Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

  The two men stared across the opulent room.

  A door closed somewhere.

  "How long have you known?" Ram finally said.

  Anthony let out a long breath, his face wreathed in a smile. "I suspected the night I showed you the television."

  Ram couldn't look more astonished.

  "I didn't want to say anything til I was certain she knew." A moment and then, "Took the news with her usual finesse, huh?" Anthony chuckled softly, but Ramsey didn't find the situation humorous and dropped sullenly into a chair.

  "The woman wants my head on a pole, I'm thinking." Ramsey glanced at Anthony, his expression self-depreciating. "She accused me of lying, called me a what—as if I be a thing that ought be on display! And fool that I am, I mentioned I'd a tendre for Tess."

  Anthony contained his excitement over learning that Tess had lived, long enough to say, "I bet it isn't your skull she wants on a pole then."

  Ramsey made a pained sound and Anthony settled into the matching chair, bracing his ankle across his knee. He met Ramsey's gaze. "So. Where would you like to start?"

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  Maxwell studied the mayonnaise dripping from the base of his burger and on to the plate as if it were the NATO reports. "Is this a trade in information, Lieutenant Mathers?" He said the name loud enough to draw a few odd looks.

  If he was trying to keep a low profile, the kid just blew it. "Answer the question."

  Maxwell looked up, his sharp eyes assessing the detective. "He committed a crime?"

  "He pulled a gun on you."

  "I didn't press charges and that was in Bahama territory. You don't have jurisdiction."

  "Listen, Maxwell," Pete Mathers leaned across the table. "You've had your skinny butt planted outside those gates since he got here. I want to know what's going on and any photos you have."

  Maxwell slanted him a condescending smirk. He needed a court order to get his photos, yet Max knew it was wise to stay on the good side of the local police, and his apprehension stemmed from O'Keefe himself. He liked the guy. No matter how hard he tried to hide in the trees or disguise himself, O'Keefe saw through it, saluting the tree or climbing up to join him, instead of blowing up and tossing him on his ass. Once he stood beneath the tree and very quietly asked the bark if spying on his daily habits made a man thirsty, then offered him a beer.

  "You sit and watch and you'll see the same as me." High octane tension, he thought, returning his attention to the meal.

  Mathers started to reach across the table, then remembered who this man worked for.

  Max saw the move and saved his ass.

  "The estate is armed like a prison."

  "What?"

  "Jesus, you deaf and stupid? God help the city." He lifted his head and stared, feeling like he was betraying an old friend. "Somebody got onto the estate, and no, I didn't see anything.

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  Just a lot of commotion," Max said when Mathers looked excited. "But he's hired more security and locked her inside."

  "How do you know he has hired them?"

  " 'Cause they don't do anything without his okay. Not even the mailman gets in."

  'That shouldn't matter to her, she likes privacy."

  But it did, Max thought, for he'd seen O'Keefe stop her from leaving the grounds alone just yesterday and she was furious, like a caged animal slowly going mad. But he wasn't about to tell Mathers that.

  "What else is he up to?"

  "Maybe he's trying to take over the goddamn country," Max snapped sarcastically. "How the hell should I know? Ask him yourself, Lieutenant. I'm not doing your job for you." With that Max tossed his burger on the plate with a wet spiat and stood, then left the diner.

  A half hour later, Mathers was parked outside the Hamilton estate. The kid was right, he gave him that. Mathers noted the license of each car that managed to get past the gates, which wasn't many. Who'd threatened her life again, Mathers won­dered, and why didn't he call the department and report it. Like you would have offered that kind of help ?

  A knock on the window sent Pete's stomach to his knees and his head snapped to the side. Ramsey O'Keefe stared down at him between his arms braced on the car's roof. Mathers rolled down the window, glaring his best even though he knew his face was flaming red.

  "Should you not be out searching for the bastards who attacked my lady last week?"

  "Clues are slim and sometimes they return to the scene of the crime. Have they?"

  Ramsey didn't answer, maintaining a dark, even stare, yet he seemed about to say something.

  "When you gonna trust us to do our job, O'Keefe?"

  Ramsey dropped a paper sack filled with sandwiches onto Mather's lap as he said, "Mayhaps when you cease having me followed," then turned away, signaling the guards afore he scaled the wall.

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  Chapter 29

  "There's the car." The guard pointed to the red '65 Mustang as he jammed on the brakes. Ramsey released the harness and opened the door.

  "Take yourself to the road that she does not elude you again," Ram said to the guard, his low voice ringing with authority and threatening the lot of his comrades with dismissal. He left the Jeep in a rage.

  She'd outsmarted him, the little witch, slipping off the estate whilst he was closeted in his rooms, pouring over the material about the Rothmeres. He'd yet to wade through the newspaper clippings on the Blackwells when he discovered she'd stowed in the back or the rear bonnet of her car as 'twas removed from the estate for repairs. He knew little of what was necessary to maintain the contraptions and she used his ignorance to her advantage. 'Twas admittedly clever, but by God, he'd fulfill his threat to tie her to her bed this time. She tempted his patience daily, and for the love of the Almighty he couldn't understand what purpose served in coming here, to the docks.

  Familiar scents and sounds soothed his foul temper as he studied the throngs of people lined outside the yawning entrance of a warehouse. Though its appearance was well kept, its patrons

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  were not. 'Tis the poorest of my country, he thought, the hope­lessness in their expressions like those of friend and foe during the revolution.

  Slipping around the side of the building to a pair of open doors, he cautiously ducked inside. The heat was smothering, sweat immediately bursting 'cross his brow as his gaze rapidly scanned the interior. Rows upon rows of cots covered nearly half of the immense bare stone floor, personal effects neatly tucked beneath. Children and adults sat quietly, their low mur­murs humming on the damp warm air. 'Twas desperation in their eyes, he thought, his gaze drifting from face to face. And hunger. He'd recognized the like afore, in himself.

  His gaze moved rapidly, searching, his brain trying to com­prehend why she would be here, amongst the salt of the earth. But he couldn't find her and his anger catapulted into fear. Had the guard been wrong in his assumption? Had she misled them intentionally and lay hurt elsewhere? God, he couldn't take that, not with the wedge atween them festering by the day. He swore if he—Ram spun about, his gaze frantically searching beyond the line of people carrying small trays, atween the steaming kettles and swift moving workers.

  He swore he heard her voice.

  He shifted his way atween the people, the scent of unwashed bodies reminding him far too much of his days aboard ship as he neared the galley area. He stopped abruptly, his heart rolling loosely in his chest. He would have never recognized her. Clad in brown abbreviated trousers and a black sleeveless shirt, she wore no paints or powders on her face, no jewelry, only a smudge of dirt on her chin. Her deep-red hair was pulled back, covered with a small cap, the wide bill facing backwards. Perspiration glossed her skin, now warmly tanned from spend­ing hours in the sun, avoiding him.

  She hovered over steaming basins, spooning food onto the trays, smiling, making conversation, pausing only to draw a pan of buns from a massive oven, then tending to her serving.

  Ramsey stepp
ed back out of her line of vision and watched her, watched as she tilled a plate and left the food line to bring the meal to an old man sitting hunched and decrepit. She forced

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  the utensil into his hand, her lips shaping encouragement as she coaxed him to eat. He did and she smiled, a smile he'd rarely witnessed from her. She worked tirelessly, sending her coworkers off to rest as she took charge. They did not seem to know who she was beyond the offer of food and shelter, he realized, for 'twas not the same as when she was accosted in the streets by her fans.

  A woman in a white coat approached, addressing Penelope, yet she continued to ladle and pour, nodding, then turned her utensils over to another and followed her. Ram slipped behind support post and around cots, tracing their steps. Keeping hid­den, he found Penelope nestled on a cot, a small black haired child in her arms.

  "I won't lie, the needle is going to hurt." The child cringed and Penny soothed her. "But it will make the big pain go away."

  "Don't want no more hurt, Rusty," the child sobbed help­lessly and Penny closed her eyes, her heart wrenching as the boney little girl trembled in her arms.

  "I know, honey," she murmured against her hair, nodding to the doctor to prepare the syringe. "How about I take a shot just to show it isn't so bad, okay?"

  "1 can't allow this."

  Penny's gaze jerked to the young physician. "I could use a little vitamin B," she said, her tone brooking no argument, and, as the two women fought a silent battle, the pale cherub face tilted up, round dark eyes blinking.

  "Honest, Rusty?" She shuddered heavily. "You will?"

  Penny recognized the look. Suspicion. No one had sacrificed so much as a smile for this child. "Have I ever lied to you, Peaches?''

  Numbly Peaches shook her head and Penny stretched her arm, nodding to the doctor. The child shrank when the needle pierced her skin, but Penny didn't blink, smiling. Peaches looked between the doctor and her savior, then gingerly offered her arm.

  And Ramsey realized 'twas broken, the bone threatening to protrude through the skin. The child sank into a painless sleep

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  afore the physician withdrew the needle and Penelope shifted, settling the girl as she stood. The doctor went immediately to work setting the break.

  "Damn, Rusty, I wish you'd quit putting me on the spot like that. It's dangerous."

  "She's alone and terrified. What would you have me do, Renee? Lie? Strap her down while she screams herself into shock?" She didn't respond. "And don't swear in front of the children, Renee."

  Ramsey slipped back out of sight as Penny strode across the compound to the food line, taking up her position, her smile bright and full of hope.

  "We missed you yesterday, Rusty."

  "A girl's gotta make a living," she said with a soft smile.

  "I here yah," the man said, shuffling past.

  "How's your son, Lana?" she said to a woman after a few people had passed.

  "Still coughing. Barks like a seal sometimes, I'm afraid he'll wake everyone at night."

  "Have Doc Renee take another look." She swiped damp tendrils from her cheek with the back of her wrist. "Tell her I sent you over," she added when Lana looked to protest. Ram watched her for a moment longer, his pride of her swelling, then slipped outside, out of her sight, yet kept watch, his senses atune to her presence. 'Twas the worst place to see her protected, he thought, just as someone tapped his shoulder. Ram whirled about, fists primed and a young man flinched, lurching back.

  "Christ, wound up a little too tight today?"

  Ram's expression remained unchanged.

  "Sorry. I'm Jake, and I could use some help, if you don't mind."

  The young blond scarcely in his twenties gestured behind himself to the open truck filled with boxes. Ram glanced inside the warehouse, then back to the lad. He nodded once, then leapt onto the tailgate, hefting the stores and stacking them inside a small brick building. Each time he passed the side door he glanced beyond, assuring himself she was still there, still safe.

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  And Jake noticed.

  "Looks different, don't she?" came in a whisper and Ram snapped a look to the side, shifting his grip on the box.

  "How is it that they do not recognize her?"

  Jake shrugged, walking beside Ramsey to the storage shed. ' 'Some do, I guess. But most of these people don't have enough money to eat, let alone spend seven bucks to see a movie." They deposited the crates, then went back for more. "Everyone knows she doesn't come here to be the star and keep her identity quiet. Sort of like a family secret."

  "She's here often?"

  "Yup. 'Bout three, four days a week," Jake said, grabbing another box, his eyes widening when Ramsey hefted three without so much as a grunt. "And she don't let the press know the locations, says people here need to keep their dignity. So don't give her away or she'll be pissed."

  Mad, he deduced. 'Twas an effort on her part, to keep her affiliation with this establishment secret. "Do you live here,

  lad?"

  "Not anymore," he said proudly. "Her foundation gave me a grant and I'm in college now, but come back to help out."

  "She finances this?" Ram waved to encompass the ware­house and its occupants.

  "Yeah," came cautiously and Jake recognized his shock. "Jeez, what planet you been on?"

  The unloading complete, Jake rapped on the trunk and as it rolled away, he dropped some coins into a soda machine and bought them both a cold one. "Want to meet her?"

  Ramsey drained the soda without stopping, thoroughly enjoying the tingling in his mouth. "Nay," he said, crushing the can and pitching it into a bin marked for metal trash. "We are acquainted."

  "Not as well as you thought, huh?" Jake murmured on laughing.

  Ram's lips curved, his expression chagrined. "Apparently not.''

  As the lad bid him good day and thanks afore heading inside, Ram took up position near the entrance and spent the remainder

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  of the morning keeping vigil on the woman he adored, yet was discovering all over again.

  Penny let out a yelp when she sank into the car seat and found Ramsey sitting beside her. Her first instinct was to club him into Silly Putty until her fear subsided, but instead gripped the steering wheel.

  "How did you find me?"

  "All that matters is that I have." His gaze sharpened. "And you are safe."

  "I was never in danger here. God, can't you take a hint?" This was a part of herself she wasn't prepared to share with him, not this much at once. "If I'd wanted you here, I would have told you about it." But you'll have to, a voice challenged, if you want him.

  Stung, he leaned forward in her face, his low voice cutting into her temper. ' 'Meggie and Hank were half mad with worry for you." Her brave front wilted and he was glad she felt at least a measure of regret. "Therefore you'd best suffer the consequences, like royalty, lass, for your inconsiderate actions have brought you a personal protector." He sat back. "Rouse the beast," he said, gesturing to the dashboard and she turned the ignition. "Where e'er you go, I go."

  "Great," she muttered, supposing she deserved that, so hot to get here without his notice she forgot completely about telling Margaret. Damn, she hated it when he was right, she mulled, throwing the car into reverse and making him scramble for his seat belt.

  Ram shot her a narrow look and she smiled sweetly, speeding out of the parking lot. The woman should not be allowed full rein in a temper, he decided. Avoiding the scenery racing past with nauseating speed, Ram kept his gaze on her, aware it made her squirm with indignation. She'd bathed and changed into a simple blouse and skirt and his gaze drifted to her bare legs, muscled and tanned as she depressed the pedals, then shifted the stick, wandered back up to her face.

  "Why put you on this act?"

  She frowned, confused. "I act before a camera, Ramsey." ' "Then is Ru
sty a character you portray for them?'' She glanced to the side in surprise. " 'Twas a warm and caring lass I saw today, not the

  cold—"

  "—bitch?" she cut in and he looked appalled.

  "I would not even think such a thing," he hissed, angered by such a self-depreciating remark. She was far more faceted than any female he'd known; a tyrant with her independence, a temptress in his bed, and a Samaritan of the downtrodden. He adored every part of her and besides, he decided, the only person privy to her icy contempt was him and he'd no desire to fight with her.

  "Yeah, right. Well," she huffed into the tense silence, ignor­ing the bait. "You've seen for yourself the chaos recognition causes," she said without a trace of arrogance. She slowed to a stop at a light, glancing in the rearview mirror, then staring out over the hood. "I have my reasons for secrecy."

  And he had his suspicions as to why, but wanted her to come to him, tell him, and said, "But you will not reveal them—" he leaned closer, hovering, the interior shrinking around her and Penny dared a look in his direction, gazes colliding— "Even to me, love?"

  Love. If only he did.

  But he was a man of his century, believing women were on earth for men to protect and adore, gently reared and pure women, like his mother. And Penny didn't even come close to qualifying. And she didn't want him to know about that part of her life, for she couldn't bear to see disgust in his eyes. But she hungered for him, missed him, and suddenly wanted to jerk the car off the road and kiss him, and be kissed back, one of his smoldering pulse-stealing kisses, the kind he put his whole body into giving. She ached for the on-the-edge breath-lessness that came with touching him, the freedom, the delicious feminine rush through her body that she'd never known before Ramsey. This dance they did to avoid each other long enough to fling a veiled dig or two was wearing on her. She wanted him back. But she didn't know how to ask.