Renegade (30 page)

“That’s what I said.”

The lieutenant smiled weakly. “I’m sorry, ma’am. When the Major gets an idea in his head, he’s like a dog worrying a bone.” His eyes widened as he realized he might have insulted his superior. “I mean, he’s very determined.”

“Well, he’ll find that everything’s in order, and then he’ll owe my husband an apology.”

“That’s what I said,” Mac muttered again.

She held her smile in place only until Jorgensen turned back to the cove to watch the dinghy making its way back towards the landing. Then she shot an anxious glance towards Mac. He gave no sign he’d noticed it—or her—and she couldn’t help but edge away from him. He felt so… cold. As much as she wanted to reassure him, she was reminded that he didn’t want to be married to her. Once this mess with Creel was resolved, assuming Mac was still alive and still free, he’d probably want nothing to do with her.

“Mr. Robert—” Jorgensen seemed distracted, and didn’t notice how startled his captive audience was by his use of the honorific. “You said the rest of your crew would be along soon?”

Pearl chose that moment to arrive, but Robert grabbed her hand and forced her back behind him. She struggled a bit, but he ignored her. “I promise, they ain’t gunna ignore your ship any more than we could.”

“Hmmm…” and then Jorgensen’s expression relaxed as he looked along the bank to see Ironto and Jeff hurrying towards them. “Good. The Major was quite insistent.”

No one spoke in the time it took Creel and his party to arrive—Becks noticed no one offered to help him tie up—and the others to arrive. But once Creel stepped onto the landing again, his expression a mask of anger, Mac cleared his throat. The Major’s mustaches quivered, and his complexion darkened, and it was obvious that he’d found nothing on the ship to implicate Mac. She should’ve been relieved, but all she could imagine was Creel turning that white-hot rage on Mac.

So she stepped forward, intent on pulling some of the Major’s attention to her. After all, he’d once been sweet on her, or at least pretended to be. “Major Creel…” Perhaps he wouldn’t notice her smile was forced. “I trust your visit to the
Polaris
was less helpful than you hoped?”

“You think you’ve won, harlot?” Becks’ eyes widened at the insult, and she heard her sister gasp as if from a distance away. There was a ringing in her ears now, and Becks wondered if she’d forgotten how to breathe. Creel unfolded one long finger at her and took an actual step closer. “You led me along, letting me believe I was courting you, while you were
lying
with this renegade the entire time? Married? Ha!” Most of Creel was vibrating with anger now, and Becks resisted the urge to step away from his ire. She didn’t want him to think she had anything to hide, anything to fear. “You’ve been conspiring with him all along. Where is the lace, Jezebel?
”

“Really, Major,” Lieutenant Jorgensen’s voice was low, but firm. “There is no call to insult Mrs. Baird.” Becks felt her knees weaken slightly. “Did you find proof of Captain Baird’s guilt, or can we assume that he really
did
just come to his brother’s home to celebrate his marriage?”

“I assume nothing!” Creel dropped his hand to the service revolver at his hip, and everything happened at once. For one, Becks realized that the Major was more irrational than she’d given him credit for. Mac cursed behind her, low and virulent, and she didn’t have time to wonder why. Major Creel’s free hand shot out and grabbed her arm, spinning her around until her back was pressed against his stomach, his arm around her waist, and his revolver tucked under her chin.

Becks blinked, not understanding what had happened. Robert was frozen in mid-charge, obviously having arrested his movement at the last second. Major Jorgensen was reaching towards Creel, shock on his face, as if not quite believing what his superior officer was capable of. And Mac was running towards her.

But then Creel cocked the weapon, and she felt, more than heard, the action. The vagueness dropped away, and she was suddenly terrified of what this man might be capable of. For Heaven’s sakes, he’d been a guest in her house. She’d served him dinner! Dimly, she watched Holt pull Eugenia to a stop, just sort of the landing, and thought,
Oh good, Mother’s finally arrived,
in a sort of detached way.

She was going to die. Creel was going to kill her to get back at Mac. She was going to die, and she hadn’t had time to tell Mac that she loved him. It suddenly didn’t matter how he felt about marriage; she loved him and needed him to know that.

She’d opened her mouth to tell him that—only a few heartbeats had passed since Creel had moved, although each felt like hours—when her captor jammed the barrel of the revolver higher into her jaw. She snapped her mouth closed with a wince, and watched Mac skid to a halt.

She’d seen him passionate and carefree. She’d seen him laughing, putting his entire body into the act. She’d even seen his attempts at reticence. But she’d never seen him livid and hoped to never again. Those brows, normally arched so elegantly, dipped so low that there was no sign of his dimple, and his eyes shot copper fire. There was color high on his cheekbones, and Becks could tell that he was angrier than she could’ve imagined.

Why?

Then Creel tightened his hold on her, and she remembered her predicament. She wondered why she could seem to hold onto a thought. Was she in danger of fainting? How curious…

“Step closer, Baird, and I’ll make you a widower.” The barrel pressed against the bottom of her chin, and she heard Jorgensen say, “Really, Major!”

Mac dropped his hands to his side, and she wondered, briefly, if he was giving up on her. She should’ve known better. “You insulted my mother-in-law.” His voice was a low growl. “You threatened my livelihood.” He took a step towards them, and Creel dragged her back a pace. “You’ve invaded my family’s land.” Another step. “And you’ve scared my wife
.
You’ve crossed the line, you sunnavabitch, and I’m going to make you pay.”

Becks could feel the Major’s heartbeat increase, pressed as she was against his chest. She wondered if he could feel hers do the same when Mac referred to her as his wife. Because, despite the danger, she couldn’t help the tiny shiver of excitement that ran through her at those words. If only he meant them enough to want to be married!

Creel lost his nerve. Shifting his grip on her, he whipped the revolver away from her chin, pointing it directly at Mac, and Becks felt her knees give out on her, forcing Creel to take more of her weight. Robert stepped forward, and Pearl gasped loudly.

But it didn’t seem to bother Mac. On the contrary, he grinned. It was a slow smile, and not very nice at all, but somehow, it made her feel a bit better. Until he moved, that is. Mac rolled both shoulders back, one at a time, and she heard Robert hiss a curse, and then Mac was attacking.

Apparently oblivious to the danger he was in, the man she loved charged right towards Creel. Right towards the revolver, pointed at him. The weapon spat once, impossibly loud beside her, and Becks screamed when she saw the blood blooming from Mac’s torso.

And then he slammed into both of them, grabbed her and threw her through the air. She heard her mother scream, and she was sucking in breath to join her, when Robert snatched her out of the air. Strong arms cradled her against a chest that didn’t feel quite right, and she twisted in his arms.

There was a splash when Mac and Creel went off the landing.

He’d felt the bullet enter his side. He wouldn’t have thought it possible; he’d always assumed that getting shot would feel like a hard kick. But he actually felt the thing go in, a tiny little knot of hardness that seemed to explode the pain from the inside out. And maybe that pain would’ve meant something, if he’d bothered to focus on it. But he was too intent on Creel and the way he was threatening the woman Mac loved.

There was no sound, beyond the blood pumping in his ears. It was…eerie. He saw Becks open her mouth and assumed she was screaming, but he couldn’t hear anything. The silent world slowed to the dull ache in his side, the terror on Becks’ face, and the closing distance between them.

Creel seemed almost as surprised as Mac was that he was still coming on, not stopped by the bullet. Mac had enough time to feel satisfaction at the way the rage in Creel’s eyes turned to fear before they slammed together. Mac whipped her out of Creel’s grasp—he was still moving too slow,
too slow, dammit
—and tossed her none-too-gently towards Robert. He hadn’t seen his friend—hadn’t heard him either—but he knew he’d be there where he was needed. He was, and Mac knew he’d catch Becks, protect her.

Even after Mac himself was dead.

Because he was going to kill Creel and the hole in his side meant that he’d probably also die. Without telling Becks how he felt about her. Without her knowing how badly he’d wanted to marry her—badly enough to trick her into it. Without finding out if she could ever forgive him.

But at least she’d be safe. She and Robert and her family and Holt and all Beckett would be safe with Creel out of the way. His jurisdiction was ending, and if he was gone, the army would leave everyone Mac loved alone. The new Charleston law enforcement would be too busy to investigate someone who
might
have smuggled in the past, and they’d all be safe.

He had enough time to consider all of this before he hit the water, his arms still wrapped around Creel and his shoulder shoved into the man’s sternum. The brackish Ashley River closed over their heads, and Creel struggled in his grasp.

The tide was still coming in, which means it wasn’t the full dozen feet to the bottom, but close enough. Too deep to stand, certainly. Mac had spent many childhood hours gleefully throwing himself off this landing with Holt and Robert and even Ramsey. He knew these waters; knew the pull of the tide, the pilings and the trash at the bottom.

It was fitting, then, that he drown here. Because he wasn’t coming back up until Creel was dead, and there was no reason to think he’d be able to last any longer… what with the hole in his side that suddenly hurt a
lot
more than it had a second ago.

And then time sped up again.

Creel was struggling against him, but Mac tightened his hold, pressing the Major’s arms against his own sides. He exhaled, clearing his lungs of air, and feeling himself sinking lower in the process. He wasn’t going to make it back up to the surface, and he was determined to drag Creel down with him.

The other man seemed to understand his resolve, because Creel suddenly begin to writhe and buck frantically, trying to claw at Mac’s back and knock his head with the Major’s own. Mac just shut his eyes, clasped his hands around the opposite wrist, and thought of the way Becks smelled in the sunlight.

It wasn’t too bad, as far as last thoughts go.

The lack of air was making him burn from the inside out. He felt like his lungs were collapsing, and the urge to inhale was overwhelming.
Almost
overwhelming; only the thought of what would happen to Becks if he failed kept him from sucking in a breath of brackish water.

He felt Creel weaken, his kicks becoming less powerful as the other man became disoriented. Mac opened his eyes to see tiny bubbles escaping the Major’s nose, and knew they were seconds away from Creel’s surrender.

Seconds.

He could last a few more seconds.

Thank God he’d had the sense to purge his lungs of air; he only had to worry about water coming
in
. With as hard as Mac was squeezing, Creel must be ready to burst.

And then he felt the Major’s right hand, still wrapped around the revolver and trapped between their torsos, begin to tighten on the trigger. Mac looked into Creel’s eyes, moments from death, and knew that this man would pull that trigger—risk a squib round that would eviscerate both of them—without a moment’s hesitation. The best thing that would happen would be that one of them would be shot; the worst thing would be that the whole damn weapon blew up. Either way, Creel’s defeat wouldn’t be at Mac’s hands.

Blackness was already creeping in from the edges of Mac’s vision, and he didn’t think it was the depth of the water. It was Death, coming for him after so many lucky scrapes. And it would find him.

But it would find Major Jonathan Creel first.

Mac lowered his head, his mouth finding Creel’s neck, and he bit down as hard as he could. He bit until he felt the skin part under his teeth and felt the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He bit until he felt the Major scream, all of the air leaving his lungs in one great
whoosh
… and then Mac tightened his hold.