Jo Goodman

by My Reckless Heart

  Graham checked it. "Primed and ready." He tested the weight of it in his hand then raised his arm. "And aimed."

  Nodding, Decker took his knife away from Grant's neck. He used it to extend his gesture toward the cabin door. "Although killing you sounds just fine to me, I like the idea of you facing a jury instead. Remington Shipping will survive, I'm sure. Certainly Jonna's not frightened by your threats. And as for Mr. Denison, now that he's safely north of Mason-Dixon, he's prepared for the public to know he's Falconer. I suggest you step lively topside, Grant. Jack Quincy and the rest of Huntress's crew are probably anxious to discover what's happened down here. They need to see that we have you well in hand and that Jonna's perfectly safe."

  "I'll go first," Jonna offered. She stepped into the passageway and waited just long enough to be sure that Grant was following.

  Graham kept the pistol leveled at Grant and went after him. Decker paused beside Rachael. He hunkered down and touched her wrist. "Stay here until we have him safely on deck and secured on Huntress. I'll come back for you then. It will only be a few minutes."

  She looked at him in some confusion.

  "Do you understand?" he asked.

  But Rachael's confusion had nothing to do with Decker's statement. Her concern was larger than herself. "That's all?" she asked. Disbelief edged her husky voice. "You're not going to kill him?"

  "No," Decker said. He could hear footsteps receding quietly in the passageway. He did not want to be far behind. Sheridan didn't know that Graham was holding himself upright by sheer force of will, and Decker didn't want him to find out. "We're not going to kill him."

  "But I—"

  Decker had no more time to explain himself. "You're safe now. I'll be back right away." He held out his scrimshaw knife and laid it in her open palm. "Here, take this. No one will hurt you." He stood and hurried out the door.

  Jonna smiled widely as she stepped on deck and saw Jack Quincy on board Huntress. Members of the clipper's crew had subdued Grant's men, and now they were sitting side by side at the sloop's rail, connected by a rope that looped through their bound hands. The tow lines had already been rigged, and the clipper dwarfed the sloop, forcing her to ride in the wake.

  Jeremy Dodd took Jonna's elbow and escorted her to one side as Grant stepped out of the hold. "Are you all right?" he asked.

  She nodded. "Fine." She turned to watch Grant. He was remarkably unaffected by the capture. His ship, his crew—all confined, yet he acted as if it were of no account. Was it really possible that he would be believed? she wondered. She remembered how easily the lies came to him. People were never eager to believe they had been duped. Grant's friends in the abolitionist movement might rally to his defense rather than admit they had been deceived by him. Was he counting on that?

  It was as if Grant knew the path of her thoughts. He gave her an arch look, his handsome features unmarred by worry. "It's not over, Jonna. Not in any way. You know I don't give up."

  Jonna gave him no reaction. She had to believe that he was wrong and that it was over, else she would be moved to kill him herself.

  Graham Denison heard only part of the exchange as he came topside. Frowning, he motioned to Jeremy. "Do you know how to use this?" he asked, indicating the pistol.

  "Aye," Dodd said. "I'm good with it, too."

  "Then take it and keep it aimed just like this."

  Jeremy and Jonna came forward at the same time. Jeremy took the weapon, and Jonna took Graham's arm. Her touch was all he had been waiting for. He leaned on her heavily, finally acknowledging the depth of his pain and the extent of his weakness. Jonna pulled his arm around her shoulder, and when one of her crew offered her assistance she shook her head. This was a weight she wanted to bear. This man had saved her life. More than that, he had saved Decker. "Thank you," she whispered.

  A moment later Decker appeared. He surveyed the situation and held up a hand in Jack's direction to indicate that all was ready. "Bring her alongside Huntress," he told his crew. "Mr. Sheridan is going to be a guest on a Remington clipper."

  Men went to work immediately on both ships. The slack in the towline disappeared as the sloop was hauled in close to the clipper. Jonna's insides roiled as the deck pitched sharply under her feet. Grinning weakly at Decker who was watching her closely, she managed to hold her balance and the contents of her stomach. She shook her head as he started to approach, so he stopped in his tracks, considered her a moment, then went back to helping steady the sloop.

  Graham saw the quick exchange between them. Not a word was spoken, but everything had been communicated. "Does Decker always do what you want?" he asked Jonna.

  Jonna gave him a sideways glance. "Hardly ever. Is that what you thought just happened?"

  "Well, it looked as if—" He stopped, caught by the flurry of movement from the hold. He held up his free hand, palm out. "No! No, don't—"

  Following the direction of his gaze, Jonna cried out the same alarm. "Decker! Stop—"

  Rachael had nothing to fear from Decker. He was too far away from her to halt her mad run at Grant Sheridan. He yelled a warning, but realized that even that was going to come too late. At the first shout Grant had turned toward Graham and Jonna and made himself an even more vulnerable target. He only saw Rachael's approach out of the corner of his eye. The knife Rachael held in her fist glinted once before it was buried deep in his shoulder.

  Grunting with the sharpness of pain and the impact of Rachael who had run full tilt into him, Grant stumbled sideways. He tried to throw Rachael off, but she clasped her legs around his thighs and held on. One of her arms locked around his neck. She withdrew the blade and plunged it in again, this time solidly in his back.

  Her bruised face was not contorted in rage. There was no fierce anger in her dark eyes. Her features were strained as the limits of her strength were tested, but it was only that, nothing more. It was as if she had made peace with her hatred and was acting accordingly. Emotion was no longer guiding her. She had arrived at the conclusion that killing Grant Sheridan was a rational solution.

  Grant fell to his knees as the blade was lifted for a third assault. Decker's arm stayed Rachael's hand this time. Only the tip of the knife caught Grant, but it sliced his skin cleanly. Almost immediately a thin thread of blood appeared at the base of Grant's ear and wound around to his throat. Decker's hand closed over Rachael's wrist. He squeezed hard and her fingers opened convulsively. The knife dropped and slid out of reach on the next roll of the sloop. Jeremy bent down, careful to keep his pistol aimed, and picked it up.

  Decker hauled Rachael off Grant. She offered no resistance when he passed her to one of the crew, but she would not be led away. She watched without emotion as Decker knelt beside Grant and rolled him onto his back. No one spoke. There was the sound of water slapping against the hulls of the ships, and there was the sound of Grant's labored breathing. It seemed to her that one was no louder than the other.

  Grant's eyes were open, and for a moment they focused on Rachael, faintly accusing and yet somehow sad, as though she had disappointed him. If she had had the knife in her hand just then, she would have driven it into his heart.

  Decker saw a shudder pass through Grant as he drew his next breath. A trickle of blood appeared at one corner of his mouth. Decker's eyes lifted to Jonna, then to Graham. He made a small negative shake of his head.

  Rachael saw the movement as did everyone else who was watching. She was the only one who came forward. Her touch was gentle on Decker's shoulder. He hesitated, gauging her intent. What he glimpsed in her eyes caused him to move away. She took his place at Grant's side and, lifting his head, cradled it in her lap. She stroked his hair with her crippled hand and murmured his name softly. From a distance it almost sounded as if she were singing to him. A siren's song. A song of the sea.

  Grant Sheridan, dead by her hand, died in her arms.

  * * *

  For a long time no one moved or spoke. Tears welled in Jonna's eyes, but she couldn't have sa
id for whom she cried. A sob caught in her throat. She held it back, shivering just once. Decker went to her side and took her hand. Without being asked, Graham eased himself away so Jonna could accept her husband's embrace. He fixed his stare on Rachael. She was no longer looking into Grant's sightless eyes, but gazing out to the near endless expanse of water off the starboard side. Jeremy Dodd lowered his weapon slowly, realizing at last that he had no use for it. On board Huntress the crew stood at the rail, looking down on the strange tableau, still and silent.

  Decker felt Jonna slip something into his hand. His fingers closed around it. The shape was so familiar to him that he didn't have to look at it or ask what it was. "I thought I lost it," he whispered against her forehead. "Where did you—"

  She raised her face. "Rachael found it."

  Decker slipped it into the pocket of his coat. He looked past the crown of Jonna's hair to where Rachael was kneeling. Her detached, faraway gaze riveted his attention.

  He couldn't move Jonna aside fast enough. Rachael was up and running for the rail. It was Graham who stepped in her path and held out his arms to stop her. "Don't—" Breath was driven out of his lungs as Rachael's flailing hands found the center of his wound. He felt her small body climb over his fallen one. She was driven by her single-minded determination to reach the sloop's rail. He grabbed a handful of her petticoats. The material was torn out of his hands as she threw herself overboard.

  Jeremy threw out a lifeline.

  "It won't work," Decker said. "She has to want to take it." He marked the position of Rachael's body as it slipped beneath the water. Peeling off his coat, he tossed it to Jonna. Then, for the second time in the space of an hour, he was plunging into the Atlantic Ocean.

  Epilogue

  Decker stood at the bedchamber window. A pale slip of moonlight touched his features. It edged his profile, marking the character in his face with its cool blue color. It touched the strong line of his nose and emphasized the muscle working in his jaw. There was a faint slant to his frame as he leaned toward the window, a yearning that had physical expression. His arms hung loosely at his sides, but only one hand was open. The other was closed around a pearl set in a crown of gold and the smooth golden raindrop that was suspended from it.

  Lying on her side in their bed, Jonna watched him. Decker didn't look in her direction. He thought she was still sleeping. She would have been if he hadn't left the bed. The heavy blankets had offered a warm and comfortable shelter when he was sharing space under them. She did not think he had been gone long before she was aware of his absence.

  Jonna didn't stir. Her body felt deliciously heavy in the aftermath of their lovemaking. It was not difficult to imagine that she was under him again, his mouth on hers, his fingers in her hair. He had been tender and fierce by turns, kissing her breasts, laving a nipple with the damp edge of his tongue, then drawing the swollen bud into the hot suck of his mouth. His fingers trailed lightly over her skin while he watched her, fascinated, as though he had just discovered how exquisitely sensitive the inner curve of her elbow was or how responsive she could be to the sweeping touch of his thumb on her thigh.

  It had not all been done to her. Her need to tease and prolong the sweet torment was as great as Decker's. With her mouth near his ear she had whispered her intentions, then had taken her time honoring that promise. She kissed his jaw, his mouth, the base of his throat; and when he was under her, she pinned back his wrists and straddled him, letting her hair fall forward so only the curling ends caressed his chest.

  She had released his wrists then and brought his hands to her breasts. She held them there for a moment, letting him feel the swell of her flesh beneath his palms, watching his eyes darken and the faintly amused line of his mouth disappear. She pushed his hands lower, arching slowly as his palms covered her ribs, her waist, cupped her hips, and finally rested on her thighs.

  She was the one who smiled now. A slightly wicked smile. A reminder of a certain promise. She let his hands fall away as she leaned forward. Her teeth caught one of his nipples and worried it gently. His entire body tensed beneath her, and where she cradled him between her thighs she felt him surge powerfully. She was hot and damp and ready for him, but she did not take him inside her. Not yet. Not that way.

  She placed teasing, tasting kisses down his chest as she moved lower. The force of his heartbeat vibrated against her lips. Her fingers rested on his hips and then between his thighs. She cupped him with her hands before she took him in her mouth.

  Decker expelled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The next breath he drew was caught in his throat. He raised himself up on his elbows, and the sight of her exquisite mouth engaged in this most intimate caress was almost too much. Flames could not lick at his skin with more soaring intensity than Jonna's tongue. There were no bonds that could hold him more securely than the sweet suck of her mouth.

  A soft groan was torn from his throat. He said her name once, then again, as if he couldn't help himself, as if her name were part of a litany and the saying of it would cleanse his soul.

  He touched her hair. It slipped through his fingers like a dark waterfall as she slowly raised her head. She held the rigid length of him in her hands and laid her mouth over him just once. The light kiss gave her the warm, salty taste of him on the tip of her tongue.

  He drew her up and as she was turned and covered by his body she was keenly aware of her own. She sensed the smooth lines of her legs next to the muscled hardness of his. There was the contrast of his rough fingertips against the silky skin of her inner thigh. Her body had to yield to accommodate his. It was the curve of her breasts that flattened when their bodies came flush together, her thighs that opened when he pressed his entry.

  He held himself still inside her and let her know the same delicious torment of restraint that he felt. "You did that to me," he whispered against her mouth.

  Perhaps she should not have looked quite so pleased. But then he wouldn't have punished her with the slow, deep kiss the way he had. When it was over he was moving in her and the rhythm was like the kiss they had just shared, slow and deep, but unlike its echo because the intensity and power swelled with each thrust and the sensation radiating outward was just as sweetly hot as it was at the center.

  What she felt where they were joined she also felt in her fingertips, along the length of her legs, and at the back of her throat where his name stirred on a soft expulsion of air. A wave of pleasure rolled under her, arching her throat, lifting her breasts and belly, and finally raising her hips as she rode the crest. She shuddered and felt the change in his rhythm almost immediately. Her fingers skimmed his back and pressed whitely into his taut buttocks. She contracted around him and his body went as rigid as the length of him between her thighs.

  Afterward he held her. His breath was warm against her cheek, his fingers sifted her hair. They didn't talk. In time, she slept.

  Now Jonna sat up slowly. She knew Decker must have sensed her movement, but he didn't turn. Her linen shift fell softly past her thighs and calves as she rose from the bed, and her bare feet were virtually soundless on the hardwood floor. She came up behind him, sliding her arms around his naked chest. She laid her cheek against his back.

  He closed his eyes and placed one hand over hers. He stroked the back of her hand. Her nearness settled his heart.

  "Was it another dream?" she asked him.

  "Yes."

  Jonna did not so much hear him as feel the answer. His skin was warm against her cheek. She kissed him. "You could have wakened me," she said quietly.

  "I know."

  "I wish you would."

  He knew that, too. "Perhaps the next time."

  Jonna let him go. She stepped around Decker, placing herself between him and the window. "It's been two weeks since the last one. There may not be another."

  He touched her check with the back of his hand. Her eyes were wide, luminous. "Maybe not."

  "I was there, Decker. I saw what you did."
r />   "What I tried to do."

  "Yes," she said firmly. "What you tried to do. There was no failure in your attempt. She wanted to die. You knew when you dove in the water that Rachael wouldn't thank you for saving her life. I think you have to live with that before you can sleep with it."

  Cool, blue moonlight touched his faint smile. He looked at the heirloom earring before he laid it on the windowsill. "Is that right?"

  "Yes." She laid her hands on his chest as his arms went around her waist, his fingers threading together at the small of her back. "Decker?"

  "Hmmm?" He felt her hesitation and tried to imagine the subject that would give Jonna pause or force her to choose her words carefully. "What is it?"

  "These dreams of yours... I think..."

  "Yes?"

  "Before Rachael there were others. Not dreams, I mean, but real people—flesh and blood—and you couldn't save them either. Your mother and father. You were there when the highwaymen murdered them. And Mere and Jimmy Grooms... you saw them hanged." Her voice trailed away. She stared at his implacable features, the eyes that were as cool as moonshine, the smile that was an enigmatic wonder.

  She had found the heart of it, Decker thought. His heart. These last six weeks his dreams had been filled with disturbing images. It was not only Rachael he searched for beneath the icy water, but his mother and Mere, his father and Jimmy. He would come within inches of their outstretched fingers, but never connect. He imagined he could hear them call his name, and the sound of it was clear, as though it traveled over the water rather than through it.

  "But you saved Mercedes, Decker. And Colin. And since then, dozens of others whose names you haven't always known." She touched his mouth with her forefinger. "You saved me."

  He shook his head. Her finger drifted over his chin, along his jaw, and came to rest at the base of his neck. "You're wrong," he said.

  "No, I'm not. You saved me. From Grant and from myself." Jonna raised herself on tiptoe. Her mouth brushed his. "I need you, Captain Thorne. You can't imagine quite how much."