“First thing—we find out if he’s alone. Pinkertons travel in pairs more often than not. You’ll know ’em dressed fancy, flash of a tin badge on a coat. But more than anything, they’re always watchin’. If one goes missin’ while another’s aboard, best believe no soul leaves this boat till they got answers.”
I nod, dread coiling in my chest. Oh God. How many dead men will we leave in our wake?
“Problem is,” he says, jaw tight, “I don’t want to give him a chance to spot me again and confirm his suspicions. I can’t leave this room till we got a plan firmed up.”
Just like that, the reality clicks into place.
“So I’ll need to investigate on my own?”
“Afraid so, sugarplum.”
I press my lips together, trying to contain the shake in my chest. They could take him from me—drag him in chains, hang him for everything he’s done. I’d never again feel the warmth of his touch, the shelter of his arms. If stepping into danger is the price to keep him free, then I will pay it. Without hesitation.
In the morning, I dress for breakfast while Kodiak stays behind, laid out in our bunk, watching me. We’re set to reach land today—God willing. My job is simple: make sure we get off this ship together. And free.
I’m nearly at the door when he stops me, pulling me back, his hands resting at my waist.
“Whatever happens,” he murmurs, “you’re my greatest adventure of all.”
It stabs me right in the heart and twists. I can’t breathe.
“Why would you say such a thing?” I whisper, shoving him gently, a sting rising.
“Because I still can.”
I draw in a breath and hold it, then let it out slow.
“It’s goin’ to be all right, lamb,” he says, his hands gliding down my arms. He leans in, presses his mouth to mine, and I savor his taste.
Lord above, help me—I’ve lost all sense of up and down, right and wrong, for loving this man. But no one, not in all my life, has ever looked after me the way he does. No one has ever fought to keep me safe, no matter the cost. Though he is brutish and brash, he is mine—and I am his.
If we’re truly bound by divine design, then surely all will be well.
I step back and smooth my skirts. It is simply breakfast. Perhaps this Pinkerton never noticed Kodiak after all. Perhaps it was only paranoia.
“Wait,” he says. He crouches beside the bag, rifles through it, and rises with the hunting knife in hand. “Take this.”
The knife. The one he used to kill the hotel clerk, but now in a leather sheath.
“Why are you giving me this?”
“In case you need it. I pray you don’t.”
“You pray?”
“For you, yes, I do.”
I stare at it—dark-bladed, bone-handled, pregnant with the memory of the man he killed with it. It’s too big for a pocket, too brutal for subtlety.
I lift my blouse and reach for a stocking from the trunk. He doesn’t look away, and I don’t ask him to.
“Tie it tight,” he says.
I loop the fabric around my ribs and knot it twice, anchoring the knife so it rests along my side. When I lower my blouse, I feel it there with every breath. It presses cold against my skin, an unforgiving weight. A reminder.
Kodiak reaches for me one last time, his fingertips brushing my wrist like he’s memorizing the shape of me. There’s no jest in him now, no shield of bravado.
“Whatever happens out there,” he says, “you come back. That’s the only thing I care about. You hear me?”
