Jo Goodman (49 page)

Decker smiled. He touched the gold chain at her throat and then traced the line of it until his fingertip rested against the scrimshaw. He held it a moment, thinking of the ship, of her elegant lines and proud bearing, and then of this woman, who was not so different a beauty from the one she'd created.

His hand drifted lower, over her breast, down the length of her flat belly. She sucked in a breath as his fingers dipped between her thighs. "You haven't had your pleasure," he said softly. His hand cupped her mons. "Did you think I'd forgotten?"

Jonna knew what would happen as soon as he touched her. Her hips moved, and she arched against the heel of his hand. The slight pressure was all she needed to slip over the edge. She clutched his shoulders and shuddered against him, her body flush to his. His fingers did not stop the intimate caress until the last vestige of tense pleasure had been skimmed from her body.

Jonna closed her eyes. All sense of weightlessness had left her, and now a lethargy stole over her limbs, a satisfying weakness invaded her muscles. She considered that she might never move again and would find it quite agreeable not to do so.

Decker kissed her temple. Her pulse beat gently against his lips. "I love you, Jonna Thorne."

She smiled sleepily. Perhaps she would not go to work at all today, she thought.

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Decker waved Graham's attendant out of the room as he spoke to his guest. Amanda bobbed once and hurried away, taking a breakfast tray with her. "You look marginally less close to death this morning than you did last night."

It was an exaggeration but not much of one. Graham found he had it in him to smile, albeit weakly. "If you say so."

Decker grunted softly. "I do." He took up the chair abandoned by Amanda and stretched out his legs toward the bed, regarding his friend consideringly. "The doctor was optimistic about your recovery."

"Would you tell me otherwise?"

Decker thought about it a moment. "Yes, I probably would. You'd want to know, wouldn't you?"

Graham nodded. His eyes darted toward the door, almost as if he were expecting an intrusion.

"Jonna's still sleeping," Decker said. "Otherwise you'd be right to look for her on my heels. I told her about Falconer last night. And a little bit about you." His blue eyes filled with quiet humor. "She's accepted the truth about me, but she's reserving judgment on your account."

Graham did not smile. In light of Jonna's kindness, he felt churlish for raising the question, but it had to be asked and answered. "Are you certain you can trust her, Decker?"

"With my life," he said. "And yours."

Graham shifted his position slightly. The small movement brought a searing pain up his side, starting at the point of his wound. "It may come to that." He caught his breath and then forced himself to relax. "I've been betrayed once," he said. "So have many others on the Underground. I don't like to think it can happen again."

Decker understood what Graham hadn't shared last night—the real purpose of his visit north. "You came to warn me."

Graham nodded once. "I was shot helping the slave Seth and six others move across the Georgia line into South Carolina. One man was killed. I was the only other one hit. Seth stayed with me and the rest scattered. God knows he would have been better to take his chances running alone. They were on our trail for three miles before we lost them at Sidling Creek."

"They?"

Graham shrugged and immediately regretted the movement. He grimaced. He allowed Decker to fix the pillows at his back and make him more comfortable against the headboard. "I assume there was more than one. A small band of bounty hunters is usually formed to bring back runaways. I know there were two or three hounds following us."

"I'm surprised you got away at all. How did you run with that gunshot wound?"

"I was riding, posing as a bounty hunter taking slaves back to Carolina. If we had been approached I would have told them that story and gotten away with it." His grin was rueful. "No one asked though. Just fired off a few shots from a distance and let all hell break loose."

"Were you set up?"

"I've given it a lot of thought," Graham said. "I believe it was no more than a chance encounter. But what happened later, at Michele's, that was not by chance. She was visited by the authorities because they
expected
to find runaways there. There were other stations on the same line of the Underground similarly visited this past month. Almost as if someone has been following one of the Railroad lines north."

"But how could anyone learn every station along a line? It's impossible. No one knows. Not you. Not me." He stopped as a thought occurred to him. "Only the people who use it know... the runaways."

Before he'd even said the words, Graham saw that Decker understood. "I know," Graham said. "It's hard to believe. I've tried to think of another explanation that would account for the arrests and captures, but it defies me."

"Betrayal by the people we're trying to help?" asked Decker. "It defies logic."

"Not really," Graham said. "Michele told me what they did to Seth to get him to talk. He held out and chose to tell lies over the truth. There may be others who experienced worse. It's always been a risk."

"But you think Falconer has been compromised."

"Yes... perhaps. There's no way to be certain. It's just that an entire route of the Underground collapsed like a row of dominoes. When the raid at Michele's occurred I realized I could be witnessing the end of another line. You're the primary connection to Michele's station, Decker. Most of the runaways she's kept leave by a Remington ship... always the one you're on."

Decker swore softly. He stood up and strode to the window. The rolling, loose-limbed walk was gone. Tension pulled his body into a single angular line. He couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding. Quite without realizing what he was about, he opened his jacket to reach for his good-luck piece.

The earring was gone.

Only by its absence did Decker become consciously aware of his search for it. Stillness settled over him. Outside the window a cold breeze lifted the branches of a pine tree. A small, brown swallow fluttered upward from the boughs before diving for the deeper shelter of a neighbor's porch. A carriage rolled along the street, and someone hurried down the sidewalk. Beyond this room life was proceeding at its determined pace. Decker's senses were heightened to it because for the briefest moment he knew his own heart had stopped.

He drew a breath slowly, forcing a calm he didn't feel. When he turned toward the bed he saw that Graham was watching him.

"What is it?" Graham asked.

Decker's smile was wry, but he said nothing. It was not often that he felt foolish, yet that was precisely the reaction that washed over him now. He would find the earring in one of his other jackets. Or it would appear in the laundry, and some maid, fearing for her position, would return it quickly to Mrs. Davis, just as Tess had done before. Belatedly he realized that Graham was still expecting a response from him.

Decker couldn't talk about his lost talisman. It was a petty, selfish consideration in light of Graham's news. He spoke instead of the thing that had driven him to his feet in the first place. "It's my wife," he said quietly. "She's a conductor on the Underground."

A spark briefly lightened Graham's flinty stare. "You're not serious."

"I wish I weren't. I only found out recently. Apparently she's had this station open for three years."

"For as long as you've been Falconer. There's an irony."

Decker acknowledged the truth of that. "We never suspected each other."

"But she knows about you now?"

"The important things. She knows I've used her ships to hide runaways and transport them to New York and Boston. She knows it's why I wanted
Huntress.
" Decker sat on the arm of the chair. "You'll find this incredible, Graham, but she had that clipper built for the purpose of running slaves north. There will be no faster ship on the water until she designs and builds it. I hadn't thought anything could stop her... until now. Your news is not welcome."

"At least you don't have to worry that she'll be arrested and face a trial. The conductors below the Mason-Dixon don't have that assurance. Some of them will be hanged for their part in the Underground. If your identity as Falconer is revealed, you'll never be able to take a ship into any Southern port."

"No ship on the Remington line will be able to enter them either. Not without risk of being burned or looted." Decker laid an arm across the back of the chair. His fingers beat a light tattoo as he considered the full consequences. "It doesn't matter whether it's Jonna or me who's found out. The result is potentially the same. Remington Shipping will have no trade in the South."

"Would it bankrupt the line?" Graham asked.

Decker almost smiled. Graham was thinking like a Yankee trader now. "It could. Jonna worries about it, but she's seen Sheridan face the same problem and survive it financially. Without Southern trade, though, there's no access to the runaways and no way for Remington ships to carry them. No matter what noises Jonna makes about finances, I believe that ultimately her concern is for those she helps. She knows she can't do it if the line goes under." Decker was seized by an unfamiliar restlessness. He stood and moved to the fireplace.

Graham watched his friend cross the room. His stride was deliberate, his destination, aimless. It was like watching a wild animal pace the length of its cage. "Double jeopardy," Graham said quietly.

Decker had been staring at the floor. He looked up. "What's that?"

"Double jeopardy," Graham repeated. "Two times the danger. An accusation leveled at either one of you has the same effect on the Remington Line. If you weren't married..." He stopped because he had no right to say what he was thinking. He had already overstepped himself.

"If we weren't married," Decker continued for him, "Jonna could plead ignorance of my use of her ships. God knows, until last night, she was. The only thing she knew about Falconer was what Sheridan told her. And his information came from what he read in Garrison's
Liberator."

"She could deny involvement," Graham said. "But it doesn't necessarily follow that she'd be believed."

Decker merely cocked an eyebrow. "You don't know my wife."

Graham's soft chuckle ended in a wince. "Tell me."

"She has a reputation for straightforwardness. She doesn't mince words, and she doesn't suffer fools. Jonna Remington is known for dealing fairly with people. Her word is as good as a contract for most merchants. She speaks her mind to the point of tactlessness, and no one's ever accused her of subtlety. Her stated position on abolition has always been a moderate one. She's never given a hint that her true position is otherwise. If I stood accused of transporting runaways on one of her ships, and I was only her employee, she could deny knowledge and no one would doubt her. With me as her husband, no one will believe her." Decker's slight smile was wry. "No one would credit her marrying without knowing everything about her husband. Not when she kept Grant Sheridan at arm's length for the better part of five years."

Graham grinned himself. He looked forward to making her acquaintance. "She's quite something, isn't she?"

"Quite," Decker said softly.

Graham's eyes rose to the portrait above the mantel. "Her parents?"

Decker glanced at it. "Yes. Charlotte Reid and John Remington."

Graham was thoughtful as he studied the painting. "It may be that I've alarmed you for no good reason," he said, pulling his eyes away. He had met Jonna only briefly, yet he didn't think he was being fanciful when he judged she was possessed of strong features from both her parents. "I cannot be certain that there is any more risk to you than there ever was." At some pain to himself, Graham shrugged and added with rhetorical carelessness, "After all, other than Jonna and me, who in Boston knows you're Falconer?"

Decker felt as if he'd been struck.
Rachael.
He stared at Graham, almost without seeing him. "There's just one—"

The door handle was twisted, interrupting him. Decker briefly put a finger to his lips and turned on his heel as Jonna walked serenely into the room. She was wearing a silk plum gown that shimmered as she moved. She stopped long enough to look from her husband to her guest. The hem of her gown swayed softly about her ankles. The silence in the bedchamber seemed abrupt and expectant. Jonna was certain she had heard voices before she entered.

"You were talking about me, weren't you?" she accused without malice. "Was he being kind, Mr. Denison? Or were you being entertained with the vast catalog of all my shortcomings?" Jonna set down the tray she was carrying at Graham's bedside. Besides a small bowl of broth and a cup of tea, it held a bottle of laudanum and the stolen documents from Sheridan's office. "I was on my way here when I met Virginia in the hall. She was charged with ladling this liquid down your throat. I confess, she appeared rather undone by the prospect. Rumor among the servants is that you've already given Amanda and Rachael a difficult time with the same task."

Graham looked past Jonna's shoulder to Decker. His blue-gray eyes made an eloquent, though silent, plea for help. Decker merely held up his hands.