Tucker wanted to buy back his freedom and good name. He wanted to return to America, to his former occupation. He was one of the best—easily the most famous—air marshals of their time. How could she blame him for wanting to return to what he loved, what he excelled at? How could she judge him for wanting to mend his tattered reputation when that was exactly what she wanted to do for Papa? Yet she
did
condemn his intent, because it meant using her and putting their goals at odds and her heart through the wringer.
Stunned and hurt, Amelia had paced the workroom for twenty minutes, dredging up all the reasons she should despise Tucker, yet for all her fury, she commiserated with his plight and—
bloody hell
—she still lusted after the man. She hated that she loved him, but there it was. Such a mess. Such a bloody awful, confusing debacle.
Twenty minutes alone, pacing, fuming, musing, and she still didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t like she could simply jump ship. She could always pinch a Pogo Pack and rocket to the ground. Then what? Trudge through the frozen tundra until she came upon a town? Hire passage to Tuscany? How would she get the ornithopter to London? How big was it, anyway? Could she
fly
it to London? Talk about making an entrance.
Her mind raced and circled, leaving her dizzy and clueless. She needed to do something constructive. To seize control. Perhaps then she could think calmly and rationally. Perhaps then she’d be clear on what to do, because what she
wanted
to do was to spend forever with her aeronautical
hero, even though he’d slipped off his proverbial pedestal. Unfortunately that would mean forsaking her father and family, and that was unthinkable.
Highly distressed, Amelia palmed her aching chest. Her heart cracked even more when she caught sight of Bess’s bent chassis. She couldn’t even fix the kitecycle. How could she mend the mess she’d made with Tucker?
That thought propelled her out the door and back to his cabin. He wasn’t there. She procured the money she’d hidden in her valise, stuffed it in her inner pocket, then hurried topside, hoping to find the cause of her angst at the wheel. Instead she found StarMan. “Where’s Mr. Gentry?”
“Took Peg for a ride.”
Puzzled, she indicated the sky, the bright blue, clear-as-glass sky. “Out there?”
StarMan nodded.
“In broad daylight?”
Another nod.
“But what if someone sees them?”
“He’ll handle it.”
“How?”
“Can’t say.”
Can’t
or
won’t?
she wanted to ask, but didn’t. What was the point?
“He’ll be back before nightfall,” StarMan said, as if that was supposed to ease her anxiety.
It didn’t.
Nerves taut, she pushed Tucker from her mind and focused on her own agenda. “Where are we, pray tell? More precisely, where is the nearest town?”
“Nearest or most substantial?”
She thought about what she needed: a chassis and a Teletype. Surely she didn’t need a thriving metropolis for such basic conveniences. Even a secondhand chassis, if in good condition, and a telegraph would do. “The nearest.”
“Gressoney-La-Trinité. A village at the base of Monterosa. Few kilometers south of here.”
“Outstanding. Mr. O’Donnell can take me in the air dinghy.”
That whipped the navigator’s head around. “You want to leave the
Maverick
?”
“It is crucial.”
“Marshal won’t like it.”
“I don’t give a fig.”
“But—”
“Am I a prisoner?”
“No, but—”
“Very well, then. I have business in town. Don’t fret. I shall return before nightfall.”
StarMan frowned. “It’s not safe. That is to say, you’re not safe. Captain Dunkirk—”
“That is why I’m enlisting Mr. O’Donnell. He’ll protect me. He may not like me, but he worships Tucker and hates Dunkirk. He’s also big, mean, and handy with that Blaster thingie.”
“I cannot sanction this, Miss Darcy.”
“I’m not asking you to, StarMan. Where’s Mr. O’Donnell?”
“Starboard blasterbeef. Good luck getting him to do you any favors. In case you haven’t noticed—”
“I’ve noticed.” The chief engineer wanted her off this ship and out of their lives, and that was exactly the approach she’d take to get her way. Five minutes later they launched for Gressoney-La-Trinité.
“Remember your promise,” Axel said as he engaged the air dinghy’s steam-powered balloon. “In and out. I’ll purchase the velocipede. You Teletype your ma. Back on the
Maverick
before the marshal knows we’re gone.”
“Agreed.” Amelia scanned the area, then consulted her astronomical compendium to orient herself.
“I know where I’m going,” Axel groused after shooting her golden sundial-compass the evil eye. “Ain’t nothin’ worse than a backseat navigator.”
She rolled her eyes, then flipped shut the antiquated compendium and stashed it in an inner pocket, close to her heart. Just one of the many “prized possessions” Papa had gifted to her over the years. A family heirloom, he’d said. For that reason, she’d resisted purchasing a newer, more complex model. Feeling nostalgic and just a bit sad, Amelia adjusted her scarves and hunkered down against the frigid wind. She tried to focus on the incredible scenery, but failed. She summoned memories of da Vinci’s codex and Briscoe Darcy’s message to Papa, but all thoughts led back to Tucker.
She peered through her goggles across the small transport, eyeing the burly, broad-shouldered man she’d chosen as her temporary protector. He’d donned fur-rimmed goggles and fur-lined gloves, a fleece-lined aviator cap, and a brown leather greatcoat. She’d watched as he’d slid a Remington Blaster into his shoulder holster and some sort of derringer into his ankle holster, and slapped a stun cuff on his wrist. His signature cigar was clamped between his teeth, and a fierce scowl darkened his brutish face. A menacing figure indeed. She wondered about his particular baggage. Who had persecuted this man, and why?
“You’re starin’.”
“Just wondering about your past.”
“Well, don’t.”
“How long have you known Tucker?”
“A long time.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Back in America.”
She suppressed a frustrated growl. “Have you always been an engineer or did you develop the skills after Tucker, um, enlisted you?”
“Don’t cotton to people pokin’ around my past.”
God forbid she alienate the man even more. What if he abandoned her in the village? She supposed that was possible either way, except Tucker wouldn’t like it. She switched tactics. “I read somewhere that you and the crew forfeited your freedom in order to rescue Tucker from the gallows.”
“So?”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because he was wrongly accused.”
“Even so, to risk your own necks, give up your homeland?”
“Small price to pay.”
“For what?”
He cut her a glance. “That’s personal. Let’s just say we all owe the marshal, and we’d follow him into hell if need be. Great Britain, Europe…” He shrugged. “Ain’t home, but it ain’t hell.”
“Nevertheless, he wants to go back to America. Wants to resurrect his famous career.”
The big man snorted.
“No?”
“Marshal couldn’t give two nuts about fame. He just happened to be exceptional at his job. His exploits and charisma make for good press, is all.”
“But he does wish to return.”
“You bet.”
Her stomach clenched. “To clear his name.”
“That’s one reason.”
“To reclaim his job as air marshal?” she surmised.
“Can’t say that’s a prime motivator. The law system failed him. He’s a mite vexed about that. Besides, he could track criminals anywhere.”
“Instead he’s working as an air courier. Transporting valuable, sometimes illegal cargo.”
“More money to be made, faster.”
Back to money. She hugged herself against the cold and the chilling thought that Tucker’s marriage talk was based
on finance. “Back in France, you implied that Tucker needed volumes of money to buy back his freedom.”
“So?”
“So, how would that work exactly? Would he bribe someone to eliminate the so-called evidence? Pay his accuser to drop the charges? Isn’t that illegal? Immoral? What if they refused? Or what if he got caught? Wouldn’t he be in twice the trouble?”
“Crazy
and
nosy. Hell’s fire.”
“I’m simply trying to understand his motivation. Hardly anyone—well, in England, at least—believes Tucker guilty of that odious crime. He could continue on as he is, as an air courier, making a good living. Why risk going back?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but will you shut up if I tell you?”
She fairly tipped over the side of the boat in surprise. She honestly hadn’t expected Axel to be forthcoming. She thought she’d have to guess. “Quench my curiosity and I shall be as quiet as a church mouse.”
“Swear?”
She raised her right palm and nodded.
He slipped his gnawed but unlit cigar into his pocket, checked his astronomical compendium, and adjusted the steam. “First of all,” he said, as they started their descent, “the marshal’s innocent. He didn’t steal those paintings from Judge Titan’s personal collection. The judge’s daughter, Ida, did. Sold ’em off and stashed the cash somewhere, thinking it was a nest egg for her and the marshal. Thought she’d get him to marry her, thought they’d run off together, live on some exotic island. The woman was a loon, ’cept Tuck didn’t realize how far gone she was till she was, well,
gone
. When he refused to play along with her plans, that crazy girl threatened to shoot him—with his own gun, no less—only it backfired. Literally.”
“What do you mean,
literally
?”
“That six-shooter was in fact a seven-shooter. A
customized piece especially made for an instance where someone got the drop on ya and stole your gun. Unless you tripped the secret mechanism, the bullet fired out the back, not the front of the barrel. Ida didn’t know about the secret mechanism.”
Amelia gaped. “So she meant to shoot Tucker and killed herself instead? How awful!”
“Way I see it, she got what she deserved, not that the marshal would agree. It’s a sordid affair,” Axel said, “and I ain’t gettin’ into it with you. Just know that Judge Titan, a vindictive, sick bastard, turned everything around, vilifying the marshal instead of admitting he’d driven his daughter loco with his domineering, obsessive ways.”
“I don’t understand.”
“And I ain’t explainin’.”
Amelia palmed her forehead. Axel had just revealed more details than she’d ever read, yet she felt more confused.
“Ask the marshal if you want the inside scoop. I’m just tellin’ you why he wants to go back. Everything went down fast and wrong, and before we knew it the marshal was set to swing. The boys and I acted, and let me tell you, losing that air posse wasn’t easy. No time for second thoughts, no time to settle affairs. It was flee or fry.”
“Hence you ended up on the other side of the Atlantic. Out of U.S. jurisdiction.”
“Ain’t a bad life, but some of us have folks back in the States, and the marshal won’t rest until we’re free to come and go in America as we please. Mostly, though, Tuck wants to go back for Lily. Only gal he ever really loved.”
Amelia’s heart stopped; her bones jarred. Axel’s bombshell hit her at the same time the dinghy touched down. Only it wasn’t the softest landing and they slid. She held tight as the dinghy skated down a slope and Axel struggled for control. They twirled once, twice. She was too stunned to be scared. Too confused to scream as they hit a snowbank
and went flying. She landed flat on her back, staring up at the lovely blue sky through the snowy branches of an evergreen tree and seeing stars. She fought a wave of dizziness as her heart hammered against her ribs. As Axel’s words clanged in her head.
Tuck wants to go back for Lily. Only gal he ever really loved.
Between the crash and the bombshell, she could scarcely breathe.
“You all right?” Axel loomed over her, looking worried. “You didn’t break anything, did you? Don’t see any blood. Damn. Ain’t never had that happen before.”
“I’m fine.”
“Then why ain’t you movin’?”
“Knocked the wind out of me.” Pulled the world from beneath her. She wanted to ask about Lily. Who was she? Where was she? Was she even real, or had Axel made her up in order to ruffle Amelia’s feathers? Since he’d never liked her, Amelia could well imagine him delighting in crushing her heart. Anyone who had eyes had seen the affection she felt for Tucker. Then again…
What if Axel spoke the truth? What if Lily was real? Although how could Axel be certain Tucker still loved this woman, or that she loved him? He’d been on the run for a year. Things changed. People changed. Amelia’s heart cracked even as she tried to reason through the existence of a mysterious woman who had, at least at one time, owned Tucker’s affections.
“Miss Darcy?”
Gathering her wits and calm, Amelia gave a curt nod. “I’m fine.”
“So you said. Gimme your hand.”
She did, and he tugged her to her feet. “Is the dinghy all right?” she asked in a raspy voice.
“What? Oh.” He turned to check the capsized boat and collapsed balloon.
Feeling a bit woozy, Amelia plucked a twig from her hair and pushed Tucker and the mysterious Lily out of her aching head. Were it not for her pesky pride, she’d sit Axel down here and now and question him at length about Lily. Unfortunately, their prickly relationship hindered intimate queries and confidences. Instead, she shelved her curiosity and raised barriers around her heart. Just in case.
“Dinghy’s good,” Axel said. “Snowbank cushioned the impact.” He righted the dig, shook his head. “Don’t know why she slid like that. Must’ve hit a patch of ice. Sorry about that.”
“No worries,” she said, still half-dazed, but wanting to press on. “Which way to the village?”
She heard Axel’s boots crunching in the snow as he moved in beside her. “It’s right in front of you. Just beyond those trees. Plain as day.”
Focusing on her immediate agenda instead of the past and future, Amelia headed on shaky legs toward the small Italian town.