Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "Shhh," he murmured against her hair. "Don't beat yourself up over this. Tess wouldn't have wanted that." He swallowed tightly, pushing back his own grief. "You know that as well

  as I."

  Her shoulders drooped even more. "It doesn't help."

  "Time will, my dear." He gave her a squeeze and tilted her chin up, placing a kiss on her forehead.

  "Nothing will make me feel less guilty about it," she said, accepting his handkerchief and blotting her eyes.

  Anthony avoided commenting, knowing she'd have to come to grips with that on her own. "I still can't understand why she jumped in the first place."

  "I think I do."

  His brow arched questioningly.

  "There was something else in that package she stole for me. Apparently worth her life." She stepped away from him, tossing her handbag into the Silver Phantom.

  "Any ideas?"

  Penny shook her head. "You know Tess. She always took on my problems as if they were hers."

  Anthony glanced at the ground, then gazed across the top of the car at the terminal. "Perhaps she wanted to protect you," he murmured softly.

  Penelope studied him for a second. "There's something you're not telling."

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  TIMESWEPT ROGUE

  He chuckled shortly, returning his gaze to her. "It annoys me to no end that I haven't your poker face, my dear."

  The jets auxiliary motors suddenly went silent and she folded her arms over her middle, impatient for him to continue. He ran his hand through his lightly-gray ing hair and exhaled a deep breath, looking anywhere but at her.

  "It's all over the papers, her disappearance."

  She'd expected that. "And?" she pushed when he stalled.

  "And you've been connected to it."

  "She was my friend. Our friend. Did you think I'd turn my back on her now?"

  "Of course not!" He looked offended. "I simply want you to realize what the police might do.''

  "The police better realize what I'll do. If this witness saw her, then why didn't they hail the captain so she could be rescued? Did he want what she was holding and force her over that rail? And if he's such a upstanding witness, why does he need police protection?"

  She delivered all of that without so much as raising her voice, the steely texture to her words telling him she wouldn't allow any clue to be overlooked.

  "I haven't been privy to that, but as your lawyer—"

  ' 'And my friend," she interrupted with a soft smile, apologiz­ing for her insult.

  He smiled forgivingly. "I advise you to let them take it as far as they can, then we'll, shall I say, exert pressure."

  "You know Sloane is behind this." A statement, not a ques­tion.

  "If she is, she's destroyed any trail."

  He'd been working on it already, she realized, watching his emotions blare across his handsome face. He loved Tess, too. Everyone did and Penny wondered how empty their lives would be without her.

  "I must tell you, the oddest thing happened," he said, meet­ing her gaze. "A man from Lloyds of London arrived on my doorstep, looking for you."

  "What did he want?"

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  "He had a sealed envelope for you. Wouldn't give it over. Said he had to speak with you directly."

  "How bizarre. Who was it from?"

  "I admit I tried my best courtroom tactics to pluck a bit of information from him, but you know these Brits, tight-lipped and all, yet I did manage to discover that the package was old."

  Her forehead scrunched. They both knew she could mark her past no further than twenty-six of her twenty-eight years. If she could she wouldn't have nightmares.

  "Over one hundred fifty years old."

  Her face was deadpan and Anthony should have realized she wouldn't show the least bit of enthusiasm.

  "Tony," she said tiredly. "If it's that old then you know it can't be for me. Or did you forget that I don't even know my real name?"

  "Hardly."

  "Then who sent it?"

  "If I understood correctly." He cleared his throat. "It was from a Blackwell."

  Penny turned the name over in her mind. ' 'The Blackwells?" Anthony nodded. "But they're all dead, aren't they?"

  "I believe so."

  "Then this Lloyds agent must be wrong."

  Anthony ignored her obstinate look. "I tried to tell him that, but he said—" He lowered his voice and effected a nasally British accent. " 'My good man, Lloyds of London does not make mistakes.' "

  "Brava," she said with a smile.

  "Regardless, Bailey came to me because of my talents in archives research. I told you my expertise would be valuable someday," he added smugly. "It seems Mister Bailey, or rather his company, has been holding a similar package, too. For quite some time."

  "Go on, Tony." God, with his flair for the dramatic, this was like pulling teeth.

  "They've been doing a fair amount of searching for its recipient. Decades, from what I gathered." A strange light

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  came into his eyes, excitement tinting his voice. "Imagine, my dear, for centuries they've been unable to find anyone born with the name Ramsey Malachai Gamaliel O'Keefe."

  Penny straightened, unfolding her arms. No. Her heart skipped an entire beat. It couldn't possibly be him? Deep mascu­line laughter drifted across the sizzling asphalt, and she slowly turned toward the Lear jet.

  The broad shouldered stranger appeared in the doorway.

  "Tony," she managed to whisper, nodding toward the air craft. "That is Ramsey O'Keefe."

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  Chapter 10

  Hank latched the cargo hold and picked up Miss H.' s luggage, then headed toward the car, stopping abruptly when a man he didn't recognize descended the jet stairs.

  Sure got funny looking clothes, Hank thought, shifting the bags in his grip. "Who are you and what are you doin' on Miss H.'s plane?"

  "'Tis a sad day when a man cannot greet another with a simple good morn." Ramsey grinned, his gaze briefly shifting over the man's head to Mistress Hamilton.

  "You a stowaway?"

  Ramsey stiffened, indignant. "You insult me, sir."

  Hank's lips twitched. "You can't mean she actually invited you?" Hank's skepticism ringed his craggy features.

  "That she did."

  "Well, I'll be," he marveled, grinning. "Heck, come on." Hank- inclined his head toward the car, then lumbered over toward the couple.

  Ramsey didn't move. The lass was looking at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted scales and fangs. Then the gentleman aside her turned, his mouth dropping open in a most undignified manner.

  TIMESWEPT ROGUE

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  'Twas the man Ramsey settled his attention on. Tall and sandy-haired, he was far older than he first imagined, silver-gray coloring at his temples, moustache, and neatly trimmed beard. Yet 'twas the blackened lens of his spectacles that con­fused him, for they did not seem to hinder his sight, though Ram could find no reason for walking about like that, other than the man could not see a'tall and 'twere merely a shield against, mayhaps, offending others. They made him appear a bit sinister, although he wore what Ramsey assumed was a gentleman's attire, the long loose-fitting breeches and coat were not much different than his own garments. Who was he to her, he wondered with unreasonable jealousy as the man started toward him.

  Anthony shoved his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, taking great pains not to openly gape at O'Keefe's antique clothing, but the broad cuffs of his coat sleeves, its long flared hem, the button breeches and worn Jack boots, were too unusual to go unnoticed.

  "Anthony Wainright, Mister O'Keefe." He extended his hand as Ramsey met the last step.

  Ram glared at it for a moment, then accepted, shaking firmly. Yet as he lowered his arm, Anthony spotted the flint-lock pistol.

  Aware of the shift of his gaze, Ramsey casually covered the stock with his coat, then nodded toward Mistress Hamilton.
>
  "Give the lady my regards," Ram said, moving off in the opposite direction.

  He walked several feet before Anthony gathered his wits. "You can't go!" The discovery of this man was more than coincidental, a find like a rare painting. Yet Anthony held back his excitement, reminding himself there were, thirty-seven O'Keefes in Coral Key's alone.

  Ramsey paused, turned. "And who will detain me? You, Englishman?"

  "I'm Welsh," Anthony corrected.

  "I see nay difference," Ram scoffed, then continued to walk. Anthony looked helplessly at Penny.

  Yet 'twas her voice that grabbed Ram's attention and made him stop.

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  "Come on, you two. It's hot out here."

  Both men looked to her. Penelope inclined her head, her arm braced on the top of the open door as Hank stuffed her bags in the trunk.

  "Any luggage, Mister O'Keefe?" Anthony asked, recogniz­ing his indecision.

  "Nay." For the first time, Ramsey felt out of place in his familiar clothing."

  Anthony frowned slightly, yet made no comment, sparing the man's dignity. Penelope hadn't told him anything about Ramsey O'Keefe, other than he'd been fished out of the sea by the Bahama Air Sea Rescue Association while searching for Tess.

  "We'll have to rectify that immediately," Anthony said more to himself.

  "I need naught from you, English," Ram snarled.

  Anthony's lips pressed into a tight line. "Welsh, Mister O'Keefe. Welsh.' What had he done to offend this man? ' 'Shall we?" He gestured for Ramsey to accompany him.

  Ram had no desire to be where he was obviously not wanted, for her cool rebuff aboard the air plane was unmistakable. She looks as if she regrets ever clapping eyes on me, he thought, then smiled slowly at the underlying challenge. The opportunity to thaw the icy Mistress Hamilton was worth even the company of her Englishman.

  "O'Keefe?"

  Ramsey nodded curtly, falling in step beside Wainright, try­ing desperately not to voice the question suddenly torturing his thoughts.

  He wouldn't ask. Blast, if he would! He did.

  "Are you her husband?"

  Anthony's brows shot up and he glanced to the side. "I beg your pardon?"

  Ramsey drew on his patience, ashamed of his nagging curios­ity. "Are you her mate, man?" He nodded to Penelope.

  Anthony's gaze shifted between the pair, and the exchange of uneasy glances were enough to make the Welshman smile.

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  But he didn't dare, and saw Penny escape into the back seat of her car. Coward.

  "I'm merely a friend." With Penny that was as good as it got.

  "The woman has no friends," Ram snarled under his breath. "A bleedin' winter wind, the wench is." Lovers, he decided, and hating it.

  Wench. The idea of Penelope allowing such a sexist reference made Anthony choke,' 'She's simply private, Mister O'Keefe," he managed, smothering a laugh. Gad, these two ought to mix like oil and water.

  As the men approached, Hank hid a grin he knew his boss wouldn't like and slid behind the wheel. Company, imagine that, he thought as Anthony paused briefly at the door, indicating Ramsey should enter before him.

  Ramsey bent a look into the elaborate coach. The lass kept herself tucked in the corner and wouldn't spare him a glance. So, 'twas the way of it, now, he thought, straightening. Ignoring Wainright's puzzled expression, he climbed in beside the driver.

  Hank grinned at his passenger, starting the engine as Anthony shut the door behind himself.

  "I'm Hank Tanner, Mister—?"

  "Captain Ramsey O'Keefe, Mister Tanner." Ram nodded once.

  "It's just Hank.'' A bushy silver brow rose. "Capt'n, huh?"

  "Aye," Ram replied absently, busy perusing the rich wood panel before him. Fine craftsmanship, he thought, smoothing a hand familiarly over the polished mahogany. 'Twas like an old friend in this world of metal and machines. "I do hope you can operate this carriage," he cast a glance over his shoul­der, "with a mediocum more finesse than your mistress."

  Hank snickered softly, and Penny viciously punched a button; a glass divider rose to separate her from that grinning man.

  "That wasn't very hospitable, my dear." Anthony tapped the glass and the Silver Phantom Rolls Royce pulled away from the Jet.

  "I've been hospitable enough for one day, thank you very much."

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  "Have you really?" She didn't answer, keeping her face averted as he picked up the phone and dialed. "Penelope, dear, correct me if I'm wrong, but you have literally kidnapped a man who possesses no identification, no funds, with no records of his existence ... isn't that what the authorities said?" He listened for the pick up.

  "Your point, Tony."

  "My point is, .what are you going to do about it?"

  She spared him a brief glance. "Why should I do—?"

  He held up his hand, speaking into the receiver. "Grace. Anthony Wainright. Ring up Travis and have him send some men's clothes over to Miss Hamilton's. No, definitely not for me," he said with relish.

  Penny smacked his arm without looking.

  "I don't know what size. Ahh, about six four or five, two hundred twenty—"

  "Two forty, tops," Penny put in, grateful he was helping.

  His brow shot up, his smile knowing. "Make it two hundred forty pounds, several variations and everything, please. Yes, I'll hold." He tilted the receiver away. "Aren't you a little curious? The clothes, his speech, that he's armed like a museum arsenal."

  "Not in the least." Liar.

  Up went the hand again. "Yes, Grace. Good. A bonus if he's there within the hour." He hung up, pleased.

  "Thanks, Tony."

  "It's the least / could do."

  She winced. He was right, of course.

  "How do you suppose he ended up floating in the sea?" Anthony asked.

  "I don't know nor do I care." Who are you fooling?

  "Well, he didn't just fall out of the sky."

  "Anthony." Penny sighed, finally turning from the window to look at him. "He was at least ten feet under when they found him."

  "Drowning, Penelope?" She nodded. "With no land around?''

  "Yes," she said carefully.

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  "Then how did he get there? Swim? Nearly a hundred miles? And why leave land at all when he could build a fire and wait for the patrols making their regular rounds?"

  Together they looked at the back of Ramsey's head.

  "I honestly hadn't thought of that." Surprise softened her voice.

  "You should." His was smug.

  "Why?" Her gaze snapped to him. "I could care less where he came from or where he's going."

  "He's getting out of the car, that's what he's doing."

  Neither had noticed the vehicle slow to a stop, nor the crowd gathered around a tall tree across the busy residential street.

  "Oh, this is just great." She lowered the divider. "Hank, what's he up to?"

  Hank chuckled. "That Mister O'Keefe saw the kid up in the tree long before I came around the curve."

  "For crying out loud, will you please go after him!" Hank was already out of the car before she finished.

  Ramsey tilted his head back, shielding his eyes against the sunlight to see the child clinging to the tree trunk nearly at the top.

  "It's a good ways up there, Capt'n," Hank said from Ram's side.

  "She's naught but a babe," Ram marveled, stripping off his jacket. He quickly removed his pistols and knives, handing them over to the old man, who was busy shrugging toward the carriage.

  Penny's lips pulled into a thin line, irritated he'd involved himself, yet captivated as Ramsey sauntered up to the tree and jumped, catching a thick limb and pulling himself up. He scaled with such undeniable ease and agility that Penny could do no more than gape—along with everyone else. He's a damned monkey, she thought, his movements confident, his power to overtake the dangerous distance amazing. He grasped
a branch, gained footing on another, and was beside the child in a matter of seconds. Then to aggravate the situation further, he sat on the adjacent limb and proceeded to enjoy the view!

  " 'Tis a fair way up, lassie. You must be very strong."

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  The little black-haired child looked up, and Ramsey's heart did a quick squeeze at those terrified eyes fountaining with tears.

  "Are you going to take me to my mama?" she whimpered, hugging the rough trunk. For an instant Ram thought of his son and the dishonor he'd done the innocent.

  "Is that what you wish?"

  She sniffled and nodded. "Yup."

  "The sight is breathtakin'." Ramsey smiled gently as he eased closer, gritting his teeth when the branch threatened to splinter. " 'Tis nay wonder you wanted to come up here."

  "Joey made me do it."

  "Did he now?" With infinite care, he moved onto the limb below her.

  "Yup."

  Ram smiled at the child's limited vocabulary. "Well, now. You'll certainly have a fine tale to tell Joey, won't you,

  sweetling?"

  "Yup." The single word held her pride and her fear.

  "Shall we join your admirers?"

  She looked down, then back to him, chewing on her lower lip. "Mama'll be worried, won't she?"

  Ramsey nodded and continued to talk softly to the little girl as he helped her onto his back. She nearly cut off his breath, God love her, with her grip around his neck as they slowly descended. The minute his feet touched solid earth, cheers and applause vibrated from the dense crowd of onlookers as he pulled her from his back and into his arms. She rewarded him with a throat crushing hug, her thin arms trembling. He patted her gently, then handed her over to a woman with outstretched arms.

  "'Thank you, oh, thank you so much," her mother gushed. Ramsey bowed deeply from the waist, then accepted his posses­sions from Hank.

  "Way to go, Capt'n," Hank said, slapping him on the back. Ramsey merely offered a smile, the older man suddenly reminding him of Duncan McPete. A red carriage as big a

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  bleedin' house screeched to a halt as the pair crossed the avenue. Ramsey paused to watch, then slipped into the coach.