TWICE A HERO

by Susan Krinard

  Norton yawned. Bummer launched himself from Liam's arms and dashed full speed at the man entering the hall from the rear of the house.

  "Mr. O'Shea." Chen had only a moment to nod before Bummer began performing fantastic acrobatic leaps about his soft-shod feet. "Welcome home."

  Liam rose, nudging Norton gently with the toe of his boot. "Thanks, Chen." He watched Chen scold the terrier in quiet Cantonese, earning rare obedience from the dog. "I went to see our contact, as you advised. Everything is set for tonight."

  Chen was accustomed to Liam's lack of ceremony. His serene expression didn't change, but Liam saw the concern in his eyes. "And the matter of your expedition with Mr. Sinclair?"

  "That's a long story. You knew something was wrong when I didn't return with Perry?"

  "Indeed. When I observed that some aspect of your plan had gone amiss, I alerted our friend in the Gresham household to be particularly watchful. I knew you would want a full report of all unusual activities when you returned."

  Liam relaxed. Chen had been as efficient as always; he'd expected Liam to come home. "I've seen Miss Gresham, briefly. What do you have to report?"

  "During the week since Mr. Sinclair's return," Chen said, "Miss Gresham has been to two parties, one ball, and one outing to the park, each in the company of Mr. Sinclair."

  No less than Liam had expected. "And Mrs. Hunter?"

  "Has apparently been present, though indisposed, during all meetings in the Gresham home. There has been no activity or conversation worthy of undue concern, according to the reports I received."

  So Perry had made good use of Liam's absence, but he hadn't pushed too far. Apparently he hadn't felt ready to press his suit. Time had run out for Perry sooner than he expected.

  "Very good," Liam said. "I'll take care of the rest." He turned his thoughts to the more pressing problem. "As for the raid, send a message to our friends in Chinatown. We'll meet in the usual place at midnight, and be ready to move by one."

  "I will begin immediately." Chen stepped over Bummer and took Liam's hat, turning to signal down the hall as he did. A petite and pretty Chinese girl in a silk tunic emerged from the servants' quarters, smiling shyly.

  "You remember my niece Mei Ling, Mr. O'Shea," Chen said. "She has done well in her work as maid since she came to replace Mary. Her English is already becoming very good."

  "I'm glad to hear it." Liam returned the girl's smile. "You're comfortable here, Mei Ling? Not afraid?"

  She ducked her head. "Not afraid. Safe… here."

  Probably safer than she had been even in the hidden sanctuary where the other rescued slave girls boarded until they could find new homes far from their erstwhile masters. The tongs still found ways to trick some of the girls back into their clutches, but they'd been less and less successful of late. Liam knew how to deal with corrupt lawyers and bought policemen.

  "Yes," he said. "You're safe here. Let your uncle know if you need anything."

  The girl gave a self-conscious nod and retreated back down the hall. Liam's smile faded as he thought of the countless children like her who had been far less fortunate. But if all went well tonight, a dozen of her sisters would have a second chance at freedom in their new country.

  There was just enough time for a few hours' rest. Fastidious Chen was probably near to swooning at the sight of his employer; Liam hadn't shaved or bathed in two days. On expedition that was common enough, but tonight he couldn't afford to be less than sharp and alert.

  "I'm going to clean up, Chen," he said. "Don't bother with a meal—a sandwich will do." Liam patted the top of Norton's shaggy, massive skull and started toward the staircase. "One more thing. If you receive any messages from Mr. Bauer, bring them immediately. He's doing some work for me."

  Not by the twitch of a brow did Chen reveal a hint of curiosity. He might assume that Liam had engaged the private investigator to help with the raid against the tongs, as he'd done in the past. But Liam had set Bauer a far more personal task.

  With a bow Chen withdrew, Bummer at his heels. Norton bounded up the stairs ahead of Liam. Thick, richly patterned carpet muffled the footsteps of man and beast. The sound of the clock in the parlor filled the echoing quiet. Handsome, expensive paintings on each wall flowed one into another as Liam passed by.

  Home. It should feel more welcoming after three years and all the money he'd put into the place. Nothing had changed; why should it? He'd wanted the beauty and grandeur for Caroline, not himself.

  He'd be happy with a hut in the jungle, with lakes and streams for washing and flowers for decoration. A place without high walls that closed the world into a pretty little box.

  In less than two weeks those days of freedom would be behind him.

  He paused on the upstairs landing and turned toward the chamber that would be Caroline's. It had been decorated in her favorite colors, with no expense spared: a queen's quarters, connected to his rooms by a wide pass closet. When they were married she could retire there—when she was not sharing his bed.

  Restlessness twitched through him as he entered his own room. He glanced at the great walnut bedstead, imagining Caroline in it, her golden hair spread across the pillows. He censored the notion before it could fully form.

  But another image filled the vacant place in his mind: snubbed nose, smudged face, dark hair cropped short as a boy's, snapping dark eyes, bold mouth, and outthrust jaw.

  Mac. Mac in his bed, challenging him to join her.

  Mac with her lean firm body twisting catlike around his own. Mac dueling wits with him, winner take all…

  Liam strode into the bathroom and snapped on the bathtub faucets, letting the tub fill with cold water.

  Devil take it, what was wrong with him? He hadn't touched Mac in nearly a month, though they'd traveled side by side in the jungles and mountains and slept within a few feet of each other.

  But this afternoon, at the Palace, when she'd faced him down so bravely…

  He strode to his dresser and tossed his coat over the back of a chair. No—he tugged his limp tie loose and threw it likewise on the desk—there was no good reason to think of Mac at all. Not when his thoughts should be only of his future wife.

  He began to unbutton his shirt, building a mental picture of Caroline. Petite, with dainty ankles and rounded arms; face as flawless as an angel's, as lovely as any English aristocrat's; china-blue eyes…

  Dark eyes. Short hair. Long legs and tanned skin and parted lips.

  Liam slapped the shirt over the chair, glaring at his unshaven reflection in the mirror. He'd been too long away from his obligations. Once Mac was safely in Napa, he'd have no more of this baffling and troublesome temptation.

  He'd make himself into the stable, respectable husband Caroline needed, here in this house, within these walls, confined to a simple domestic life. Tonight's raid would be his last. No more taking chances, no more adventures, no more meetings with bold, pestiferous, distracting females in the jungle…

  His reflection stared back at him, grim and stolid. Liam turned away from the mirror and the man he was to become.

  * * *

  The Chinatown alley stank of human refuse and the stale odors of cooking. From where he crouched behind a stack of crates, Liam had an unobstructed view of the gated and barred house that was the object of tonight's raid.

  Almost no moonlight reached the alley, and the nearest streetlamp was far away. There were places of concealment everywhere—enough to hide the motley group of raiders: Chen and three other Chinese men like him, who'd lost relatives or friends to the slave trade or to tong bullets; a few policemen who'd come to agree with Liam that there was too much corruption to work within the law; even Irishmen like Liam himself, once known as the principal enemies of the Chinese in San Francisco.

  Now they were scattered in a wide arc around the house, each man within signaling distance of the rest. Waiting for the instant when the tong hatchetmen guarding the entrance would be distracted, and the raid could begin.
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  The girls had arrived on a steamer late that afternoon, twelve of them, some no older than thirteen, each and every one bound for a life of slavery and prostitution in Chinatown or communities in the countryside.

  Since the Exclusion Act two years before, it hadn't been so easy for the tongs and their bribed allies to bring the girls into San Francisco. Not so easy, but far from impossible. At least four of this group had arrived smuggled in crates as freight; others had been carefully coached to convince immigration inspectors that they were native Californians returning from a trip to the land of their ancestors.

  There were always men—officials and police—who would take bribes from the wealthy tongs and profit heavily by it. Men who had no pity for the girls and the terrible life of degradation that awaited them.

  Two years ago Liam had assembled this little group. What they did was technically illegal, but Liam had no faith in the law to protect these innocents.

  He nodded to Chen across the alley. In a minute or two Chen's niece would make the daunting walk across the street, in full view of the hatchetmen. The chance of seizing another Chinese girl in a town that never had enough of them would be too great a temptation for the tong men to resist.

  Liam ground his teeth together and touched the butt of his pistol. Using Mei Ling had been completely against every principle he lived by, but it had been getting increasingly difficult to catch the tong off guard. They didn't know who carried out the raids—Liam and his men always went masked—but they were more careful than they'd once been. The two heavily armed hatchetmen at the house were proof enough of that.

  Only this once, Liam had told Chen. But the girl had insisted with remarkable courage, having at one time been destined for the bagnios herself. And it might be the only way to save the other twelve.

  Liam's thoughts drifted inevitably from Mei Ling to the other two women who had succeeded in plundering his peace of mind.

  Hell. He shifted his crouch, stretching a cramped muscle. Every time he swore to himself he wouldn't think of Mac again, he broke his own oath. What was she doing now? Was she sleeping, or wide awake still cursing him for today's little drama?

  Or worse… was she feeling forsaken, afraid, alone in that hotel room with no idea of her fate, abandoned by the man who'd promised her safety? Liam scowled. He should have taken the time to explain, but Chen's message couldn't wait. And after the confrontation with Perry, Liam hadn't trusted himself to maintain the necessary control.

  Mac would test the control of a saint. Liam's scowl became an edged grin. Mac, afraid? Ridiculous. She might want to kill him, but she wouldn't be frightened even if she were here beside him, about to throw herself into danger. She'd march into the street, oblivious to her peril, and spit right in the eye of the boo how doy… .

  "Mr. O'Shea! Mei Ling is ready!"

  He turned quickly to acknowledge Chen's whisper. Mac wasn't here, thank God, and there was no more time for thinking. Liam tugged his mask over his face. Either he'd come out of this with twelve young girls on their way to freedom, or he'd die in the attempt.

  Fierce joy swept through him—the joy of challenging fate itself. There was no deception in this. No posturing to prove himself a gentleman worthy of Caroline Gresham. Only the rush of blood, the racing heart, the bunching of muscles preparing for action.

  A lone, timid figure draped in a silk robe and hood crept into the street in front of the guarded house, looking about fearfully. One of the hatchetmen noticed and signaled to his partner. They straightened from their gambling and moved to the gate.

  Liam raised his hand. Chen followed suit. All around the house the raiders tensed.

  And then the waiting was over.

  * * *

  It should have been a day for celebration.

  The raid had gone perfectly. All the girls had been rescued, spirited away to the hidden safe house where the tong would never find them.

  Liam abandoned his tie, heedless of the uneven knot, and walked to his bedroom window. The morning was beautiful and clear, perfect for traveling. If matters had gone as intended he would have made the necessary visit to Caroline, keeping his promise to her and providing the required explanations, and then he'd have gone to the Palace for Mac. A bit of reasoning and persuasion, and he and Mac would have been on their way to Napa by ferry and rail. Liam had expected to return by tomorrow evening at the latest, leaving Mac safely bestowed on the ranch.

  But the new information from Bauer, received less than an hour ago, had overturned Liam's best-laid plans. Biggs's note had arrived only a few minutes later, carried by the Gresham stableman.

  Both had conveyed the same message: Come at once. Only Bauer's had mentioned Perry, but that was more than enough.

  Liam tugged on his black cutaway coat, swearing under his breath. Had he underestimated Perry's capacity for guile yet again—and his powerful desire for Caroline's fortune?

  Liam gave Chen a few terse instructions and strode to the stables to the rear of the house. Forster had the phaeton waiting. Liam took up the reins and turned the carriage toward California Street, driving blindly past neatly-kept houses basking in the hazy glow of the early autumn sun. His thoughts were as fouled as a fisherman's net caught on a sunken ship.

  He arrived at the Gresham residence in less than ten minutes. The stableman who took charge of the phaeton had the good sense not to offer a cheery greeting.

  Biggs answered Liam's knock so quickly that he must have been hovering very close indeed. His ordinarily stolid countenance was clearly being put to the test.

  "Where are they?" Liam demanded without preamble.

  The butler coughed discreetly. "In Miss Gresham's sitting room. Mrs. Hunter is, as usual, indisposed and laid up in her bed. Another young lady is with them—"

  Liam stiffened. "Another young lady?"

  "She came with Mr. Sinclair. One Miss MacKenzie." He noted Liam's expression and arched a brow. "Ah, you know of her, Mr. O'Shea? I didn't realize—"

  Apparently neither had Bauer, who hadn't mentioned a second visitor. And apparently Mac's guard at the Palace had been bought—or tricked.

  Liam brushed past Biggs and strode for the stairs. The sitting room door was open, and Liam paused in the hall to regain his composure.

  Perry saw him first. The Englishman turned, his face as bland and cool as ever.

  The tableau Liam had walked into didn't change for several seconds. Caroline and Mac stood side by side before a cheval mirror, the former in the process of fussing with some fastening on Mac's dress.

  Mac's dress. Good lord. She was wearing a dress with long, sweeping skirts and an ill-fitting basque bodice. Her expression was one of discomfort and quickly hidden unease.

  And Caroline—she turned her head and froze, just long enough for him to see a fleeting uncertainty in her gaze.

  "Liam!" she cried, sweeping toward him. "I am so glad you are here. You will never guess what has happened!"

  "No?" he said grimly.

  If she noticed his mood she chose to ignore it. "Perry came first thing this morning with the most remarkable story. Did you know about his little cousin?" She gestured toward Mac and rushed on without waiting for an answer. "To think this poor girl has been denied the benefits of society for so long! When I heard about her, I knew I had to help. She only arrived an hour ago, but I've already found one of my old dresses that almost fits…"

  Liam heard no more than one word in ten of her chatter. He was staring at Mac, struggling to decide whether he was more amazed at her vaguely ridiculous appearance or enraged at her unexpected and very unwelcome presence.

  Perry was behind it, of course. But Mac, whom Liam had absolved of any treachery in the jungle, had come with him. Willingly, to all appearances, however Perry had convinced her. Liam damned himself for a thrice-cursed fool.

  "I was not told about Perry's… cousin," he said, interrupting Caroline's monologue.

  She took his arm. "I am certain you will pity her as I do. Her fa
ther was a missionary in South America—he recently passed away, and she was left with no resources except Perry himself. She came all the way to San Francisco on her own." Caroline's words were shaded with unmistakable excitement and something dangerously like admiration.

  "She did, did she," he said.

  "Yes. She only just arrived yesterday. Is it not an amazing coincidence that she came to San Francisco the same day you did?" Caroline prattled, tugging Liam's arm to regain his attention. "Perhaps you were even on the same ship."

  "I'm afraid I didn't have the pleasure of meeting the young lady," he said with a tight smile.

  "Then you must allow me to introduce you!"

  The damage was done. He couldn't remove either Mac or Perry without causing a scene, and Caroline was very deeply caught. "By all means," he said.

  Caroline drew him farther into the room. "Miss MacKenzie, I have the great pleasure of introducing you to my… old friend, Mr. O'Shea."

  Mac looked at him, her dark eyes bold as ever. She dropped an awkward curtsey and offered her hand.

  "Mr. O'Shea. I'm very pleased to meet you."

  He took her hand. It was strong for a woman's, but he could have crushed it with little effort. He exerted just enough pressure to make a point. "The honor is all mine," he said. "Perry's cousin, I'm told? I didn't hear him mention you before."

  "I'm afraid I… come from a rather obscure branch of the family," she said. "I don't expect Mr. Sinclair and I would ever have met, except"—her mouth gave a very convincing tremble—"except that Papa died."

  "You have my very great sympathy, Miss MacKenzie," he said. "I hear you came all the way from South America alone. It must have been a very difficult journey. Not one for a woman."

  "But you must know all about such difficulties, Mr. O'Shea," she said. "Miss Gresham—Caroline—has already told me what great adventurers you and my cousin are. I'm sure you've braved far greater perils than my poor papa and I."

  "Some adventures are riskier than others," he said. "It takes excellent judgment to recognize when one has gone too far."