The air in the carriage was as thick with tension as the Bay with fog in high summer. Liam directed the driver back to the Palace, mollifying his banked rage with a long, hard stare at Perry's impassive face. It was Perry who broke the silence first.
"If it's an apology you want, old man, I'll be happy to give it," he said, shifting his cane between his hands. "I admit what I did in the jungle was hardly honorable."
Hardly honorable? Liam almost laughed aloud. Was it so easy for Perry to dismiss an attempted murder? Or was it possible he thought Liam didn't know who was behind it?
"I should never have abandoned you as I did," Perry went on slowly. "I was angry, and not thinking clearly. I knew you could reach the nearest village with the provisions I left you, but—"
"Save your apologies," Liam snapped, "until you've met my friend. You may find that things turned out a little differently than you expected."
The carriage door opened. "The Palace Hotel, gentlemen," the driver announced. Perry hesitated, gazing up at the towering bay windows.
"No need to be afraid, Perry," Liam said behind him. "If I wanted you shanghaied, I wouldn't have brought you here."
Perry alighted, and Liam took his arm as companionably as if they were still the close friends they'd once been. They walked through the Grand Court and to the elevators; Perry hid it well, but Liam felt his tension.
Liam's own tension mounted as they stopped before the door to Mac's room.
Now he would know. Now he'd be sure how much Mac was tangled up in all this. He wondered why he wanted her exoneration.
But the hell of it was that he did.
He nodded to the hotel employee he'd set to guard Mac's door, gesturing the man discreetly out of the way, and knocked.
The door cracked open an inch. A familiar brown eye peered through the slit, blinked, and vanished. The door swung wide to reveal Mac in her shirt and trousers, her expression caught between a foolish grin and the threat of an imminent tirade.
But Liam wasn't watching Mac. He examined Perry's face, waiting for the first shock of recognition.
"Miss MacKenzie," Liam said, "may I present my colleague and partner in adventure, Mr. Peregrine Sinclair."
* * *
Mac hadn't known what to expect, but this had been pretty far down on her list of likely occurrences.
She should have seen it coming. Liam had kept her prisoner here, making sure she didn't run away if she, Perry's partner in crime, decided that she'd be better off gone than stuck waiting for the inevitable confrontation.
The confrontation that was about to take place.
Perry walked in first, giving Mac an all-too-brief moment to study the man who stood at the eye of the coming storm.
Peregrine Sinclair.
Mac locked her knees and ordered herself to stay firmly on her feet. She would have liked nothing better than to indulge in a few blessed seconds of incredulity, awe, and general stupefaction. She was standing in a hotel room in 1884 with her own great-great-grandfather, for God's sake. She had known this moment would come, but the reality was a little more overwhelming than she'd anticipated.
Perry's thin, handsome features were marked with the unmistakable Sinclair stamp. He was young and alert and bore all the elegance of born-and-bred aristocracy, from his neat tie and flawlessly trimmed mustache to his highly polished shoes and brass-headed walking cane. He was, in fact, the perfect image of a Victorian gentleman.
He was also either a man without a heart, utterly unscrupulous and ruthless in pursuit of his goals—or a relatively innocent party to a nasty misunderstanding. And Liam, just behind him, was watching Mac's face keenly.
"Miss MacKenzie," Perry said, doffing his hat. His hair, like Mac's, was nearly black, and his brown eyes were watchful. "I haven't had the pleasure."
His accent was properly British and softly precise. He looked Mac over, taking in her jeans and shirt and short hair with a calculation that left nothing unremarked.
"I'm, uh, pleased to meet you," Mac said, offering her hand. Perry took it, his clasp warm and firm.
Liam pushed passed him into the room and shut the door. "Not quite the tender reunion I'd expected," he said caustically.
Perry released her hand and looked at Liam. "Now that we're here, may I ask what this is all about?"
Liam's eyes were dark as slate, and the muscles in his jaw bunched and released. "So the game continues, Perry?"
"Perhaps if you'd clarify the rules," Perry said. "I gather I'm supposed to know this young lady?"
"Then you deny it."
"Meaning no disrespect," Perry said, casting a swift glance at Mac, "but I'd remember such an acquaintance."
"And you, Mac?" Liam said. Suddenly he was close behind her. "You haven't met Mr. Sinclair before?"
Mac turned to face him. "Unfortunately, I've never met your friend in my life, and he's certainly never met me."
The mockery faded from Liam's gaze. "Don't play his game, Mac. I only want the truth. Whatever it is, I won't hold it against you."
"Unusual attitude on your part, old man," Perry said. Liam wheeled on him, fists clenched.
"Hold it!" Mac wedged herself between them. "I'm not exactly thrilled at being a pawn in this little chess match. So let's get this straight, shall we?" She glared at Liam. "I don't suppose you've told him why you brought him here, have you?" She turned an equally fierce gaze on Perry. "And you have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about—except for the fact that you left Liam in the jungle. Is that right?"
The two men looked at each other, one convincingly puzzled and the other close to explosion. Perry's expression cleared. "Liam said he met someone in the jungle," he said to Mac. "He gave no details. Apparently you know about our unfortunate argument. But I don't understand how you are involved—"
"Don't you?" Liam interrupted. "She was the one who found this."
He pushed his hand into his coat pocket and brought it up holding something round and silver and trailing a broken chain. Perry's watch, which Mac had last seen lying in the dust in Liam's tent. He hadn't forgotten it.
Liam stared at Perry; Perry gazed at the watch, and glanced from Mac to Liam with drawn brows.
"I'd wondered where I lost that," he said.
"Lost it. Careless of you—old friend." Liam dangled the watch from its chain, swinging it back and forth like a hypnotist's prop. He spoke to Mac without taking his eyes from Perry's face. "I never told you the history of this watch. I gave it to Perry years ago, when we returned from our first expedition together. It was in the Himalayas, and he was wounded pushing me out of the path of a boulder." He smiled. "It was always an unlikely friendship. I was the American provincial with no taste and money to burn, and he was the fine Englishman with little more than an excellent education and a long list of blue-blooded ancestors behind him. Can you imagine it, Mac?"
"I regret the loss of that friendship far more than any watch," Perry said. "It was never my intention, Liam, no matter what you—"
Liam turned and hurled the watch across the room, striking the overstuffed chair by the fireplace with deadly accuracy. "No," he said softly. "It was only your intention to kill me."
Mac held her breath. Perry's face went white, and then he choked out a laugh.
"What?"
"It didn't work, Perry," Liam said, his voice a rasp. "Your guerrillas didn't do their job. And whatever hold you had on Mac wasn't enough. She saved my life, and she brought me the proof I needed."
"Proof?" Perry stabbed the tip of his cane into the carpet. "What in God's name are you saying?"
"All's fair in love and war, isn't it, Perry?" Liam said. "It wasn't enough to abandon me. You had to make certain I never returned, so you'd have Caroline's fortune uncontested."
Perry's face lost its shock. "My God," he said. "You Irish bastard—"
The tension in the air stretched to the breaking point, and suddenly Mac knew she was the only rational being in the room. God knew someone had to be. Her bod
y felt like a fragile barrier between two angry men, but it was the only weapon she had. Along with simple desperation.
"Listen to me," she said. "I'm just as interested in getting to the bottom of this as either of you—"
"Stay out of it, Mac," Liam growled.
"It's a little late for that." She met Liam's glower and turned to Perry. "Let me lay it out for you, Mr. Sinclair. Liam thinks you used the watch to pay guerrillas to attack him in the jungle, and that I was working for you as well. He brought me here as a trap for you, expecting us to betray each other."
"She turned up in the jungle, alone, just after you disappeared with the bearers and supplies," Liam added. "And she had the photograph."
Perry either thought Liam had gone mad, or he was doing an excellent approximation of confounded disbelief. "What photograph?"
"You know bloody well. Were the crazy stories of traveling through time her idea, or yours? Did you expect me to swallow such blarney? Oh, she played the damsel in distress well enough, but I didn't think even you could stoop so low as to put a woman in danger to serve your ends."
Perry's lean frame was as taut as a strung bow. "This is preposterous," he said. "Trust me, old man. If I wanted you dead, I'd go about it in a much more efficient fashion."
The bluntness of his speech was as effective as a bucket of cold water. Perry straightened his waistcoat and stroked the tips of his mustache with precise, deliberate motions. "Let me make myself clear. I do not know Miss MacKenzie, and I did not hire anyone to kill you." He held Liam's gaze. "Yes, I left you in the jungle, knowing you'd be delayed in returning. I wanted to get to Caroline before you. You simply wouldn't listen to reason—"
"Reason!"
"But I ask you to listen now. For God's sake, we've saved each other's lives more than once. Think, Liam. If you know me at all, you know I wouldn't do this."
Liam made a sound of disgust and strode away, then turned suddenly and looked straight into Mac's eyes. "Well, Mac?" he asked with unexpected gentleness. "Do you believe him?"
She couldn't read Liam's expression, or the strange light in his steady gaze. "I've never met Mr. Sinclair before," she said, "but I believe he's telling the truth." She swallowed. "If I thought he'd tried to kill you, he'd be my enemy as much as yours."
He came to her then, holding her more surely with his unwavering regard than with any physical restraint. "Would he?" He raised his hand; she shivered as his fingers brushed her cheek. "And what is it they say about the enemy of my enemy?"
"I'm not your enemy, old man," Perry interposed coolly. He looked at Mac. "Liam's life was never in any danger from me."
Liam dropped his hand, his expression hardening. "Then you can prove your good faith," he said to the Englishman. "Stay away from Caroline."
Perry walked to the window, leaning on his cane as he gazed out on the city. "You know that's impossible."
"I know that nothing has changed, whatever happened in the jungle." Liam smiled without a trace of humor. "There are less than two weeks left until her birthday, and you won't be getting any more chances to deceive her with your flattery and corrupt her innocence."
"Corrupt her?" Perry spun around, cane raised like a weapon. "You're deceiving yourself. You don't care about her happiness. You don't love her. Why are you so afraid to let her make her own decisions?" His eyes narrowed. "Or is there something else you fear—"
Liam strode to the door and flung it open. "Get out of here, Perry, before I decide you're a bloody liar."
Perry took up his cane and sauntered unhurriedly across the room. "This isn't finished, old man."
"You're right." Liam all but shouldered Perry out the door. "I'll be watching you. Keep that in mind—old friend." He glanced back at Mac. "Don't worry. I'm persuaded of your innocence. I keep my promises."
"Wait," Mac said. "We haven't—"
Without another word Liam followed Perry and shut the door behind them.
For a painful stretch of time all Mac could hear was her own pounding heart. She backed up until her legs hit the bed, and sat down.
Great. Just wonderful. Liam had walked out on her again, and nothing was resolved. She laughed weakly and rubbed at her forehead. Maybe she should be grateful for a little peace and quiet to think, because she seemed to be back at square one.
What should she say when Liam came back? She could tell him straight out why he couldn't marry Caroline. But of course that was ridiculous. He'd only think her even more crazy.
Or she could appeal to Perry. She'd been honest with Liam; she didn't believe Perry was a murderer. Maybe if she could meet Caroline as well, some incredibly effective plan would pop into her head…
She'd be damned if she'd wait around for that to happen. She jumped up, strode to the door and opened it. Liam wasn't there, of course, to receive a piece of her mind.
But neither was the bruiser he'd left on guard. She took a cautious step into the hallway. No one by the balustrade, or—
"Miss MacKenzie?"
She started, turned sharply and found herself looking into a pair of keen brown eyes. Peregrine Sinclair stood beside her door, hat in hand, his demeanor as unruffled as if he'd just arrived on a social call.
Or as if he'd read her mind.
Chapter Twelve
Time is that wherein there
is opportunity, And opportunity
is that wherein there is
no great time.
—HIPPOCRATES
"WHERE'S LIAM?" MAC demanded.
"He'll be gone for some time, I believe," Perry said, swinging his cane with perfect nonchalance. "When I was waiting for a hack I saw him receive what appeared to be an urgent message. He left several minutes ago."
"But you didn't leave," she said.
"As far as Liam is concerned, I did," he said. "I made certain of it. And as for the guard Liam placed on your room, he's also otherwise engaged. I don't expect him to return for an hour, at least."
Otherwise engaged? Mac peered over Perry's shoulder. "Why did you come back?"
He shrugged. "Call it a hunch, Miss MacKenzie. A hunch that we might perhaps be useful to one another in some small capacity."
Interesting. Sinclairs, it seemed, thought alike.
She held open the door. "Come in."
He smiled, a faint quirk of his lips, and complied. After an awkward moment she realized he was waiting for an invitation to sit, and she gestured him toward the two chairs by the fireplace. He waited for her to seat herself first, then set his hat in his lap and hung the cane on the chair's arm.
"Where shall we begin, Miss MacKenzie?" he asked. "We've had little more than an introduction, and that under less than pleasant circumstances."
Mac did her best to match his composure. "Liam mentioned you… a few times in the jungle."
"And not favorably," he said. "How awkward it must have been for you to be drawn into the net of his suspicion." He leaned forward, studying her face. "It's clear you know each other rather well."
Mac fortified herself with a deep breath. Here goes. "Yes. We met in the jungle, as he said. And we traveled together from the Petén to San Francisco."
He raised a brow. "Were you his prisoner, Miss MacKenzie?"
"No. I didn't even realize how little he trusted me until we arrived here."
"Ah. I confess to being very interested in what happened in the jungle to convince Liam I tried to have him killed—and what part you played in it. Not to mention how you came to be in the jungle alone when Liam was there. It must be a fascinating tale."
Fascinating, yes. But not one she was prepared to let him in on just yet.
"I'll try to be brief," she said, inventing quickly. "My name is Rose MacKenzie. I'm the daughter of Hector MacKenzie, an explorer and missionary in Central America. My father recently died, and I was left with little money in a small village in Guatemala. I was trying to make my way to the port when Liam found me."
"An explorer's daughter," he repeated. "Liam does have a c
ertain rough gallantry that would lead him to rescue a maiden in distress."
Rough gallantry. That was one way of putting it. "Yes. But there was some rather bad timing involved. You see…"
And she proceeded to explain, in calm, efficient words that she hoped were convincing, how she'd been with Liam less than a day when the guerrillas had attacked, how he'd been wounded, and how he'd behaved when she found the watch at the site of the assault.
"My loss of that watch caused a good deal of trouble," Perry said. "But there's one thing I still do not understand. Your presence did prevent his death, and you brought him the watch. This hardly accounts for his suspicion." He searched her eyes. "He did mention a photograph."
So Perry hadn't missed that. "Urn, I did have a photograph. Of you and Liam."
His gaze sharpened. "Indeed."
"Well, before my father died, we did a great deal of traveling. We'd heard, of course, of the famous exploring team of Sinclair and O'Shea, and, um, we ran across a native who had this photograph…"
Perry leaned back, tapping the brim of his hat. "A native. How very interesting. Go on, Miss MacKenzie."
"I, um, asked Father to buy it. I had it with me when Liam found me, and he was sure it was the same one you had in San Francisco."
"May I see this photograph?"
In for a penny, in for a pound. Mac went to the dressing table and pulled out her backpack, keeping her body between it and Great-great-grandpa. When she put the photo in Perry's hand, he sat up very straight.
"I begin to understand," he said, turning the battered photograph in his hands. "I remember when this was taken, and to my knowledge only one was made. It appears I was wrong." He returned the photo to her with obvious reluctance. "So when he found you with this following our argument, and then the business with the guerrilla attack and the watch—ah, Liam." He shook his head, swift speculation moving behind his eyes. "Even he has enough sense to realize now that his suspicions were unfounded."
I hope you're right, Great-great-grandpa. Mac put the photo away, pausing by the dressing table to breathe out a long sigh of relief. Perry seemed to accept her story, however improbable it was. Maybe this was going to go her way—
TWICE A HERO Page 17
