Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

  ' 'Our child was kidnapped from her playroom. Just vanished. One minute we could hear her laughing and tossing toys and the next..." He shuddered heavily before he continued. "At first we thought she'd simply found one of the passageways in the walls. I mean, the house was old as time, and though most of them were sealed up, even I didn't know of all the secret panels leading out. But somebody did. That was the only way they could have gotten in." He seemed to be trying to justify his part in his child's disappearance and Ramsey said naught, aware of the narrow passageways of the Blackwell mansion, and how he'd used them to leave the house unnoticed for a private horse ride or a tumble with a maid, without embarrassing Dane with his behavior.

  "A ransom demand came. Three million dollars."

  "Sweet Jesus!" The can crunched in Ramsey's broad fist.

  "I know, it might as well have been twenty." Despair weighted his words. "I didn't have that kind of money, not that wasn't tied up in investments or my company. Then they demanded it in diamonds or they'd kill my little girl."

  Ramsey's features yanked taut and his spine tightened, his gaze narrowing on Alexander.

  "Colored diamonds, the greedy sons of bitches." He mashed a hand over his face. "I took everything I had, mortgaged the house, the lands, sold every damn antique, the horses, cars, and I did what they asked. I kept the police out. They had my baby, for God's sakes!" His throat worked violently and it was a long moment afore he could speak again. "All I got back was a tiny bloody sneaker. It was hers, and the blood type matched. So I knew—oh Jesus." He cut the engine low and he dug the heels of his palms in his eyes, his words muffled. "I never saw her again. And Annora, God, she just gave up. She couldn't

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  take knowing our baby spent her last hours screaming for us to help her, her last breath being tortured." He ran his fingers through his gray hair, his expression so wretched, Ramsey experienced and remembered his own agonizing pain, of a father standing by, helpless as his child perished. "Why did they have to hurt her? I paid. I paid! Why couldn't they have given her back?''

  Ramsey crossed to the old man, his heart twisting in his chest.

  "God almighty, Alexander, I am sorry for making you relive this," Ramsey said, dropping his hand to his shoulder with a gentle weight and when he tilted his head back to the sun, Ramsey saw the sheer of tears.

  "God, I wish I'd died, too."

  "Nay, nay," Ramsey soothed, giving him a soft shake. "Have a bit of faith, man." Ramsey could not offer an explana­tion for he did not understand the feelings assailing him, yet beyond the diamonds, his story stirred a faint memory he couldn't grasp.

  "I knew this would happen if I came back."

  "I did not mean to pry so deeply, Alexander."

  Alex scoffed. "You didn't. I haven't spoken about that to anyone since Annora died. I couldn't, to be honest. It's why I left. I lost everything that night and here," he waved to the shoreline. "There's just too many memories." He breathed deeply, struggling for composure, then cast Ramsey a suspi­cious look. "You can have the company, Ramsey. No charge, take it if that's what you want, but it's cursed, I tell you. It'll destroy you."

  Chapter 34

  Now that was a ship, she thought as the vessel breezed into the slip, and she studied Ramsey as he lowered the sail, securing in neatly, methodically, then hopped to the dock and tied the lines. He looked comfortable in the surroundings, incredibly energized and she knew why he wanted to be aboard a ship again, doing the excursions. He was a seaman. He needed it and it was good for their relationship that she didn't get seasick. Because he wasn't going anywhere alone.

  Her gaze shifted to the older man working beside him. He wore faded jeans and a short sleeved sweatshirt and a Greek fisherman's cap covered gray hair she could see grazing his collar. Then they strode toward her and her gaze went to the man beside her lover. Alexander Blackwell.

  Her palms perspired as the pair drew closer. He had to be at least sixty, his features tanned and weathered, his eyes the palest green she'd ever seen. Almost too pretty to belong to a man, she decided.

  Ramsey met her first, and she tore her gaze from Alexander and looked up into his handsome face.

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  "I missed you," he murmured softly, bending to kiss her heavily on the mouth.

  She gripped his biceps, standing on tiptoe. ' 'God, you look good out there,'' she said, her voice throaty with sudden desire. He grinned knowingly and kissed her again, hotly, possessively, a slick push and taste of lips and tongue.

  "Had I known 'twould offer such a reaction I would have kidnapped you and kept you aboard a ship til you succumbed to me."

  "What an interesting idea," she said and he threw his head back and laughed. Penny hugged him and over her shoulder she met Alexander's gaze.

  Ramsey felt an immediate change in her, a tightening of her posture and slowly he released her, turning to face Alexander.

  They stared, a questioning look knitting her forehead and Ramsey watched the odd by-play atween the pair. Penelope never took her gaze from his face, his eyes. But Alexander's gaze slid over her rapidly, curiously to the point of rudeness.

  "Penelope, this—"

  "I know." Her voice was soft and inviting. "It's a pleasure, Mister Blackwell," she said, offering her hand.

  Alexander stared at her slim fingers, his gaze traveling upward to her face. "Alex," he corrected, then grasped her hand.

  Her breath caught and she frowned at the warmth of his grip.

  Alexander blinked, trying not to look like an idiot before the famed actress.

  Ramsey didn't miss the exchange.

  A phone buzzed and Penny flinched, then smiled at Alexan­der, excusing herself as she turned toward the Rolls. Hank lowered the window, scowling at Alexander as he handed her the cellular phone.

  Alexander studied Penelope, then looked at Ramsey. "I've seen photos of her when she was a teenager." A pause, a glance in her direction. "She's turned into a real beauty."

  Ram shifted restlessly, his thoughts aching to have voice. "The beauty is but a shell," Ram said as Alexander continued

  TIMESWEPT ROGUE

  to stare. She cast him a quick glance, smiling as she spoke into

  the phone,

  "She doesn't fit the image the tabloids paint." Alexander looked as if he wanted to question her and Ramsey tensed.

  "Alexander?"

  Both men faced her as she cut the line, handing the phone to Hank before she spoke. "Would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow night?"

  "Thanks, I'd like that," he said without hesitation, glancing at Ramsey, then back to her. "Maybe you'll show me this endowment from my crazy ancestor?"

  Her gaze flew to Ramsey and he shrugged, a bit sheepish. "Then maybe you'll tell me why you think they were nuts?" she countered with a smile. "I'll send a car for you about six," she added, her voice trembling slightly. She cleared her throat and looked at Ramsey. "That was Tony. He's at the house, impatient to see the document."

  Ram nodded, his gaze shifting to Alexander. "Til the mor­row, Alexander.'' He held out his hand and Alexander grasped

  it firmly.

  "Have Wainright draw up any papers he likes."

  Ram nodded and they remained on the dock as Alexander turned and strode back toward his ship.

  "He seems like a nice man."

  "Aye. Made me mind weary to know he's Tess's great great

  great great great grandson."

  She blinked. "I hadn't thought of it quite like that." Penny ducked into the car, enfolding Ramsey's hand as soon as he dropped down beside her. He brought their clasped fists to his lips, but she seemed to ignore his attentions, glancing out the rear window, watching Alexander, a frown wrinkling her brow before she turned back and sighed.

  "Lore?"

  She met his questioning gaze. "I don't know. I get a strange

  feeling about him. He seems so ... lost."
<
br />   "He's had a tragic life."

  Ramsey was fain to speak his thoughts, but as she crossed her slender legs and his gaze caught on the dark scar circling

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  her ankle, he knew they could not wait til she saw Alexander again.

  Alexander rummaged in boxes, peeiing through his files, seeking the ownership papers of his company and deeds to property. He found them exactly where he expected and was about to leave the small storage compartment when his gaze fell on a small wood and leather chest, tacked with brass studs. A memory flashed and he recalled seeing it in his great grand­mother's rooms. No one was allowed to look inside, no men, at least. It was to be passed on through the hands of the Blackwell women. He found a seat on some boxes and drew it to his lap, flipping the latch and opening the lid.

  Annora had put this in here, he thought, knowing that all these years he could never bring himself to look inside. Just the image of her brought him to his knees. He riffled, recognizing a piece or two of jewelry, her girlhood diary, a silhouette of a Blackwell female, certificates of birth and death and marriage. It was all he had left of his ancestors and Alexander felt his own mortality.

  He wished he hadn't disappointed his forebearers by losing all they'd held dear. Lifting out a rolled piece of brittle parch­ment, he loosened the faded ribbon binding the cylinder, unroll­ing it carefully. It was a marriage certificate, of Dane Blackwell to Tess Renfrew—

  Renfrew? Why did that name sound familiar, he considered, staring off for a bit, then returning his gaze to the paper. They were married in the islands. Good God, in a pirate's lair, he thought with a chuckle. His features slackened when his gaze fell on the date, not of the marriage, but of Tess's birth. August twelfth, nineteen sixty-four. Nineteen! It was the proof his grandmother mentioned.

  Good God.

  She wasn 't crazy.

  And if this legend was true, then what of the story of Ramsey Malachai Gamaliel O'Keefe, the portrait, and his legendary sacrifice for his family?

  Alexander was suddenly glad he'd been invited to dinner. He had a lot to ask O'Keefe. A hell of a lot, he thought, rummaging further in the box, plucking out piece by piece. Something drove him; a deep seeded notion he couldn't put into words, a nudge in the recesses of his brain, guiding him. Impatiently, he dumped the contents on the floor, sorting, drop­ping item by item back into the chest. He suddenly stilled, his gaze on the bottom of the box. He frowned at the worn ill-fitting edge, running his finger along the velvet seam. It wobbled and he withdrew a penknife from his back pocket, flipped it open and pried up the corner. Beneath the false bottom, he found a slip of vellum, yellow and brittle, its wax seal obviously replaced several times. It wasn't the Blackwell seal, he realized as he lifted it toward the light, but Rothmere.

  Anthony gaped at the document, bringing it under the light and adjusting his glasses. "My God," he whispered. "My God!"

  "Antony." Ramsey smiled at being so thoroughly ignored as Anthony felt the paper, turned it over, searching the back for God knew what, then examined the lettering again.

  "Considering that I am older than Thomas, and therefore a more valuable antique," he quipped, winking at Penelope when she laughed—"mayhaps you could give me your attention?"

  "Oh yes, sorry," he said, shrugging sheepishly. "It's a codi­cil to a will, and I'd have to look up a few laws to know for certain if it's legal, which it should be. But you were right. He states, by the original owner of the house and lands, that it will never leave the hands of a Blackwell and should circumstances cause it to do so, this—'' he waved the paper, then cringed when it cracked, threatening to crumble, "revokes any agreement and if the opposing party fights it, it turns the house and lands over to the state as a historical landmark."

  "Talk about covering all the bases."

  "Excellent."

  Penny's gaze sharpened on Ramsey. "What are you plan­ning?" She left her seat to stand before him.

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  He smiled at her mutinous stance, arms akimbo, chin tilted.

  "To lure Phalon."

  "Where?"

  "Anywhere he desires," he said cryptically.

  "Ramsey," she warned. "He's not someone you provoke unnecessarily."

  "I agree," Anthony put in. "He's only sent out a light warning so far. I wouldn't want to tangle with him when he gets a little heavy-handed."

  "It wasn't heavy shooting at Tess, or damn near killing Margaret?" Penny snapped and Ramsey slid his arm about her waist, hushing her, his lips pressed to her temple. "Damn," she said, briefly closing her eyes and letting her temper simmer. "I get the feeling this is all going to blow up in our faces." And it's all my fault, she thought, opening her eyes and looking up at Ramsey. "I think we should go to the police."

  He faced her fuily. "I do not."

  "Ramsey."

  "Penelope," he began patiently. "He must tip his hand afore we can do aught. We have no proof that is of value. None we can show anyone beyond this room."

  She gripped his arms, squeezing. "But it's dangerous. And we have to walk into his house, his lair,'' she said disgustedly— "in four days."

  He'd almost forgotten about the premier. "Mayhaps Sloane is a weaker link."

  "Like a gorilla maybe—"

  "While you two fight this out—"

  Penny jerked a look at Tony. "We aren't fighting."

  Ramsey chuckled and Anthony smirked, dropping the papers transferring ownership of Blackwell shipping on the desk.

  "I'll take this to the museum, see if I can find anything out." He slid the will into his briefcase, then snapped it shut. "Maybe Clarissa can help?"

  "Clarissa, is it?" Penny said, on a turn to face him.

  Anthony grinned. "Too young?"

  "No comment." She inclined her head toward Ramsey. "The man I love is as old as they get."

  Suddenly Ramsey wrapped his arm about her waist, jerking her back against him.

  " 'Tis proof then." He nuzzled the flesh of her throat. "Age has naught to do with the heart," he murmured and she twisted in his arms, melting beneath his fevered kiss, neither noticing Anthony leave. Yet when she was languid and compliant he murmured, "Please do not fight me on this, Penelope." He scattered heart-Weakening kisses over her face and throat. "I cannot take this darkness clouding over us another moment."

  Us, she thought and it hit her that she wasn't alone in this world anymore. "I'm going with you."

  He stiffened, his gaze narrow. "I think not." She opened her mouth to protest, but his warning glare made her clamp her lips shut. "This incident began two hundred years afore you were born." His eyes were hard, nearly black with sup­pressed fury. "And I plan to put it to an end."

  He was looking forward to doing battle with Phalon, she realized and decided it was wise to stay out of the line of fire.

  A secretary led him into the library and as soon as she closed the door behind him, Ramsey strolled the room, recognizing the changes in the interior over the years and trying to recall exactly how the house appeared in his time. Afore his travel through time, it had been three years hence he'd set foot in Dane's home and though the polished wood walls and shelving were the same, as was the fireplace and the treatment of win­dows, the furnishings were different, new with the look of old. The door opened and Ramsey turned as a well dressed man strode in, ignoring him until he was behind the desk. He shuffled papers, then finally lifted his gaze, and Ramsey saw the eyes of his enemy in the twentieth century man afore him.

  "1 am Ramsey O'Keefe, present owner of Blackwell ship­ping."

  ' 'I know,'' Phalon said, looking him over as if he were meat

  on the block for chopping. It set Ramsey's teeth on edge. ' 'What do you want?' *

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  Amv ./, Fetzer

  344

  "Only what
is rightful." Ramsey dropped a sheaf of papers on the desk and Phalon pulled them across the desk, scanning with a critical eye. "This house and the lands surrounding." Phalon nearly choked. "And every stick of furniture that lay inside this home afore 'twas taken from Alexander Blackwell."

  Phalon shoved the documents back across to Ramsey. "You demand an awful lot for a man without a past, or a job."

  Ramsey merely arched a brow.

  ' 'I know who you are. A nobody, a nothing. Only her lover,'' he said with distaste and Ramsey stiffened, taking a threatening step. "Get out, Mister O'Keefe. 1 have nothing to say to you. And the Blackwells are all dead."

  Ramsey couldn't mention Alexander's arrival, fearing 'twould put the old man's life in jeopardy. "I am offering to buy back the home, Mister Rothmere, not steal it." His tone implied 'twas Phalon's method.

  Ramsey made a generous offer.

  "No."

  He sweetened the pot.

  "I said no. This is my house, my lands!"

  He sounded tbo much like Phillip for his comfort and Ramsey stepped back, his gaze glacial, predatory. ' This land was never yours, Rothmere. Never,'' Ramsey hissed. ' 'You preyed on the misfortune of a desperate family."

  Ramsey dropped a copy of the codicil on the desk. "And the Blackwells have come back from the grave to regain their home."

  Phalon immediately snatched it up, frowning as he read, a dullness creeping into his skin. "This means nothing." He flipped it back within his reach. "And I'll drag you through the courts until you're as dead as all the Blackwells."

  "Your arrogance makes you a fool," Ram said matter of factly, stuffing the copy inside his jacket. "And you would not be in this home if the ransom was recovered."

  None but Alexander and Phalon knew of the diamonds, and Ramsey wanted Phalon to put himself in the center of the crime.

  Phalon picked up a pen, tapping it on the desk. He was almost certain this man had the Red Lady. Almost. But to

  confirm it with the jeweler who'd appraised the stone would bring attention Phalon didn't want. And how was he going to get them back without incriminating himself?