But Richard …
“Whatever you’re thinking someone is guilty of doing, it’s not us.”
“You were on a blockade runner.”
“We are still at war,” she reminded him.
“Choice is yours,” he said softly. “Show me to your friend, and we can see to him. Keep trying to escape, and I will keep coming after you. I never give up, miss. And if my companions come upon your companion without my protection, well, I’m not sure how things will go.”
“You will not hurt Richard?”
“That I swear.”
“And I should believe you? Why?”
“My word is sacred to me. And besides, you really have no choice. I don’t know if you’ve heard it yet or not, but the Yankee longboats have reached the shore.”
“Then we will return to Richard,” she said.
He nodded. She was surprised when he looked at her curiously, head at a slant, dark eyes seeming to have that ripple of fire again. “Richard. Richard …?”
“Richard Anderson,” she said. “Captain Richard Anderson.”
He nodded and came closer to her. She bit her lip. She wasn’t going to move.
“And you?” he said politely. “Who are you? I don’t know your name, or who you are—even though I’m quite sure that I know exactly what you are.”
CHAPTER FOUR
TARA STOOD STILL, for a moment not sure that he’d said what she thought he’d said. Maybe her fear of discovery was becoming irrational. Maybe she was imagining things.
She stared back at him, desperately praying that she would show no emotion.
There were others of her kind; she knew that. And that “her kind” came in full-blood and half-blood—those who had an ancestor generations before, and had inherited certain traits. Her mother had done her best to teach Tara everything that she had known, that she had learned from Tara’s father. Tara had never actually met another of “her kind,” but she knew that someone was out there; she also had half siblings, and she often felt an emptiness inside, wishing desperately that she might know them. She had sisters and brothers and….
And a father.
Finn was staring at her. She tried to stare back at him, her head cast at an angle, a slight smile curving her lips.
“Yes,” Finn told her. “I said exactly that—I know what you are.”
She waved a hand in the air. “A Southerner?”
He laughed. “Well, that would be true, too, I imagine. No, I know what you really are. Half-breed. Bloodsucker. Vampire. Some might call you a succubus, demon or lamia. What they call you doesn’t matter.”
She shook her head, incredibly wary of the man who seemed to have her at his mercy. He’d been ahead of her all night long—even though she had managed a smooth escape from him at Gettysburg. She could have escaped him tonight, too, but for Richard.
“No tricks,” he told her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she assured him.
He indicated the path where they had ripped through the foliage in their chase. “I’m going to suggest that we head back—before the angry men who just lost their ship come upon your friend.”
She hesitated. “I’m telling you, neither of us is a spy. And neither of us is an assassin.”
“You’re both blockade runners.”
“Richard is a merchant, nothing more.”
He sighed. “Of course. But merchants running arms at times of war are by definition blockade runners. I am a tremendous believer in due process of law. If you come with me now, I can guarantee that nothing will happen to either of you on my watch. So, if you value your friend’s life …” He let his voice trail and indicated she begin walking.
Tara did so. She turned and began moving quickly through the brush, doing her best to make sure that every branch she passed slapped back into his face.
He didn’t say a word, he simply caught the branches.
She let her words trail over her shoulder at him, along with her anger. “Due process of law. That means you get us into a puppet military court, and see that we’re hanged.”
“If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear.”
“You’re looking for someone called Gator. I’m not Gator. Richard isn’t Gator. There’s no reason that you should suspect either of us as your man.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” was all he replied.
“You should be worried, you know,” she said smoothly.
“Oh?”
“Lamia! You see me now, but I’ll turn to smoke, and you’ll find me behind your back, slipping around your side, seeking your jugular vein.”
“That’s always possible.”
“You should tremble. You shouldn’t push my temper,” she warned.
“I’m a mass of trembling flesh. Please keep moving.”
As she walked, she became aware of the shouts and instructions of the other Union men in the distance—one booming voice, and then others that rang back and forth as they scurried to obey the commander.
Tara quickened her pace. Finn Dunne hurried behind her.
When she at last neared the little copse where she had left Richard, she ran the last few steps.
She raced by the last tree. From there she could see that men had pulled longboats up on the beach, and that they were being sent out to gather firewood.
There seemed to be a lot of them.
Tara slid down to her knees at Richard’s side. His eyes were still closed; he had barely moved. But a quick check assured her that he was still breathing. His pulse even ticked a little stronger than before.
Finn Dunne was down beside her. He could move with an astonishing ease, especially for a man so tall. She tried to ignore him, but could not.
“Richard Anderson,” he said.
“Yes, his name is Richard Anderson.”
“And your name is …?”
“Tara. Tara Fox.”
“What?” His tone was so sharp that it stunned her.
She
