In Deep (23 page)

There was a dull thumping noise. As if someone had hit the wood with a fist. Then Jaidyn thought she’d heard again that sound. It was closer now and resembled … a snivel?

Convinced that something–or rather
someone
was where she was headed, her cautious steps became firmer.

Her fingers brushed the wood that separated the storage room from the rest of the ship. Blindly, she searched for the handle. When she found it, she opened the door and stepped inside.

She almost gasped at the blinding flicker of a lantern, but once her eyes adjusted, she realized Mr. Parrish squatted far back in the corner, his arms wrapped around his body. He was rocking back and forth, biting his lower lip as he tried to swallow another sob. His cheeks glistened with tears; his eyes, red-rimmed and restless, darted around as if he expected a sea monster to charge from the shadows around him.

“Mr. Parrish,” Jaidyn took two quick strides. On her knees, she grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “What in God’s name is wrong?”

He mewled and, closing his eyes, shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, repeating, “I’m so sorry,” over and over again.

“What are you sorry for?” Jaidyn furrowed her brows.

His haunted expression turned on her. “They know.”

“Who knows?”

“By now they’ll have caught him. Stealthy as he may be, but he’s still outnumbered a hundred to one.”

Her heart was suddenly beating so hard, Jaidyn thought it might jump out of her chest. She didn’t want to comprehend, but she couldn’t fight the feeling of impending doom. Briefly closing her eyes, Jaidyn sent a silent prayer skyward, but the bitter lump in her throat remained.

“Mr. Parrish. Pull yourself together. And stop speaking in riddles.”

“Oh,” he wailed, a despicable sound coming from him. “The shame!”

Jaidyn was tempted to slap the man. Repeatedly. “Mr. Parrish, be more specific.”

“I didn’t think. I just ran and told the authorities he’s here.”

Jaidyn forgot to breathe. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “What?”

“I-I … oh God, I betrayed him.”

Hate zinged up her spine, blurring her vision. “Stop whining now, you filthy little worm.”

“I can’t! I can’t … He’ll never forgive me.”

Jaidyn stood, looking down her nose at him. “Connor is a good man. Chances are he will. But you’re right. What you did is inexcusable.
I
will never forgive you.”

Balled into a bundle of misery, the lout looked up at her, blinking slowly.

“Let me tell you, Mr. Parrish: if they find Connor and hang him, I will personally raise hell to see your head on a pike.” With that, Jaidyn turned as regally as she’d been taught.

As soon as she was out the room, however, she clutched her neck as if it would help her breathe. She felt queasy, like a flock of bats were caged in her stomach. Jaidyn was unable to move. Her heart beat a frantic drumming in her ears. Her legs had turned to stone, weighing her down. Icy coldness threatened to immobilize her.

May Hem whickered and stared in her direction. The way back to her blurred and narrowed, but Jaidyn battled against the rising nausea that felt like spiders were crawling up her gullet. She fought against the anxiety that had paralyzed her. After a few steps, moving became easier and Jaidyn began to hastily run toward May Hem. She stumbled, got back up, tottered like a drunk, but forced her way back to the light that shone close to May Hem.

“Georgie,” she hissed as soon as she was close enough. “Georgie! Help me get May Hem ready.”

Rubbing the grit out of his eyes, he sleepily looked up at her. “But … Miss Donnelly–”

“No time for explanations. Hurry!”

“Aye, ma’am.”

As soon as May Hem was off the ship and on the dock, Jaidyn mounted her and dashed off. There was only one man she could think of who could help her now. Neil Flaherty knew this town. And she’d learned by heart the directions to his home he’d given in his last letter.

_____________________________

C
onnor hugged the shadows as he walked down King Street back toward Front Street. So much had changed since he’d left. He barely recognized Georgetown anymore. Prosperity was rampant. No doubt Kieran was making sure they profited well from all the indigo and other naval stores going through the warehouses they owned.

Connor knew he was taking a chance heading back to the Sampit River harbor, but all the pubs were off Front Street and he needed to get drunk. The small glass of brandy he’d shared with his brother wasn’t nearly enough to dull all the multitude of aches. Right now he wasn’t sure Reinier’s wife’s whole rum distillery would have been enough.

Shite
. That summed up his mood.
Shite
.

It really was too bad that after all this time, things were still so tense between him and Keir. It would have been nice to have a brother he could count on right about now.

But at least Connor understood how Kier could have turned so bitter after all that happened with that bitch Gabby. It was so easy for him to see now.

Connor entered the Duck and Dove just off Front Street on Screven and walked directly to the bar. He motioned to the barkeep for a pint of ale and quickly took it with him to a seat at a small table in the farthest corner. He slumped in his chair, hoping the shadowy corner would keep him hidden. Just in case, he pulled his hair out of its binding and let it fall all around his face with his tricorn hat pulled low so his eyes couldn’t be seen. The collar of his jacket was pulled up to further shield his face.

It also helped that even at this late hour, the place was crowded almost to bursting. The room had been packed with as many tables as would fit, and they were all filled with reveling patrons drowning out the lone fiddle player. Connor faded well into the background amidst all the drinking men, whoring women, and even a pair of mangy dogs.

He was compounding the risk of being in town by being in public, but he’d run out of options about where to go. Connor wasn’t going back home; he wasn’t ready to hide out like a hunted rabbit. It hadn’t come to that yet.

And he damned well wasn’t going back to the ship and have to deal with either Jaidyn or Maxfield.

Poor Maxfield. He should have cut the boy loose a while ago. It was high time he pushed him out of the first mate’s nest and let him go find his own way. Maxfield was a fine seaman and more than ready to handle his own small ship. Last time they’d been up farther north he should have made him go home and settle things with Drusilla. It was past time for him to face the music and either break his fiancée’s heart or vice versa and get on with his promising career at sea.

For himself, Connor was done with women. Well, no. Not women. He was done with having any emotions for them. He’d been doing just fine before he’d met that wicked red-haired siren.

Finishing off his first pint with a flourish, he slammed it on the table and motioned to the blond-haired buxom serving girl nearby for another.

Connor vowed he’d just go right back to the games he’d played before. Even though he’d be playing those games alone for a time. Reinier was happy with his wife, most likely for quite a while if not from now on.

Why could Reiner find love and not him?

Technically, Connor had found it. He just couldn’t have it, and that was so much worse, in his not-so-humble opinion.

He’d said some horrible things to Jaidyn. Maybe he shouldn’t leave it like that.

No. Connor shook the asinine thought from his head. Maybe he should. Maybe it would haunt her like everything about her haunted him. Maybe she would remember his words every time she was with her husband, let her feel as horrible as he did.

Where the hell was that wench with his next pint? It was taking way too much time to get very, very drunk.

Finally she was coming his way. “Here you are, sir. I’m Becky, by the way.” Connor watched as she took in the high quality of his clothing. “I can get you anything else you be needin’.” She sat down the mug and practically dipped her ridiculously ample bosom into it. “Just ask for it.”

Damn. Connor should have borrowed something to wear from Stiles so he would look like he couldn’t so easily afford what was sadly the best the tavern had to offer.

As much as he’d just expounded on the joys of whoring, he was in too foul a mood and wanted to be left alone. “You can try not to be so slow next time my cup is empty. And do try to keep yourself in your blouse and out of my drink.”

“Well, I never!” Becky stuck her hands on her wide hips and stared him down.

“Oh, I am quite sure you have. Many, many times.” Connor picked up his mug and drank it half down as she stomped off.

The next pint was served by a skinny woman with black hair. Connor supposed the tavern keeper was hoping it was just personal taste that drove him to say no to Becky and that he could still make a nice profit off Connor with this one. In fact, Connor was sure of it when, as she sat the mug down with one hand, the other tried to snake up his leg.

He quickly caught her thin wrist tightly in his grip.

“Owww, sir. That hurts!”

Ahh
. He did like the sound of that, having heard it often through the years.

Unfortunately, Connor didn’t think he’d have been interested in her even if he’d been alone on an island for half a year. With a scowl, he let her go. “Then don’t go putting your hands where they shouldn’t be.”

She threw her slightly hookish nose in the air and walked away as regally as possible while rubbing her sore wrist.

Soon Connor saw who he assumed to be the tavern keeper himself coming toward him with yet another pint.

Hell’s bells, he just wanted to be left alone! The last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of every whore in the place and the owner, but apparently that’s just want he’d done.

“I’d ask you to be more courteous to me staff, sir.”

The man was tall and oxlike with brown hair and small eyes. Connor thought he might even be able to give the stalwart Mr. Matthews a run for his money in a fair fight.

“And who might you be?”

“I’m Mr. Kennard, the owner.” He sat the mug down hard, spilling a good third of it on the table. Pity.

“Well then, Mr. Kennard. I’d ask your whores … err …
staff
to be more respectful to me and leave me be.” Connor spoke low, with as much steel in his voice as he could manage.

Both of the tavern keeper’s meaty fists came down onto the table. “You’ll be wantin’ trouble, then, will you?”

Connor sighed with resigned exasperation. For an Irishman he really had no luck whatsoever.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Connor pulled out enough coin to flood the whole damned place in beer if he’d wanted to. “Not at all, sir. I only wish to drink my ale in peace … alone.” He stacked the money on the table.

The owner hesitated only long enough to try to make Connor think there was an actual decision to be made. Grabbing the coins, he gave Connor one last warning glace all the same. “See that you keep to yourself, then.”

“Gladly.” Connor tipped his mug to the man and drained it.

After two more pints, Connor was finally feeling a bit of numbness set in. When the fiddle player stopped in midsong and the whole place went silent, he looked up to see four Colonial soldiers enter. Connor swore under his breath.

Instantly, all his senses went on the alert. Christ, he should have been more prepared! Yes, he was armed for a small insurrection, but by taking a table against the wall opposite the front door, he’d essentially cornered himself.

Hellfire and fuck
. Connor wasn’t familiar with the place enough to know where the kitchen door led or who would be back there to stop him, so his only way out was the front door diagonally across the main room from him, just down from the bar where the soldiers stood.

They approached the tavern keeper behind the bar. One thing that might be in his favor, Connor noticed, was that the soldiers’ uniforms looked the worse for wear. Maybe they were as untrained as they were unkempt. Maybe they hadn’t been paid in a little while and wouldn’t be as enthusiastic or as vigilant in their jobs as they should be. Plus the idiots only had muskets with bayonets. The long guns were going to be hard to draw in such a crowded place, especially without someone innocent getting in the way.

Just as Connor expected, after a few moments of conversation, Mr. Kennard pointed his way, showing him to the guards.

It was now or never. Connor was going make sure right now that they never caught him. His pulse was racing with excitement as he pulled the pistol in front and aimed above their heads. The iron chandelier crashed onto the bar and onto one of the troops. One was effectively incapacitated, but the other three only came toward him faster.

Connor had one more shot without reloading either gun. He needed anything he could do to slow them down without firing before he could make it to the door. Throwing the one gun down, he reached for the legs of the table. Squatting for as much leverage as he could get, he tossed the table at them with a roar, using it like a giant shield.

The poor soldier closest to it slipped on the spilled ale, slid underneath with arms flailing, and was pinned underneath. Connor darted to the right and toward the door.

Two down; he liked his odds now much better.

That was until he noticed buxom Becky blocking his path to freedom with a triumphant smile.

Thinking on his feet with lightning speed, Connor smiled right back. Turning fast, he sidestepped the officer directly behind him. Connor grabbed him by his neck and shoved his surprised face right into Becky’s ample bosom. There was no way the man could breathe as they both fell to the floor with his face buried in her chest.

Connor barely heard the whole tavern erupt in a roar of laughter as he sprinted for the front door.

But he’d failed to notice that the last guard had skirted the commotion and was waiting for him at the entrance.

Reaching for the pistol at his back, Connor rushed headlong into the last soldier. Pressed against each other, they were too close for the guard’s musket to be of any use to him.