alligators!”
Hadn’t he already heard that once tonight?
It was so different from the way his wife had felt about their private Eden.…
This girl wasn’t his wife. He didn’t even know what he was doing with her, only that she had intrigued him. She had set his blood afire.
But the lady was desperate.
“It’s my home,” he told her firmly.
“But—but … it is swamp and there
are
terrible problems with the Seminoles down there—”
“And the Mikasukis,” he said pleasantly. She was very pale. “There is one damned good thing about a swamp, though,” he told her. “It’s hard to look for someone in the middle of one. That’s why the Seminoles came south. They’re runaways. That’s what most folks say the name means.”
“What?” she murmured, confused.
“Seminole. Some say it means
runaway
. Kind of fitting, don’t you think?” he asked her pointedly. “And if not
runaway, renegade,
” he added.
He watched her jaw lock and her eyes flash with anger. Something hot streaked through him as he watched her. He felt alive, as he hadn’t now in ages. The longer he watched her, the more he wanted her. And the more he damned her. He wasn’t so certain that he wanted to feel this alive again.
“You can’t just—get me to a swamp and desert me!” she whispered.
“You’ve got somewhere else to go?”
“No, but—”
“Are you guilty of murder or a like crime?” he demanded.
“I told you—”
“You can’t talk to me—or won’t. But I’m not asking you what you were accused of doing. I’m asking what you were actually guilty of doing.”
“No, no, I’m not guilty of murder!” she cried. Her violet eyes were wild. “I swear it!”
“Then I’ll get you out of here. And I won’t desert you anywhere. How many of them are after you? Just the two?”
“What?”
“How many of them are there?”
She hesitated. “Just the two, I think.”
“Can they call out the local law-enforcement people to help them?”
She let her lashes fall. “I don’t know,” she murmured miserably.
“Well, you’re not giving me a hell of a lot to work with!” he muttered. “It’s damned certain that if they’re willing to pay enough, Eastwood will be willing to sell. All right. We buy a little time. Since you won’t help me.”
“I can’t—”
“All right! I’ll try not to ask any more questions. But from this moment on you’re going to have to trust me.”
She didn’t say anything. He looked out past the alley, studying the shadows with his obsidian stare. Then he took her hand and stepped from their shadowed haven within the alley. “We move, now!” he said, pulling her out, hurrying her along. “They’re past the docks for the moment,” he muttered.
She was breathless, trying to keep up with him as they walked the tawdry streets of dockside New Orleans. She was dying to ask him questions. At the moment she didn’t dare.
They passed the fish markets and vegetable stalls and veered just inland. From the seedier section of the city they moved into an area where the music of the taverns seemed to fade away, where the buildings wore fresh paint and carved shutters. They came into a block of elegant pastel-colored houses with beautiful wrought-iron gates and balconies. Here and there a trellis would crawl the wall, adding to the exotic beauty of the place.
She was staring at one of the homes when the first man accosted them. She hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard a sound. But the man at her side had.
He was attacked by a heavyset red-haired man brandishing a knife.
She’d never seen their attacker before in her life.
He started to swing his arm in an upward motion that would have slit McKenzie from his groin to his throat. But McKenzie had been ready before the redhead had begun, and he slammed the full force of his fist down on the man’s arm. Tara gasped as she heard bone crack. The knife clattered against a walk leading to an inn. The man swore, clutching his
Hadn’t he already heard that once tonight?
It was so different from the way his wife had felt about their private Eden.…
This girl wasn’t his wife. He didn’t even know what he was doing with her, only that she had intrigued him. She had set his blood afire.
But the lady was desperate.
“It’s my home,” he told her firmly.
“But—but … it is swamp and there
are
terrible problems with the Seminoles down there—”
“And the Mikasukis,” he said pleasantly. She was very pale. “There is one damned good thing about a swamp, though,” he told her. “It’s hard to look for someone in the middle of one. That’s why the Seminoles came south. They’re runaways. That’s what most folks say the name means.”
“What?” she murmured, confused.
“Seminole. Some say it means
runaway
. Kind of fitting, don’t you think?” he asked her pointedly. “And if not
runaway, renegade,
” he added.
He watched her jaw lock and her eyes flash with anger. Something hot streaked through him as he watched her. He felt alive, as he hadn’t now in ages. The longer he watched her, the more he wanted her. And the more he damned her. He wasn’t so certain that he wanted to feel this alive again.
“You can’t just—get me to a swamp and desert me!” she whispered.
“You’ve got somewhere else to go?”
“No, but—”
“Are you guilty of murder or a like crime?” he demanded.
“I told you—”
“You can’t talk to me—or won’t. But I’m not asking you what you were accused of doing. I’m asking what you were actually guilty of doing.”
“No, no, I’m not guilty of murder!” she cried. Her violet eyes were wild. “I swear it!”
“Then I’ll get you out of here. And I won’t desert you anywhere. How many of them are after you? Just the two?”
“What?”
“How many of them are there?”
She hesitated. “Just the two, I think.”
“Can they call out the local law-enforcement people to help them?”
She let her lashes fall. “I don’t know,” she murmured miserably.
“Well, you’re not giving me a hell of a lot to work with!” he muttered. “It’s damned certain that if they’re willing to pay enough, Eastwood will be willing to sell. All right. We buy a little time. Since you won’t help me.”
“I can’t—”
“All right! I’ll try not to ask any more questions. But from this moment on you’re going to have to trust me.”
She didn’t say anything. He looked out past the alley, studying the shadows with his obsidian stare. Then he took her hand and stepped from their shadowed haven within the alley. “We move, now!” he said, pulling her out, hurrying her along. “They’re past the docks for the moment,” he muttered.
She was breathless, trying to keep up with him as they walked the tawdry streets of dockside New Orleans. She was dying to ask him questions. At the moment she didn’t dare.
They passed the fish markets and vegetable stalls and veered just inland. From the seedier section of the city they moved into an area where the music of the taverns seemed to fade away, where the buildings wore fresh paint and carved shutters. They came into a block of elegant pastel-colored houses with beautiful wrought-iron gates and balconies. Here and there a trellis would crawl the wall, adding to the exotic beauty of the place.
She was staring at one of the homes when the first man accosted them. She hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard a sound. But the man at her side had.
He was attacked by a heavyset red-haired man brandishing a knife.
She’d never seen their attacker before in her life.
He started to swing his arm in an upward motion that would have slit McKenzie from his groin to his throat. But McKenzie had been ready before the redhead had begun, and he slammed the full force of his fist down on the man’s arm. Tara gasped as she heard bone crack. The knife clattered against a walk leading to an inn. The man swore, clutching his
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