I shake my head like I’ve missed the obvious. “Can’t say I recall the name. Perhaps I’ve been too long cooped up in our cabin.”
Mr. Taft roars, amused. “Well, you’ll make his acquaintance soon enough. He makes it his business to meet everyone.”
His cold, dead eyes laid on me just a few minutes ago. “I look forward to it.”
We stroll past children playing with hoops, women trailing parasols, uniformed crew walking with ordinary purpose. I keepmy shoulders square, my pace easy, though sweat prickles under my collar.
Mrs. Taft prattles on about Galveston—its promenades, its society, how much she wishes us to visit them in Sabine so she can introduce Alice at some garden party. “A woman with such poise must be the jewel of Ohio.”
“Ohio?” I ask. The word damn near stops me cold.
“Why yes. That is where you and Mrs. Byron are from, is it not?”
“Oh, yes. Of course.”
Why would Alice tell them we were from Ohio? Christ almighty. If they do a little digging won’t be hard to see that missing woman from Ohio looks an awful lot like Mrs. Byron. They’ll know we’re in Galveston.
It takes a special kind of screwing up to burn a new city before ever setting foot there.
I clear my throat. “I wonder if I’ve pushed myself too soon. You’ll forgive me; I think it’s best I continue to rest.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Taft says. “Please do rest, and send your dear wife our regards.”
As she rests her hand on my arm, I notice a bit of blood on her white glove.
Jesus H. Christ.
“Of course,” I say. I tip my hat, give them the smile they want, and step back from the rail. I move quick, sly, back into the flow of guests, but I’m taller than almost every son of a bitch out here. Picked the wrong occupation when I can’t help but stick out like a gopher from a damn hole.
Just make it back to Alice. Lock the door. Wait for land.
I round the corner of the deckhouse—and near freeze.
A man stands by the rail, bowler hat low, cigar smoldering between his teeth. Badge glinting faint at his vest. Goddamn Pinkerton.
His hand flicks open a silver watch. He checks the time, snaps it shut, scans the deck.
Waiting.
Waiting for Pennington, most like. I knew those bastards never travelled alone. How many of them are here? My gut knots. Lord above, we ain’t ever getting off this ship.
I duck my head, keep my stride steady, though every nerve screams to turn and bolt. Just a husband going back to his wife. Just another passenger.
But when I pass him, his eyes flick up, meet mine. Sharp. Measuring.
The weight of that stare clings to me long after I’ve walked on.
Chapter 30
Lord forgive me.
I scrub the blood out from under my fingernails, rinse it from the seams of my dress. Dear God, how could I have done this? Killed an innocent man who never raised a hand against me.
The room whirls. I move through it in a nervous haze, my heart hollowed out like a cored apple. What now? What will become of us?
I want life to be simple again. Even when the waters were cruel, I knew how to keep my head above them. Now I am drowning in Kodiak’s world, the sting of salt and sea in my lungs, and I cannot tell if I am fighting the current or letting it pull me down.
What is the lesson, Lord? Why was he placed in my path?
