Escapade (9781301744510)

by Susan Carroll

  "Let him in," Zeke said, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Tell him I broke into the warehouse. He can hardly shoot me down in front of witnesses."

  "No, he'll just wait and do it later." Rory moved purposefully forward to drape Zeke’s arm about her shoulder. "Come on, Tony. Help me."

  After a hesitation, Tony complied. Linking his arm about Zeke's waist, he and Rory managed to lead Zeke forward. Zeke cooperated as best he could, although he was not sure that he should.

  He didn't know what Rory had in mind, only that he wished she were out of it. In another minute, O'Connell would be kicking in the door. But all resistance was fast draining out of Zeke. It was all he could do to plant one foot after the other, leaning heavily on Rory and Tony, following wherever they were taking him.

  He squinted against the bright flood of sunlight as they emerged onto the dock. A roaring rang in his ears, so loud he thought he was passing out. It took him a moment to realize the loud hiss came from one of Rory's floating monsters.

  Glancing upward, Zeke stared at the mammoth balloon casting a shadow over him, and suddenly Rory's plan struck him with crystal clarity.

  "Oh, no," he groaned, halting in his tracks. "I would rather take my chances with the police."

  "So would I," Tony said, for once in agreement with him. But that didn't cause Bertelli to thwart Rory's order to help Zeke climb into the gondola.

  Two other lads rushed forward, looking astonished, but they scrambled to ease Zeke's weight from Rory's shoulders. Zeke never knew quite how, but he found himself standing beneath those billowing yards of silk, clutching the side of a wicker basket.

  Rory scrambled in beside him. "Cast off, Tony," she cried, her voice shrill with urgency.

  The warehouse beyond echoed with shouts and trampling feet. Zeke realized the police must have broken through the door and were coming through to the dock.

  The three young men worked frantically to cast off the lines. Zeke felt the basket shudder and begin to rise. He took one look down as O'Connell and the other coppers came barreling onto the dock.

  Then Zeke was aware of nothing but the solid earth falling rapidly away. His stomach clenched, his head reeling, but not from his wound. He let go of the edge of the basket, sagging to the floor of the gondola.

  Rory peered downward, chortling with satisfaction. "Zeke, you should see O'Connell, He looks mad enough to eat his hat. Zeke?"

  She glanced around, suddenly aware of his prone position. She hunched down beside him, her eyes,anxious.

  "Zeke, what is it? Are you passing out? Is your wound bleeding again?"

  He shook his head, gritting his teeth. It was worse than being shot again to have to tell her, but somehow he got it out.

  "No, damn it. I'm afraid of heights."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rory tugged at the valve line to ease the Seamus's rapid ascent. A loud hiss sounded as though the great balloon itself had shuddered in disbelief. Afraid of heights? It was difficult to imagine Zeke being afraid of anything.

  She could tell what the admission had cost him, as an angry, shamed look darkened his eyes. He no longer appeared in danger of passing out, as though having a fresh peril to contend with had roused all his senses to peak alert. Tension corded his entire frame; his jaw clamped rock hard. Reaching one hand upward, he gripped the basket's side but made no move to Raise himself and risk another look below. He closed his eyes briefly as the balloon dipped downward.

  "It's all right," Rory said. "All I have to do is release some ballast, get the balloon to level off."

  "Do whatever you have to do," he snapped. "And don't waste time explaining."

  Bending over the side, Rory sliced into one of the sandbags. Far below her, the city fell away, the tightly packed buildings and the busy streets diminished to the size of some cunningly wrought miniatures. Working between the valve and the sandbags, she managed to bring the Seamus to a state of equilibrium.

  Wisps of clouds drifted by. Rory knew they would soon be lost in the midst of a comforting blanket of white, making it difficult for anyone to track them.

  Her gaze shifted back to Zeke. "You can hardly see the ground for the clouds. Does that make it any better?"

  He grimaced. "Nothing will make it any better until I get my feet back on solid earth. Just land this thing on my lawn and try to do it more gently this time."

  Rory squirmed, not sure how to break it to him. "Um, I can't exactly do that."

  "What! You can't land safely?"

  "No, I mean I can't land on your lawn at all. There's no way to steer a balloon. You just go where the wind takes you."

  "And just where the hell is the wind taking us?"

  "I caught a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty awhile ago. That was off to the right, so I think we're heading more in the direction of the Hudson, toward Jersey."

  "You think? Don't you even carry a compass in this blasted thing?"

  Rory flushed. "I don't have any instruments on board. This flight wasn't exactly planned, Mr. Morrison."

  The irritation faded from Zeke's eyes. "You're right. I'm sorry, Rory. I don't mean to sound so damned ungrateful after the risk you've taken for me."

  "Oh, hush," she said. Balancing carefully, she hunkered down to sit beside him on the basket's floor. "Considering what you've been through, I guess you've got a right to be surly."

  "No, I don't. Not with you." He caught her hand, brushing his lips against her fingertips. "I owe you my life, you and your friends back there. I just hope Tony and those other boys don't get arrested for helping me escape."

  Rory felt her heart miss a beat. In her concern for Zeke's safety, that was a possibility she had not considered. But she rallied. "Oh, you don't know the Bertelli brothers. They can talk their way out of anything. No one can look more innocent than Tony, not even when he's been up to the worst mischief. And as for Angelo, if he starts off on one of his stories about uncle's aunt's cousins, O'Connell will be damned sorry he ever broke into my warehouse."

  Zeke smiled a little, some of his tension easing. Rory wished she felt as confident as she sounded regarding the safety of Tony and the other two boys. She tried to put the fear from her mind, bending down to examine Zeke's bandaged arm.

  She was relieved to discover the wound had not broken open again. She worried about the possibility of infection and fever, but Zeke's brow was cool to the touch.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked.

  "I've had better days," he murmured, but he seemed less concerned with his wound than staring upward at the crisscross of rigging that connected the balloon to the load ring.

  "No way at all to steer? Then what was all that talk at Delmonico's about establishing a mail service? It wouldn't do much good sending a letter to a fellow in Albany only to have it wind up in Canada."

  "My father was working on that very problem before he died. He had planned to do some experimenting with rudders and sails, possibly even a small engine."

  "An engine. That's a comforting thought," Zeke said glumly. "Anything besides just a puff of air to keep us from plummeting. How long do we have to be up here?

  "Not long. I just want to make sure we get far enough away to be safe. After we land in Jersey, I figure you can surrender to the authorities there and set about proving that you didn't kill Stanley Addison."

  "But I did."

  "What?" Rory froze, certain she hadn't heard him right. A shadow seemed to pass over Zeke's face, his eyes intent as though no longer seeing her or the balloon, but focused inward on some darker image.

  "I did kill Addison, as sure as if I plunged the knife into his heart myself. I knew there had been threats, but I never took them serious enough. I should have cautioned Addison more strongly."

  "You can't blame yourself for that," Rory said. "Mr. Addison was a politician, wasn't he? Pressing hard for some drastic reforms and making accusations of corruption. He must've realized the dangers."

  "He didn't realize anything. His head was stuffed too
full of starry-eyed dreams, notions about honor and fair play, expecting the whole world to be the same. He didn't know any better. But I did."

  Rory stroked the hair back from Zeke's brow, wishing she could as easily caress away the bitter self-reproach from his eyes. "It's no good thinking about it now. You'll only make yourself crazy when you should be trying to rest."

  "I probably should. I've never been so damned tired in my life. But I don't think I'll ever be able to rest again until I find Addison's killer. Just five minutes alone with the bastard—that's all I ask."

  "Do you have any idea who the murderer is?"

  Zeke nodded grimly. He proceeded to tell her about a weasel of a man named Charles Decker, his connections with the corruption of Tammany Hall, the threats he had made. Zeke figured that Decker had O'Connell working for him, along with the two thugs who had attacked Zeke beneath the El tracks.

  When Zeke finished up his tale by explaining how the same two characters had trailed him to Rory's flat, knocked him unconscious and abducted him to the brothel, her eyes flew wide in astonishment.

  “What in the world were you doing up on the roof?"

  Zeke looked a little embarrassed. "I always used to sleep on the roof when I was a kid. It was great as long as I didn't get too close to the edge. Last night it just got a little too hot in your apartment."

  Too hot, Rory wondered, or too crowded with memories, the echoes of Tessa's bitter words lingering in the air.

  "I noticed the parlor window left open," she said. "But I would never have dreamed of looking for you up on the roof. I just thought-" She was unable to keep the hurt and the disappointment she had felt out of her voice. "I thought you had just gone away."

  "Without saying good-bye to you, Aurora Rose?" The warm way he pronounced her name made it sound like an endearment. "I would never do that, though you would be better off if I did. My sister Tessa was telling the truth when she said that I tend to ruin all that I touch."

  "What nonsense."

  "Is it? Look at this trouble I have dragged you into."

  "Let me tell you, sir, I am very good at getting myself into trouble without help from anyone else."

  Her feigned indignation was meant to provoke his heart-melting grin. But instead of lighting up with amusement, his dark eyes remained somber.

  "I am serious, Rory. Tessa made me think about how selfish I was being. It would be better if I didn't see you again."

  "What! No more chasing me through the streets?"

  "No. No more."

  "Just when I was starting to get used to it. Well, it won't do you a bit of good, Zeke Morrison, trying to go all noble on me now. If you stop chasing me, I’ll just have to pursue you. And I warn you, I can run much faster than you can."

  A reluctant chuckle escaped him. He regarded her with a mixture of incredulity and hope.

  "Rory, I never realized that you had come to feel so- I hardly know what to say."

  "Don't say anything. You talk way too much."

  She pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. It was the first time in her life she had been the one to initiate an embrace, so she was a little rough, a little awkward.

  But she must have done something right, because Zeke was not slow to respond, for the moment forgetting all his recently acquired noble impulses. Tangling his hand in her hair, he returned the kiss with an intensity that left Rory breathless.

  It was amazing considering what he had recently been through, that he should still be able to kiss that way. It hardly seemed fair. She was now clinging to him, her pulses thrumming, her mind reeling as though she had been the one knocked over the head and shot—straight through the heart.

  She had the sensation of falling, tumbling head over heels through the sky. Mid-kiss, her eyes flew open, startled. She found herself staring into Zeke's own wide, dark ones.

  Their lips parted, both realizing at once that the giddy sensation of descending was not due to the fervor of their kiss.

  "What the devil's happening?" Zeke removed his hand from her hair to clutch at the basket's side.

  "The air must be cooling. We're coming down faster than I thought." Rory scrambled to her feet and peered over the edge of the gondola. She paled.

  "Oh, damn, damn, damn," she muttered under her breath and began slashing at the few remaining ballast bags with frantic energy.

  Ever since first being lifted into the sky, Zeke had been fighting off a knot of tension. Neither Rory's words nor her actions were calculated to ease that.

  "What are you swearing at?" he shouted, bracing himself for the worst. "Are we going to crash?"

  "Uh, no, there just doesn't seem to be a convenient place to land."

  By now Zeke was familiar with Rory's mastery of the art of understatement. Horrific images filled his mind of the terrain below—tangles of trees, jagged rocks, closely packed houses. Although his stomach lurched, his head spinning at the mere thought of doing such a thing, Zeke forced himself to his feet.

  Momentarily he closed his eyes to take a deep breath. Gripping the edge of the basket until his knuckles were white, by sheer force of will, he got his eyes open and stared downward.

  The world below was nothing but a blur of gray, and Zeke cursed, despising himself for his own weakness, which had him on the verge of fainting like any of those hen-witted debutantes he'd met at Mrs. Van H.'s parties. But as he strove to steady himself, he realized it was not his vertigo causing the scene below to go gray.

  It was gray, a shifting, eddying, chilling gray breaking into waves crested with whitecaps.

  "It’s the Atlantic," Rory said in a small voice.

  "I know the ocean when I see it," Zeke growled. "Although I've always had the good sense to view it from a boat, not dangling above it a hundred feet in the air."

  As though to dispute his measurement, the balloon dropped several more yards. The roar of the sea carried to his ears. Zeke had always thought it such a pleasant sound, so soothing, but now it caused a chill to strike through him as though he could already feel the lick of those ice-cold waves.

  He never thought he would hear himself say such a thing, but he bellowed at Rory, "Do something. Take us back up."

  But Rory stood frozen, staring over the side, her delicate features a blend of horror and fascination as though she had been hypnotized by the eternal lure of the sea.

  In desperation, Zeke reached for a rope that he had seen Rory tugging at earlier.

  His movement snapped Rory out of her trance. "No! Don't touch that!"

  Her warning came too late. Zeke had already given a tentative tug. As soon as he heard that god-awful hiss, he knew what he'd done, even before the balloon started to descend.

  "Damn it all to hell!"

  He let go the rope and grabbed for Rory, expecting that at any moment the pair of them would be plunged into the sea. Miraculously, the balloon leveled off, but some of the higher waves were almost lapping at the bottom of the basket.

  Rory wrapped her arms about Zeke's neck, her face nearly as white as the crests.

  "Oh, Zeke, I can't swim. Tony tried to teach me, but I always sank." She made a valiant attempt to smile. He said it was because I have rocks in my head."

  "He's right," Zeke said, but took the sting from his words by straining her close. Desperately, he scanned the distance, making out the edge of the shore, but it had to be a good quarter of a mile away. At full strength, he might have been able to make it, even towing Rory.

  But his injured arm throbbed, reminding him of his weakness. Zeke cursed under his breath. He had never felt so helpless, so caught up in circumstances beyond his control. If they managed to come through this alive, Zeke vowed, he would never set foot in one of these damned contraptions again, and he wouldn't allow Rory to do so either.

  The wind current seemed to be carrying them closer to shore, but Zeke could tell they were never going to make it. A spray of water dashed over the basket, wetting his face and dampening Rory's hair. He could already taste salt up
on his lips.

  "Rory," he spoke desperately into her ear. "Isn't there anything you can do to bring us up a little?"

  She shook her head. Her lips were set and she was trying to conceal her fear. Only her eyes betrayed her. She called back above the ocean's roar, "We've got nothing left to throw overboard, nothing to lighten the load."

  As Zeke's gaze roved frantically around the empty basket, he saw that she was right. There was nothing in the gondola except Rory and himself.

  The thought struck him like the slap of a wave. Yes, himself, some two hundred pounds of dead weight. Without him, Rory might have a chance. A desperate one, but a chance all the same.

  But if he was going to act, it had to be now. He had no time to debate the wisdom of his decision. He thrust Rory away from him. Steadying himself by gripping one of the balloon cables, he moved quickly before Rory could divine his intent and try to stop him.

  He had only worked one leg over the side of the basket when she screamed. "Zeke! Stop. What are you doing?"

  She launched herself at him and she managed to catch his arm. He tried to shake her off, but she hung on with a strength borne of desperation.

  "Rory! Damn it! Let go."

  "No! Zeke, you fool—"

  He shoved her away, but it was already too late. The balloon lost altitude, the gondola hitting the ocean surface with a hard smack that toppled Rory over. As a wave crashed over the side, the basket tipped, some of the cables snapping.

  Zeke lost his balance and felt himself falling. He gasped as he plunged into the ocean's chilling depths, the sea foam dissolving over his head. Taking in a mouthful of ocean, he choked, the salt water burning his throat and stinging his eyes.

  Kicking, he fought his way back to the surface, drawing in a welcome lungful of air. Treading water, he battled the waves, blinking his eyes, searching for a glimpse of Rory and the balloon.

  He spotted her some yards away, clinging to the side of the overturned basket. The deflating balloon, still connected to the gondola by the few remaining ropes, was acting like a sail, dragging the basket through the water.