Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Ramsey made to take the gun and she nudged him. ' 'No, I like this—power," she said, her temper rising. "And if anyone shoots him, by law it has to be me."

  Ram scowled, bloody tired of deferring his masculinity to the ways of this century.

  ' 'Why?'' In cutoff jeans and a baggy tee shirt, Penny gestured with the barrel. "Why!"

  "Rothmere hired me to find out what you know." "Not good enough. Sloane is behind this," Penny said and Noal shook his head, peeling off the hood.

  "The first time maybe, but not after that." He clutched his bleeding side. "Christ, I wish I never met either of them." His eyes shifted between the pair. "Don't you see? He owns half my agency like he does half this town! And you've pissed him off."

  Her expression remained unchanged. "Give him what he wants, Penny." She arched a brow. "And if I don't?" "He'll hurt you." She scoffed. "I tried to warn you."

  Her eyes flared. And loose pieces fit; the keys out of place in the rack, her beach attacker in a wet dive suit, the crushed flower in the house, how they lead Ramsey to the shelter. "You helped them."

  His partner snickered. "I could have killed you in your sleep," he said and Ramsey's arm shot out, his fist connecting with a soft jaw so hard they heard it crack afore the man dropped to the sand like a dead fish. Ram stared down at the unconscious fool, hands clenched white, his breathing labored. "By God, it ends now!"

  "Ramsey?" His gaze flew to hers and she recognized the suppressed fury in his dark eyes. "What are you planning?"

  "I have done as you wished, followed the rules and ways of your century." He straightened to his full imposing height. " Tis time to play this war by mine."

  Hank returned, Margaret beside him and together they bound the intruders.

  "He's bleeding," Margaret said, looking at Ramsey.

  "A friggin' shame." Unsympathetic, cold. Hank jerked them to their feet, taking the gun from Penelope and prodding the attackers toward the old boat house. "Hope you don't get seasick."

  Ramsey eyed Hank briefly, a faint smile curving his mouth afore he gestured to Penelope to come along to the house. She took a few steps, then stopped.

  "Wait," Penelope called to Hank as she crossed the sand to stand before Noal. Ramsey advanced, cautious of her vulnera­bility and saw a strange look pass in her eyes, of regret and outrage and a dead friendship. Then suddenly she drew back her fist and hit Noal square in the nose. "That's for hurting Margaret." Noal cursed, nose bleeding harder, eyes watering as he shook his head against the pain.

  Ramsey choked on his amusement as he waited for her to join him.

  "Your law gave you permission to shoot him."

  "I know, darling, but I detest violence." She shook her hand, blowing on her knuckles and Ramsey smiled, his anger receding.

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  "Come." He bent and kissed her gently. "Dress in black and find one of those cylinders thai holds the light."

  She smiled, glad he wasn't leaving her behind. "A flashlight, Ramsey. We really should work on your technical education."

  "Excellent. Mayhaps you'll tell me how those men proposed to swim at night with all that ballast."

  Phalon snapped awake, struggling for air, but a heavy pres­sure on his chest kept him from filling his lungs. His eyes flashed open and he tried to turn his face away from the unexpected blast of light, but a huge bowie knife prevented it.

  "Who are you? What do you want?"

  The knife pressed against the tender flesh of his cheek, drag­ging slowly to the base of his throat. He felt his heart beat pulse against the cold steel.

  Unable to see beyond the light shining in his face, Phalon realized there were two, one was sitting on his chest, knees pinning his arms to the mattress. He could see the vague position of the assailant's arm, ready to drive that knife into his throat at a moment's notice.

  Any number of his enemies could have hired these two.

  Suddenly he felt a presence beside him, level with his head, his ear. But the silence reigned and Phalon .struggled. The knife pierced his skin and the warmth of his own blood moved slowly down his neck.

  And when the voice came, the low rasp sent a chill down his spine.

  "I am your nightmares come to life, Rothmere. I am your

  past." f

  "Go to hell." How did they get in here with out setting off alarms or alerting the dogs?

  A chuckle, dark and sinister and Phalon swallowed thickly.

  "What a pitiful creature you are." A wonderous whisper. "Prey on the weak and see now how you tremble?"

  "You're the one hiding behind the darkness. Show your­self."

  "Arrogant fool," came calmly, with a hint of laughter.

  "I've come to kill you. I want to gut you like a squealing pig, lay your entrails for you to see."

  Phalon's eyes widened and he tried unsuccessfully to look to his right.

  "Or burn you alive like your ancestor."

  Phalon stilled. "What do you know about my family?"

  A hand appeared before his line of vision and he squinted to focus. "Is this what you seek, Rothmere? To hide your lineage from the world?" Long fingers turned the brittle square of paper and Phalon felt his heart stop. "Are you afraid you will follow the path of Phillip has set?"

  "Where did you get that?" A panicked hiss, of terror and

  joy-

  "Your sister speaks from her grave."

  "Impossible!"

  "Is it?" The fingers flicked the proof and Phalon's gaze shifted from the darkness to the aged parchment and he watched as the hand withdrew, taking the precious letter. ' 'Tell me why you fear a scrap of paper?"

  Phalon's features sharpened. "Never."

  "Tell me!"

  The knife jabbed.

  "If you have it, you know it!"

  ' 'The truth!'' came in a voice as black as the night.

  ' T loved her. Dear God, I adored her ... and she betrayed me."

  "Like Phillip loved Elizabeth?"

  A stretch of silence and, "She had that... letter. The Black-well women ... they passed it along like a ritual. A promise to keep it hidden. She threatened to destroy me, my family, our family. For them!" He struggled to rise, and the pressure on the knees increased, the light neared his face. "Give it to me!" He hissed through gritted teeth.

  "Why did she threaten you? What did you do?"

  He tilted his head back, sacrificially exposing his throat and looking at the ceiiing. He swallowed over and over, licking his dry lips.

  "Phalon?"

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  "I tried ... to love her."

  A soft gasp and his gaze flew to the light, and he attempted to see beyond the glare, yet could make out nothing but a smooth silhouette of black against black. They knew, before he said anything, he realized they knew. He was mortally ashamed of the advances he'd made toward his sister, an embar­rassment he blamed on his heritage, bad blood. And he had to get the letter back, the proof that the sick nature ran in his veins, and destroy it. Then it would be clean ... he would be. "What do you want from me?" he begged and hated the weakness in his voice.

  "Bide your time, Rothmere." The voice lowered, thick with dark promise. "The Blackwells have returned."

  The light clicked off, the pressure on his chest suddenly gone and he took a long full breath before he realized he was alone. Phalon sat up. tried to throw back the covers but his arms were numb. He shook them impatiently, then climbed from the bed. Feeling hadn't fully returned and blindly he sought the drawer and the gun inside. Armed, he snapped on the light, glancing around the room. Not even a drapery stirred, the large bedroom cold and vacant. He lowered the weapon, then tossed it back in the drawer and rubbed the circulation back into his arms.

  How they got their hands on the letter, he didn't know, but the memory of Annora reading it to him, holding it up for proof, a
threat against his ever touching her again, materialized in his brain. She knew exactly how much his lineage meant to him, to keep the dirt off the Rothmere name. He'd hoped Alexander had destroyed it in his grief as he'd done to most of her things, hoped it would have stayed buried in the past. For an instant fast week, he entertained the idea that O'Keefe possessed it, then dismissed his fear as groundless, the casual remark that he knew his heritage as nothing more than common knowledge of the old feud between the families.

  He dropped to the bed, his shoulders sagging with the burden of his past mistakes, costly mistakes. God, he could see it on the front page headlines. This will be worse than anything Sloane could have done.

  Sloane. He left the bedroom, nearly running down the wide

  long hall to her rooms, shoving open the door. His gaze went immediately to the bed and she twisted softly on the sheets, assuring him she was fine. Sighing deeply, he returned to his bedroom, slipping inside and closing the door.

  How had they gotten inside without a sound, he still won­dered. All but two passages were sealed. Pushing away from the door, Phalon decided he needed a drink and moved to the etagere. Suddenly .he stopped short, his gaze focusing on the barren center of the dark carpet. He inched closer, his heartbeat accelerating with every step. Dear God. The letter. He snatched it off the floor, feeling it almost reverently. The Rothmere seal, the seal Annora had fixed, was still intact.

  Then why question him, threaten, then leave it for him to find, Phalon wondered, feeling as if he were a death row prisoner granted a reprieve. Immediately he strode to the empty hearth and struck a match. He didn't read it; every word was engraved in his brain and took a deep breath before holding the two hundred year-old paper over the flame, watching it catch and flare.

  Then he tossed it into the hearth and smiled.

  Ramsey pulled her through the trap door in the barn, lifting her to her feet, then went about concealing the tunnel.

  "Think he'll know?"

  He hushed her, kicking hay, then grabbed her hand and made his way across the grounds to the spiked wall. He hoisted her up, letting her stand on his shoulders and when she was over, he followed. They stripped off the borrowed dive hoods and headed into the woods, avoiding the news vans claiming their territory for the ball tomorrow. Excitement and adrenalin rushed through her blood as she leapt over fallen trees and ducked branches, and she squashed the urge to laugh outloud.

  When they were well out of sight and earshot, she said, 'I told you he would be desperate enough to tell us the truth."

  He flung his arm about her shoulder, pulling her close and kissing her temple. " 'Tis amazing, such a big brain in that pretty head."

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  She elbowed him for that, then unlocked the car. "What made you think Phalon wanted that and not the diamonds?'' Ram looked left and right afore dropping into the seat. "He likely craves both, yet my first conversation with him I men­tioned his heritage and he became—" "—unglued?"

  He flashed her a smile, fastening his seat belt. "Aye. And when you found the letter, I recalled giving the like to Tess aboard the Sea Witch. 'Twas in the pouch of diamonds. How it made such a circle through time, I do not know." She started the car, waiting for his signal to pull away. The side street was empty at four in the morning. "Mayhaps Elizabeth intended to give it to Tess whilst she was Phillip's prisoner and slipped it to her during the chaos." It was the only explanation he could manage without making his brain ache. "Duncan said he found it with the diamonds, yet all was collected in a gilded box, with the rest of the Blackwell fortune Elizabeth returned. "But if it was in the pouch, then who put it there?" "Mayhaps Sloane was aware of her father's past." ' 'Sloane wasn't even born then. She could have heard rumors, but Phalon didn't want anyone to see that." She shook her head sadly. "Elizabeth was a strong woman to rise above the abuse she suffered." She shivered at the horrible images Elizabeth's letter offered. "Phillip was a deranged creature." "Aye. Mad, utterly mad," Ram said softly, remembering the crime he'd done to Dane's sister, Desiree. "Phalon likely thought he'd the taint of his blood." Ramsey shrugged, check­ing the view in the mirrors. "Beyond some odd Blackwell tradition, I knew Annora had to have another reason for keeping that letter. 'Twas about her family, too."

  She agreed, but, "The entries in her diary only mentioned being uncomfortable around Phalon, nothing specific."

  "I suspect she did not tell Alexander what Phalon attempted."

  "And we won't."

  He smiled sympathetically. "He likely knows, love, and left it for you to find."

  He was probably right, she thought, eyes on the road. She couldn't imagine Alexander having that jewelry chest for so long and not opening it. And he did tell her to do what she wanted with the contents. ' 'What was Phalon expecting to get from Noal? I mean, he didn't trust him enough to even tell Noal what to look for. That's if Noal's telling the truth, of course."

  Ramsey was thoughtful for a moment. ' 'Phalon could have given a description, but as terrified as he was this eve, he would not have revealed the contents, implying retribution if the seal was broken."

  "So you heated the wax back up."

  ' 'Let Phalon have his peace. Naught will come from allowing the secret to die."

  She and her uncle had that in common, neither wanting their mistakes aired, but Penny only hurt herself by hiding it.

  "I agree," she said with feeling, steering the car through her gates. The absence of guards and guns was comforting. And watching Ramsey disarm and dismiss them earlier was satisfying.

  " 'Tis not over yet, love."

  "Why not?" She braked, threw the gear into park and turned off the motor as she spoke. ' 'Phalon has what he wants, give Noal and his pal over to the police. Crane will take care of the horse."

  He shifted to face her. "Have you forgotten those diamonds belonged to your father, your family, and they were in the possession of a Rothmere the night Tess stole them."

  "But they're gone, lost between here and..." She waved at the darkness beyond the windshield, indicating the universe— "wherever."

  When he didn't respond, she met his gaze.

  And slowly Ramsey shook his head.

  Lt. Pete Mathers pointed the remote control at the television and stopped the videotape from recording further, then tipped back in his chair, tapping the control against his lips. .

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  "That didn't seem like the same woman we met."

  "Yup."

  "How 'bout that story?"

  "Sort of sinks my theory all to hell," Downing said, not the least bit upset.

  "Think she's on the up and up?"

  "I sure wouldn't tell the entire English speaking public shit like that if I weren't desperate."

  "I told you Renfrew didn't jump. She was forced over the side with the threat of murder."

  "Sounds like it to me," Downing said, flipping through a report and pretending to read. "And since you can't arrest a dead woman for B & E, go after the living."

  Pete rewound the tape. "Hamilton's an accessory."

  Downing's head jerked up. "Think you can make it stick after that?" He gestured to the T.V. "We're supposed to be the good guys, Pete. The evidence was burned and five will get you ten, if there's any truth to what Hamilton said, we'll find a few bullet holes in that Mustang of Renfrew's and link it to Owen." They both reached for their jackets as the office door flung open.

  The precinct captain poked his head inside.

  "See the interview?" They nodded. "Catch that guy in the background?"

  Mathers frowned, pausing in shrugging on his jacket. "O'Keefe?"

  "Nah, the older one, gray haired."

  Mathers grabbed the control and flicked the T.V. back on, watching the tape in rewind, searching the fast moving figures.

  "Some detective you are," the captain sa
id sourly, not step­ping inside as if he would lose his authority if he did. "There," he pointed and Mathers paused the tape, leaning out to examine the figure.

  "Yeah, so?" Looks like one of the news crew, Pete thought.

  "That's Alexander Blackwell."

  Pete stared blankly at his partner, then at his captain.

  "I was a rookie when he was a big deal in this town. Take

  into consideration that interview, that he was thought to be dead, was heavily connected to Rothmere, and now he's standing in Penelope Hamilton's house like he lives there." The captain flung a heavy confidential file on Pete's desk. "Then read that.

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  Chapter 38

  Five sets of theatre doors burst open, news crews rushing out, each eager to get their story on the air first.

  A slim blond woman, poised before a camera, nodded to her director.

  "We go live in five, four, three, two—" He pointed.

  "Here at Universal Studios, the premier release celebration begins," the reporter said into the mike the instant the red light blinked on. "And what a party it will be! The Gold Masque has already been dubbed the must-see film of the year. Majestic locations, detailed costumes and an intriguing plot of love cultivated behind the illusion of a mask and denied in public. Commoner and nobility clash in tempestuous passion, and believe me, the sparks fly from the screen, but nothing today compares to the surprise attendance of Gold Masque's star, Penelope Hamilton and her mysterious escort, Ramsey O'Keefe." Behind her spectators waved and shouted at the camera. "The energy here is incredible," she fairly shouted over the noise, holding her ear piece in, "and lends to Miss Hamilton's unusual appearance and, even after the revealing telecast this morning, her receptiveness to the media. She's chatted with fans, signed autographs and did several

  spot interviews, proving that something has definitely changed for the reclusive actress."

  She took a breath as the electrican signaled the roll of footage taped earlier, then adjusted her sequined dress, waiting for the countdown to live air. "Though her escort, O'Keefe, hasn't spoken a word on camera, he has not once left her side. And she doesn't seem to mind." In the background the crowd roared to new life and the reporter scanned the area, then motioned to the camera man. "There is no doubt that Ramsey O'Keefe has stolen the heart of Florida's most celebrated resident."