Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

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  Amy J. Fetzer

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  shrugged helplessly. He understood the consequences before she even called the studio- She couldn't pick a time slot, and if Phalon or Sloane had a habit of watching the local midmorn-ing news/talk show, they'd be alerted, even though she had no intention revealing the blackmail source.

  Justin turned to her.

  "You arrived into the film industry, at the tender age of seventeen, a child with the talent of a seasoned adult." Penny nodded her thanks for the compliment. "But there isn't a scrap of information on you prior to your summer stock audition. Why?"

  "It's a complicated story," she said, and then she told him. And Alexander listened as she revealed the ugly details of her youth, the drugs and vagrancy, and the things she'd done to survive. With each word he felt his heart ripping from his chest, agonized over the pain and loneliness she'd suffered. He relived the rage and the emotional torture of losing her, feeling it move thickly through his blood, yet without a place to vent the blame. He felt as helpless as he did twenty-five years ago and could say nothing, do nothing, for she'd grown beyond it. "Cut," a voice said into the stillness and Justin sagged back into the chair, aware that if he turned around to see the staff, there wouldn't be a dry eye in the house. How had she been able to hide her colorful past was beyond him, but he saw her through his viewer's eyes. They'd admire her, not so much for revealing a blackmail attempt, but for her compassion for the homeless, and for being an ordinary person, suffering loneli­ness, destitution, addiction, then overcoming it and giving something back because she knew what it was like to be desper­ate. The nude photos would keep her name in the papers, add to the hype, but her fans would forgive her as they remembered she was young and alone.

  Christ, did she know how lucky she was not to have died, not to have slipped beneath the crush and end up a bag lady or a hooker or a dealer? She had an unshakeable strength, and the insight to recognize when she'd fallen too far and Justin admired her for the courage, to open herself up for scrutiny before the entire world.

  "I think this is enough," he said softly. "Off the record—" She arched a tapered brow, the austere woman he last interviewed leaping to the foreground, "do you know who's doing this?"

  Her gaze darted to O'Keefe. "I'd rather not say."

  But he had an idea. The police reports were public record; the judge's ruling on Tess Renfrew's disappearance as a death by drowning because there were witnesses, an ensign and mus­cle working for Rothmere. That muscle was the connection. Rothmere wasn't stupid, but add Sloane and the sorority rivalry since, and he had one hell of a link brewing between her, Sloane Rothmere and Tess Renfrew. That Hamilton had admitted her part in the catalysts leading to Renfrew's disappearance would exonerate her, at least in the viewer's eyes, but Sloane Rothmere was another matter. Her history for costly screw ups and border­line criminal activity was going to reek mayhem on her families reputation. And Justin was going to do a little digging.

  "Is there a chance of interviewing Mister O'Keefe?"

  She glanced at Ramsey and laughed to herself. "There are some things I still need to keep private, Justin," she said, before returning her gaze to Baylor.

  Justin smiled, genuine, expecting that answer. "Then I'll see you tomorrow night."

  "Good. I'll introduce you to my father."

  Justin blinked, stunned. And Penny inclined her head to the man standing a few feet from Ramsey. Justin twisted for a better look around the cameras, his feature pulling tight. He snapped a look at her. "He looks familiar."

  Penny stood, winking at Justin. "I'll give you time to do some research," she said, then quickly stepped over cords and equipment and into Ramsey's arms.

  Alexander placed the worn jewelry chest in her hands. ' 'Do what you think is best with what's inside. There's mostly pic­tures and letters. We sold off all her jewelry." Sadness marked his features.

  Penny smoothed her fingers over the top, glancing at Ramsey, then Alexander.

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  "Thank you." She leaned out, wrapping her arm around his neck and hugging him, yet as she stepped back, her locket chain snagged on the box. Alexander immediately freed it, his gaze shooting between her and the dented oval.

  "Annora put this on you a few weeks before you were taken." He smoothed his thumb over the gold- "I didn't want you to wear it because you were too little and kept putting it in your mouth. I thought you'd choke."

  "She still puts it in her mouth," Ramsey said, flinging an arm around her shoulder and Alexander smiled.

  Penny kissed him once more, clutching the locket and leaning against Ramsey as he turned and strode down the steps. She couldn't convince him to stay the night and she wouldn't press it. It was a lot to take in one day.

  Ramsey closed the door, urging her up the stairs.

  "Dare I ask that you let that rest til the morrow?" He nodded to the box.

  "I can't." Her eyes pleaded for patience and he sighed, his lips curving slightly as he urged her into his room.

  "You have me bewitched, you know that." He took the box, setting it on the dresser afore pulling her into his arms. His gaze slipped over her upturned face. "By God, how can I see you and still miss you?"

  Her hands molded the ropy muscles of his broad back as she nuzzled the warm curve of his broad back as she nazzled the warm curve of his throat. "I've neglected you today, haven't I?" she said against his skin.

  "Aye," came on a groan as her hand swept around to the fastenings of his breeches.

  "I didn't say I had to open the chest right now?** She jerked on the waist band of his jeans, flipping open a button.

  "Nay, you did not," he rasped.

  She pried a second button and wet her lips, her gaze locked with his. "Think of anything we can do?" Her fingers dove beneath the waist band, seeking, her teasing making him suck air in through his teeth. Suddenly she yanked his tee shirt from

  his jeans, shoving it upward, baring his chest to the touch of her lovely mouth and Ramsey trembled, clutching her as she drew slow maddening circles around his nipple. He peeled the shirt off over his head and let it drop, then made quick work of the buttons of her blouse.

  She arched against him, moving impatiently and she unzipped her skirt, shoving it down, kicking off her sandals with it. Her blouse joined the pile, and Ramsey struggled with the hooks of her lace bra.

  "Sweet Jesus," he hissed against her lips, "Rip it," she told him and he did, tearing it from her body and burying his face atween her breasts. She dropped her head back, laughing and he clutched her tightly, backing her up to the bed and pressing her to the mattress. Her hair fanned across the coverlet as he kissed her and kissed her, his mouth wide as if to devour her. Penny whimpered, loving his anxiousness, feeling it in her blood and she opened his jeans, shoving and pushing, urgent to feel the heat of him, but his lips were on her breast, laving her nipple, drawing it deeply into his mouth and she gasped for air.

  "I want you, Penn." His hands moved frantically over her naked skin, her thighs, scooping beneath her buttocks and grind ing her to him.

  "1 know." She drew her knee up, rocking. "Nay, now." He caught the strings of her panties and tore them from her body. "Now!"

  She freed him from his jeans and he spread her, sinking long and solid into her softness. She was like wet fire.

  "God almighty!" He withdrew and plunged again, hooking her leg with his arm, pushing it higher, wider, his bonejarring thrusts driving her across the bed. She gripped fistfuls of sheets, his mouth and body smothering her and she abandoned herself to his hanger, their climax quick and shattering, over too soon. Ramsey collapsed against her, panting. "Forgive me, love," he murmured, raining frantic kisses over her face and throat. "I did not mean to be so—"

  "Savage?" she finished, breathless, and he leaned back, a

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  dull red creeping into his face. That was part of his attraction, his utterly masculine allure, the reckless wild side of him he kept tamped down for her century. "I like seeing you lose control."

  "Are you saying 'tis only me?" he challenged and afore she could answer, added, "I do recall a wild lass pushing me onto a pile of hay and taking her pleasures with me in the barn, where anyone could have come upon us."

  Her smile admitted her guilt. "Must have been all that—" she pushed him onto his back, straddling his hips—"Rocking and riding," she said, then did it again.

  Ramsey was restless. 'Twas nearly two in the morn and his brief sleep in Penelope's arms would not restrain the energy building in him. He was impatient, for this bloody premier to be done with, for the interview to air, for the threats to either fade away or explode. He needed to either beat the bloody hide off a Rothmere or ride, and chose the latter, striding across the drive to the stables, eager to take the silver mare for a run down the darkened beach.

  Horses whinnied, stomping, hooves hitting the wood stalls and Ram hesitated at the entrance, frowning at the flicker of light. One of the guards, he thought, yet slipped his knife free from his boot just the same. "Who goes?"

  The flicker disappeared, rendering the barn in darkness but for the crooked streams of moonlight. Cautiously Ramsey stepped inside, edging the wall, his gaze moving to all corners as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He heard the rustle of hay and gripped the blade, inching toward the center of the barn, to the string left suspended to turn on the light. His foot connected with solid matter and just as he bent to examine it, pain detonated in the back of his skull. He dropped abruptly to his knees, strug­gling against his sinking consciousness and lost, sagging for­ward against the solid mass.

  Beyond the screaming pain he realized he lay across a horse, the metallic scent of blood filling his nostrils, smearing his

  TIMESWEPT ROGUE

  clothes. Rage burst through him and he tried to push himself up but his body refused the order. He fell against the butchered animal, catching a glimpse of a narrow beam of light on a pair of feet afore all was gone.

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  Chapter 37

  Hank flattened himself against the edge of the outer wall, the gun close to his body. He glanced left and right, then slipped around the wide open doors, tucking himself into a dark corner. He blinked, impatient for his eyes to adjust to the blackened interior when movement near the backdoor caught his attention.

  He took aim and puiled back the hammer. The door flung open, sending a gray fracture of moonlight into the barn. Air locked in his lungs, his trained eye searching corners and rafters. No shadows moved, no one advanced, but the ribbon of light spilled over the figure laying across a fallen horse.

  He immediately recognized the ponytail and inched close enough to kick at Ramsey's boot, softly hissing his name. Ram stirred, rising like an uncoiling serpent, slowly staggering to his feet. He swayed, his hand flying immediately to the back of his head.

  "Get over here." Hank darted out into the light enough to grab a fistful of shirt and pull him into the darkness.

  Ramsey sagged against solid wood, trying to get his bearings. "What the bloody hell are you doing out here?"

  "I got up for a drink and noticed the alarm sensors around the grounds weren't on."

  "I did not shut it off." Cannon fire rung in his head and he winced, snatching a rag off a hook and pressing it to his head. "I fear I forgot."

  "Well, that—" he nodded to the horse—"should have woken everyone for two blocks."

  They were against a stall wall, shoulder to shoulder, Ramsey out.

  "We've been betrayed," Ram rasped, angry.

  "Yeah, I figured as much and we ought to know who any second. I turned everything back on except this place. Here." A rustle of clothing and Hank pressed an object into Ramsey's hand. 'Twas a knife and as Ramsey figured the shape of it, realized 'twas an extremely big one.

  "Sweet Christ, man."

  "I know, but it'll do the trick." A pause, a sniff, then, "Jeez, smells worse than ever in here."

  "Bowels and blood. By Triton, 'twas damned useless that." He sighed over the waste of magnificent horse flesh, then glanced at Hank, noticing the unmistakable outline of a gun. "Do you always skulk about the grounds with a loaded weapon?"

  "In my nature. I used to be a Marine. Served with Tess's father."

  "Well, Marine," Ram said, grinning in the dark. "Let us seek and destroy."

  "That's kick ass and take names, Capt'n."

  Ramsey led the way and Hank slipped behind him, the men crisscrossing out the barn and around the grounds. Tension rode him, making his head throb and Ramsey was glad Hank had turned on the sensors for 'twas too much ground for the two men to cover. They moved beneath trees and around shrubbery. Hank nodded to his right, indicating he'd search toward the north wall gate, and Ram moved left toward the sea, darting from patch of darkness, to refracting light from the solarium windows, avoiding the pattern of beams close to the house. His head pounded mercilessly, forcing him to concentrate harder and pause to seek a source of noise.

  He heard the scatter of pebbles, the muffled rhythm of feet

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  off sand afore he saw a shadow edge along the white brick of the surrounding wall. They were fleeing by water, like the first intruders, Ram thought, pausing to toe off his boots. He quickened his pace, yet atween each step he searched the area for a partner. For none could have gotten onto the estate without help.

  Unless they were already there and knew the way of it. Ram opened his stride, his need to exact punishment riding up his spine and he caught up with the intruder, tucked in the cover of the sea oats, hovering over a small stack of equipment, light bending across silver and glossy black.

  With no boat in sight, Ram had no notion of what he was about, yet even above the crash of waves, he heard a short hiss of air, a grunt, then saw him attempt to heft a large cannister onto his back.

  Ram lunged, grabbing a fistful of cushiony leather, jerking him upright and pressing the blade into his side. The intruder froze.

  "I shall kill you, make no doubt," he murmured darkly. A dejected sigh and then, "I'm not armed." "Remove that," Ram commanded and the intruder slid the pack from his back. It jerked his arm and just as Ram realized it must be extremely heavy, he swung it at him, hard metal impacting with Ram's side.

  Ram staggered, losing his grip and the man ran to the sea, dragging the cylinder onto his back. Ram gave chase, splashing water and latching onto his shoulder afore he could dive beneath the surface. He held tight to the spongy fabric, jerking the man around and sending his fist into his face.

  Blood exploded from the first blow, his knuckles feeling the separation of cartilage. Even as the alarms sounded like a her­ald's trumpet, Ram did not cease, the knife gripped so tightly it cut into his palm. The pain in his head, and his failure to expose this bastard, bred power as he drove his fist into the intruder's ribs, forcing the air from his lungs. He gasped, folding over, then came upright, clenching a black knife and stabbing at Ramsey. Ram jerked to the side, the blade slicing through his shirt and he blocked a second strike, then twisted his wrist,

  bringing the back of the massive knife down on the his assail­ant's arm, the honed silver grazing his chest and cutting open the black skin of his suit.

  He howled, dropping his weapon. The alarms went silent.

  "No more,'' the intruder gasped, staggering under the weight of the equipment and Ramsey cut the straps, the cylinder drop­ping heavily to the sand as he jerked him close and tucked the blade beneath his chin.

  He stared into the eyes of Noal Walker and tasted the bitter gall of betrayal.

  "My God, man why?"

  Regardless of the knife, he turned his head and spit blood. "I owed him."

  Ramsey wanted to smash his face i
n. "No debt is worth murder!"

  "He's powerful, influential."

  "And you are a coward!"

  Noal struggled and a shot rent the air.

  Out of the corner of his eye Ram saw a figure freeze, hands up.

  Hank approached from the darkness, driving the barrel into the partner's back, the man's face misshapen and bleeding. "Sorry. He got away from me." Hank shrugged, dug the gun and the intruder lurched forward.

  Suddenly lights flashed on from the house, flooding the shore and grounds.

  Penelope appeared at the rear door, tentative. "Ramsey!" Fear and anger tainted ber voice.

  "Come," Ram called, not taking his eyes off his prey.

  Hank advanced, murmuring to his captive how much he'd like to do him, then moved in close to Ramsey, grabbing the knife off the ground and fitting it with another already in his waistband before he reached out to flip open the buckles to their weight belts. He scooped up the straps and flung them into the sea.

  Ramsey's gaze flitted from Noal, the second man, to the unfamiliar equipment strewn on the beach and his ignorance

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  made him angrier. ' 'Find aught to shackle them, Hank, and a suitable prison," Ram said and the older man grinned.

  "Got just the place." Hank backed up as Penelope approached. "Here, honey." He forced the gun into her hands, adjusting her aim. "Keep that right between the eyes."

  "I can't believe this happened again." Penny blinked, her feet sinking into the sand. "How did you know they—?" Her green eyes widened when she managed a look at Ramsey. "Oh my God. Ramsey—" She swallowed, shaking—"Tell me that's not your blood."

  Ram glanced down at his chest; his shirt front and sleeves were soaked red. His gaze pierced Noal's and he released him with a shove, moving to Penelope's side. "He slaughtered your horse."

  Horrified, her gaze narrowed on the man in the dive hood, his face smeared with blood. She squinted. "Noal!" She took a step, holding her aim. "How could you do this?"