Dark Rider

by Iris Johansen

  “You will survive it.”

  Cassie’s eyes opened and she blinked to hold back the tears. “You don’t hate me?”

  “For something you cannot help?” She shook her head. “How could you think I would hate you?”

  “Because sometimes I hate myself.” She sat back on her heels and smiled shakily. “But I’m glad you don’t. I think it would break my heart.”

  Lani’s expression was troubled. “If Cambre doesn’t come to us tonight, we’ll go to him in the morning.”

  Cassie nodded jerkily and rose to her feet. “Whatever you think best. I don’t want to—”

  A sharp knock sounded on the door.

  Relief surged through Cassie. Cambre. At last the waiting was over and she could do something.

  She moved quickly across the room and threw open the door.

  “I’d like to throttle you,” Jared said grimly.

  She stared at him in astonishment. “How did—”

  “You couldn’t wait, could you?” He threw open the door and pushed past her into the room.

  “Wait for what? For you to find him before I did?”

  Bradford followed Jared and closed the door. “We understand, but your haste was ill-advised and unkind.” His gaze went to Lani and he added reprovingly, “You frightened me.”

  To Cassie’s astonishment color flushed Lani’s cheeks. “I’ve given you no right to be concerned.”

  He smiled. “Ah, but I took that right long ago.”

  “Are you mad?” Jared’s eyes blazed down at Cassie. “Why did you follow David to Cambre?”

  “How did you— Cambre was being watched?”

  “Guillaume’s man, Valbain.” He grasped her shoulders. “You’re to stay away from Cambre, do you hear me?”

  “I hear you.” She shook her head to clear it. “That doesn’t mean I’ll obey.” Valbain might have told him where to find her, but how had he known she had followed the artist? “How did you know we’d gone to see David?”

  “Josette.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “That’s not true. She wouldn’t betray us.”

  “She would to save your life.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe you. Nothing would make her—”

  “She knew it didn’t matter any longer.” His expression changed, and his grasp on her shoulders gentled. “She knew there wasn’t anything you wanted here.”

  “What are you talking about? My father is here.”

  “Not anymore.” His grasp opened and closed on her shoulders. “Dammit, I’m the last person on earth who should tell you this.”

  She went still. “Tell me what?”

  “He’s dead.” When she still stared at him uncomprehendingly, he said jerkily, “Your father is dead, Cassie.”

  Pain and horror stormed through her. Her eyes closed and she swayed. “You killed him?” she whispered.

  “No!” He crushed her to him, his hand cradling the back of her head. “Cambre killed him.”

  The pain was too great even to feel relief. “How do you know?”

  “I received a letter from Guillaume before I left Morland. Cambre met with your father over a week ago at a café near the Seine. They stayed at the café for over two hours talking. At first they seemed on cordial terms. When they left the café, Valbain followed them. It was very late, and they took a deserted street that bordered the Seine.…” He stopped. “You don’t want to hear the rest.”

  “Yes, I do.” She should step away from him, she thought dimly, but his arms seemed to hold the only comfort in the world. “I want to hear everything.”

  “They turned a corner, and Valbain lost sight of them for a few moments. When he rounded the corner, he saw Cambre rolling your father’s body into the river.”

  She shuddered; she had passed that river a dozen times since reaching Paris. “Was he … found?”

  “Not yet.” He paused. “Guillaume says that’s not unusual.”

  Papa lost … only that cold gray river for a grave. “And you didn’t get to do it yourself,” she said dully. “It must have been a great disappointment.”

  “Cassie …” His voice was hoarse with pain.

  “You sound upset. I don’t know why. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” She finally found the strength to push him away. “He’s dead.”

  “What do you want me to say?” His expression was tormented. “God, I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

  “He’s dead, that’s what you wanted.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Why should I stop telling the truth?” The wild words were tumbling out, the tears running down her cheeks. “That’s what this is all about. Death.” Terrible word, horrible word. She said it again, “Death.”

  He took a step toward her.

  “Don’t touch me. How do I know Cambre even killed him? Maybe you did it.”

  He turned pale. “Do you want to see Guillaume’s letter?”

  “A letter that you could have written yourself. You said you wanted me in your bed again. If you killed my father, you knew that would never happen.”

  “I didn’t kill him.” He added harshly, “I can’t deny that was my intention when I first met you. I won’t even deny that I might still have killed him if I’d found him before Cambre did. I’ve hated him for a long time, and I don’t know what I would have done.” He enunciated every word with desperate distinctness. “But I did not kill him, Cassie.”

  She wanted to believe him, she realized with disgust. He had hated her father, and yet she still loved Jared and wanted to trust in him. It sickened her that even after Papa’s death she continued to betray him.

  “Go away.” She ran past Bradford to where Lani sat in the window seat.

  Lani’s eyes were glittering with tears, and she held out her arms to Cassie. Cassie went into them, giving comfort for comfort. Lani had loved her father. Lani understood the pain.

  She heard Bradford’s soft voice above her. “He’s telling the truth, Cassie.”

  But Bradford loved Jared and therefore could not be trusted either.

  “We’ll come back in the morning,” Jared said. “I hope by then you’ll have had time to realize I wouldn’t lie to you.” He paused. “Don’t worry about your safety. Guillaume will be on guard outside the pension tonight in case Cambre returns. He’s a short man, with a potbelly. If anyone of any other description approaches you, run to Guillaume.”

  When Cassie didn’t reply, Jared muttered something beneath his breath before calling, “Come on, Bradford.”

  “Wait,” Lani said. “Where are you going?”

  Jared didn’t answer immediately. “Guillaume will provide us beds in his pension.”

  “But you won’t use them. You’re going to kill Cambre,” Lani said. “Not tonight. No more death tonight. We have enough to bear.”

  Jared remained silent.

  “Do you hear me? No more horror. No more violence. Let us have this night to mourn.”

  “Very well,” Jared finally agreed. “But I make no promises after tonight.”

  “If this beast killed Charles, I’ll not ask you to hold your hand. Now, leave us.”

  “Lani, I’ll stay if you need me,” Bradford said.

  “We don’t need you,” Lani said coldly. “You do not mourn.”

  Bradford sighed, and then Cassie heard his heavy footsteps cross the room. The door closed behind the two men.

  “Lani …,” Cassie whispered.

  “Shh … I know.” Lani’s arms tightened around her. “First we will weep for our loss, and then we will remember Charles.”

  “Remember?” How could she think of anyone else at this moment?

  “No, that’s not what I meant. We will talk of times we loved him the most.” Lani kissed her forehead. “It will help us heal.”

  “I don’t—I can’t talk right now.”

  “Yes, you can. I’ll start and you’ll follow.” Her tears were falling now and her voice trembled. �
��But not now. I cannot speak now.”

  It was not until several hours later that the tears ceased and Lani’s words began to flow. “Did you know I met Charles on the beach the day after my father and mother died?”

  “No.” Cassie had never questioned the circumstances of Lani’s arrival in her life. First she had been too filled with resentment, and later it was as if Lani had always been there. “Your parents died together?”

  “They were killed in the great storm when a tree branch fell on our dwelling. We were very loving together, and I was filled with sorrow, as we are now.” She gazed unseeingly out of the window. “Charles had heard of their deaths, and he came to me. He didn’t know me or my parents, but he could see I was mourning. He stayed with me all day and spoke gently and held my hand in comfort. Clara always said he wanted only my body, but that was not true. Later passion came to him, but that day he wanted to give kindness. He came every day for the next month and gradually I healed. I’ve always been grateful to him for giving me those days.” She smiled reminiscently. “So I decided to give him something in return. He was shocked and filled with shame when I seduced him. He kept mumbling about my being a mere child. He was the child. He needed care and loving.” She ended simply, “He needed me.”

  “Yes, he did … always.”

  “He was kind to you also,” Lani prompted.

  Cassie no longer needed encouragement; she suddenly realized she did want to talk about Papa. Yet there was no single incident, as Lani had related. Just bits and pieces of care and kindness, the little presents he had given her, the many times he had hidden her from Clara’s wrath. “He gave me Kapu. Do you remember that night, Lani? They were going to kill him, but I would never have let it happen. I was planning on stealing him and running away. Papa tried to comfort me, but I couldn’t stop crying. He was very upset when he left the cottage.” She paused, thinking of his return. “But when he came back, he had Kapu. He had given the king four of his favorite paintings and paid six of Kamehameha’s warriors to rope and lead Kapu up the hills and put him in the stable.” It was all coming back to her now. “And there was the morning Mama died. You weren’t there then, but I think you would have liked Mama. She was always gentle and sweet, and she loved Papa more than anything. Papa cried when she died, but he came to me later and held me and told me she was with the angels. I believed him because she was like an angel herself.…”

  The reminiscences flowed in an endless stream for both of them as the hours passed. When there finally seemed no more to say, they undressed and lay down in the big four-poster bed, exhausted.

  “Do you feel better?” Lani asked after a long silence.

  Cassie felt weary, drained, but perhaps that was the beginning of healing. “Yes.”

  “You were very cruel to Jared tonight.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Jared.”

  “Do you truly doubt him?”

  She had to doubt him. She wanted too desperately to believe him. Now that the first tearing pain had lessened, she could remind herself that Jared didn’t lie, but what if this was the exception? “There’s no proof he didn’t kill my father.”

  “There’s no proof he did. Perhaps tomorrow we will know more.” Lani closed her eyes, and her words were beginning to slur. “It’s all very strange.… It’s not fair to judge without …”

  Lani was asleep.

  Cassie stared into the darkness. She had thought she was exhausted enough to sleep, but she was still wide-awake.

  There’s no proof.

  No proof Jared was not a murderer, no proof Cambre had done the deed, not even proof of her father’s death. A man died and was thrown into the river like a piece of garbage, and vanished as if he had never lived. The thought brought the tears stinging again, and she willed them back. The time for weeping was past. Tears would not bring her father to life or avenge his death.

  Vengeance.

  The thought came out of nowhere, and yet it brought no surprise. Her father had been murdered, his life carelessly tossed away. She felt a sudden flare of rage, and for the first time, she fully understood Jared’s quest for retribution. A wave of unbearable pain washed over her, mixing with the anger, as she wondered if that very quest had taken her father’s life.

  But there was no proof. Jared could have been telling the truth. It could have been Cambre.

  But if Jared killed Cambre, she would never know.

  She stiffened as she realized there was no doubt Jared would kill Raoul Cambre tomorrow. He had searched and found and would now execute. She would be forced to sit here and wait as he destroyed both Cambre and any hope she had of knowing what had occurred that night by the Seine.

  She could not allow him to do it. She had to talk to Cambre first. She had to confront him, accuse him and watch his response. Perhaps then she would be certain of his guilt.

  If he was guilty, such a meeting would be very dangerous.

  Why was she hesitating? The risk was minimal compared to the prospect of living her life forever unsure if Jared had killed her father.

  She glanced at Lani before carefully edging across the bed and from beneath the covers.

  Lani did not stir.

  Silently, Cassie dressed in her riding trousers, shirt, and jacket, but Lani was in such a deep sleep, she doubted if she would have heard her anyway. She started toward the window, then stopped and retraced her steps to the portmanteau.

  The dagger Josette had given them.

  Cassie slowly drew the dagger from the sheath. The blade gleamed cold as death in the moonlight.

  Cassie stood looking at it in dread and fascination for a moment before returning it to its sheath and thrusting it into the waistband of her trousers. She moved toward the casement window overlooking the alley. Their lack of money had dictated they take this undesirable pension on the second floor overlooking the alley, where the garbage was thrown and the slop jars emptied. The location might now serve her well.

  Guillaume would be watching the street entrance of the pension. No one would likely be astir in that stinking hole below.

  She stepped onto the windowsill, then lowered herself to the sloping slate-tile roof overhanging the alley. Her boots scraped on the slate, and she froze, her gaze flying to the window above her.

  Had the sound woke Lani?

  She breathed a sigh of relief when no face appeared at the window.

  Slowly, carefully, she turned on her stomach and crawled backward down the roof, clinging with fingers and toes to the tiles. It took her nearly a quarter of an hour to reach the edge.

  She paused to get her breath before looking down at the alley.

  It was fully ten feet to the ground.

  And the alley was not deserted as she had thought.

  The ground seemed to be heaving with movement. Bright-red eyes gleaming in the darkness.

  Rats.

  She shuddered as she watched the dozens of rodents scurrying below her. Would they attack her as they ravaged the garbage on the ground?

  Well, she could not stay here all night. She braced herself, then, clinging to the roof’s edge, slowly lowered her body until she hung full length.

  Fear iced through her as she heard increased commotion below.

  She dropped to the ground.

  Her knees buckled, and she fell.

  Mud. Filth. A rat ran over her hand as she frantically tried to lever herself to her feet. They were all around her!

  She ran blindly toward the end of the alley.

  Scurrying tiny feet ran over her boots, glittering eyes glared at her. The dark corridor seemed miles long, the journey as far as their trip across the Channel. Her heart pounded painfully as she slid, half fell, and then righted herself.

  Suddenly there were cobblestones instead of filth and mud beneath her feet. Thank God. She had reached the side street.

  She stopped beneath a lamppost, her chest rising and falling with her labored breathing. Dear heaven, that alley had stunk, and now she was ne
arly as odorous. She had a sudden memory of her island, where everything was washed clean by wind and sea, where people did not live on top of each other. How could her father have ever stood living with this filth?

  But her father was not living at all now.

  She smothered the dart of pain the remembrance brought. She was wasting precious time; in a few hours it would be dawn. Cambre’s residence was across the city, and she must get there before Jared stirred.

  Fifteen

  Dawn had not yet broken when Cassie reached Cambre’s imposing mansion. The house was dark, and evidently no servant was stirring. Both circumstances were to her advantage … if she could gain entrance.

  She tried the front door. Locked.

  Well, what had she expected? None of this would be easy. When she did get inside, she would have to find Cambre’s bedchamber without being discovered herself.

  If she broke a window, she would be heard. The garden? It was enclosed by a high stone fence, perhaps that barrier had caused someone to be careless and leave a back door or window unlocked.

  It seemed to be her night for climbing, she thought grimly. It was just as well she and Lihua had spent so many hours scaling coconut trees as children. But straight, high walls were not as easily mastered as those bent, ridged trees. It took her three tries to reach the top of the wall.

  She paused, her gaze traveling over the shadowy bushes and graceful rectangular pool. No sound. No sign of anyone. The path leading to the back of the house was to her left, winding through a sparse thicket of trees.

  As usual, it was easier descending than climbing. She jumped the last few feet and started toward the thicket.

  A blur to her left.

  She stopped, tensing. Perhaps it had not been a movement at all. She had caught only a glimpse of … of something from the corner of her eye.

  “I wouldn’t move if I were you. There’s a pistol in your back.” Something hard and round pressed into her spine.

  Cambre. She had not heard that smooth, deep voice since childhood, but she would never forget it.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Monsieur Guillaume. I was hoping for His Grace, but he evidently prefers to send his minions.” Cambre sniffed. “I wish he’d chosen an emissary less odorous.”