“Mrs. Byron.”
His voice is low, only for me. Not polite now, not conversational. A summons.
I turn to find him standing a few paces off, badge glinting in the daylight.
“A word, if you please.”
A scream claws at my throat, but I choke it down. To run, to refuse, would damn me on the spot. Kodiak waits in our cabin—I ache to bolt to him—but instead I lower my head, my voice calm though my insides quake. “Of course.”
He leads me down the aft passage, his manner courtly, almost mocking. A narrow door opens into a writing room,empty and cool. When it shuts behind us, the hum of voices dies away. We are alone.
I turn to face him, pulse hammering. “What is it you want of me, Mr. Pennington?”
His gaze sharpens. “Truth, Mrs. Byron. Only truth.”
My fingers knot together, white at the knuckles. “And what truth is that?”
He studies me, head slightly tilted, as though measuring how quickly I’ll break. “That your husband is not the man you claim. That you are not the wife you pretend to be.”
The dam bursts. Tears spill hot down my cheeks, and I bury my face in my hands. “I-I was frightened,” I stammer, sobs breaking through. “Ashamed. I couldn’t cause a scene in front of the Tafts. They’re such kind people—Mrs. Taft especially—and I didn’t want her to see…”
His expression shifts, a shade of relief crossing it. “So. YouareAlice Sherman.”
I clutch the back of a chair. “How do you know? How can you possibly know who I am?”
His mouth hardens. “Your kidnapping has been shouted across every Pinkerton office between Cincinnati and New Orleans. The Shermans want you home.”
My stomach twists. To them I was nothing but a farmer’s daughter. Chattel. And now they cry for me only because it suits their honor.
Pennington presses on, relentless. “As for the man you call your husband—Archibald Randolph. Known as Kodiak. He is a thief, a murderer, a marauder of trains and homes alike. There are families who will never sleep sound again because of him. There is blood on his hands in three states. He will hang,” Pennington says flatly. “On that you may depend. And you, Mrs. Sherman, you will be returned to Ohio. Where your family waits for you.”
“Then…you mean to take him before we make land?”
“When the time is right,” he says evenly. “If he is cornered too soon, others may be harmed. I will go speak with the captain now. He’ll see to it no one leaves this ship until the outlaw is in custody. He will be brought ashore in irons.”
The words make my stomach lurch. Ashore. In irons. Galveston will not be freedom but a noose. I let my voice tremble, feeding his certainty that I am weak. “And what of me?”
“You need not fear,” Pennington replies, softer now, almost reassuring. “The moment you are free of him, your ordeal will be over. You will be restored to your people.”
Those are not my people. The Sherman’s were never my people. Not Joseph or any of his ilk. My own family sold me to save themselves, and for years I excused them. They were never my people either. Kodiak has shown me true love, and if Mr. Pennington leaves this room, Kodiak is as good as dead.
“Oh,” I say, feigning relief. “Thank you, Mr. Pennington. Thank you.”
He nods once, stiff and proud. “I will notify the captain now,” he says, turning away.
I cannot let him go. Not with that promise. Lord forgive me. My hand slides to my waist, prying under my blouse. Unsheathing it from its buckskin sleeve, the knife is cool in my palm. My hand shakes, but I step forward, blade hidden at my hip.
“Mr. Pennington.”
He pauses, then looks back. The polite mask remains, but curiosity and a sliver of caution sharpen his face. “Yes?”
For the barest instant, I see another path—confession, mercy, surrender. But it vanishes as quickly as it comes. If he leaves this room, Kodiak is finished. We are finished.
I raise the knife, hands trembling around the bone handle, and drive it hard into his heart.
His breath bursts out in a ragged gasp, eyes wide with shock. His hands clutch mine at the hilt, not pushing me away, not yet believing.
“Lord forgive me. I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears streaming. “So truly sorry. But I cannot let that happen.”
