Forever Safe (Beacons of Hope) (32 page)

“My horse is out front.” Arch was none too gentle in his sawing, and the rope bit into Tom’s flesh. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to be free as fast as possible. He knew Arch sensed it.

The rope fell away from Tom’s wrists, and he flexed his fingers as Arch moved to his left leg. “You go to the steamer. Tell Nathaniel everything and stop Theresa.”

“Theresa’s behind the attacks?”

“She wants Nathaniel for herself.”

Arch nodded. “Her father is brutal. Pompous. Conniving. I wouldn’t doubt he’s pushed her into going after Nathaniel.”

“She’s brutal too.”

With one leg loose and Arch working on the second, Tom heard footsteps on the stairway. He took the knife from Arch. “We have company.”

Arch straightened.

“Hide behind the door,” Tom whispered, cutting his leg loose and jumping to his feet. He fought back a wave of dizziness but positioned the knife behind his back. “I’ll lure him toward me. You attack from behind.”

The door swung wider. And Tom got his first look at Splash, a short man with bulky arms and bruised knuckles that told Tom he was a boxer. At the sight of Tom free of his bindings, Splash grinned, revealing several broken and missing teeth.

“I see you’ve been busy while I’ve been gone.” Splash unsheathed his knife and pointed it in Tom’s direction with a deftness that left Tom no doubt this man was good at what he was hired to do.

“Very busy.” Tom stepped toward the window. Then he swung Arch’s knife out front.

At the sight of the weapon, Splash’s eyes widened. He didn’t have time to react before Arch picked up the chair that Tom had abandoned. In one swift move, his friend smashed it against Splash’s head.

The man crumpled to the floor, and his knife skittered toward Tom.

Tom scooped it up and tucked it into the sheath where his own knife had been before Splash had disarmed him. Then he started toward the door. Without slowing his stride, he passed Arch’s knife back to him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Arch asked as he rolled Splash over and began to bind his hands. “Your head wound looks serious.”

“I’ll be fine,” he called over his shoulder.

“Spoken like a man in love,” Arch said, the hint of smile in his voice.

Tom didn’t reply. He sprinted down the hall, took the steps three at a time, and thundered across the lobby heedless of the stares he was drawing. Once outside, he found Arch’s horse loosely tethered to the hitching post.

It wasn’t until he was galloping at top speed out of Provincetown that Arch’s words began to bounce around his head.
A man in love
.

Tom hadn’t wanted to admit to himself the depth of his feelings for Victoria. He’d tried so hard to deny them. But the rampaging of his heartbeat and the throbbing of anxiety wouldn’t let him ignore how he felt any longer.

He loved her with all of his body, soul, and strength. He didn’t care that they were from different worlds. He didn’t care that theirs was a love that wasn’t meant to be. If he reached her in time, he wouldn’t waste another second in telling her the truth. He wanted to be with her. Forever.

*

Victoria awoke to the swaying of a boat, sunshine pouring over her and blinding her. For several long moments, her groggy mind refused to focus. The squawk of a seagull beckoned to her, but she relaxed to the gentle back and forth movement and the caress of the sea breeze on her face. She was tired and didn’t want to awaken.

For a second she almost allowed herself to escape into oblivion. But then the nightmare of all that had happened hit her like cold sea water, and her eyes flew open with a start. She found herself flat on her back staring into the cloudless blue sky. She pushed herself to her elbows but immediately fell back as blackness threatened to return her to unconsciousness.

Her backside was soaked through from the thin layer of bilge water that covered the bottom of the boat. Somehow she’d lost her bonnet, and she wore only one glove. From what she could tell, she was alone in the boat. But why? And where was the coachman who’d kidnapped and drugged her?

Cautiously, she lifted her head and attempted to peek over the edge of the boat. Thankfully, the boat was still tied to the dock, and she hadn’t been set adrift in the ocean.

At the squeal of a door opening in the nearby warehouse, Victoria flattened herself against the hull. Was her captor coming out? If so, what was he planning to do to her?

She closed her eyes and swallowed a scream.
God help me
.

“Be calm, Victoria,” she whispered. If she panicked, she wouldn’t be able to think clearly. And right now she needed every bit of clarity she could find.

At the slap of footsteps on the wooden dock, she glanced around the boat for anything that might be of help. Her options included a fishing net, tin bucket, or rusty hooks. If she could get a hold of the hooks, she might be able to wield them like weapons. Or even the net. She could throw it over the man and trap him.

But the footsteps sounded close, and she didn’t have enough time to reach those items. Instead, her fingers brushed the long handle of the oar lying by her side. She closed her eyes as the tall shadow of the coachman fell over the boat. He paused for a moment as though looking at her. Then the boat sank deeper into the water and wobbled as he climbed inside.

She tried to still the trembling in her limbs. She didn’t know what this man was planning to do to her or where he was taking her. But she couldn’t wait to find out. Especially because no one else knew where she was or what had become of her. Except, of course, Theresa.

Her friend’s betrayal stabbed her anew. How could Theresa have done this? They’d been best friends for as far back as Victoria could remember. She didn’t understand how a friend she’d trusted and loved could turn against her.

Did Theresa want to stop her wedding to Nathaniel? And why? Her friend had always seemed excited about it, had gone shopping with her for her trousseau, had helped her with so many of the plans. Why would Theresa do all those things if she didn’t want the wedding to take place?

Victoria cracked open an eye and discovered that the coachman had begun to untie the rope that held the boat to the dock. His back was turned to her. If she acted quickly enough, perhaps she could take him by surprise.

Her hand shook as she gripped the oar. She wasn’t a strong woman, and she didn’t know how she would possibly be able to attack him. But she had to at least try. Before she could change her mind, she pushed up as nimbly and quietly as possible. The sway of the boat masked most of her movement. When she was standing, she tried to catch her balance and at the same time lifted the oar.

As if sensing a change in her presence, her captor glanced over his shoulder. His eyes rounded, and he swiveled. Before he could react any further, she swung the paddle as hard as she could toward his head.

The board connected with his cheek and temple with a resounding thwack. The momentum of the hit forced him backward. He stumbled over the middle bench, tripped over a tin bucket, and was unable to catch himself. Amidst a slew of curses, he fell into the small wedge of the stern, his feet sticking straight up in the air and his backside lodged against the hull. He struggled to rise from the tight spot, but could hardly move.

Victoria threw her oar overboard and pitched the other one into the water as well. She scrambled out of the boat. Then she unwound the last bit of rope holding the vessel to the dock and shoved it toward the deeper water.

“You won’t be able to run from me. I’ll track you down!” yelled the coachman, squirming in the tight spot. Victoria knew it was only a matter of time before he freed himself. She just prayed by that point the boat would have been swept out to sea. And that she could find a safe place to hide.

Without waiting for him to fulfill his threat, she kicked off her high heel shoes and raced down the dock back onto solid ground as fast as her fashionable skirt would allow. Her captor’s vulgar calls trailed after her, making her run faster past the warehouse that reeked of fish. She dashed beyond the two weathered homes with their sagging front porches and broken windows.

They were clearly in disuse. Did she dare hide in one of them?

She circled around to the rear of one and tested the door. It was locked. She guessed the door on the other house was bolted too. With a growing sense of urgency, she eyed the road. If she ran, could she reach town before she was recaptured? She grabbed a fistful of her skirt into one hand and wished she could pull off the garment. As it was, she could hardly move in it. Fashion was apparently to be her undoing. If she escaped, never again would she place so much importance on keeping up appearances.

She examined the windows. Jagged glass remained in several frames and boards covered others. She couldn’t enter the house that way. “Think like Tom,” she told herself. “What would he do if he were here?”

Again, she studied the structure in front of her, trying to see it through Tom’s keen eyes. Her sights came to rest on two wooden slabs that had been nailed across a section of siding. Why would someone nail boards to the siding if not to patch a hole?

She crossed to the spot. One of the boards hung by a single nail. She shifted it enough to see that indeed a gap existed. It was outlined with numerous spider webs that were filled with brittle insects. She couldn’t see much of the interior of the house, except more dust and dirt.

She yanked at some of the rotten siding, and it fell away like crumbling toast. For a moment she worked on the hole, making it bigger, but then she realized she was leaving a trail of evidence on the ground. She scooped up the debris and tried not to think about the horrid things she might be touching. Instead, she peeled away the wood until finally she’d widened the gap enough so she could slip through.

The fit was tight, and halfway through she felt her skirt catch and heard a sharp rip. After sucking in her stomach and wiggling against the rot, she found herself face down on the floor of what appeared to be an old kitchen. Once she was fully through, she sat up and shuddered at her surroundings. In the dim light coming through cracks of the boarded windows, she could see that a portion of the ceiling had caved in and now lay in heaps among the remains of a table and two chairs. More cobwebs crowded each nook and corner, along with what appeared to be animal nests of some kind.

The stench of decay was overpowering, and the soft scamper of claws told her rats now made this place their home. She glanced with longing at the opening she’d made. She didn’t relish the idea of spending even a few minutes in the hovel. But she braced her shoulders and again admonished herself to be brave and strong like Tom.

Knowing he would cover his tracks, she returned to the opening and attempted to force the board back into place as best she could, praying that from the outside her captor wouldn’t notice the gap that she’d made bigger.

She tiptoed carefully through the wreckage, her silk stockings providing very little protection for her tender soles. As she moved out of the kitchen into a hallway, she knew if Tom were with her, he’d encourage her to find a good hiding place in case the coachman made it back to shore and decided to break into the house and look for her there.

The stairway was leaning dangerously to one side, and she decided not to attempt the second story. Instead, she peeked into the two remaining rooms—a front drawing room and a small bedroom near the kitchen. She didn’t see any place she might hide except under what was left of the bed. She studied the kitchen again with growing despair and then saw a half door she’d missed in her first inspection because a ripped fishing net was hanging over it. Gingerly pulling aside the net, she pried the door open to reveal a dark pantry just big enough for her to sit in.

Except for a few tin cans and a broken plate, the closet appeared empty and somewhat clean—if something coated in layers of dust and cobwebs could truly be considered clean. She climbed inside and attempted to make herself comfortable, which was nearly impossible in her constricting skirt. Then she closed the door and prayed the fishing net had fallen back over the opening to conceal it.