by Jo Goodman
After shutting the door, Nina returned to the study. She poured herself a drink and sat down, staring at the floor where she had seduced Hollis Banks. How surprised John would have been, she thought, if he had come upon them, even more surprised to discover she had initiated the encounter. She had never done that with her husband. It would have made him suspicious. He would have wondered what she wanted. Hollis didn't even ask.
Nina sipped her drink. Her hands were steady, her features placid; but a fire burned at the center of her belly, and alcohol fanned the flames.
It was difficult to accept that John was alive. She had planned for so long, accounted for every possibility—except that he would live. The plan had blossomed when she met Hollis Banks, but the seeds had been sown when the whore Moira Dennehy had become her husband's mistress.
It was a succession of insults that helped the plan take root. Moira was an Irish Catholic servant, so far beneath Nina's notice that it still took her breath away to realize she had been usurped by a peasant. John then made his mistress the mother to five daughters while Nina had never conceived even once. From the first he had made no attempt to be secretive about his affair. And still, Nina thought, she could have forgiven him all of that, could have quelled the rage that roiled her stomach now and ate at her insides like a cancer, if it hadn't been for the final insult.
What she could not forgive, would never forget, was that while he had given her a name, unlimited wealth, and a social position that was enviable even among the city's elite, John MacKenzie Worth had given Moira Dennehy his heart.
Nina finished her drink and set the glass aside. She waited until the liquor settled and the burning sensation in the pit of her stomach passed. The rage that was like a living thing inside her never flickered in her eyes.
She rang for a maid to draw her a bath. She needed to wash Hollis's scent off her skin. That would not have surprised her husband. She had always suffered his touch, much the way she suffered Hollis's. John had seen through her almost immediately and stopped coming to her bed after only a month of marriage. Hollis Banks, her lover of several years, still didn't know what hit him.
Nina rose slowly from the sofa. There was no question of stopping now as Hollis proposed. There was only the question of how to go on.
* * *
Rennie sat beside Jarret on the narrow bench seat of the railway car. Across the aisle from them was Jay Mac. He was leaning against the side of the car, his cheek pressed flat to the window and his arms folded in front of him. His spectacles had slipped almost to the end of his nose. His eyes were closed. He had been sleeping for the better part of thirty minutes, oblivious to the rough jostling of the moving car.
Rennie envied her father's ability to sleep. She felt as if she were a single exposed nerve and had felt that way for the length of the journey. Jarret's presence didn't help. Against her wishes Jay Mac had offered Jarret a position as a bodyguard, and again against her wishes, Jarret had accepted. Jay Mac may have felt protected in Jarret's company, but Rennie felt vulnerable.
Her head lolled to one side as her eyes fluttered closed. When her cheek brushed Jarret's shoulder Rennie sat up abruptly. "I'm sorry," she said stiffly.
"You can lean against me, Rennie." He spoke quietly so that his voice wouldn't carry in the crowded passenger car. "I won't think less of you for needing a little sleep. You've hardly closed your eyes since Denver."
She leaned away from Jarret. Her head wobbled against the window. Outside it was dark. The countryside was cloaked in the opaque shadows of night, ink blue and black colored the sky and silhouetted the Pennsylvania hillsides. Occasionally pale rectangles of light would illuminate the windows of distant farmhouses.
"You're a stubborn woman," Jarret said. He turned slightly toward her and placed one arm along the back of the bench seat behind her shoulders. "What are you proving by forcing yourself to stay awake?"
"I'm not trying to prove anything. I can't sleep." She could feel the heat of his arm behind her. The simple gesture of support was too much and not enough. "We're slipping into New York like criminals ourselves. Aren't you the least concerned about what's going to happen?"
"Your father's paying me to worry, Rennie. Not you. We've done what we can to keep your father's arrival a secret. There's certainly not going to be a welcoming party of family at the platform to greet him."
"I wish Mama knew he was coming home," she said wistfully. She pointed to Jay Mac. "He looks older, don't you think? These last days have been hard on him."
Jarret's eyes slipped from Rennie's careworn profile to her father's. There were shadows beneath Jay Mac's closed eyes, and the broad arc of his cheekbones was more pronounced. The side-whiskers were more gray than ash, and even in sleep there were tiny white lines of strain at the corners of his mouth. Jarret turned back to Rennie. "They've been hard on you, too," he said.
"If they have been, then you know the reason," she said. "I didn't want you to accept my father's offer."
Jarret was not entirely successful at keeping the bitterness out of his tone. "You would rather have had Ethan accompany you and Jay Mac from Denver."
"That's what I said then and what I still wish had happened."
"Because you think I can't protect you."
Rennie's eyes dropped to where Jarret was flexing the fingers of his right hand. "I never said that," she said softly.
Jarret removed the arm that was cradling her shoulders and faced forward. He propped his long legs on the bench across from him. "You didn't have to, Rennie. There are some things you don't have to say at all."
She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but her own pride kept her silent. Let him think he was the cripple instead of her. He didn't have to know how the arm at her back had tortured her, how his presence was a constant, painful reminder of what they had shared and what he no longer wanted from her. She had been rejected, not the other way around, and Jay Mac's offer to Jarret and Jarret's acceptance had been further proof that her feelings were of little importance. To Rennie's way of thinking, she had been betrayed by both the men she loved.
Perhaps if they had had the opportunity to speak of Jay Mac's offer privately, Rennie thought, she might have been able to convince Jarret to stay behind. She may have risked telling him that it would simply hurt too much to have him as a companion and not a lover. Instead, when Jay Mac and Jarret returned to Mrs. Shepard's boardinghouse, Rennie was presented with a fait accompli. There was nothing she could say to change the mind of either man.
When they reached Denver she had tried again. Ethan had been willing to travel east with them, Michael had been willing to let him go, but Jay Mac had thwarted her, pointing out Ethan's responsibilities to his wife and daughter. Did Rennie want it on her conscience, he asked, if anything happened to Ethan?
How was she supposed to have answered that? she wondered. That she would have preferred Ethan to be hurt rather than Jarret? That she would have preferred her own father's life to be at risk rather than Jarret's? Solomon hadn't been called on to make those judgments, and Rennie didn't try to. She didn't want anything to happen to anyone. She wanted it to be over.
Jay Mac, though, wanted Jarret Sullivan, and as usual, he got what he wanted. It was left to Rennie to stoically endure the pain of her strained partnership with Jarret.
Looking through the sweep of his lowered lashes, Jay Mac studied first the grieving eyes of his daughter, then the impassive features of the man at her side. Love had made them so very foolish, he thought. He wished he were with Moira now. She would know what to do.
* * *
Northeast Rail's No. 448 arrived at the New York station minutes ahead of schedule. The platform was a hub of activity even at four in the morning. Well-wishers had come to see off friends and family; others had arrived to greet the incoming hoard. Porters were busy collecting and distributing baggage, and there were lines at both the ticket and telegraph windows. Station officers patrolled the platform, greeting passengers with a jaunty salut
e and swinging their nightsticks to match the rhythm of their stride.
Rennie, Jarret, and Jay Mac waited on the platform for their bags and trunks. Rennie spoke quietly to her father while Jarret stood off to one side, his eyes scanning the length and breadth of the station. He was not looking for anything in particular, merely looking. It was force of habit more than expectation that kept him studying the scene, but it was experience more than luck that kept his gaze returning to one man.
He was slightly built. His clothes were expensive but ill fitting. The seams of his stylish jacket drooped over the set of his shoulders, and his trousers were cuffed in opposition to the current fashion, as if they'd been too long. Borrowed? Jarret wondered. Stolen?
Large side-whiskers and a full black beard compensated for a narrow face. A mustache dropped over the man's upper lip. A bowler was tipped forward, cutting across the man's brow.
He sat alone, moving once when he was joined on the bench by a fellow traveler and carrying his carefully folded newspaper with him. He obviously relished his isolation—which made Jarret wonder why he was spending his time in the train station. He appeared uninterested in the comings and goings of the passengers, so it was unlikely that he was waiting for someone. He showed no interest in the departure board, which posted delays at regular intervals. It was doubtful the man himself was going anywhere. He made no attempt to read the bulky newspaper he kept folded on his lap. Occasionally he took an interest in his polished shoes, brushing the toe free of an imagined bit of dust or soot, but mostly he stared straight ahead, his head tilted to one side, the perfect picture of a solitary man lost in solitary thought.
And Jarret knew there was something wrong.
"Let's go," he said, stepping closer to Rennie and Jay Mac.
Rennie protested. "Our bags... my trunks."
Jarret placed his hand at the small of Rennie's back. "Now," he said tightly. "We'll get the baggage later. Jay Mac, you stay between me and the train."
Acknowledging there was some urgency, Rennie did not voice another protest. She kept pace with the long-legged strides of her father and Jarret as they headed for the exit.
Jarret glanced behind him. The man on the bench was still there. He was unfolding his newspaper. "Keep walking," Jarret said quietly. "Don't look back." He gave father and daughter a small push forward before he stopped himself and spun on his toes, drawing his gun in the same motion.
Jarret's quarry was no longer on the bench, but standing behind it. The newspaper lay on the floor. The stranger held a gun in both hands. They fired simultaneously. Jarret's shot went a fraction of an inch wide of the mark, catching the assailant in the drooping jacket sleeve instead of the arm. The other bullet also went wide, this time by more than twelve inches. Instead of striking Jay Mac it felled Rennie.
Above the screams of the passengers, above the melee of scrambling travelers, Jarret heard her cry, heard Jay Mac's anguished shout. He stopped his pursuit of the fleeing gunman and ran back to Rennie and her father. Jay Mac was on his knees beside Rennie, gently turning her over. Jarret helped him open her coat. There was a blossom of blood on her left shoulder. Behind them a crowd began to gather.
Jarret raised Rennie's head on his lap and pressed a handkerchief to her wound. His eyes darted through the faces in the crowd. "Did anyone chase the gunman?" he demanded.
"One of the station guards went running in the other direction," someone said. "Maybe he went after him."
Jarret had to be satisfied with that. Rennie stirred against him. He touched the back of his hand to her head as a measure of color returned to her face. "Rennie?"
She opened her eyes and saw the drawn and ashen faces of the two men immediately above her. Beyond them a sea of unfamiliar faces crowded her vision. For a moment it was difficult to catch her breath. She winced at the pressure Jarret was applying to her shoulder. "I think I had the wind knocked out of me," she whispered. "Jay Mac pushed me too hard. I fell."
Jarret looked at Rennie's father. Jay Mac shook his head. "I didn't touch her," he said.
"You're hurting me, Jarret," she said. "Your hand's hurting me."
Jarret knew the pressure of his hand was firm but not enough to give her pain. What she felt, the only thing she felt, was from the gunshot wound. "It will have to hurt a little while," he told her. "We'll get Dr. Turner to look at it, though, as soon as we get you home." To Jay Mac he added, "It's not a mortal wound. She's going to be fine."
"Of course I'm going to be fine," Rennie said with some asperity. "Tenacious, remember?" She tried to sit up and promptly collapsed.
Jarret leaned over her and touched his lips to her forehead. "God, but I love you."
There were tears in Jay Mac's eyes as he helped Jarret lift his daughter. He acted quickly, getting assistance, and then dispersing stragglers in the crowd. His natural authority commanded attention and obedience, and in short order he had their luggage collected and a hansom cab waiting for them in the street. Jarret gave a short, impatient statement to the station police and management before he climbed into the cab. The sudden return of John MacKenzie Worth created a stir that nearly overshadowed the shooting. Onlookers gathered again as word spread of the identities of the travelers. Disgusted with the press of the curious, Jarret slammed the door of the cab.
"It will be in the morning papers," Jarret said to Jay Mac. "All of it. The shooting, your return. There's no possibility of keeping it a secret now."
Jay Mac cradled Rennie's head in his lap. He stroked her hair, keeping her steady as the cab rolled forward. "Apparently it never was a secret. What happened back there? Who shot my daughter?"
"I don't know." Gaslight from the street filtered into the cab. Jarret stared at Rennie's pale face. It was difficult for him to think of anything save the fact that he hadn't been able to protect her. "Someone sitting on one of the benches caught my eye. I wasn't certain we were meant any harm at all. I thought he was a pickpocket or a thief making plans for a robbery. It only made sense to leave before he saw us as easy targets." Jarret leaned forward and touched Rennie's cheek with the back of his index finger. "When I looked back he was unfolding the paper in his lap. I saw the gun. I couldn't get you out of there fast enough."
"You probably saved our lives."
Jay Mac's words meant little to Jarret, not when he knew he should have been able to do more. "I pulled my shot at the last moment," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have done that. The assailant got away because I couldn't make myself go for the heart."
Jay Mac frowned. "What do mean? You could have killed the gunman and you chose not to?"
"Something like that," Jarret said. His smile was rife with self-mockery. "I told myself that after Dee Kelly I would remember that women can be as treacherous as any man. In the blink of an eye I forgot that tonight."
Jay Mac's frown merely deepened. "Are you talking about Rennie?"
Jarret shook his head. He leaned back in his seat. "No, sir. I'm talking about the shooter. It wasn't a man who fired that gun. It was a woman."
Chapter 14
Everyone agreed Rennie was a horrible patient. Of the family, Maggie could tolerate her the longest, Mary Francis the least. No one, not even Dr. Turner, quite understood how Jarret could spend so much time in her miserable company. In the week since the shooting she had snapped at everyone a half-dozen times.
Jarret sat in a large, comfortable armchair near the bed. A small table separated him from Rennie. A marble chessboard with ivory pieces was the focus of their attention. Most of the captured men lay on Rennie's side of the board. She was gloating as Jarret's fingers hesitated on his remaining bishop.
He looked up at her, saw her triumphant face, and reconsidered his move. "Your family thinks I'm a saint for putting up with you," he said.
"Don't let Mary Francis hear you talk like that. It's practically blasphemous."
Jarret smirked. "That's how much you know. She's the one who's suggesting I be canonized." He let go of his bishop, watched her s
woop down on it with her rook, and sighed. "I'm not nearly equal to your skill," he said. "You should get Jay Mac in here."
"He's only a little better than Mary Francis when it comes to tolerating my company," she said resignedly. "I haven't been very pleasant to anyone." She didn't expect Jarret to deny it, and he didn't. Sighing, Rennie adjusted her position on the bed, plumping the pillows behind her. She winced as her shoulder bumped the headboard.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "Here, let me do that." Jarret fixed the pillows, one at the small of her back, the other at her shoulders. He smoothed the blankets over her lap and moved the table so that she could reach it without straining.
"Thank you." She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "That's better."
"That hardly hurt at all."
"My shoulder's getting better."
Jarret shook his head. He captured her chin and raised it so that she was forced to look at him. "No," he said, "I meant saying thank you." He let his hand fall away as Rennie pulled back, all prickly and defensive now. He cut off the tirade she was preparing by simply laughing at her. A moment later she gave in and joined him.
Jay Mac nudged open the door to Rennie's bedroom with the toe of his shoe. "That sweet laughter is music to my ears," he said, elbowing the door closed. He was carrying a dinner tray laden with slices of ham, parsley potatoes, corn and lima beans. Steam from the dishes had misted his new spectacles. He set the tray across Rennie's lap and wiped off his lenses with a handkerchief. "Why is it no one else can make her laugh like that?" he asked Jarret.
"Perhaps because no one else plays the fool so well," said Jarret.
"Somehow I doubt that's the case," Jay Mac said.
Rennie retied the ribbon that gathered her thick hair at her nape. "You heard it from him," she said, unfolding her napkin. She pointed to the chessboard. "Perhaps you could help him out of his predicament, Jay Mac. This game won't last three more moves if you don't."
