Footsteps and shouting surrounded her, echoing as the soldiers called back and forth. No matter which way she turned, she expected any minute to see a blue uniform break through the cover.
Dear God, please...please...
Leaves rattled nearby. She froze, trying to listen above the pulse booming in her ears. Something rustled again, stopped for an instant, then skedaddled off in the opposite direction.
“There she goes!” The fool Yankees plunged blindly after the noise, their pursuit taking them away from her hiding spot.
She relaxed her grip on the knife and blew out a relieved breath.
Thank you Mr. Fox, or Bobcat, or whatever you are.
As the sound of the chase faded, she tucked the knife back into her boot and rolled upright. Her hands were scraped, and leaves and dank earth clung to her torn gown. Several dark stains streaked her skirt where she hadn’t cleaned all the soldier’s blood from her hands. Nanny Belle would have a fit if she saw her charge right now. Though it wouldn’t be the first time she’d looked like a hoyden.
She brushed off stinging palms and peered into the darkness. Which way back to Jeb? The dark and the maze of trees had her all turned around. His pain-wracked face swam before her, and her vision grew misty. He would be fine. He
had
to. No one else would die because of...
No
. She swept at her burning eyes with the back of her hand. Such thoughts would not defeat her. Lance, and now Jeb, depended on her being strong. She’d let people down before. She wasn’t about to allow it to happen again.
Using the moon as a guide, she headed in what she prayed was the right direction. She’d find Jeb, get his wound dressed, and return to their task. This was a minor setback. Nothing more.
Cool night air played across her sweat-soaked skin. A shudder coursed through her, and she tugged her cloak tighter, reassured by the heavy thud against her ankles. She’d sewn all her hard-earned money into the hem. With any luck, the Yankee guards at Point Lookout Prison would be as corrupt as the Confederates in Richmond.
A distant clamor echoed in the woods. The soldiers were circling back. It wouldn’t be long before they picked up her trail. She had to find cover. Fast.
She hiked up her skirt and raced forward. A patch of white loomed ahead. She pushed through the brush and into a small clearing.
A tent. Just the cover she needed.
****
“Don’t move. Lay still.”
The deep, soothing voice grew silent. Hands pressed on his arms, holding him down. Something draped over his body, heavy and smothering...
“Don’t move, son.”
No. Can’t breathe...
Jackson Porter jerked awake. Cold sweat coated his skin. Heaviness sat on his chest, making breathing a torture. He sucked in several deep slugs of air, working to chase the last remnants of the nightmare to the darkness.
Dream. It was only a dream.
Yet it seemed so real. As if he’d been transported back in time, back to the river bank where he’d been hauled from the mangled remains of a submerged carriage. He’d survived. His parents had not. His muscles twitched with the memory.
“Don’t move.”
Not the mellow voice from the dream. This one was harsh, though a bit delicate, almost feminine. He froze as instructed but sneaked a glance to the side. Just enough moonlight seeped through the tent walls that despite his sleepy haze, he could distinguish a petite silhouette hovering over him. A woman. He blinked and rolled up on one elbow. “What the—”
“I said don’t move!” She shoved a knife under his chin.
“Take it easy.” He kept his tone even and steady, though his pulse thumped like an Indian war drum. “I’ll keep still.”
“See that you do.”
Well now, wasn’t that interesting. They were deep in Union territory, but that was damn sure a Southern twang. He resisted the urge to dive at her. He was fairly certain he could take her. The shadow was a dainty thing. But better to fully knock the sleep from his head before attempting any risky moves. His trespasser appeared to be comfortable with that knife.
He slowly eased back, away from the blade, and laced his hands behind his head, feigning a calm he was far from feeling. “What are you doing in my tent?”
Hooves thudded outside, stalling her answer.
Wonderful
. Just what he needed—more company.
“You, inside the tent.” The voice was gruff, authoritative, and definitely not Southern. “Show yourself.”
The woman snapped her head around. She stared at the closed tent flap, then turned back, the knife steady in her hand as she poked a warning against his throat. “If you value your life,” she whispered, “you won’t give me up to them.”
His gut seized in a nasty twist. What the hell had he gotten caught up in?
“Inside the tent. This is your last warning. Show yourself now, or we’ll come in and drag you out.”
He tested his muscles, flexing from head to toe. All responded without hesitation. Purged of his dream, his body and mind were his once again. He couldn’t have needed them more.
With a jerk of his hand, he snagged the woman’s wrist and forced the knife away from his neck. She tried to wrench free, hissing cat-like as he tightened his grip.
“I’m going out to talk with them,” he whispered harshly.
“No—”
“From the sound of their horses, there’s at least three of them and only one of you. Not good odds.” He gave her no chance to reply as he shoved her hand away and rolled to his knees. Cool air hit his sweat-dampened skin, trailing gooseflesh down his bare spine, hips, and thighs. In the future, maybe he should reconsider sleeping naked.
He secured the blanket around his waist and with a quick swipe, found his eye patch. He slipped it on and ducked through the tent flap.
Pale moonlight illuminated the four riders dressed in unmistakable Union blue. One of them had dismounted and was poking around. Jack clamped his teeth around a curse. There could be any number of reasons why his Southern intruder didn’t want to be seen by Yankee soldiers—none of them good. And that didn’t bode well for
him
either.
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
The officer nudged his horse closer, the barrel of his pistol aimed at Jack’s chest. “What’s your name, mister, and what’re you doing camped here?”
He put on his best smile. “Name’s Jackson Porter. I’m a journalist for
The New York Herald
, heading to Point Lookout Prison on assignment. I’d shake your hand, but...” He tightened his hold on the blanket. “I’ve papers, if you want to see them.”
The Lieutenant peered at him, then lowered his weapon. “One-eyed Jack. I’ve heard of you. The papers won’t be necessary.”
He fought the urge to adjust the eye patch. Helluva thing when a man was known for a mangled eye. It’d cost him more than his sight, and if he had it to do over again...
No. That was past stupidity. He needed to focus on the matter at hand, before he found himself not needing his good eye either. “What brings you out so late, Lieutenant?”
The officer leaned over and spat a stream of tobacco juice to the ground. “We’re trailing a woman.”
“A woman?” He made an effort to sound shocked.
“She fled from us just north of here. We didn’t get a good look at her face, but she’s a scrawny thing with bright colored hair.”
“Blonde?”
“Not sure. But she definitely wasn’t dark.”
“Why are you after her?”
Leather creaked as the lieutenant straightened in his saddle. “A courier was found knifed to death on the roadside. His dispatch sack is missing.”
“And you think this woman is responsible?”
“She was seen kneeling over him, hands covered in his blood. We captured her Negro, but he’s in no shape to talk. Took a bullet in the back. Once he’s patched up...” The officer gave a meaningful pause. “Perhaps, he can be
persuaded
to answer a few questions about his mistress.”
“So, she wasn’t traveling alone?”
Gripes
.
How many more people might show up tonight?
“We only saw the two of them, but better to be safe than sorry.”
“Sir.” The nosey soldier had made his way to the tent and now had his pistol drawn. “I think there’s someone in there.”
The lieutenant again leveled his weapon on Jack. “You’re not alone?”
He fisted the blanket. Now what? Did he risk a noose for concealing a suspected murderess? Or protect her, and risk getting murdered himself? And yet, guilty or not, he knew what the soldiers would do if they got their hands on her. War brought out the worst in men. In Pennsylvania, he’d been powerless to stop an assault on a woman accused of aiding the Rebels. She’d been beaten and raped, despite her denial of the charges. If the soldiers suspected his petite intruder of wrong-doing, she likely faced an equally brutal torture. He couldn’t allow that.
Damnation
.
Think fast, Porter.
“No.” A long shot, but it might work. “I’m not alone. I...uh...brought my new bride along with me.”
The officer looked skeptical. “New bride, eh?”
“She’d come out and greet you, but...” He let the blanket hang open. “We weren’t exactly dressed for company, if you take my drift.” The lie pricked at his conscience. He’d dedicated his life to the black and white truth. And here he was, shading his words in gray. She damn well better appreciate his sacrifice.
There was a bit of snickering and expressive throat-clearing. One man coughed.
“Odd place for a honeymoon,” the lieutenant said, still scowling.
“As I told you, I’m on assignment.
The Herald’s
got deadlines, you know, and if I don’t meet ’em, I don’t get paid. Mrs. Porter...” He raised his voice to be sure she heard. “Well, my wife made it clear what she’d do if I left her behind.”
The soldiers chuckled good-naturedly, heads bobbing in agreement at the unreasonableness of females in general. The lieutenant considered it a moment, then holstered his pistol. He nodded to the meddlesome soldier, who grinning, shot a glance at the tent before moving back to his horse.
“So, I thank you for checking on us, Lieutenant.”
“Not very comfortable accommodations for a new bride,” the officer replied. “Even if she insisted.”
“We’re quite satisfied.”
“I’m sure the Major can find more adequate accommodations for you. You’re welcome to ride back with us to our field headquarters.”
“Thank you, but no.”
“Not very far. I’m certain the lady—”
“Thank you, sir,” he repeated firmly and gave the man a pointed grin. “We’re content here. With our privacy.”
“Er...well then, I reckon we’ll be on our way. Be sure to watch out for that fugitive. If she killed our courier, she’ll be armed and dangerous.”
Yes indeedy, she was armed, and he had a nick on his throat to prove it. “I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you, Lieutenant. Good night.”
The officer reined his horse toward the woods. The others followed. A few seconds later, all four riders disappeared into the darkness. He rolled down his shoulders. One crisis averted—one to go. He ducked into the tent and found the woman crouched in the back, weapon at the ready.
“Don’t come any closer.” Moonlight glinted on the steel of her blade. “Or I’ll make your wife a widow.”
“That’s not a problem. I don’t have a wife.” He lowered himself onto his bedroll in a slow, non-provoking movement. One knife nick was enough. “Okay if I light a candle? I’d like to find my clothes.”
“Those Yankees gone?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure? Because if they’re waiting out there...”
“The soldiers are gone, ma’am. Otherwise, I’d be risking both our lives after that tale I just told.”
She hesitated, then gave a soft grunt of agreement. “Fine. Get your clothes. But no quick moves.”
His things were stacked in neat, easily accessible piles. It always paid to be prepared. Naked was not the way he wanted to greet visitors, especially half-crazed, knife-wielding women. He pulled on his trousers, then thumbed a match to life and touched it to the candle. Soft light filled the tent and—
Gripes.
Bright hair didn’t begin to describe it. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this untamed, flaming wildness. Below the blazing red halo, pale green eyes met his. She had a pert, defiant nose and luscious pink lips just made for devouring. His gut clenched as though he’d been sucker-punched. This woman was dangerous—in more ways than one.
“Reckon I should thank you for not turning me in.”
Her full lower lip bloomed into a slight pout. He wanted to reach out and touch it. “Always happy to help a lady,” he said instead.
Any man in his right mind would be wary of
this
lady. Strangely, he wasn’t. She might be desperate, but instinct told him she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. In spite of her ease with that pig-sticker, her eyes were way too soft. As for her knife...
“Now that we’ve settled that ugly business with the soldiers, I imagine you’ll want to be on your way.”
Several seconds passed. She merely looked at him, knife lowered but still steady in her grip.
What was she waiting for? “You
are
planning to leave?”
“Not just yet.”
“Why the hell not?”
She started and thrust the blade toward his face.
“Whoa, lady. Take it easy.” He shoved up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Just wondered, since that patrol is gone, if you’d want to be on your way.”
“And I said I’m not ready to go yet. For all I know, the bluebellies are just off in the woods. They’re not going to give up that easy.”
Damn this was turning into a long, unpleasant night. Eye on the knife, he inched away. “So, how long
do
you plan to stay? It’ll be dawn in a few hours. You’re much better off leaving under the cover of darkness.”