punish Margaret for her sister’s disobedience?
Emma straightened, her gaze fixed on the moonlit shoreline ahead. In her effort to save Margaret, had she, in fact, signed her twin’s death warrant?
Should she go back?
The rowboat had lost its forward momentum and was drifting with the current. She let it drift, while she sat caught in a storm of emotions more intense and painful than anything she’d experienced in a very long time.
She might have gone on sitting there, trapped by indecision, if a single thought hadn’t finally bubbled to the surface of the turmoil inside her head: Nicholas Vickers.
He would know what to do. He could help her save Margaret. She just had to find him and…and what? Tell him to don his armor, saddle his white charger and come to her rescue?
Emma snorted in self-disgust. How stupid could she be, pinning all her hopes on a stranger? She had no control over her subconscious, the irrational part of her that had turned Vickers into her ideal man—Sir Galahad and the perfect lover rolled into one. But common sense and experience told her that he would turn out to be just a regular, ordinary guy, nothing special. If she was lucky—and it was a big “if”—he wouldn’t be a complete jerk. And he would help her.
She needed help. That much was crystal clear. Desire and determination weren’t enough. She lacked the skills and training necessary to free Margaret, willing or not, from Caldwell and his guards. If Nicholas Vickers wouldn’t lend his expertise to her cause, she’d have to find someone else who would.
Meanwhile, she could only pray that Margaret had bought herself some favorable treatment by trying to abort her sister’s escape attempt and by refusing to go with her.
Feeling marginally better for having come to a decision, Emma took note of the rowboat’s position. The shore was only a couple of hundred yards away—a good thing, since her arms and shoulders felt like rubber. It occurred to her, though, that enough time had passed that Caldwell’s goons could well be waiting to pick her up when she landed.
She allowed the boat to drift past several docks belonging to large estates. Finally, when she thought she’d gone far enough downstream, she gathered what was left of her strength, rowed the rest of the way to shore and climbed out.
She started to pull the boat onto the beach, then hesitated, realizing she might as well post a sign that read This is Where Emma Birmingham Landed. She should probably sink the boat. Or she could use it as a decoy.
Giving the boat a shove, she pushed it into the water again, wading in to give it another good shove, then watching as the current grabbed it and took it away. With a little luck, it would serve to throw the Refuge guards off her trail. They might even think she’d drowned.
Exhausted and bedraggled, she looked around to get her bearings.
In front of her was a scraggly wood, full of underbrush, but a little way to the right lay a wide expanse of well-tended lawn. And on that lawn, set well back from the river, was a very large house with lights showing in many of its windows. Maybe the people inside would help her.
Or shoot her as an intruder. Or set the family Rottweilers on her. That, she thought, would really be the final straw.
Yet if she walked to the road, Caldwell’s men could be waiting to scoop her up.
She swiped a hand through her hair and sighed. Given the choices, she decided, the house was the lesser of the evils. She started toward it, but she hadn’t trudged more than twenty feet when a large, masculine hand clamped down on her shoulder.
She opened her mouth to scream—but she didn’t have the chance. The man’s other hand clamped itself firmly over her mouth.
Chapter Three
Emma twisted in her captor’s arms. Shooting out a foot, she caught him in the shin and was gratified to hear him grunt. But he didn’t let her go. She managed another kick, and he muttered a curse.
“Take it easy,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Like hell. She kept struggling and pounding him with all her strength, determined to go down fighting.
“If you’ve escaped from Caldwell’s estate, I’m on your side,” he puffed. “So stop trying to do me bodily harm.”
When she kept fighting, his voice took on an urgent note. “I’ll trust you, if you trust me. I’ll take my hand off your mouth if you promise not to scream. Nod if you agree.”
She could always change her mind later.
She nodded, and when he took his hand away, she spun around to face him. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Alex Shane. With the Light Street Detective Agency. I was hired to investigate the disappearance of a woman named Anabel Lewis. I have reason to think she’s at the Refuge. Do you know her?”
Feeling light-headed, as if she might actually faint, Emma tried to gather her wits. “Anabel. Yes. I do know her. She sleeps in the room next to mine.”
“So she’s okay?”
“As okay as you can be at the Refuge.”
“Tell me about it.” He looked around. “Let’s get out of here.”
“How did you find me?”
“I was doing some surveillance, and I saw you on Caldwell’s dock—fighting with some woman. Then I heard shouting, and I saw you take off in the rowboat.”
Emma sighed. “The woman is my sister. She ratted me out to Caldwell’s guards. She’s… This isn’t going to make any sense to you, I know, but she’s under some kind of mind control—brainwashed, or something. That’s what Caldwell does to people. Your Anabel Lewis is in the same shape.”
“It does make sense. But come on, we’d better get out of here.” As he spoke, he ushered her along the shore.
Suddenly, from the darkness of the woods, she heard the crackle and tromping of feet running through the underbrush. Then came men’s voices, low and urgent.
“This way. I saw her land a few minutes ago.”
“But the boat’s—”
“I don’t give a damn about the boat. I tell you, I saw her land. She’s got to be around here somewhere.”
Swift as a hawk in the night, Alex Shane grabbed Emma and pulled her into the woods, behind a clump of tall, straight pine trees. A few seconds later, two men rushed past.
She heard the rustle of fabric. Then moonlight glinted off a gun in Shane’s hand. Neither one of them spoke as more men moved toward them, their voices lower now.
She felt Shane tense. Lord, would he really shoot these guys? Her knees weakened as the men moved past them.
Shane waited to make sure nobody else was coming, then he took her hand, whispering, “Come on.”
Without any urging, she followed as he led her through the woods to the lawn surrounding
