.
Morgan felt her little hands weave around his neck as he carried her from the cabin. He drew his cutlass as they made their way to the deck.
Satan’s Revenge had reached open water. She pitched and tossed, and Morgan fought to keep his balance.
Stealing across the deck, he hid behind the crates and held a silencing finger to his lips when he set Casey on the wooden planking.
“Are you frightened?” he asked, pushing wet ringlets from her face.
“Yes,” she said, her lips quivering as she spoke.
“So am I.” He smiled as he drew his dagger and handed it to Casey, wrapping her little fingers tightly around the hilt.
“Do not play with this, Casey. ’Tis not a toy.”
“I know.” She lightly touched the remnants of the scab at his neck.
“Twas not your fault, but I don’t want you accidentally hurting anyone again. What I want you to do is hold the blade down to your side.” He drew her fist to her hip, then looked deeply into her eyes.
“I’m going to get the bad man’s attention, and draw him away from your mother, hopefully to the far end of the ship. When I call your name, and yell, ‘Now,’ I want you to walk very slowly, very carefully, toward your mother. Don’t run. Promise me?”
She nodded.
“When you get to your mother, give her the dagger. Then tell her to stay with you at the wheel. Do you understand?”
Casey’s lower lip jutted out as she nodded.
“Are you going to leave us again?” she asked, tears mixing with the rain beating against her face.
“Not if I can help it. I’d rather stay here and marry your mother.”
“And be my daddy?”
“Aye, Casey. There is nothing I want more.”
He hugged her, kissing the top of her head. And then he whispered in her ear, “I love you.”
Leaving Casey there was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. But he had no choice.
He dashed toward the mast where canvas flapped, and climbed a good ten feet from the deck. Lightning flashed through the early morning sky, and all on board was illuminated.
Kate saw him first, and a smile shone on her beautiful face. God, he’d never seen anyone or anything so radiant.
And then he turned his attention to his enemy.
“Thomas Low,” he shouted. “Tis a word I would have with you.”
Low spun around, hate oozing from every pore in his body.
“I was hoping you’d come,” Low declared, sauntering toward Kate. He drew his cutlass and aimed it at her neck. “Tis a fair wench you’ve bedded. Of course, she will not be nearly so comely with her head separated from her body.”
“Tis true,” Morgan laughed, attempting to look and sound unconcerned, when deep inside his stomach knotted. But he knew too well how Low worked. He would toy with Morgan before bringing any harm to Kate. He liked the thrill of watching his victims squirm, and Morgan was just as much a victim now as Kate and Casey.
That knowledge was the only thing that kept Morgan sane.
“I have something for you, Low. Something you may find more appealing than taking the woman’s life.”
“And what is that?”
“Carving another scar on my face. I have an unblemished cheek ripe for the taking.”
Low’
s pearly white smile shone in the next flash of lightning. He slapped the cat against his side as he strolled away from Kate.
Morgan grinned at Low, realizing that his hastily devised plan was working. “I would even bare my back for you should you care to have another go at ripping the flesh from my body.”
“You would do all that for a woman?”
“Aye. All that and more.”
“You are a fool.”
“Nay.”
Morgan jumped down from the mast and spread his feet wide on the deck to steady himself on the rocking ship. He resheathed his cutlass and held his arms out to his sides.
“I am yours, Low.”
“What assurances do I have that you will not run?”
“I may be a pirate, but first and foremost, I am a gentleman. Have I ever lied to you?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Then come and get me.”
Low advanced slowly, his cutlass zigzagging methodically in front of him.
Closer and closer he came, the wind and rain pummeling him.
Morgan remained steadfast.
Water dripped from Low’s cutlass, from his hand, from the tip of his beard as he neared.
Still, Morgan held his ground, staring at the man he hated.
Low raised the tip of his blade toward Morgan’s left eye, then lunged, but Morgan dodged the deadly thrust, drawing his cutlass from its scabbard. Taking advantage of Low’s confusion, he danced behind him, then coaxed the bastard further away from Kate with swift swings of his blade.
Low sneered. “You lied to me.”
“Perhaps I am not the gentleman I believed myself to be.”
Morgan laughed as he jabbed again, dancing right and left to avoid Low’s crazed and wild swings.
Thunder crashed. Lightning streaked, hitting a coil of chain lying on the deck. Sparks flew, and Morgan thrust again and again until he had Low far from Kate.
And then he shouted. “Casey! Now!”
Low’s eyes widened as he looked past Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan didn’t dare look, he only prayed that Casey would remember his words. Walk very slowly. Give the dagger to your mother. Stay by the wheel.