She swiveled to face Lieutenant Thompson, who still glared at her. His gaze slid down to her feet and back to her face. A prickle of unease swept through her. It was as if he could see right through her mask. She swallowed. Nonsense.
“Search his pockets.” Her voice cracked and she straightened her spine when his gaze sharpened.
When a key was produced, she arched a brow. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”
He growled his dissent in the back of his throat, but one of her men pressed a dagger between his shoulders and he lurched into motion. They descended the stairs to the main deck and came to a stop in front of an ornately carved door below the quarterdeck. She nodded to the sailor with the key. He slid it into the lock and the door swung open.
Samantha waved the lieutenant through. “After you.”
Her eyes roamed his quarters and she blinked. Not a single item out of place.
“Secure him to the chair.” She pointed toward his desk, immaculate and polished to a sheen, and her men dragged him over.
When he was bound, she strolled around the room. Her fingertips drifted across the spines of nautical books and charts housed in his bookshelf. Crisp sheets, folded in perfect creases, draped his bed. She opened his wardrobe and a row of neatly starched uniforms greetedher. Her hand lingered on a pair of soft white breeches and heat blossomed on her cheeks at the thought of how this very fabric would stretch tight over his muscles.
She yanked the hand back. “I must say, Lieutenant, I’m dismayed to find little of value here.”
He pressed his lips together and Samantha drifted to his desk. She slid a drawer open and riffled through a stack of parchment. A dagger with a ruby embedded in the hilt lay beneath the papers and she flipped it through her fingers.
“Is this where you slit my throat with my own blade?”
Her head fell back and she laughed, the sound echoing through the chamber. She pocketed the dagger and closed the space between them. “My dear lieutenant, what a vivid imagination you possess.”
Her hand lifted to his face and she stroked his jawline, rough stubble grazing her palm and sending a prickling heat up her arm. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we are much less barbaric than that.”
He jerked from her touch and she glanced down at the desk. A wrinkle marred the map laid out on it, prompting her to reach out and smooth it. When her fingers brushed the heft of a compass, his eyes darkened.
Something of value.
She lifted it and examined the tarnished brass with a frown. Quite plain for a commanding lieutenant. With a toss, it sailed into the air and the corded muscles in his forearms bunched. Definitely valuable to him, though.
A worn inscription scrawled across the back:
E.L. Thompson
1701
An antique.
“Leave it. It’s worthless to you.”
She clenched her fingers around it. “I rather like it.”
With a smug smile, she pivoted and walked away. The chair rattled as he fought his bonds.
“You’ll pay for this, wench.” Disgust dripped from his words.
Her teeth clenched at the insult, and she turned back to him. With a smirk, she waved the compass in front of her. “On the contrary. It looks like you’re the one who’s paid, Lieutenant.”
With a quick nod from her, the man closest to Lieutenant Thompson slammed the hilt of his sword against the Lieutenant’s temple. He slumped forward and she left the room.
Activity had ceased on the main deck and most of her men were back aboard theSiren, preparing her to sail. Griff had not returned and stood near the group of men tied up on theFalcon’sdeck. One man wore a nicer uniform than the rest. The first officer.
He was young, with dark sandy blonde hair tied in a messy queue. Not as tall, or muscular, as the lieutenant. Not that that mattered. She shook her head and approached him.
“Did you kill him?” He blurted the words out when she came to a stop in front of him. His blue eyes shone bright, and he shifted from foot to foot.
“Though he expected me to slit his throat, I’m sorry to have disappointed him.”
