is surely aware of that fact. But, no, I’m not in charge of the blockade. I’m in charge of rounding up would-be assassins.”
Up close, within an arm’s breadth, he did tower well over her and, while he appeared lean in what remained of his white cotton shirt, muscle rippled at his chest where the buttons had given way from throat to midabdomen. She looked into his eyes, however; his physical prowess was not something that really worried her.
“There are no assassins on this island,” she said. “In fact, this is my home. You’re rude. You’re trespassing.”
“You came off the blockade runner. This is not your home.”
“It’s certainly far more my home than it is yours, or the North’s.”
“It’s not a qualifying point at all—this island is deserted, and you came off the blockade runner. For that, you will answer to the government of the United States of America.”
His eyes glowed so darkly that they almost appeared to be red fire in the night. His features might have been chiseled for a great warrior statue, and he seemed to have the ego and arrogance of a god to go with the hard-wrought classicism of his face. She felt the urge to take a step back, but, of course, she would never do so. She wouldn’t lose.
“I am not a citizen of the United States of America, sir, and therefore, I will not answer to any government other than my own.”
He stared at her without speaking, and then shook his head sadly. “You people would prolong this war forever. You would watch thousands and thousands more die.”
“I am not fond of war!” she snapped back sharply. “But, sadly, I am not in charge of the state of affairs, and to my knowledge, the war still exists.”
She felt a strange chill; it was what she believed, and she so wanted it to be over. Every day was futile now; every day was just more loss of life.
“I have no intention of discussing my feelings regarding this war—or anything, for that matter—with you, sir.” She set her hands on her hips, trying for some form of dignity, which was actually quite ridiculous under the circumstances. Had someone called her bedraggled at that moment, it would have surely been a compliment.
He didn’t take a step toward her, but, hands folded behind his back, he took a step around her, making her far more uneasy than she wanted to admit.
“What is your name, and where are your accomplices?”
“I don’t have accomplices,” she replied.
“You were sailing that ship on your own?”
“I didn’t come off that ship. I live here.”
“You didn’t come off the ship, yet you’re caked with sand and seawater.”
“If I choose to take a dip at night, it’s no one’s concern.”
“The water just about has frost in it,” he said dryly.
“I am from here. I am accustomed to bathing through the year. One can become quite adept at the water in the islands,” she assured him.
“Interesting. I last saw you in Gettysburg. Stalking the president.”
“I was not stalking the president,” she said.
“I suggest that you tell me about your companions—or hang alone,” he said agreeably.
“You are an arrogant and extremely rude person, and I know your countrymen far too well to believe that many share your total lack of courtesy. I am guilty of nothing, and I suggest you leave me be, or the fate that awaits you will be far worse than hanging.”
He laughed, and for a moment she was, despite the circumstances, struck by just how appealing his dark good looks were.
Except, of course, he was an ass.
“I weary of this. Leave me be, and no harm will come to you.”
He shook his head, still smiling, and amused that she would dare to threaten him.
“You’ll excuse me?” she said, her tone equally modulated, as if they were in a fine drawing room.
He didn’t move. She stepped toward him, took one hand and set it on his chest, and pushed.
She had expected that he would go flying. He did not; she took him by surprise again, but he barely budged. His movement, however, did give her the escape she needed. With the foot and half that lay between them, she turned, and burst back through the brush and trees.
Where to go? Oh, God, where to go? She couldn’t lead him back to Richard….
Had Richard awakened to consciousness yet?
She tried leading the tall stranger deep into the trees, and far from the eastern spit of beach where Richard lay covered in the sheet of branches. To the northwest … that was the way she had to go. Again, she ran, swift as sound and the darkness.
But she could sense her pursuer at every turn.
She burst into another copse, aware that her strength was waning.
She turned back; she could hear noise on the island. The men from the Union ship had reached the shore at last.
How many men had survived from the Union ship? Oh, God, if the men thought that one of them was an assassin, indeed, they might not make the night.
She wanted to sink to the sand in exhaustion; she must not.
She turned again, forming a plan in her mind. She had to keep them away from Richard through the night, and in the morning steal one of their longboats. No one knew the coast and channels and the islands like Richard did. If she could steal one of the longboats, they could escape. That was it, a simple plan.
She stiffened, her muscles suddenly burning again as if the fire on the ship raged near once more; she felt him behind her, knew that he was there.
How?
She turned, and he was.
Just behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his body, sense him there.
He stared at her, waiting; she didn’t speak. “Agent Finn Dunne, miss. Pinkerton. By the power invested in me by the United States of America, I’m placing you under arrest for seditions and attempted murder.”
She gasped. “I’m not attempting to murder anyone! And you’re still an ass. I will not go anywhere with you.”
“I honestly suggest that you do. I can chase you around the island all night, or you can come with me now. You can bring me to your companion, and when the others arrive, we can administer medical aid to him.”
“I don’t have a companion.”
“Really, miss. I’ve seen whereabouts you’ve hidden your friend. Not very endurable alone and injured, and he probably does need medical attention.” He shrugged. “Such
