Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "I swear, with me bleedin' hands, /'// kill them!" He started to rise.

  "Ramsey, no! No!" Penny grabbed his shirt sleeve, her bloody fingers slipping across the fabric as he took off toward the hidden staircase. "Ramsey!" she screamed, but he was gone, Tony was there, helping her to her feet. "Call the police. They were armed.'' Then she headed to the old staircase, hoping Ramsey realized it-

  Ramsey met the last step, wove his way through the butler's pantry, then burst out the back door and saw two men running across the short stretch of beach. He gave chase, kicking up .sand as his powerful legs overtook the separation. He heard a roaring sound, the bubbling churn of water as his feet met the pier and the first man jumped into a small boat. With a growl of rage, Ramsey dove for the second bastard's legs, knocking him to the wood deck. Ram dragged him back by the waist band, hoisting him to his feet as he sent his square fist into a too pretty face. The man's nose shifted under the meaty blow. The intruder retaliated, ramming his knee into Ramsey's stom­ach. He folded over, yet afore the other could do damage to his mug, Ram rolled away and leapt to his feet, fists singing. Jab, right cross, upper jab to the chin. Ramsey sought to deliver him to Satan, the swift combination offering no mercy and her attacker stumbled back on rubbery legs. Ram grasped the man's shirt front and drew his arm back.

  A sharp crack made him freeze.

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  Gunfire was a sound Ramsey never forgot. He threw his hands up, and the beaten man staggered, knees buckling, then straightened, swiping at his bleeding nose afore scrambling over the edge of the pier and into the boat; a third man stood at the stern and fired two more shots into the pier at Ram's feet to keep him where he stood.

  Ramsey remained motionless, grinding his teeth to powder as the small boat banked on a curve of white foam and peeled away from the shore, his gaze on the weapons still trained on his heart.

  Penny ran across the sand, stopping short when he slashed the air for her to stay back. He looked as if he'd explode, she thought, his fists clenching repeatedly, vibrating up to his shoulders and bunching his fury. She hesitated, inching closer. Ramsey looked at her, extending his arm, and she flew to him, clinging as he drew her tightly against his side and pressed his lips to the top of her head. His quick breath warmed her hair and she tightened her grip around his waist, the sound of the gunshots ringing through her mind again and again.

  Penny didn't think she'd ever been that scared before.

  "Who do you know that would do such a thing?"

  Penny tilted her head back. He was staring at the sea, a dark challenge in his eyes. "What makes you think someone / know did this?"

  " 'Twas well planned, Penelope, and those men," he nodded to the returning wake, "knew the lay of your house." He met her gaze. "Intimately."

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  Chapter 20

  On the staircase, Ram hovered behind a whey-faced lad as he powdered the wood rail.

  ' 'Any idea of what they were looking for?'' Det. Dave Down­ing called up the curving flight from his position at the foot.

  "Aside from coin or jewelry?" Only Ram's eyes shifted, pinning the detective. "Nay."

  But he suspected, for the attackers were specific in their intent, following her pattern and taking pains to disguise them­selves for a first look at the suitcases sealed in the islands, assuming she brought their prize with her.

  Twas the diamonds the bastard's sought. He was certain of it. For they'd come from this century. Tess claimed 'twas so, afore a stunned group of Marines, Dane amongst them, confessing how she'd come by the cache of rare colored dia­monds whilst stealing back blackmail for Penelope. In this century.

  Whose game was Penelope caught atween now? He could not honestly point the finger at a Rothmere, for the vengeance of Phillip died a fiery death in 1789. Who then, was tempting discovery by seeking out Penelope? How far were these people willing to go, and what retribution would befall her, for the

  stones were lost atween the barriers of time and space. But only he knew that. And he was determined to get to the root of it, yet he did not trust the constabulary to apprehend the culprits. For without the knowledge of the diamonds existence, they'd no connection to investigate. And he could not offer the information.

  Ramsey felt trapped.

  "Excuse me, Captain O'Keefe."

  Ram shifted position, allowing a young uniformed officer better access to the banister, observing over the lad's shoulder as he dusted for fingerprints, an amazing process he was assured would be indisputable, for no two were alike. The procedure posed no threat to Ramsey, for one's prints had to have been recorded first, he was told, and since Ram did not exist, by the records of this time, he dismissed the concern.

  The officer held the clear strip up to the light, pointing to the print. "That could be our man."

  Ram squinted. " 'Tis doubtful, lad." The officer glanced to the side, frowning questioningly. " 'Tis mine." Ram held up his hand, wiggling his index finger to show the scarcely healed cut dividing the tip.

  The lad compared the two and sighed, disappointed, yet continued methodically in his work.

  "And I believe they were gloved."

  "Damn it!" Downing gave the bannister an angry shove. "Why didn't you say that before?"

  Ramsey descended the remaining steps, stopping afore the dark haired detective. "You did not ask." Nor, at the time, did he consider it mattered.

  Downing's gaze narrowed suspiciously as customs officials passed with the tattered suitcases. "What type of gun did they use?" He followed O'Keefe across the foyer.

  " 'Twas unfamiliar," Ram said truthfully.

  "Anything like this one?" Downing opened his coat, with­drawing his gun and Ram paused, turned, fascinated as the detective emptied the bullets afore handing the weapon over for inspection.

  Fine workmanship, Ram thought, smoothing his fingers

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  across the barrel, then testing the weapon's balance. "Nay, 'twas no wider than a book, as one piece, naught like this." He gestured to the fat chamber and molded stock, then handed it back and kept going.

  Downing reholstered his gun, then scribbled a few notes before asking, "Can you describe them again?"

  Ramsey stopped in the center of the front hall, rolling his head on his neck.

  "I have done this, man, twice afore." Tired, annoyed.

  "Maybe something else will jog your memory."

  He glanced over his shoulder. "Me memory is fine."

  "How do you get around without identification?"

  "At present, I've no place to get round to." 'Twas a fairday when a man's word was his bond, he thought, and considered offering the police officer a bribe just to shut him up, but he recognized 'twould not be as well received in this century as 'twas in his. Yet he was certain they were suspicious, of him and his presence in Penelope's home. His evasiveness would take him only so far.

  "Did O'Keefe hit you?"

  Ramsey spun .on his heels, his gaze sharpening on the slim blond detective.

  "Of course not," Penny said, lowering the ice pack from her jaw, her thinning gaze giving her the look of a tigress on the hunt. ' 'What are you getting at?'' This was the third time the Don Johnson reject had insinuated something with his ques­tions.

  "I think you came back from the islands and O'Keefe was jealous, ripped up your suit cases and then knocked you around when he didn't find anything to confirm his suspicions."

  "And four eye-witnesses and two slugs in my' pier brought you to this conclusion?" Penny wasn't about to tell Detective Pete Mathers she'd met Ramsey only four days ago and he'd been with her ever since.

  "And be assured," Ramsey added, strolling into the large parlor. "If I were so dishonorable as to beat a woman," he looked Mathers in the eye as he passed—"she would be dead."

  Penny glanced down at his broad fists, remembering how

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  gentle those hands were on her body and k
new he could never do what the detective implied.

  "You have a solid alibi, Ramsey, and don't have to explain anything," Anthony cut in softly, then shifted his gaze to Math­ers. "Unless you're going to continue harassing a witness?"

  "Lawyers," Mathers muttered, then focused on Penny as if he'd never slandered Ramsey. 'O'Keefe says the old door was stuck last night.' '.His tone rode on the snide and Penny decided it was best to ignore it, ' 'I need the names of anyone who knew it existed." His pen was primed to write on a little note pad and Penny could see that list plastered on the front page of the Interrogator already.

  "I don't see how that will help, since this—"

  "Let me decide that, all right?" Mathers snapped rudely.

  Suddenly Ramsey forced himself atween Penelope and the detective, towering over the blond man, his dark eyes flashing with outrage. "You will curtail your insolence toward Mistress Hamilton, afore I teach you a few lessons in proper manners," came in a low snarl. The man had no decency, Ram decided, or the puny turd would not presents himself in public, afore a lady, with an unshaven face.

  "You threatening me, Mister O'Keefe?" he said suspi­ciously and his partner glanced up from questioning Margaret, his gaze sharpening on Mathers.

  Ram's lips twisted into a cruel smile, his tone forming icicles. "I do not threaten, whelp." Ram tolerated no insubordinance aboard his ship, nor would he in his lady's house.

  "Excuse me," Penny stressed, edging around his big body when he refused to budge. She glanced up at Ramsey. "Do you always have to flex and growl," she murmured under her breath, then faced the detective. "The good cop, bad cop,-isn't working, Mathers. Give it up and quit wasting my time." She snatched the pad and pen from his hand, scribbling a list of a half dozen names.

  Ram noticed Tess was not on it.

  She crossed a t and handed back the pad and pen. "And if you'd done a little detecting, you'd know the plans of this house are public record. It's a historical landmark. Anyone

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  could have known of the old servant's staircase." Penny enjoyed his embarrassed flush. "And I'd better not find that publicized," she warned, nodding to the list.

  Ramsey glanced to the side, his brows drawn close in a frown. "What say you, lass? Surely those names would be of no interest?"

  "The public is interested in what she eats in as much as—" Mathers met Ramsey's gaze—"who she sleeps with."

  Ram exploded and slapped a hand to the man's chest, grab­bing a fistful of the shirt and hauling him up to meet his face, his low snarl enough to make Penny cringe.

  "Let him go, Ramsey." She was saying that an awful lot to this man. He looked indecisively at her, then released him, abruptly, and the officer staggered back.

  "Try that again—" Mathers adjusted his shirt. "And you'll be up on charges, pal."

  Ram leaned down, filling his vision. "I suggest you debark afore 1 make you a grin in a glass, mate.''

  "And I think we've answered enough questions." Her tone brooked no argument as she folded her arms over her middle and leveled a quick keep-out-of-it glance at Ramsey.

  "Quite enough," Anthony added, holding out his business card between two fingers. Mathers took it, shoving it into his coat pocket without so much as a glance as hand radio static drew his attention.

  "We're through here," Downing said from the doorway as police officers emerged from all areas of the house, lugging cases, footprint casts and spent bullets.

  Ramsey followed on their heels, opening the door only to find two men on the stoop, a large crate atween them. He muttered a curse, glancing at Penny.

  She was still as a statue.

  "What's this?" Mathers grabbed the clipboard from one man, who promptly took it back.

  "'Tis none of your concern, man, now begone." Ram clapped a hand to the detective's shoulder, the motion appearing almost affectionate even as he propelled him out the doorway. His partner murmured apologetically to Penelope, then followed

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  suit. Ramsey threw open the second French door, gesturing for the men to bring the crate inside.

  ''Upstairs, please," Penelope said more to her feet, gesturing distractedly toward the staircase.

  'I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have orders to uncrate it before witnesses. You must break the first seals."

  Penelope smoothed the spot between her brows and nodded. With his body, Ramsey barred the constable a view of the crate and shut the doors with more force than necessary.

  Penny stared at the crate wrapped in heavy sailcloth, stitched and oiled. A specially made casing of the period likely to insure against decomposition over the years, she thought, then glanced around the foyer at the expectant faces, Tony's especially. She took a slow breath and came forward, snapping the two large wax seals. The men in starched gray jumpsuits immediately cut away the oiled sail cloth, then put crowbars to the crate, separating the wood with a splintering crack, breaking the black wax seals on the seams, each emblazoned with a scrolled L.L. Penny stood perfectly still, yet the hairs on the back of her neck swirled, the skin tightening as the last of the slats were removed.

  "My God." She sagged against the papered wall, staring at the antique trunk.

  Her name was clearly etched across a broad gold plate on the front above a simple padlock. The sight of it made her ill.

  "Magnificent," Tony murmured, moving closer, his fingers rasping beneath his bearded chin as he studied the piece with a curator's eye.

  Ramsey bent and examined the sea chest, its familiar struc­ture, the leather hinges tight and smooth, its brass latches still bright with newness, untainted by moisture. His gaze shifted to Penelope. She was signing the receipt, nodding to whate'er Antony was saying, yet even from his position Ram could see her hand tremble.

  "Second room on the left," she instructed the delivery men in a fading whisper as Anthony offered identification and wrote his name beneath hers.

  ' 'Nay, lass." Ram waved the men back, standing the chest on

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  its side, the contents shifting audibly. " 'Twill be me pleasure." With his back to it, he squatted, dipping his hand over his shoulder to grasp the leather handle.

  "Ramsey, it's their job," she said before he injured himself. He ignored her, positioning his free hand beneath the crafted oak chest and with a grunt, hefted it on his back. Penny's brows shot up as he straightened.

  He looked at her. "I'll not have another stranger above stairs," he said, then crossed the foyer to the staircase with a swiftness no one could match.

  "You'll not—?" She smiled tightly at the delivery men, murmured, "Excuse me," then followed the chauvinistic over­bearing man in tight jeans up the stairs.

  "You'll not allow anyone above stairs?"

  "Aye." He turned into her rooms.

  "Have you forgotten this is my house?"

  " 'Twould be difficult not to, lass." Ram deposited the sea chest on her bedchamber floor and faced her.

  "Then quit acting like it. And while we're on the subject, I certainly don't need you to butt your muscles in every time you think I might be offended." He quirked a brow, working a kink out of his tricep. "I've been handling guys like Mathers for years. I don't need your protection."

  "Certainly m'lady," he mocked, "for you've proven 'tis so—" he fingered her bruised jaw—"dealing with your attack­ers with such superior efforts."

  She shoved his hand away, "I was taken off guard."

  "Mayhaps." Her blood stained dress reminded him how incapable he felt to protect her in this century. "But what of next time?"

  "There won't be one."

  Ram scoffed. "They did not find whate'er they sought, woman." He loomed over her, arms akimbo, his eyes unyield­ing. "Do not believe my presence in your home will deter another attempt."

  "Well, the police are on it now, so you needn't feel—"

  "By Triton's will, you are a stubborn wench!"

  "Wench!" She st
epped closer, nose to nose. "Listen,

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  Neanderthal man, don't you dare assume that you can just take—"

  "I dare all I please," he cut in savagely. "For you are too blind to see these bastards knew more than the lay of your house, they knew your habits!" If a time-traveler could be lost in this century, one of their own could vanish forever. "And that imbecile will never find them!"

  "That doesn't-change the fact that I don't need you to be my watch dog!"

  Ramsey wanted to shake her. She was too bloody indepen­dent for her own good, and she'd walk into a nest of trouble again if he wasn't careful.

  "You are innocent to this, Penelope." His voice was edged, warning of the coming explosion. "And by the Gods, I will protect what is mine!"

  "I'm not yours!" burst from her lips. "I'm not!"

  Ram smothered the sting of her denial and said, "You were every bit as such last night."

  She inhaled, eyes bright, posture stiff. "Of all the pompous, egotistical, self-indulgent—!"

  His arm shot around her waist, jerking her against his body, his lips descending upon hers with a crushing force, molding, shaping hers, his tongue prying open her teeth afore plunging inside. She shoved at his chest, twisting, and his mouth followed hers, his muscled leg insinuating atween her thighs. His hand dove down her spine, pressing her tighter to his length and in that fraction of time, she gave up.

  And she sank into him, gripping his shoulders, raking her fingers through his hair. She answered him, reveled in him, for his touch bore the same soul-stripping fire as the evening before, taking her beyond sex and pleasure and into a plane of greedy passion and an unrelenting hunger she knew she'd never satisfy without him,

  And she hated it. For her want had nothing to do with the strength surrounding her now, or his masculine instinct to pro­tect her like some guardian angel, but from her weakness, her inability to resist only this man, and keep him from the ugliness that would eventually rear and destroy this spark of life they