Emma stopped walking and held up her hands to slow Vicki’s pace before she took Emma down like a linebacker. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s a circus,” Vicki said, tugging her unruly curls back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. “I’ve been looking for a note, a memo, anything that would let me know what’s going on because this is definitely not on the calendar. There are no e-mails about this. No one called ahead to confirm the appearances. I wanted to call Morty, but I didn’t want to bother him. I knew you’d be back soon and could handle it, but then you took longer than I thought, and I’m freaking out. I have no idea what to do, but one of the guys is a real weirdo. Frankly, he scares the beejeezus outta me.”
Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. “Pause. Go back, please. None of that makes any sense.”
“I know!” Vicki said in exasperation. “It’s a complete mess. I have no idea what to do.”
“Let’s start at the beginning. What appearances?” Emma asked.
“The impersonators,” Vicki said. “There is a man who looks like he washed ashore a hundred years ago, a charming Englishman, a really handsome man dressed like a World War II soldier, and a man I’m pretty sure is a pirate.”
Emma’s knees wobbled, and the blueberry muffin she’d eaten with Morty churned in her stomach. She placed a hand on her belly and tried to focus. James rushed down the main stairs accompanied by a man wearing ragged clothing who had a coiled rope looped over his neck and hooked under one arm.
“James,” Vicki said as she moved toward him. “Did you find him? He was really terrifying the children. And me.”
Emma passed a glance between James and Vicki. “You can see James?”
Vicki’s confused expression wrinkled her face. “Yeah, he’s the impersonator dressed like a soldier. He’s been helping me since you were taking so long.”
“What is going on?” Emma asked, looking at James.
“We didn’t find him,” James said to Vicki, “but Mr. Crusoe and I will be ready when he reappears.”
Emma’s eyebrows rose on her forehead, and her lips parted in question. “Mr. Crusoe?”
The man with James turned his tanned face to Emma and lifted his thick eyebrows in response. “Yes?” Words uncoiled from his rope and dropped vertically to the ground like sand falling through an hourglass. Orinoco. Wooden cross. Friday.
“What is going on here?” Emma asked again, looking at James.
James moved his hazel-eyed gaze in her direction. His jaw was set. “Time for you to eat crow.”
Emma’s thoughts felt as though they were pushing through pine tar. Words drifted by her line of vision like leaves caught in a swirling wind. Inkpad. Sparkling sand. Bring to life.
James strode toward her and stepped into her personal space. Rather than backing away from him, Emma didn’t move. She could smell the scent of the forest on him—Douglas fir and winter. His closeness didn’t bother her as much as it probably should have. In fact, she wanted to hook her fingers into the front pockets of his pants and lean forward to sniff his jacket. She blinked the haze from her eyes.
His voice sent goose bumps spreading down her arms. “Captain Hook, courtesy of your irresponsibility, is running amok in the library.”
Emma laughed because that’s the only response her brain could produce. She covered her mouth, but more hysterical laughter pushed through her fingers.
“It’s not funny,” Vicki said. “He’s really intimidating. I mean, he’s playing the part really well—a little too well. James was nice enough to try and help me find him and tell him that we won’t be needing his services today or any other day. I don’t think Morty would approve. You should have heard the children screaming.”
Emma’s laughter stopped abruptly. The realization of what she’d done bubbled the acid in her stomach. “I think I’m going to throw up,” Emma finally said.
Vicki dragged her to the circulation desk and pushed her into the desk chair. The metal trashcan scraped over the tiles as Vicki slid it toward her and told Emma to lean over it.
“I’ll get a cold towel from the bathroom. Stay here,” Vicki said as she hurried off.
A shadow fell over Emma’s body. She cut her eyes up to see James standing near her. “Do you think it’s possible that when I fell a few nights ago that I didn’t really wake up? That maybe I’m still in the hospital having some drug-induced dream?”
James placed his hand on her back and rubbed small circles between her shoulder blades. His touch comforted her for a couple of seconds, and then it sent warmth traveling from her spine and radiating through her body. Her head throbbed.
James shook his head. “If only. This isn’t the worst situation I’ve seen, but Captain Hook? Really, Emma? Of all the jerks you could have brought here, why him?”
She hung her head. “I thought you were lying about all of it.”
“I wasn’t.”
Emma gazed past James to the shipwrecked man, who stood looking around the foyer, apparently on high alert for a rogue pirate.
“Is that Robinson Crusoe?” Emma asked.
“At least he’s helpful,” James said. “He seems to like a good adventure.” He smiled down at Emma. “It’s a good thing you didn’t invite any other troublemakers.”
“Don’t forget Darcy’s here too. Did you know he was about to go into town and have coffee with his biggest fans?”
James shook his head. “I’ve been too busy trying to find Hook. Did you bring Darcy back in?”
Emma nodded, and then she pressed her hands against her face and groaned. “I was really nasty to Morty when I left him at the hospital today,” she mumbled. Then she dropped her hands and looked up at James. “I felt so angry with him for keeping this from me, and at the same time I thought he was lying to me.”
James touched her shoulder for a moment and watched Vicki walk toward them. “He’ll forgive you.”
Vicki returned with a wad of wet paper towels. She pressed them against Emma’s neck, and Emma thanked her.
“Should we tell Morty?” Vicki asked.
“No!” James and Emma said at the same time, surprising Vicki.
“We’ve got this under control,” James said.
“We do?” Vicki asked. “You don’t even know where the crazy pirate is.”
“We’ll find him,” James said.
Emma stood and exhaled. She wiped the cold, wet paper towels all over her face before tossing them into the trashcan. “I’ll help. Vicki, you stay here at the desk in case anyone needs you. James, Mr. Crusoe, and I will split up and search the library. He has to be here somewhere, right?” Emma didn’t quite believe her own words. What if Hook stayed invisible for hours or days? What if he slipped out of the library when they weren’t looking? What if he already had? Morty would feel validation in not having told her about the library’s magic. She was too irresponsible to handle it. Look what havoc she had already caused.
Vicki nodded, looking relieved that she would be staying in relative safety behind the desk. Emma walked into the foyer with James and Mr. Crusoe.
“How does this work?” Emma asked. “Should we make a plan?”
A line creased between James’s dark brows. “I don’t think we should split up. Hook isn’t the most reputable character. He’s not the cartoon version you’re imagining.”
Emma huffed. “How do you know what I’m imagining?”
“Because I know you, and right now you’re thinking about Disney’s Captain Hook. This is not that older, wig-wearing guy looking for a crocodile.”
Emma clenched her teeth. Why did everyone always baby her? “I’ll be fine. I’ll shout if I see him, and then you two can come and help if needed.”
James’ voice was flat when he echoed, “If needed.” He slipped a knife out of a narrow holster on his belt that she had not noticed. “Take this.”
Emma handled the knife as though it were a snake. “Eh, unless this is an extreme way for me to open the mail, I’d rather not.”
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James closed Emma’s fingers over the hilt and held his hand over hers. “It will at least surprise him long enough for you to scream for help.”
Emma’s eyes widened, and she felt her pulse quicken. “How scary is this guy?”
“He’s a low-life pirate willing to do whatever necessary to get what he wants,” Mr. Crusoe said. “And he’ll likely try and take you captive, looking the way you do. But we’ll keep you and the children safe from the devil’s army.”
Emma glanced at James, who was struggling not to grin as he dropped Emma’s hand.
“Wow. Looking the way I do, should I even ask? And the devil’s army,” Emma repeated. “I’ll take the second floor historical section. I’ll holler if I need you.” She eyed the knife in her hand and held it awkwardly by her right thigh.
Emma walked up the main staircase, holding the knife away from her body and praying that she did not fall and impale herself. She headed toward the historical section, peering around bookshelves and glancing under tables. It’s not like he would hide under there, she thought after she’d leaned over and looked beneath a third study table.
She stepped around the final shelf in the historical section, at the far corner of the library, and gasped. A lean, well-built man stood with his back to her. He wore a long, black leather coat over fitted black pants and black boots that came up to his knees. His close-cropped hair matched the color of his clothing. He stood with one hand pressed against the long, glass window that showed a view of the grassy lawn in the back of the library. His other arm hung at his side, ending with a sharpened, gleaming silver hook. He turned at the sound of her inhale. This Captain Hook was definitely not Disney’s version.
9
Emma gaped at the pirate. Her mind first processed that the man before her was an evil James Grey, his polar opposite. Hook and James weren’t identical, but they were jarringly similar. Hook’s five o’clock shadow looked like a permanent fixture, as though he would never grow a beard and he’d never be clean shaven. Heavy, dark brows shadowed his hazel eyes. Emma was most taken aback by the fact that he was so handsome, although in a frightening way—in the way a dragon is mesmerizing in its splendor but also too dangerous to approach. When Hook looked at Emma, she was reminded of the way a cobra hypnotizes its prey before striking.
“Hello, love,” Hook said. His gaze drifted toward the knife held loosely in her hand. “Come to do me in, have you? I don’t fancy you the type.”
Emma opened her mouth to agree with him, but Hook stepped toward her and took the knife from her hand before she could even react. He tossed the knife aside. It skittered across the floor until it slammed against a bookshelf and bounced off the wood before disappearing under a table. Then he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her. Emma stumbled forward as he pressed her against him.
She struggled and squirmed for seconds before his hook came into her peripheral vision. Then she stopped as the sunlight shined off the silver.
“It’s lonely at sea,” he said, his breath stinking of rum and cloves.
“You might consider a toothbrush on your voyages,” she said, trying to breathe normally as his grip tightened on her waist.
Hook rubbed his scruffy face against her cheek like a cat pushes against its owner’s legs. Emma scrunched her eyes closed. Under different circumstances, it might have been somewhat thrilling to be held close by a roguish pirate, but the hook was a bit too terrifying for Emma, especially since he was sliding it through her hair at the moment.
“You smell like mint,” he whispered against her neck.
Emma swallowed. If she screamed, would Hook stab her? Hook moved their bodies so he could push her back against the wall. He stared down at her face, but he kept his lower body pressed against her. Her eyes followed the trail of a long, thin scar that ran from his lower left eye to the corner of his lip. He must have thought she was admiring his good looks.
“You like what you see, eh? You sure are a lovely thing.”
Before Emma could protest, Hook pressed his mouth to hers, and she nearly choked on her own breath. He kissed her like a man who was completely starved for physical contact, like a man who needed her breath to survive the next few seconds.
Then a loud thunk sounded, and Hook released his grip on Emma. His body crumpled like a ragdoll to the floor. Emma remained still and stared at his leather-clad body lying in a heap at her feet. James stood in front of her with a thick book in his hands.
“War and Peace,” he said, turning the book over so she could see the title.
Emma’s body relaxed. “You gave me a knife, and you attack with a book. Isn’t that the opposite of what should have happened?”
James leaned down, hooked his arms beneath Hook’s armpits, and dragged Hook away from Emma’s feet. “Mr. Crusoe,” he called. When the sailor appeared, James said, “Will you take Hook down to the archives and tie him to a chair? Make sure he can’t get free. And take his sword. We don’t want him armed.”
Mr. Crusoe lifted Hook onto his back, draping the pirate’s arms over his shoulders, and carried him away. Emma briefly worried about what the people in the library might think, but maybe they’d imagine this to be part of a play or reenactment.
James focused on Emma. He put his hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”
Emma pulled her fingers through her hair. “Okay is not how I would describe myself at the moment. It’s been a weird day.”
“That doesn’t answer the question. Hook was…invading your privacy.” James let his hand drop to his side.
Emma chuckled in embarrassment and rubbed the back of her hand across her lips. “Is that the proper way of saying he was forcing himself on me? Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve experienced worse. Well, not the hook kind of worse, but the kiss, yeah, I’ve had worse.” Emma shook her head. “Forget I said that. Thanks for rescuing me.”
James shelved War and Peace. “That’s interesting,” he said, turning to look at her. One corner of his mouth tugged upward.
“What’s interesting?” Emma asked, straightening her blouse.
“You’ve had worse kisses than one from a drunken, merciless pirate.” James leaned his hip against the corner of the bookshelf and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Should I even ask?”
Emma exhaled. She pictured an empty, spinning two-liter Sprite bottle, heads pressed forward, eyes staring at the center of a misshapen circle, and sweaty palms pressed against thighs. “Spin the bottle. Seventh grade. He was a real drooler.”
James closed his eyes and laughed. “You were too young to be kissing boys. I can’t believe Bobby would have allowed that.”
Emma wrinkled her brow. “He didn’t know all of my secrets. There are some things a sister has to keep to herself, and kissing boys is near the top of the list. No brother wants to hear about his sister’s love life.”
Talking about kissing with James made her wonder what kind of kisser he would be. While he didn’t seem like the shy, nervous type, he also didn’t seem like he’d be as aggressive as Hook, trying to suck all of the life from her body like a dementor from Azkaban. Emma imagined James would be passionate and direct without being forceful. Her brain quickly created a list of Jane Austen’s leading men—so many swoon-worthy characters whose kisses changed lives and captured hearts. She scratched through Fitzwilliam Darcy’s name immediately. Then she cleared her throat when she felt her cheeks warm. What are you doing? Stop it right now.
Emma rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “I’m sorry about all of this. I should have listened to you. This is a mess.”
James nodded and pushed off from the bookshelf. “You do prefer learning the hard way. But we’ll get this sorted out.”
“Will you be able to keep Hook tied up for two weeks?” Emma asked.
“I don’t see why not. We certainly can’t let him wander about no matter what kind of promises he makes. I have a sense that he will try to woo someone into untying him, so don’t you fall for that. He’s not a good guy.�
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Emma shook her head. “I believe you this time. He’s too intense for me. Totally not my type.”
James headed toward the main staircase, and Emma walked along beside him. “So, what is your type?” he asked.
“No one,” Emma said immediately. Her knee-jerk response was to reject any kind of man and to forbid any type to be something that interested her. If she didn’t let anyone in, no one could obliterate her heart; no one could leave. If she kept her heart caged like the wild beast it was, it would pace and pace and pace until it eventually lay down and stopped dreaming of freedom. These were the promises she made to her heart. This is the only way I can protect you. You must stay closed up, safe from those who will hurt you.
James paused at the top of the stairs and turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”
Emma continued walking. Her skin itched below the surface, and the back of her neck felt prickly and hot. Words drifted across the steps. Come out, come out. You can’t hide forever. Open up. She narrowed her eyes at the words, and they skittered into the shadowed corners. “It means I’m not interested in having a type.”
James didn’t speak again until they were halfway down the main staircase. “What’s his name?”
Emma’s chest tightened, and she cut her eyes over at him. James’ hazel eyes watched her. She felt as though he could see into her soul, see all the secrets she kept trying to hide there, to bury there for all time. She had a feeling that James wouldn’t give up until he dug the truth out of her.
“The guy who hurt you bad enough to cause your eyes to look so sad, to make you want to give up—what’s his name?”
Emma clenched her jaw because thinking of Thomas made her feel weary, angry, and broken, simultaneously. She inhaled. “He didn’t make me do anything. It was my choice to stop wanting anything other than what I have right now, which is to be alone. Alone and safe. It’s better this way.”
James stopped at the bottom of the staircase, and when Emma noticed he wasn’t beside her as she crossed the foyer, she turned around and faced him.
The Legend of James Grey Page 9
