Looking for a Hero (20 page)

“Yeah.”

“Did he dress like a pirate?”

“Does that matter?”

“It matters a lot. I've been looking for a pirate.”

“Does Jack know you're in the market for another
man?” she asked, laughing lightly, hoping Nikki would veer away from talk about Morgan.

“This isn't funny, Kate. Two men have been murdered since that pirate ship showed up. We've had strange reports coming in day and night about a pirate hanging around town. And just the other day I saw a guy dressed as a pirate sneaking away from the ship.” Silence. A frown marred Nikki's face. “He was big. He had long dark hair—and a scar.” Nikki shook her head and laughed. “I should have put two and two together when you called me yesterday morning asking about the first victim. You wanted to know if he had a scar, if he had long dark hair.”

Kate paced across the room. “Morgan's not a murderer.”

“You're sure?”

She nodded, but knew that he'd killed people in his own time. Could he have killed here, too? She didn't want to believe it, but.…

“What kind of evidence do you have against him?”

“Not much.” Crossing to the table, Nikki picked up her cup and sipped her coffee. “I shouldn't tell you any of this, but I think you should know everything, just in case he comes back.”

“He's not coming back.”

“I hope not. He's a suspect, Kate. Two men are dead, and whoever did it sliced their throats, stole their wedding rings and wallets, and stripped them of all their clothes.”

“Why would someone take their clothes?”

“I don't know. We found the coin dealer's things in a dumpster, but the cowboy's clothes haven't shown up yet. His wife said he was wearing a brand new pair of boots. Maybe our suspect wanted something to wear besides a pirate costume.”

Kate's heart sank. She remembered so well the black cowboy boots Morgan had been wearing the day of the first murder. But that wasn't enough evidence to prove he was guilty. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't.

“It doesn't sound like you have any evidence at all. It sounds like you're guessing.”

“There was a gold doubloon in the second guy's fist.”

“He was a coin dealer, for heaven's sake!”

“He's dead, Kate! He had a gold doubloon in his hand that looked like it was nearly in mint condition. A pirate has been wandering the streets. A pirate ship mysteriously appeared on shore, I saw a pirate sneaking off the ship, and I found a gold doubloon just like the one the coin dealer had lying on the cabin floor. Now Casey says a pirate was living here. Is that all coincidence?”

A tear slid down Kate's cheek. “Morgan's innocent.”

“What do you really know about him?

“Enough to know he wouldn't
murder
anyone. Please don't interrogate me, Nikki.”

“That's not my intention, and you know it. We're friends. You take care of me, I take care of
you, and right now I'd like to prove this friend of yours is pure as the driven snow, but I can't do that without your help.”

Kate opened a cupboard door and absently put dishes from the drainer away on the shelf. She refused to believe Morgan was guilty, but Nikki would continue to pry until she learned every last detail about her relationship with the pirate.

Slowly she turned around and leaned against the cabinet. “What do you want to know?”

“How'd you meet him?”

Should she tell the truth, a lie, or something in between? She decided to skip the parts about Morgan traveling through time and about him being on the island, and figured the part about the gash on his head was better left unmentioned. Finally she asked, “Does it matter?”

Nikki raised a brow. “Guess not. So, where's he from?”

“England.”

“Does he have a job?”

“He's independently wealthy.”

“Or so he says.”

“It's true.”

“Then why was he staying here, instead of some expensive hotel?”

“Look, Nikki, these questions aren't helping you, and they're definitely not making
me
feel any better.”

“Since when are interrogations supposed to be fun?”

“You're going to hound me until I tell you everything, aren't you?”

Nikki nodded.

“Okay, here's the condensed version. I met him by accident. He's sort of eccentric—well, more than eccentric—but he intrigued me. I let him stay here a few days because he asked, and because…well…because he was good with the kids, because Casey liked him.”

“Surely there were more reasons than that.”

“I was lonely, okay? And he was so damn irresistible, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous, that I slept with him.” She took a deep breath. “Now he's gone and I hurt like hell. End of story.”

Nikki shook her head. “No, it's not. Endings are never that cut-and-dried. You want him back, I can tell. But why you want a man who dresses like a pirate is beyond me.”

“He's eccentric. I told you that.”

“I suppose he carries around a cutlass?”

“Sometimes, but if you'll remember correctly, Joe had a penchant for the blasted things, too.”

Nikki sipped at her coffee. Slowly, her no-nonsense expression softened with a smile. “Casey likes him, huh?”

“She wants him to be her daddy.”

“And you?”

“I told you. He's not coming back.”

“Did you have dinner with him before meeting him on the ship?”

“No. He left the house about six o'clock.”

“You didn't meet him for drinks or something
between then and the time I saw you on the bridge?”

Kate shook her head. “I wish I had. There's so much we could have talked about, so much more I'd like to know about him. There just wasn't enough time.”

“Sometimes you can learn all you need to know in an hour or two.”

“We didn't have much more time than that.”

“But I thought he was here a few days.”

“He was sick the first two.” How easily she could see him lying in bed, his face freshly shaved, a patch covering his eye. She felt herself smiling as she looked at Nikki. “I took care of him morning, noon, and night. And then he left.”

“Sounds ungrateful to me.”

Kate shook her head. “Not Morgan.”

“But he left you.”

Shrugging, as if it didn't matter, Kate went to the table, clearing away empty cups and crumb-coated plates which she took to the sink.

“Did he hurt you, Kate?”

“No. Not really.” Kate turned around and smiled at her sister-in-law. “I don't want to talk about it anymore.”

“Just one more question?”

Somehow Kate managed to laugh. “God, Nikki. I've been pouring out my soul, and you've been treating it as just another interrogation.”

“I'm a cop, what do you expect? I've got two murders to solve, and a friend who's out of her
ever-loving mind. Just a few more questions—then I'll stop.”

Bubba cried in the next room, and that was more than enough excuse to escape. “Sorry,” Kate said. “Inquisition's over.”

But Nikki was insistent. “When was he here, Kate? I need to know the days and times.”

Kate stood with one hand on the swinging door, wishing none of this were happening.

“Sunday night,” she answered. “All day and night Monday and Tuesday. He was here on Wednesday, too.”

“What about Wednesday night?”

Kate shook her head. “You already told me you saw him on the ship. I'd be lying if I told you anything else.”

“What time did he leave on Wednesday?”

“I don't know. Nine, ten…it was dark.”

“Did he come back after that?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I had a headache. The kids were awful, but he came back and made everything perfect.” A tear slipped from Kate's eye. “He's not a murderer, Nikki. I know it.”

“For your sake, I hope that's true.” Nikki put a comforting hand on Kate's arm. “For your sake, I hope he has another alibi, because you just told me he wasn't with you when the murders occurred.”

K
ate opened her bedroom window, letting in the sounds of children playing in the street, the fresh scent of rainwashed gardenia and jasmine, along with the warm breeze that had driven away the afternoon storm clouds. Drawing in a deep breath, she wished the wind could also drive away the anguish that had dampened her day.

With not more than an hour's sleep, she had no idea how she'd made it through temper tantrums, tears, games of chase, a broken vase, and Casey's incessant questions about Mr. Farrell. “He'll be here later,” she told her, not wanting to face the truth. Later, when she herself could accept his reasons
for leaving, she'd tell Casey that he was gone. And then they could cry together.

Right now, she had time only to wonder and worry about her conversation with Nikki.

Could Morgan be the murderer Nikki was looking for? Impossible. Yet many impossible things had happened in the past week, like a man traveling through time, like her losing her heart to a pirate, like her sleeping with a man without a commitment—and without a condom. Disease didn't seem possible—not with Morgan. Yet…she sighed at her foolishness, swearing she'd never again get so caught up in the moment that she forgot to protect herself, then let another consequence capture her thoughts.

Again she turned her attention outside to the children at play. There was a game going on in the center of the street—two boys and a girl, batting and catching softballs, the same thing she and Nikki used to do with Joe. Further up the street she heard what sounded like a squeaky wheel, and she turned to see a little girl pushing a baby doll carriage along the edge of the road.

She smiled softly. Another child was something she'd always wanted. Not using a condom hadn't been smart, but.…

A distant rumble made her look off in the distance, where she saw a blanket of black clouds rolling in from the sea. A storm was coming—the kind Morgan would need to take him home, to take him far, far away.

She swallowed the ache in her heart, and closed
the window and French doors to keep out the coming rain. She wished she could close her thoughts as easily.

Once more she looked at the little girl with the baby buggy and let thoughts of another child capture her mind as she wandered down the stairs, trailing her fingers along the banister. In the living room, she picked up blocks and cars and dolls from the floor and tossed them into the toy-filled laundry baskets sitting in the corner. Sweeping up the worn and stained Raggedy Andy, she held it close to her chest. One of the hands was wet, and she remembered Bubba chewing on it most of the day in an attempt to soothe the ache of an incoming tooth. Casey had done the same thing when she was a baby, and so many fond memories of those early days came rushing at her.

Joe's parents giving Kate and Joe the house he'd grown up in, the one Kate had always loved.

Joe holding her hand in the labor room, scared half out of his mind that something would happen to her or the baby.

Joe sitting in the middle of the living room floor, fumbling with his very first diaper change.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember the touch of Joe's hand, the feel of his kiss.

When she thought of being held, the only man who came to mind was one with dark brown hair flowing over his shoulders and chest. A man with big gold hoops in his ears. A man with scars much deeper than her own.

Carrying Raggedy Andy with her to the story teller's chair, she curled up in its big, overstuffed comfort and thought about holding another baby. Her baby—and Morgan's. A little boy or girl with pink cheeks and ten tiny fingers and toes. A little boy or girl with curly dark brown hair and azure eyes.

A child who'd always remind her of the few brief days she'd enjoyed with a pirate from another century, a pirate who'd pulled her easily into a fantasy and reminded her just how wonderful life could be if she'd once again believe in dreams.

A pirate who'd pillaged and plundered, who'd slashed other men with the sharp blade of his cutlass, and, heaven forbid, bedded wenches in far too many ports.

Wenches just like herself, she imagined, who'd fallen for a devilishly handsome face, a mesmerizing voice, and a touch both soothing and passionate.

Had they known what was inside him, though? Had they shared his anguish? His grief? Had they watched the way he'd held a baby, or listened to a child's chatter? Had he told any of them that he wished they'd sail at his side on
Satan's Revenge?

Or had those special things been reserved just for her? A woman who had fallen in love with a man who'd killed in his own time, and was suspected of being a murderer in hers.

Morgan, a murderer?
It seemed impossible, yet it nagged at the back of her mind.

Pulling from her pocket one of the gold doubloons Morgan had given her, she held the shining coin in her palm. It looked newly minted, just as Nikki had said when she'd talked about the one they'd found on the dead man. Perhaps Morgan had sold a few to the coin dealer right before the man had been murdered. That seemed the only possible explanation.

But what of the shirt, the jeans, the shoes? Only tourists walked around St. Augustine in cowboy boots, yet that's what Morgan had chosen to wear. Could they possibly have belonged to the dead cowboy from Texas?

She'd asked him where he'd gotten the clothes, but he'd avoided her question. Was that a sign of guilt?

Kate rested her head against the back of the chair and tried not to think such horrid thoughts.

Morgan was not a murderer. He'd had good reason for what he'd done in the past, and no reason to do it in the present.

She wouldn't believe it.

She wouldn't. Not of the man who'd held her so tenderly, who'd kissed away all her loneliness, who'd sung her to sleep, and loved her when she woke.

Kate's eyes opened when she felt a child bounce onto her lap and pull the Raggedy Andy from her arms.

“Were you asleep?” Casey asked.

“Just dozing,” she answered. “What about you?
You've been quiet as a church mouse since the other kids left.”

“I've been sitting on the front porch, waiting for Mr. Farrell to come back.”

Kate couldn't lie any longer. She had to tell Casey the truth. Morgan was gone and he wasn't coming back. She'd console Casey, hold her and love her and make her understand. Then she'd tuck her in bed and wander off to a place where she could be alone with her own broken heart, a place where no one could hear her cry.

Kate wrapped a finger around one of Casey's curls and kissed her daughter's forehead. “Did Mr. Farrell tell you where he came from?”

“He said he came from really, really far away.”

“That's right. And he had to go home, to a place you can't sail to, or fly to, or even get in the car and drive to.”

“Like heaven?” Casey's lips trembled. “He didn't die like my daddy, did he?”

“No, Case.” Kate pulled her close, tucking her curly head against her neck. “He didn't die, honey. It's hard to explain, though.”

“Why?”

How could she possibly tell her that Morgan had traveled through time, that he was from another world and had wanted to go home? And then she remembered an old and favorite story, and a movie she and Casey had watched many times together.

“Remember in the
Wizard of Oz,
when Dorothy and Toto got swept up in the tornado and ended up in a place far, far from Kansas?”

Casey nodded.

“Well, that's pretty much the same thing that happened with Mr. Farrell. You said a prayer, remember?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You asked God to send you a pirate, and He did. He swept Mr. Farrell up in a hurricane and tossed him down on our island. Just like Dorothy, Mr. Farrell liked the new land he'd come to, but it was strange to him. He liked the people he met—especially you and me—but he still wanted to go home.”

“He doesn't have ruby slippers, does he?”

“No, honey. He has a ship—and that's what's taking him home.”

“Is it magic?”

Kate nodded.

“Will he ever come back?”

“I don't think so.”

“But I wanted him to be my daddy and live with us all the time.”

“I know, Case. I know.”

A tear spilled from Kate's eye, and Casey reached out and wiped it away. “Don't cry, Mommy.”

Kate smiled, and buried her face in her daughter's hair. “We're going to miss him, Case, but we'll always have memories of our time together.”

“We can dream about him, too.”

“That's right. Pleasant dreams. Ones that make
you happy all through the night. Ones you remember the next day and the next.”

Casey snuggled close, and Kate rocked her gently. When she heard her daughter's soft, gentle breathing, she carried her up the stairs and tucked her into bed. Smoothing a curl away from her brow, she kissed her.

“I love you,” Kate whispered, then wanted nothing more than to go to her own bedroom—and dream.

But her room felt big, and far too empty. Wind and the smell of rain blew in through the open French doors. She thought she'd closed them earlier, but maybe she hadn't. She shut and latched them now, then sat on the edge of the queen-sized bed she'd shared with Joe, and touched the white ceramic frame that held a picture she'd taken of him on their sailboat. He'd been her dearest friend. Her lover. He'd been her life for so many years that it had seemed nearly impossible to go on without him. But she
had
gone on, and she'd found Morgan.

Morgan. She could still see his beloved face, hear the sound of his hypnotic voice, feel the beating of his heart. Memories of him were strong and powerful. Her fingertips could almost feel the sleek line of the scar on his face and the growth of whiskers breaking through on his cheeks. Her lips could almost feel the thick welts on his back, the curving scar on his hip. She knew the feel of the hair on his chest, brushing ever so lightly over her sensitive breasts, the taut stomach muscles
she'd kissed when she'd begun her first intimate exploration of his body, the softness of his lips on her mouth.

She felt the comfort of his arms encircling her, the happiness that he poured into her with his kiss, his voice.

“I love you,” he'd whispered, and she'd been too foolish to whisper the same words back, even though she'd felt them in her heart.

He was gone, but she'd never forget him or stop loving him. He'd given her much more than he'd ever know—he'd given her hope, he'd given her a reason to stop dwelling on the past and start looking forward to the future.

He'd shown her that a heart could break—but a heart could also heal, and move on.

She lifted the picture of Joe that she still held in her lap, and looked at the old familiar face. She touched a finger to her lips and then to Joe's smiling face, holding it there until she was able to smile. She took a deep breath, opened the dresser drawer, and put the picture inside.

“I'll always love you,” she whispered, then closed the drawer.

Wiping a tear from her cheek, she left her bed room and walked down the hall to the room where Morgan had slept. She leaned against the doorjamb and looked inside, just as she'd done that day Casey had read to him in bed. His big, worn leather boots sat beside the nightstand, desperately in need of leather wax. His gray trousers with too many brass buttons in front hung over
the back of a stiff wooden chair. The room seemed empty, but felt so full. This is where she'd shaved away his beard, where she'd kissed his wounds, where he'd asked her, in the midst of his fever, to climb into bed and keep him warm.

Someday she might be able to close Morgan's memory away in a drawer, but not now.

She curled up in the bed where he'd slept, and drew his battle-and sea-weary velvet coat into her arms.

“I love you,” she whispered, and hoped he could hear her.

She closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come. Hunger gnawed at her belly, her heart ached, and she wanted nothing more than to be inside a ship's cabin that smelled of cedar and salt water, where the floor swayed, and a strong, loving man stood looking out to sea.

Climbing from the bed, she slipped into Morgan's coat, fastening the fifteen brass buttons in front. It hung past her knees, beyond her finger tips. It felt warm, and it carried Morgan's scent, the natural muskiness of his body that reminded her once more that he'd been born more than three hundred years ago, that he was very different from a twentieth-century man.

He'd tried to be modern. He'd changed his clothes, but underneath the oxford shirt beat the heart of a pirate.

Smiling at all the memories she had, she went to the tall dresser to tuck in a bit of white cotton sticking out of a nearly closed drawer. She pulled
it fully Open, and looked at a stack of neatly folded undershirts inside, with an assortment of colored boxers beside them, and at least half a dozen pair of white cotton socks.

Her mind quickly conjured a picture of Morgan going into a department store, feeling completely out of place in his pirate clothes. She saw a sales clerk coming up to him. “May I help you?” she'd ask, and his eyes would quickly scan her body before he'd accept her offer.

How odd it must have seemed to him to purchase clothes in 1998 instead of 1702. She wondered if he'd been baffled by the prices, by the plastic wrapping, and if he'd attempted to pay for his purchases with a gold doubloon, or a ruby or emerald or diamond.

She wished she'd been with him to ease him through the newness of everything. If he came back, she'd have another chance. There was so much about this time that she could teach him. And there was so much about life that he could teach he.

The black-and-white bag Morgan had asked Casey to take upstairs rested underneath the shirts, folded just as carefully as the underwear, and Kate took it out.