Bride of the Night (10 page)

This time, she found a barrel that had been thrown clean and clear. She went for it, and realized that she needed rope and buoy to get it up.

Or Finn.

Twenty feet from Tremblay's longboat, she surfaced again. Finn was hanging on the bow, about to take another dive. Richard was now aboard, a blanket around his shoulders; he was shivering. She didn't think that he'd been ordered out for his health, but rather because she was in the water now. That was well; she hadn't received a massive conk on the head.

“Agent Dunne!” she called, treading water. It didn't do well to stay in one position long; the water became colder and colder as she did so.

He turned to her.

“I need help!” she called to him.

She couldn't really see his face clearly from her distance; she didn't know why she was certain that he wore a quick look of suspicion before joining her.

He swam to her as easily as any of the fish in the sea. “Straight down,” she said.

“I'll follow you.”

She met his eyes, nodded and dove down, kicking hard. They came to the large barrel. She might have managed the weight, but the bulk of it was more than she could get her arms around. He grabbed it by the lip, pulling it to stand straight, then gripped it around on the other side as well, and thrust off from the ocean bed to reach the surface with the weight. She kicked off, too, streaking after him, but when she reached the boat, Tremblay and Richard had already leaned over to help Finn take the precious barrel from the water.

“That's it,” Richard said. “There's the marking.” He pointed to an etched-out scrawl in the wood at the top of the barrel. “That's the chloroform.”

She thought that, most likely, unless there was some kind of rescue from heaven for the two of them, Richard would wind up being sent to a prisoner-of-war camp. She wasn't sure what would happen to her.

But Richard still seemed as pleased as the others that such a precious piece of cargo might be saved.

“Let's bring it in. We've done well,” Tremblay said.

Finn hiked himself out of the water and reached for Tara. She accepted his assistance into the boat, and she was grateful when Tremblay set a blanket around her shoulders. Finn took up the oars, while Tremblay called out to the other divers; it was time to come in.

They brought the longboats back around to the beachhead, and pulled the boats out of the water. The men began emptying the day's treasure, laying the items out on the beach.

Tara wandered to the side, clutching the blanket around her, as they assessed the day's haul. Richard pounced upon her carpetbag, and brought it, still dripping, to set before her. “Some things may be salvageable,” he said.

“Yes, of course, thank you. I guess I'll bring them to the cistern and freshwater pool and rinse them out and…they won't be salty, at least,” she said.

He looked at her, and touched her face. “I'm so sorry.”

She caught his hand. “You don't need to be sorry. We're at war. And this is what happens.” She moved closer to him. “Richard, I don't know what they're planning. If he really thinks we're assassins…and if he doesn't, well, it's still a prison camp. But we've got to bide our time carefully. I don't think… I'm not sure where we could actually get from here. The northeast side of the state is dangerous, you know. It's fifty-fifty whether a ship might be Yankee or Rebel. I think—”

She broke off. She saw that Finn, still shirtless, no blanket around his broad shoulders, was standing next to Doc MacKay, talking.

But he was watching her.

She lifted the dripping carpetbag. “I'll go to the spring…use it and be out, so that the men might have a chance.”

Tara, unhindered, left the beach behind and headed for the cistern. When she reached the area, she began going through her bag, delighted to discover that, while the bag dripped, the lining of tight cotton duck had kept many of her possessions from being soaked. She delightedly laid out stockings, skirts, chemises and her greatcoat, and then happily stripped off what she'd been wearing.

After bathing in the pool, she found the driest of her belongings. She remembered she had left her shoes by the mangrove roots, so she would have to retrieve them. She was growing accustomed to the chill nip in the air,
but now, the afternoon sun was strong as it began its descent and she felt clean and good.

She decided to leave her bag drying in the sun, and turned around to start her barefoot walk back to the camp. As she did so, she discovered that her path was blocked.

Finn Dunne. She didn't know how long he had been watching her. He was still in nothing but tight breeches that clung slick and wet to his shape. His shoulders now gleamed, and his drying hair was a toss over his forehead. She held still, watching him, unable to wonder what she would have felt for the man if they hadn't met as enemies. She was disturbed by the quickening sense she felt when he was near, and by the rampant thump that seemed to begin in her chest, her heart beating far too quickly.

Fear!
she told herself dryly.
He
was
the enemy, and he seemed determined that she was a monster in truth.

“My pardon. I didn't mean to intrude.”

“I'm quite finished here.”

“Ah.”

“May I pass?”

“Certainly.”

He didn't move for a moment; he watched her. Then he stepped aside with a sweeping bow. Palm trees seemed to rain down branches around them. When she stepped by him, she felt that she touched the heat of his chest. Of course, she did not, but she couldn't help an inner trembling as she passed him.

They were captives, she reminded herself. They could have been treated coldly, confined to a few feet of space. The Union men might even have restrained them uncomfortably.

She knew that he watched her as she walked away; she fought the temptation to look back.

And yet, puzzled, she did turn. Tall, and bronze in the sun, his shoulders broad and his muscled chest tapering to the waistband of his trousers, he was an appealing sight. She straightened her shoulders and stood tall.

“No ship has come,” she said, frowning.

“No,” he said.

“I would have thought…if a distress flare was sent into the night…”

“Curious, isn't it?” he asked.

She nodded.

“What do you think has happened?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “I don't know. I can't imagine. I'm not surprised that we've not seen another Rebel ship—the blockade is getting tighter daily. But…”

“Yes, there should have been a Union ship here by now,” Finn said.

“Perhaps, by tonight.”

“Perhaps. The men will keep the fires burning.”

Tara finally turned again and started hurrying over the sand toward the beach. Richard was still working with Tremblay and Doc MacKay, unloading the precious salvage.

Billy was still watching over the fire, preparing the remnants of the boar with a few of the other men. She slipped by them, and hurried to the mangroves, anxious to find her shoes.

As she stooped to retrieve them, she froze.

There was a corpse in the water.

Horrified, she jumped back and nearly fell into the tangled roots.

She wanted to look away, but she could not. The man lay on his back, eyes staring up at the sky. Even though the gentle wash of the waves crashing against the mangrove roots lapped around him, the pool of blood at his throat still hovered there in a watery mist. He wore the remnants of a Union naval uniform, and his arms, legs and the length of his body looked as if it had been ripped to shreds by a beast.

Tara sat back, pressing her hand to her lips so that she would not cry out.

She turned and raced back to the camp. But there, she paused, not knowing who to tell. What she saw frightened her more than she had ever imagined. She had heard of such things, but…

Tara walked on by the camp, afraid of letting the men dwell on the fact that their situation could be blamed on her. She headed swiftly toward the cistern and the pool. She could hear splashing, and when she burst through the trees, she saw that Finn was relishing the cool clean water that washed away the salt of the sea. Water droplets flew into the sky as he rose from the pool, shaking
his hair, and slicking his fingers across it to sluice out more of the water.

He spun to stare at her.

“Well, Miss Fox, this is surprise. I was rather of the impression that you evaded my company, rather than sought it out. However, of course, you are most welcome.”

“You have to see…what I've seen,” she said.

Perhaps he noted the ashen pallor of her face. He frowned.

“What's happened?” he asked, heading for the edge of the pool. Heedless of his state of nudity, he hurried out of the water, seeking the damp breeches he'd worn there. Instinctively, Tara thought to turn away, and still, seeing the taut muscle structure of his back and buttocks, she wondered if she hadn't come to him because of his power, and for reassurance.

“What—what is it?” he demanded, striding to her, setting his hands on her shoulders.

“A dead man,” she whispered.

“One of Richard's men? None were lost aboard Tremblay's ship.”

“A Union seaman. He's— You have to see,” she whispered.

“Have you told the others?” he asked. “You need to take great care with what you tell the others.”

“No…no, I've never seen anything like— You have to see the man…”

She was still so unnerved that she didn't think a thing of it when he took her hand and started walking.

“Where?” he asked.

“In the mangrove roots. I'd left my shoes earlier today. I went to find them.”

“Agent Dunne!” Tremblay called, seeing them head back toward the tents. “Come, sir! Get yourself a coat or a jacket. It might well be a hellhole of heat here in the summer, but the winter night is coming on, and there's a fierce chill coming.”

“Why, thanks… Miss Fox lost a trinket, a locket, by the shore today. I'll just take a look before we begin to lose the light, sir.”

Finn didn't pause. They walked by the tent and the spit where the boar had cooked earlier, and where coffee brewed even now. Richard was there, seated on a log, and he looked up with concern as they walked by.

He stood. “Tara? A locket?”

“Just a little matter!” she said. “Richard, please, no harm will come to me.”

He was still frowning as they hurried by. When they reached the first outcropping of mangroves, Tara hurried on ahead of Finn.

“This way…this way,” she told him.

“What is it— Oh, Lord!”

She stood, balancing on a root. Finn had come behind her, barefoot and bare-chested still. He passed her, moving nimbly from root to root, until he could hunker down close to the body. Tara stood still, watching him.

He was silent, inspecting the body that was half in and half out of the water, appearing almost alive as it moved with the waves.

“Not a shark?” she whispered.

“No,” he said grimly.

“Where did he come from?”

The sun was beginning to slip through the trees. Tara wasn't afraid of darkness, and yet, that night, with the dead man before her and the sky turning dark mauve, she felt a tremendous chill.

“He had to have been on a ship,” she whispered.

“Indeed.”

Finn stood, looking out on the horizon. He reached for an ankle sheath, which lay just beneath the fabric at his ankle, producing a long-bladed knife.

“Finn?” she asked.

She looked away then, aware of his intent. He hunkered down in the shallows, and she heard the swipe of his blade as he dispatched the man's head.

He tossed the head far out to the sea, and dragged the body and the torso out to be taken by the tide.

He walked back to Tara.

“What do you know about this?”

“Know? I know nothing!”

“You know what happened to the man, of course. It was a vampire attack.”

She shook her head. “We've never had an attack…never, in Key West! I'm—I'm the only one of my kind there! Of course, my father was around years and years
ago, but I never even met him. I've heard whispers about such things, other places. But I swear to you, never in Key West!”

“Well, Tara Fox, you've probably spent much of your life learning your own strength, and learning about your powers. And then you're not afraid, because you know there are only a few out there who would begin to know how to kill you. But here's something you should realize right now, and accept, and take to heart—you are a half-breed.” He paused a minute. “I even know of others in your…family clan.”

“You
know
them?” she asked, stunned and hopeful.

“I said that I know of them,” he told her. “And right now, that's neither here nor there. There's a full-blooded vampire out there somewhere, and he's likely gearing up for a rampage. Your strength is going to be nothing against that of a full-blood. Tonight, you and your Richard will stay glued to my side until first break of morning's light. It's unlikely that a full-blood would attack after daybreak—darkness gives them their full strength. And if it comes to an attack, Tara…”

“An attack?” she whispered.

“An attack. We'll pray that their ranks are low, and I'm going to also pray right now that every word you've said is true. I'm going to have to teach you to use a few weapons that can be used against you, as well.”

“And you!” she reminded him.

“Yes,” he said, staring at her.

“Oh, don't think that I'm such a fool that I trust you as of yet—in any way, shape or form. However…”

“However?”

“If we don't survive this night, what would all the trust in the world even mean?”

Sheathing his knife, he walked past her, but then paused, and turned back to take her hand. “Come on, my naive beauty. You're about to learn some terrible truths.”