Wherever You Are (8 page)

God bless his mother and father. From the moment Zach brought a bedraggled, seven-year-old Juliana home with him one hot summer day, his parents enfolded her into the fabric of their lives. When he allowed his mind to go back to those days, to think of his family and Juliana, he’d been comforted by the fact that at least they had each other.

“No one.” She lifted her head to look out over the ocean, carefully keeping her gaze from him.

She’d wanted to be a journalist, he a police officer. The idea was laughable now, when he’d gone so far in the opposite direction. Hell, for a time he’d had a price on his head and wouldn’t be surprised if Barun put another on him. There was that shame again, biting and cruel.

He hadn’t accomplished his dreams but Juliana, she could have accomplished it all. She’d been driven to succeed, to escape from beneath her mother’s thumb. And he’d been certain his parents would have helped her. So what happened to her and her relationship with his family that she now had no one in the world?

She looked at him and smiled, the false sort of smile bestowed during a particularly boring dinner party while you were seated next to a particularly boring dinner companion.

She cautiously settled against the mast, careful of her wounds. “Tell me about your family.”

“I have no one either,” he said automatically and maybe a little defensively. It was the truth, strictly speaking. He had no one anymore. Not since the fateful night he’d left his family and Juliana.

“Pirates weren’t born pirates,” she said. “They had to have family at one point. Or is there some island where you’re all hatched?”

“My family is dead.” And that’s what he needed to remember. If not dead then at least gone from him. Looking back wasn’t doing him or Juliana any good except to distract him from the important things like staying ahead of the sloop still hovering over the horizon and deciding what to do with Juliana. Would she be better off not knowing who he was?

The rigging above creaked. It was such a common sound that Morgan gave it almost no thought until the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The rigging wouldn’t creak like that while they were becalmed.

He lunged toward Juliana, knocking her off the stack of sails as a dagger went flying through the air and imbedded itself in the mast Juliana had been leaning against.

“Morgan!” she shrieked. “What the heck? Let go of me.” She struggled against him, but her hands and arms were pinned between their chests. He saw the flash of panic in her eyes. She struggled harder as small whimpers escaped her. He held on tightly knowing he was hurting her back but unable to let go.

“Quiet,” he ordered in a low whisper.

Juliana quit struggling and to his relief, her body sagged against his.

“Are you hurt?” he whispered close to her ear.

She shook her head. A tremor ran through her, echoing inside him.

He let go of her and she rolled off him. With a flick of his wrist, he silently told her to stay put while he unsheathed his knife from his boot and rounded the sails at a crouch.

Chapter Seven

Furious, Morgan took off in the direction the dagger came from. He was more angry than he’d ever been before. Not because someone tried to kill him but because Juliana could have been hurt. He strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. All the lanterns had either been extinguished or turned low to conserve fuel. In their becalmed state there was no fear of another ship running into them but it also made it nearly impossible to see. Morgan heard the sound of running feet not too far off and gave chase. Whoever tried to kill him surely had been planted on this ship by Barun and therefore wouldn’t know the ship's layout as well.

Unfortunately, whoever it was got too far of a head start and Morgan quickly lost him. He stood on the upper gun deck for as long as he thought safe, trying to hear where the person went. He could be anywhere by now. He could even have turned around and headed for Juliana. With that thought Morgan made his way back to her.

He found her sitting behind the sails waiting for him. He expected her to be a quivering mass of hysteria. Instead she appeared calm, as if almost getting killed was an everyday occurrence. John was with her as well as Patrick but both kept their distance.

“What did you see?” he asked them quietly.

“I was on forecastle,” Patrick said.

Too far away. Morgan looked at John.

“I was on the upper gun deck,” he said.

No help there. Of course the killer would have struck while no one was around.

With a nod from Morgan his men dispersed. Morgan yanked the dagger out of the mast and pocketed it. Juliana watched his every move.

“Let’s go below deck.” All the way down he felt her presence behind him like a black cloud following him.

She climbed onto his bed and sat cross-legged. His clothes were so big on her they nearly swallowed her up, making her appear smaller than she was. More a child than a woman and it reminded him that he needed to be extra cautious because she was much more vulnerable than the hardened men working this ship.

“Do you know who did this?”

He opened a cupboard door and unfurled a rope hammock that he attached to rings set in the walls. “No, but I’ll find out.”

“Who would want you dead?”

The hammock creaked and swayed slightly as he put it together. “That’s a long list.” Barun. Barun wanted him dead. And he’d sent an emissary to do the deed. Morgan only had a moment to look at the dagger, but he knew the type. This was definitely Barun’s handiwork and since he was fairly certain Barun wasn’t on this ship that meant one of his men was. Who? It had to have been someone from his own crew. It made Morgan sick that he could have brought the danger with him.

He didn’t much care about himself—long ago his safety had become a moot point—but he damn well cared if Juliana lived or died and he vowed the person who put her in danger would pay.

“I can help,” she said quietly.

“Not necessary, Juliana.” No way would he let her get close to any more danger. How he would keep her away since he didn’t know the face of danger, he didn’t know.

“But I want to help.”

“This isn’t your concern.” He climbed into the gently swaying hammock. He was mentally exhausted but physically wired tight. He tried not to listen to Juliana slide beneath the bedclothes or picture her curled upon his bed.

He stared up at the beamed ceiling. The light from the moon made shadows on the walls. The reflection from the water sent ripples dancing across the ceiling. And in the darkness he let himself wonder what could have been instead of what had to be. What would she say if he told her he was Zach? Would she be happy? Mad? Would she cry? Laugh in joy?

Tonight was a clear reminder that his life wasn’t about sunshine and laughter, but life and death. He was Morgan, an ex-pirate who’d plundered and killed, an ex-slave whose heart and soul had been taken from him.

Even if Juliana were to learn he was Zach, she wouldn’t want him. Not after everything he’d done and what he’d become. If he did somehow find the courage to tell her, she would surely be disgusted and horrified. Better she think he was Morgan, a man with no conscience, a man who didn’t think twice about killing, than for her to know he’d once been honorable.

The edge of the weather front approached the sloop. Unfortunately, the winds had yet to touch Morgan’s ship, the
Adam
, and it was obvious the other ship would reach them soon.

She shivered and rubbed the goose bumps traveling up her arm. Earlier she tried to ask Morgan about the dagger and why someone would want him dead but he stymied all queries. Even her journalistic expertise couldn’t get him to open his mouth. If he thought ignoring her would stop her questions, he was wrong.

Yet she wasn’t comfortable questioning his crew and after a quick but thorough search of Morgan’s quarters, hadn’t been able to find the dagger. Not that seeing it up close would mean anything because she didn’t know the weapons of this time, but she was an investigative journalist and she felt like she was making an attempt at least. Even if she was hitting brick walls.

Morgan stepped up beside her and looked toward the sloop. His hair was tied at his neck and hung down his back. He’d shucked the white shirt in favor of a red vest. Golden skin stretched over taut muscles and for the first time Juliana noticed a considerable scar on the inside of his right arm that stretched from the bend of his elbow to his wrist.

Who was this man? What was the story he guarded so possessively from her? And why were there times when he seemed familiar?

“The wind is going to reach them first, isn’t it?” She tipped her head toward the sloop that seemed a lot closer than it had a few minutes ago.

A gust of cold wind shook the
Adam
, lifting the ends of Morgan’s hair and sending a shiver of unease up Juliana’s spine. It was the first breeze they’d encountered in almost two days.

“You need to do as I say,” he said. “When they get close enough to board, lock yourself in my cabin. Don’t come out until I come for you. I’ll send Patrick if I can’t make it myself.”

Morgan gave her one last, searching look, turned and walked away. Juliana watched him go until he disappeared among the men crowding the deck. Oh, Lord. How much more could she take? When was this going to end? A strange urge to laugh bubbled up inside her but she pushed it down.

Damn it! She wanted to go home. Was that too much to ask? Was it too much to want to be in her own century, among her own things? She had no desire to be dragged through a battle on the high seas. Daggers flying through the air. Danger around every corner, lives snuffed out instantly.
This isn’t my life!
she wanted to shout to these people. Didn’t they see? Didn’t they realize she didn’t belong here?

Maybe she was crazy. After all, how many people honestly believed they’d traveled through time? But when she looked out over the decks, she knew it was very real. No one’s dreams could be as vivid as hearing the rigging clang and feeling the ship pitch, or smelling the salt of the ocean and feeling the slight breeze through their hair. No, this was very real. Her aching back was proof. If you were going to imagine something, you wouldn’t imagine being flogged.

Juliana made her way to the port bow where she would be out of the way. She pushed away thoughts of her old life to concentrate on the here and now. Activity on the deck of the
Adam
grew more fevered the closer the storm and the ship drew. Tense expectation and excitement crackled in the air. Clearly the idea of a fight was something the crew looked forward to because the anticipation shone in their eyes. She kept a keen eye on Morgan. Her feelings for him were evolving into something else. Something she wasn’t sure she wanted to acknowledge. For the flogging alone she should hate him but she couldn’t make herself. There was something about him that drew her. And the thought of him injured or dying terrified her.

It seemed to take hours to reach them, but when the storm hit it was still shocking. Cold rain sluiced down. The majestic sails billowed and the ship lurched forward. The
Adam
rode the choppy waves at a good clip, but the sloop was faster and the cargo the
Adam
carried slowed them down. A quick peek in the direction of Isabelle’s ship, the
Eve
, told Juliana that Isabelle and Reed were having the same problem.

Off in the distance the storm was stronger, the winds faster. The flags on the unknown sloop whipped in the wind. Excitement raced through her and she turned her back to the sloop and scanned the deck for Morgan.

She quickly made her way to him. He was talking to Thomas and Patrick and she tugged on his sleeve. He waved her away with an impatient gesture. She stepped back and waited. The rolling of the ship was worse in the heart of the storm and several times she stumbled away. When she tugged again, he turned to her with a look of irritation that quickly changed to concern.

“What’s wrong?” He took her elbow and guided her away from the two men. She sensed the tension and barely restrained expectation curling through him. He looked different now, with the cutlass hanging at his hip and pistols secured in straps crisscrossing his chest. From the way he dressed to the cold look in his eyes he appeared every inch the pirate he said he’d been.

“Look.” She pointed to the sloop. “Their flags, Morgan. They’re British. They’re not your enemies at all!”

“Juliana, pirates fly the flags that best suit them. It’s called their colors. Just because the sloop’s flying a British flag doesn’t mean she’s from England.”

Her excitement deflated. “Why fly any flags at all?”

“Because sometimes merchant vessels fall for the trick. In all likelihood, when they get close enough, the British flag will come down and either a red flag will take its place or a black flag.”

She contemplated the sloop, now closer than ever. “Meaning?”

“The red flag means battle.”

“And the black?”

Morgan sighed. “Be prepared to go below deck when I voice the command.”

He walked away, calling out battle stations to his crew as he strode to the stern. Men raced to the cannons, others pulled their swords and cutlasses. Pistols were drawn, flints and powder checked. Juliana took up her position on the prow and resumed her watch with the faint hope that maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was a social visit in the middle of the ocean. Yeah, right.

The
Adam
rode the waves, rising and dipping, rising and dipping. She had to hold on tight and sometimes even two hands weren’t enough to keep her from sliding across the deck.

With the winds came the rain, a steady downpour that soaked everything. Juliana was so cold she was shivering but she refused to move, nurturing the faint, foolish hope that if she stood watch, the sloop would sail on by.

Instead, it kept advancing.

The large ships were cumbersome, especially in the storm, but Juliana was still awed by the ability of the crew to maneuver such a huge monstrosity. They were coming at each other, bow to bow, managing the ferocious waves with a dexterity that amazed her. The other ship began to swing wide and with a cold chill Juliana understood why. Several large, menacing cannons were now facing them.