The sound he makes is soft, almost a sigh, as his knees buckle.
I stagger back, the knife slick in my hand, my heart hammering louder than a gun.
Kodiak is mine. And for him, I will damn myself.
Chapter 29
KODIAK
Alice crashes into the cabin, near falls against me. Her hands are slick with blood, chest heaving. The knife I gave her hits the floorboards with a clatter.
I catch her by the shoulders, hold her up, but my gut’s already turning.
“What happened? Who did this?”
Her lips shake. “I did.” The words spill out, small and broken. “I killed him.”
This ain’t her blood. For a heartbeat I just stare, waiting for her to say something else. Something that makes a lick of sense. But she don’t. Tears stream down her face, her whole body quaking like she might shatter in my hands.
“You killed the Pinkerton,” I murmur, more wonder than question.
She presses her face to my chest, sobbing. “I had to. He knew everything. Knew who I was. Who you are. He was going to tell the captain. He was going to take you.”
Her words tumble out in a flood. I wrap her tight, stroke her hair, my heart pounding like a war drum. She’s never hurta fly in her life, and now she’s cut down a man. For me. For us. There ain’t no greater proof of love than this, bloody and terrible though it is.
I kiss the crown of her head, breathing her in even through the copper stink clinging to her.
“Lamb, listen, you done what you had to.”
Her sobs ease just enough for her to lift her face. “He’s in the writing room. Slumped over. I just ran.”
“Then we ain’t got time to waste.” I cup her cheek, make her meet my eyes. “You’re mine, Alice, and I’ll see us both off this boat, no matter what it takes.”
I leave her in the cabin with orders to clean herself up proper, bolt the door and not open it for no one but me. The passage is quiet as I walk, ship groaning, daylight too bright, too exposed in the briny air. I push into the writing room and shut the door behind me.
The Pinkerton is slumped on the floor, head lolled to one side, waistcoat soaked black-red. His eyes stare glassy past me, like he still don’t believe what hit him. Hell, I can’t believe it either. I check his throat, though I already know. A shiver runs through me, not from death but from the thought of her putting that blade to him. She saved me.
But now I gotta save us.
Can’t exactly drag ’em out. Nothing like getting caught carrying a dead detective. They’ll hang me right off the side of the ship. Maybe…
What if I could hide him real good?
I grab him by the lapels, hauling him up, all dead weight. He slides, head knocking the desk with a crack that sounds like a gunshot, knocking over a jar of ink. It paints a black streak across his cheek and crashes to the floor. I freeze, breath caught.
Footsteps in the corridor. Slow. Stop right outside the door.
My heart hammers. I crouch low, keeping one hand clamped on his coat, other hand reaching for my revolver. A shadow cuts across the strip of light under the door.
A man’s voice, faint but clear: “You hear that?”
“What?” another man says.
“Door’s shut. Thought it stayed open during the day.”
A chuckle answers. “Maybe someone’s writing something private in there. Come on, leave it.”
“First-class folk just like to hear their own words scratching paper.”
