“I got you now,” he cried, falling back against the cot.
Anjele sprang up and dove for the door, hoping she knew exactly where it was. If she bounced off the wall, it was all over.
But she did know, and when she hit the ground, began to roll sideways as fast and furiously as her body would carry her, straight into the swamp to lie very still amidst the brush and weeds. As she heard the man stumbling around, trying to find his way out of the shed, she dared begin to move, creeping backward, deeper into the slime and seaweed.
Leo decided to get the hell out of there, and fast. He didn’t know his way around the camp, didn’t stand a chance of finding her in the dark. But he damn well knew how to find his way back into the swamp and head for the ocean and Seward’s waiting boat.
The Voice was going to have to find a better plan, he thought as he crept silently through the night. He’d have to fix it so he could get into the prison during the day, disguised as a guard, maybe. The Voice would know what to do. So there was no need for him to worry about it. He’d get another chance, for sure, and he’d make Anjele Sinclair pay for putting him to so much trouble, too. He’d just sink the knife a little deeper and twist it a little harder.
Anjele was terrified, afraid to move, afraid to cry out. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed, knew only that every muscle in her body ached, burned. And she was cold. Despite the warmth of the mid-September night, she was submerged in water up to her chin and felt as though she were freezing. But she was helpless to do anything. That man, that fiend who wanted to kill her, was out there somewhere, watching, waiting. Sooner or later, it would be daylight. She wouldn’t know, unless she could tell by sounds. The tree frogs would be silent, as well as the other nocturnal creatures that had just saved her life by reminding her it was still nighttime. Only then would she have any inkling of the hour. But long before then, in that mystical moment between darkness and dawn, he would be able to see her, find her.
And God help her then.
Ramey started from the building housing the small prison kitchen, carrying Anjele’s breakfast tray. Whistling, thinking what a nice day it was going to be despite last night’s rain, he did not, at first, look toward the shed. Instead, he was gazing at the sparkling ocean bleeding into the horizon.
He turned toward the shed, and the whistling stopped, replaced by a startled cry of, “What the hell—”
The door was open. She never left the door open.
Gripping the tray, not caring that the mug of coffee was sloshing over, he began to run, calling out as he did, “Miss Sinclair, Miss Sinclair, are you all right?”
He slowed, set the tray down outside the door before warily peering inside. With a jolt, he saw the cot turned over, and the crate.
There was no sign of Anjele anywhere.
He turned back toward the prison, shouting for help.
Brett was sound asleep. It had been nearly four o’clock when his replacement arrived. Exhausted, he hadn’t bothered to return to his bunk, instead bedding down on straw right in the barn. But suddenly he came awake at the sound of Ramey’s cries and scrambled down the ladder to rush outside.
Hearing the news, he went at once to the shed to see for himself, silently cursing all the while. He should have already got her out of there, damn it.
“You think she escaped?” one of the other guards cried, running up to him. “She had to have had help. I mean, she couldn’t get away by herself, could she?”
Brett gave him an impatient shove to get him out of the way, because he was right in his face, and he had no time for speculation. Anjele hadn’t escaped, and he knew it. Stepping inside the shed, his blood ran cold to see the muddy footprints on the worn wooden floor. There were signs of a struggle, but no blood, thank God.
The sound of a bugle split the stillness, signaling the call to formation. A search party was about to be formed.
Brett pressed his fingers against his temples and turned all the way around, eyes straining for some sign, anything to give a clue of what had happened.
And then he heard it.
Like the soft whimper of a kitten.
He raced towards the sound, crashing into the brush and weeds. With a cry of joy, he saw her and knelt to gather her in his arms and anxiously ask, “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
Weary, nerves shredded raw by the anguish of the night, Anjele could barely whisper, “No…no, but he wanted to kill me.”
“You’re going to be all right,” he vowed, holding her yet tighter. Others were coming, and he knew he had to get his emotions under control but dared press his lips against her ear to whisper, “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Angel, I swear it.”
She smiled and pressed her head against his strong shoulder as he lifted her into his arms and out of the water. Clutching fingers of sleep were reaching out for her, because now she was no longer afraid. He’d called her Angel, just as her father used to, and someone else she couldn’t quite forget. Somehow, she knew she was safe.
Brett looked down at her, saw she’d either fainted or fallen asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief, for she seemed to be all right.
But tonight he was getting her out. There would be no time to confide anything. He’d have to move fast and explain later. That’s the way it had to be, because whoever had tried to kill her would doubtless try again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sergeant Bodine was livid with rage. “She wasn’t any trouble till you came here. I don’t know what happened to make her go wandering out by herself last night, and I don’t care, just so’s it don’t happen again. Now, I’ll let you keep an eye on her today, ‘cause when she wakes up, she’s going to be upset and scared, but tomorrow, you’re goin’ on duty elsewheres. It ain’t good, your spending so much time with her. She’s gettin’ too dependent on you.”
“You’re right, sir,” Brett agreed readily, knowing neither he nor Anjele would be there tomorrow. “She probably had a nightmare.”
Bodine ordered her door locked from the outside. “If she gets hurt, I’ll be in big trouble.”
Brett assured the sergeant he’d take care of it, then hurried to the shed, where Ramey had been sitting beside Anjele’s cot, in case she woke up while Bodine was raising hell with him. As best they could tell, she wasn’t hurt, except for a few scratches and bruises.
When Ramey left, Brett gave her a gentle shake and softly called her name. She stirred, moaned, then suddenly lunged to sit up, wildly tossing her head about as she gasped in terror, “No, no…”
“I’m here. It’s okay.” He pulled her into his arms and held her till she calmed, continuing to assure her she was safe. “Now tell me,” he finally said, “everything you can remember about last night.”
As he listened to her horrifying tale of how a man had forced his way in, threatening to kill her, Brett was flooded with hot anger, as well as renewed determination to make the escape that night. Yet he knew he had to tell her a little of what was going on, so she’d understand what was happening and not be scared.
When she had finished talking, her head leaning against his shoulder, he began. “Anjele, listen carefully. I have reason to believe what happened last night has to do with your father’s murder and the missing engraving plates.”
She tensed, pulled away to cry, “But why? What could any of that have to do with me?”
“Because somebody thinks you do know where they’re hidden, and since the plates haven’t turned up by now, they figure you’re the only one who knows. With you dead, the plates stay hidden and pose no problems by falling into the hands of the Confederacy.”
“Dear God. As I told you, I don’t know anything about them. And that’s the truth. I swear it.”
“I believe you, but evidently your enemies aren’t taking any chances. That’s why I’ve got to get you out of here. Tonight. Because they may try again.”
Panic was mirrored on her face. “But where would you take me? To another prison inland, or up North somewhere? No! They’d find me, but at least here my father’s old friends can keep a check on me, and when I tell them about this, they’ll see to it a guard is outside that door all the time.”
“Anjele, it’s too risky. They’ll keep on trying till they succeed in killing you. I don’t think you realize what a catastrophe it would be to the Union for those plates to be used to make counterfeit greenbacks. They’ll stop at nothing to see you dead.”
“Even if I knew where they were, I’d never tell the goddamn Yankees!” She struck at the air with her fist, causing him to duck instinctively.
He urged her to keep her voice down lest someone hear, explaining, “You don’t understand. I’m not taking you out of here to another prison, Anjele. I’m helping you escape. And the Yankees aren’t going to know anything about it till it’s too late.”
“The Yankees,” she sneered. “You make it sound like you aren’t one of them, Brett.”
“I’m not.”
Stunned, she waited for him to continue.
He told the lie, and she listened quietly, thoughtfully, but he could tell she was having difficulty believing him. “Trust me,” he urged. “I mean you no harm. I’ll get you to safety, I swear.”
“How do I know this isn’t a trick? I’m no fool, Brett Cody. And besides, how many times do I have to tell you I don’t know anything about those damn plates?”
“You might remember later on, but I’m not concerned with any of that now. All I want to do is protect you.”
“I don’t know.” She bit down on her lower lip.
“Hell, Anjele, you don’t have any choice.” He grabbed her shoulders, gently shook her. “The sergeant has already said he thinks I’m spending too much time with you. Tomorrow he’s assigning me to other duties. I won’t be able to look out for you. Don’t you see? You have to trust me.
“Listen,” he rushed on, beginning to feel desperate. “Remember that day you asked me if the sky was blue, and I said it was? Anjele, it could have been gray. It could have even been the middle of the night. You had no way of knowing. You had to trust me. And you did. Because you wanted to. You wanted to believe that sky was blue. It’s called blind faith, and it’s what you’ve got to have if I’m going to be able to help you.”
Her lips sardonically curved. “Blind faith, Brett Cody? You’re asking me to believe because I want to?”
“Angel,” he said softly, tenderly tracing his fingertips down her lovely face, “I can’t think of a better reason.”
She shrugged away his touch, afraid he could feel how she was trembling. “Wanting to believe hasn’t got anything to do with it, but like you said, I really don’t have a choice, do I?”
“Afraid not.” He grinned, relieved, then went on to confide the plans he had made, finishing by saying they should leave shortly after dark.
“But what happens when we reach shore? Where will you take me?”
“Somewhere safe.” He wasn’t about to tell her of his decision to go home, to Black Bayou. He couldn’t take a chance on running into soldiers from either side, and it was the only place he could be certain of refuge. When the time came, he’d worry about encountering people who used to know him all those years ago, who, God forbid, might call him
Gator
.
It started raining around noon, so they couldn’t go for their usual walk. Brett knew better than to linger very long in the shed, lest eyebrows be raised. He told her to get some rest. Later he would bring her supper tray and pretend to lock her up for the night as Sergeant Bodine had ordered. And, as soon as everyone quieted down for the night, he would return.
The afternoon seemed to last forever. Brett tried to keep busy, polishing his boots, cleaning his gun, staying out of the way of the other soldiers lest his nervousness be obvious. He didn’t want to answer any questions, didn’t want to be bothered talking to anyone. All he wanted was for the infernal clock to move a little bit faster.
He tried to figure out who wanted Anjele dead. Major Hembree wouldn’t be involved, and Brett knew he wouldn’t be where he was if the army had any hand at all in passing the death sentence. No, it had to be someone not directly connected with the army, and, assuredly, responsible for Elton Sinclair’s murder. So he decided to stick to his original theory that it was all tied together. And while he wasn’t sure how the pieces fit, he was firmly convinced Anjele was in real danger.
Finally it was time.
“I’m not hungry,” Anjele told him when he arrived with her supper. “Just hurry up, lock me in, and come back, and let’s go!”
“You’d better try to eat. I can’t promise you when you’ll have another opportunity. Food is going to be scarce.” He planned to skirt around heavily traveled areas, going up the Wolf River into the heart of Mississippi, then going on foot to the Pearl River, which would take them all the way to Vicksburg and the Black Bayou to the west. He would buy a few supplies in Biloxi after hiding Anjele somewhere. But there wouldn’t be much time, and they needed to get out of the area as fast as possible.
After he left, Anjele was still too nervous to eat and stuck the biscuits and plums into the pockets of her muslin dress for later. She frowned to think that it wasn’t even her dress. Her nice clothes had been stolen. Not that there’d been that much to begin with. Someone, probably Kesia, had sent a trunk to the jail in New Orleans, she’d been told. Upon arrival at the island, someone had said the wife of a fisherman would come ashore once a week to pick up her dirty laundry and deliver clean. She’d known after the second visit that her good things had been replaced by cheap, worn garments. No doubt the fisherman’s wife thought because she couldn’t see, she wouldn’t notice. But she’d said nothing, because what did it matter…till now, when she found herself wanting to look nice for Brett.