Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel)

chapter 28




Sam felt cold terror pour through her. “Foster!”

He smiled. “I was waiting for Brogan to come below—but this is much better. You’ll make an excellent shield.”

Her eyes on the gun in his hand, Sam backed away, toward the porthole. If she could just call for help...

“Please stop right there, Miss Delafield. And don’t scream. Even if you’re bleeding from a bullet wound, you’ll still be useful to me.” He motioned her toward the door. “After you.”

She froze. “How did you—”

“I told you once before, I know a great deal about Brogan. Including who some of his old friends are. It wasn’t difficult to locate that doxy’s house.”

“Clarice,” Sam gasped.

“Have no fear, Miss Delafield. She’s alive and well and she’ll stay that way. Though she should choose her friends more carefully. I’ve been watching the house for several days. I followed the African when he went to the docks one morning, thinking he might lead me to Brogan. Instead he was checking on this ship. Apparently it was in need of repair, which proved fortunate for me. It was fairly easy to sneak aboard with one of the repair crews and stow away. I knew Brogan would show up eventually.”

“I thought it was money you wanted. Not murder.” Moving only her eyes, Sam glanced around quickly, desperately looking for some weapon she might use.

“The bounty is good for Captain Nicholas Brogan dead or alive—and after all he’s put me through, I’ve decided that dead will be safer. I’m going to do what I should have done in the first place.” He smiled. “Rather appropriate, isn’t it? A nice funeral at sea for England’s most infamous pirate. I think I’ll let the African live, so he can testify as to his captain’s identity.”

“You told me once that you don’t kill without reason!”

“I’ve got ample reason,” he snarled. “And you’ve got your own life to worry about, Miss Delafield. Cooperate with me or you might not live long enough to be thrown in gaol.”

“You can’t kill us. You’ll never make it back to port.”

“Don’t judge me by appearances.” He nodded toward his empty right sleeve. “I spent half my life at sea. I’ve enough experience to manage a ship this size quite well.” He motioned her toward the door with a flick of the gun. “Now move.”

“You can’t do this,” she pleaded. “Nicholas isn’t what you think. He never was. You don’t know—”

“I know all I need to know.”

“But he’s no threat to you. He’s leaving England because he was willing to spare your life! And the reason he didn’t pay your blackmail demand is because he doesn’t have any money to pay you. He’s not rich. He has nothing. Nothing but this ship and... and me.”

“How sweet. And how creative. Save your lies—”

“But he’s not a ruthless killer! He was only a boy—”

He cut her off with a vicious curse. “Shut up.” He pushed her toward the door. “Let’s go above and find him. And keep your hands where I can see them.”

~ ~ ~

“Samantha?” Nicholas called curiously, glancing up from his work as a familiar blonde head appeared in the companionway that led up from below. He smiled. “What are you doing? Have you come back to—”

“Nicholas, it’s a trap!” she cried, scrambling up the last two steps in a rush.

Someone caught her from behind and shoved her aside with a violent push. She struck her head against a boom and crumpled to the deck.

Nicholas lunged toward her.

And froze when he saw the gun pointed at him.

“Hold it right there, Captain.” The intruder swung the pistol to encompass Masud. “And you, as well. Nobody move.”

“Who the hell are you?” Nicholas snarled, his eyes still on Samantha. She moaned and sat up, apparently unhurt. Thank God.

“I’m wounded that you don’t remember me. I certainly know you. I’ve been hunting you down for years. Step by step. Piecing your life together.”

Nicholas finally turned his full attention on the intruder—a slender young man with dark hair.

And only one arm.

“Foster,” he spat.

“Indeed. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Again.”

Seething with rage, Nicholas grabbed the first weapon at hand—a knife he used for cutting rope.

“Stay where you are,” Foster warned. “I’ve got enough bullets for you and your first mate and your little blonde mistress here.” He pointed the pistol at Samantha, who sat very still. “You’re not going to leave this ship alive, Brogan... but I could let them live. I haven’t decided yet.”

Nicholas leashed his anger. He slid a glance at Masud. Together, they could take him, but neither of them would risk Samantha’s life.

He returned his gaze to Foster. The gunman facing him was barely more than a lad. He could hardly believe that the blackmailer who had made his life a living hell was no more than eighteen or twenty. “If it’s money you want—”

“Oh, I’ll get money and plenty of it. Ten thousand pounds. And probably a commendation from the admiralty for bringing you in.”

“How did you find out I was still alive?”

“I didn’t have to find out,” Foster retorted hotly. “I was there! I was on the ship that went down. I saw you escape, saw your African friend here helping you to safety. And I swore right then that if I survived, I would devote the rest of my life to bringing you to justice. I vowed I would make you pay if it was the last thing I did.”

Nicholas frantically searched his memories of that night. “I don’t know you.”

“Of course not. Why should you? I was only twelve. I was a cabin boy on the navy ship you attacked that night. I worked for Captain Eldridge.”

Nicholas stared at him in stunned silence. The deck suddenly seemed to shift beneath his feet. The horizon tilted dizzily. The wind felt unnaturally cold against his face.

Sweet Jesus, it all made horrible sense. That was why it had taken six years for the blackmailer to make his demands...

He had been growing up.

But even in shock, Nicholas felt another, unexpected emotion: relief. The innocent life he thought he had taken had in truth been spared.

But the final irony was that in order to save himself, he had to kill Foster now.

And he wouldn’t do it.

He threw his knife aside. “Go ahead and shoot.”

“No!” Samantha cried, scrambling to her feet.

“Stay back,” Nicholas ordered her.

Foster looked from one of them to the other, his gun swiveling left and right, his expression confused.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Nicholas said forcefully. “I won’t do it.”

“How noble.” Foster raised his gun, aiming right between Nicholas’s eyes.

“No, please!” Samantha threw herself between them, sobbing. “Don’t do this. Don’t you see? You’re him twenty years ago.”

“Samantha—”

“Get out of the way, Miss Delafield.”

“No. You can’t do this! He was just a cabin boy, too. He was as innocent as you were. He spent years seeking vengeance, just like you. You’re the same!”

The lad’s eyes burned. His jaw clenched.

“When does it stop?” Samantha’s voice softened to a whisper. “When does all the killing stop?”

A second passed. Another.

“Foster, I’m sorry,” Nicholas said with genuine feeling. “I can’t make you believe that, but it’s the truth. I can’t make up for all the losses and pain I caused, but I can give you what you want—”

“Nicholas, no!”

“You can go ahead and kill me.” He raised his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. “Get your ten thousand pounds. It won’t bring you peace, and it sure as hell won’t bring you happiness. You’ll find that vengeance solves nothing.”

Foster cocked the gun. “But it will bring me satisfaction.”

“Then go ahead,” Nicholas said, his voice steely. “Destroy your life the way I destroyed mine. I took the vengeance I wanted and it brought me nothing but years of misery and anguish.” He lowered his voice to a soft accusation. “Fire that gun and you’ll become what I was. You’ll be me.”

The young man swallowed hard. The gun in his hand wavered, unsteady.

“Joseph,” Samantha pleaded, her voice desperate, “you asked me not to judge you by appearances. Don’t judge Nicholas. It’s a mistake to judge any man by appearances or by his reputation. You can never know what’s in his mind.” Her gaze shifted to Nicholas. “Or in his heart.”

Foster’s hand was trembling.

“You can either shoot me,” Nicholas said slowly, cautiously, “or you can choose a different way. Let me give you what I didn’t have at your age.” His voice turned rough with emotion. “A second chance.”

“It’s too late for that,” Foster replied. “I’ve come too far to change now. It’s too late.”

“Too late?” Nicholas asked ruefully, hearing the two words that had haunted him for years. “No, Foster, you’re wrong. If there’s one thing I’ve learned”—he glanced at Samantha—“it’s that it’s never too late to become the man you were meant to be.”

Masud cleared his throat. “No matter how far you’ve gone down the wrong road, turn back,” he said quietly. “Old Turkish saying.”

Foster’s eyes burned into Nicholas’s, just as they had in the middle of a blazing deck six years ago.

Then, slowly, his hand shaking, the young man lowered the gun.

Nicholas watched it happen, almost blinded by the light of the sun rising over the waves. He felt a warmth that flowed not only through his body, but through his soul—a sense of forgiveness and renewal, as if he himself were getting a second chance. A chance to regain the years he had lost to violence and vengeance.

“So what the hell am I supposed to do now?” Foster asked uneasily.

“I have an idea,” Nicholas said, even as the thought occurred to him. “I have nothing to offer you—nothing that can make up for what I did to you. I can’t give you money, and I can’t give you back your arm or your lost career. But perhaps I can offer you a better life than the one I’ve had.”

“Meaning what?” Foster asked, eyes full of suspicion.

“Meaning...” Nicholas glanced at Samantha and then at Masud for approval. “How do you feel about Italy?”