A Pirate's Possession (4 page)

 

 

Now are you going to tell me what's going on?”

“Nothing's going on.”

“You just knocked a man unconscious, Nate.”

“He was following me.”

“Well, let me assure you I don't think it was because of your good looks.”

Nate's lips twitched. “You're sure about that?”

“What are they after? Did that man figure out who you are?”

“No.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure. Let's just get back to the ship.”

“Where you'll tell me what we're running from?”

Nate said nothing, simply increased his pace and lengthened his stride. Vincent had to run to keep up.

“You come ashore for some secret meeting, or whatever it was you were doing while I ...”

Nate glanced at him. “You told me you were getting sugar. Didn't you find any?”

Vincent bobbed his head quickly. “Right. Sugar. It's, um, in the longboat, under some canvas.”

Nate had been more than happy when Vincent claimed he needed to run an errand, since it had allowed him to attend the game without distractions and explanations. But his behavior since arriving at the tavern had been off balance. Unlike Vincent, however, Nate wasn't one to pry.

They were approaching the commercial part of town, and lights once again glowed at the far end of the street.

“You know,” Vincent gasped as he ran alongside, “for someone who claims not to be running from anything, you're sure in a mighty hurry.”

Nate sighed, and shook his head. “You never give up.”

“Neither do I,” Claire said as she stepped out of the shadows and planted herself directly in Nate's path.

Nate lurched to a stop; the dwarf followed suit. Claire pushed the hat up onto her forehead, then aimed her pistol at Nate's chest. “And I'll be taking that map now.”

Though they weren't directly under the lamps, there was enough light to see clearly, especially up close as they were now, and she saw the instant recognition dawned on Nate's face.

“Claire.”

Hearing her name come out of his mouth for the first time in eight years, even if it wasn't said warmly, gave her an unexpected jolt. And it made her angry. He shouldn't still have that effect on her.

“I'm surprised you remember me. Should I be honored?”

She felt the heat of his glare. “It
was
you, at the game?”

“What game? You two know each other?”

Both she and Nate ignored the dwarf. “It was. The map, Nate. Hand it over.”

He jutted his chin at her pistol. “Or you'll shoot me?”

She set her jaw. “It's the least you deserve. Don't think I'd feel guilty about it.”

“Holy hell, Nate. What did you do?”

“Go back where you came from, Claire.”

He slid his pistol from the waist of his trousers into his hand. Though it stayed down at his side, it was a threat nonetheless. Clearly she wasn't the only one ready to shoot if necessary. She sneered.

“Are you going to knock me out the way you did to James or will you shoot me outright?”

His lips flattened. “Which do you prefer?”

“Hell, Nate. She's a woman!” Vincent reminded him needlessly.

“And she's in our way. Good-bye, Claire,” Nate said as he moved to step around her.

She wouldn't have any of it. She stepped to the side and pressed the barrel of her pistol into his chest. Cocked it. “The map.”

She braced her legs and steadied her hand. Though he was taller, she'd been forced to battle more than a few men in the last years and she'd learned to fight. Strength didn't always dictate the winner. Sometimes it was cunning.

With blood tingling in her veins, Claire waited for Nate's move. Seconds passed with only the sound of their breathing filling her ears. She studied his face, his shoulders, for any sign of movement. Whatever way he moved, she'd be ready. When his lips curved, when warmth softened his eyes, Claire's heart jumped. She balanced on her feet, ready for anything.

“Meet me at the longboat, Vincent. I won't be long.”

“But—”

“Go, I'll meet you there.”

The dwarf hesitated, but then out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw him stride toward the harbor. She didn't move. She didn't trust Nate, and she wasn't going to so much as blink until she had what she wanted. Which she had every intention of getting. Only instead of raising his pistol, or his other hand, or even a leg as she expected he'd do, all he did was smile at her. The way he had before he'd left her all those years ago.

Visions of the past raced through her mind. The first time he'd held her hand. The first time he'd pulled her into his embrace. The first time he'd kissed her. Her cheeks warmed.

“You remember, don't you, the times we had?”

She clenched her jaw, forcing the memories back. “No,” she lied. “I don't.” And she'd die before she ever admitted it to him.

A flash of teeth. “You do. I do.” His voice lowered at the same time his head dipped. “Do you taste the same, I wonder?” he whispered as his lips hovered closer to hers.

Her heart hammered now. It beat frantically against her chest. Her mouth went drier than a desert storm, but her brain was working fine. She pushed the pistol harder against his chest. His chuckle reverberated through the weapon to her palm and from there it sizzled through her veins like lightning. Her hand twitched.

“Tell me you haven't thought of this.” His breath skimmed her mouth. He was but inches away.

“I haven't.”

“Liar.”

His lips were nearly upon hers. Claire took a sharp breath.

They moved at the same time. She reached for his pistol as he effectively grabbed hers from her hand. They jumped apart, each holding the other's weapon.

“Well, that was interesting,” he said, his eyes once again cool and calculating.

“I'm no longer young and naive. I've learned some hard lessons.” His pistol was heavier than hers but she had no problem pointing it at him. “And I still want the map.”

“I can disarm you easily enough.”

“Not if you're wounded. Or dead.”

“Is that what you want? Me dead?”

“No. I'd rather you suffer.”

His mouth flattened. “I hate to disappoint you but that's not going to—”

He spun at the crunching noise that came from behind him. James had come to and he was staggering their way, blood winding down his cheek, yelling for his men who, Claire feared, weren't so very far away. She needed to get the map!

“Sorry to cut this short, but I have to go.”

Claire grabbed his jacket, held on with all her strength. “Not with the map, you're not.”

Three men came running down the street from the direction of the tavern.

“Get him!” James yelled. “Don't let him get away.” He pointed wildly in Nate's direction.

Shots fired at them. They whirred past her ears, coming close enough to steal her breath. Both she and Nate stooped low, swerved, and kept moving forward. Nate fired as he ran directly for their attackers.

“What are you doing?” she yelled at his back.

“Trying to stay alive. Are you going to shoot or not?”

Nate had been accurate with his first shot and there were only two men coming for them now. Claire stopped, knelt, aimed. Fired. One more of their chasers fell. There were two left. James from the back and one from the front. She knew James had no weapon.

Nate pulled another pistol—it must have been James's—from the small of his back and drew back the hammer. The shot was as true as his first.

After the ringing from the shot faded from her ears, Claire heard James's cussing getting closer.

Nate spun round. “Run!” he ordered.

Claire didn't believe he'd meant for her to go alongside him, but she had nowhere else to run to. If she ran to her camp, it would only be a matter of time before James caught up with her. Though she saw no other men coming to James's aid, she didn't doubt for a moment he had more. Somewhere. Besides, she still didn't have what she'd come for. She followed Nate.

“Where the devil do you think you're going?” he asked when he'd reached his longboat and the dwarf, who'd already pushed it out into the water.

“With you.”

“Not a bloody chance,” he growled.

He held the edge of the boat in his large hand. His mouth was hard. Water lapped around his thighs. It was mere seconds before shots pinged into the water far too close for Claire's comfort.

“It's either that or we all get shot here bobbing like ducks. What'll it be?”

He opened his mouth just as a shot ripped through the longboat, missing his fingers by a breath.

“Get in!” he ordered.

 

 

James Blackthorn wiped the never-ending stream of blood off his brow and tried to focus on the horizon. Darkness wasn't his only enemy. He kept seeing two of everything. He blinked, shook his head. Nothing seemed to fuse the two images together. There were two longboats rowing out to sea, three people in each. There were two ships on the horizon, flickering lanterns along the gunwale waving cheekily.

Frustrated, he covered one eye with his hand. Though he now saw clearer, and only one boat rowed out to sea, it didn't help his predicament. He'd only brought three men ashore with him. He'd stumbled past their dead bodies, more than happy to leave them there. Dammit, they weren't supposed to let the map off the island. He'd only asked them for one thing and they'd failed miserably. That they paid with their lives seemed only fitting to James. But now the map was leaving, a herd of horses galloped against his forehead, and blood trickled between his fingers.

His stomach roiled, but he swallowed the nausea. He couldn't afford the time it would take to be sick. If he wanted the map—and he sure as hell did—then he had to get to his ship quickly. How in blazes was he supposed to accomplish that? he wondered, when the minute he opened his eye, he once again saw two of everything. Add to that the pounding in his head, his churning stomach, and the unusual weakness that had cloaked him since he'd come to.

Hell, he couldn't even walk a straight line let alone row one.

“Troubles?”

James blinked, tried to focus through the dimness. He couldn't see too clearly but he recognized the voice. He never forgot a voice.

“Sid?”

The man stepped closer and James felt his anxiety ease when he was able to see the man clearly.

“You're not looking so good.” Sid smiled.

“Get out of my way,” James muttered. He had enough to worry about without wasting time on a man like Sid. What kind of man wasted his time punching a kid, anyhow? Didn't he have anything better to do?

“How about a little appreciation? I shot at them for you.”

James had wondered where those last few had come from. “You missed,” he said, weaving his way toward his own longboat. When they split into two, he gnashed his teeth, closed one eye.

“That your ship?” he asked, keeping up easily.

James didn't bother answering.

“You needin' help?”

James looked to his left, where the yellow lights of a ship glowed, then to the longboat, which had almost reached it. With the way he was feeling, and the way his body was betraying him, James knew he needed to get to his own vessel as fast as possible. If Nate was any kind of a sailor, he'd douse the lamps to make following his ship as difficult as possible. It was what James himself would do, what he'd planned to do when he'd figured it would be
him
leaving Nevis with the legendary piece of the map.

Well, that hadn't happened, and though he was without the map, he didn't intend to be far behind. He wiped more blood, felt it smear across his eyebrow.

“How fast can you row?” he asked Sid.

 

 

Hell, Nate thought as he pulled the oars through the water, propelling the boat closer to his ship. What in blazes had he just done?

Granted, he hadn't been given much choice as he couldn't very well leave her there while she was being shot at. But having Claire on board his ship was a huge mistake for many reasons. The biggest of which was why he angled the longboat in such a way that she couldn't read the name written on the ship. Not that there weren't many
Revenges
peppered throughout the Caribbean, but if she even suspected it was Sam Steele's ship . . .

He shook his head, dipped the oars back into the water. If she knew, she wouldn't hesitate to bring the law down onto him. A woman who was willing to shoot a man over a map wouldn't pause to call in the Navy if she knew he sailed under Sam Steele. And if she ever realized he
was
Steele . . . He craned his neck as though he could already feel the pressure of the noose. No. He couldn't let that happen.

Vincent was first to climb out of the longboat and up the side of the sloop.

Nate grabbed Claire's pistol, tucked it into his trousers. He wasn't worried about her shooting him as she hadn't had a chance to reload, but he didn't want to leave her the chance to bash his skull in either.

“After you.” Nate gestured to the ladder that had been swung over the side of the
Revenge
.

Claire shifted the bag she wore across her chest, pulled her hat low on her brow, and put her foot on a rung. In the tavern Nate hadn't looked at her too closely because he'd thought her a boy. In the street, he'd been busy keeping himself from getting shot. But now, following her up the ladder, he couldn't help noticing the way her trousers pulled across the curve of her buttocks.