“What do you want?” She glared at him in such a way that he could almost feel her fear. It didn’t dissuade him in the least; rather, it excited him. He loved having power over people.
“I want you to keep your mouth shut about my bloodied shirt. I don’t need to be accused of murdering that man in Duluth.”
“Did you?”
He chuckled, keeping his laugh low, lest someone overhear. “Does it matter? You’ve already decided I’m guilty.”
“Well, you’re too late. I’ve already mentioned it to my father and Nick. They’re going to check it out.”
He squeezed her arm. “Then you’d best talk to them again and tell them you were wrong. Tell them you thought it through and realized your timing was off.”
“Even if I did, don’t you think they’re smart enough to still check into the matter? If you aren’t guilty, you’ll have nothing to hide.”
“I won’t have anything to hide because you’ll tell everyone we were together that night.” The thought came to him so quickly as a solution that he accidentally raised his voice. He stopped the second he realized it and glanced around to see if anyone had overheard him. Thankfully, most everyone was still in town, leaving him to the evening watch.
“You’re hurting me,” Elise said, trying to twist away. “Let go of me, or I’ll scream.”
“You do, and I’ll throw you overboard.”
She settled immediately.
He loosened his hold slightly. “I can be easy to get along with so long as you do what I say.”
She said nothing. Booker couldn’t help himself. He reached up to touch her face. He’d wanted to do that for a long time. “You and me are going to get to know each other a whole lot better.”
“I won’t do anything with you.”
“You will, or that sweet little sister of yours is going to pay the price. I know where her husband is and that he’d pay good money to get her back. You’ll cooperate ... or I’ll telegraph him and let him know where to find his wife.” He grinned and let her go. “Or maybe I should just go find him now.”
“If you overheard everything, then you know how difficult this has been on her. Have you no consideration for anyone but yourself?”
“Not the least bit. I’m the only one looking out for me, so that pretty much takes up my time.”
“My father was foolish to think he could help you.”
Booker grinned. “Aye, he was. I don’t need help.”
“You need it to get out of being accused of murder,” Elise replied, crossing her arms against her chest. “Which I’m beginning to think you must have done, or you wouldn’t be so worried about having an alibi.”
Her reasoning irritated him, and he leaned in closer. “The matter is settled. You’ll do things my way or you’ll regret it ... along with your little sister. Think it over.”
He could see the growing fear in her eyes, and it thrilled him. He wanted nothing more than to force a kiss upon those trembling lips, but he held back. Give her time to think, and she’d come willingly enough. He was certain of that. Certain enough that he’d stake his life on it.
Elise couldn’t stop shaking. She knew if she moved, her knees would buckle. Why had she been so foolish as to leave that window open? It had been stuffy, and she’d opened the window to air out the room.
She gripped the rail, and tears began to fall. She’d ruined everything for her sister. All she had wanted to do was help her. She’d had no way of knowing Caroline was with child. She’d had no way of knowing Booker Duran was listening. Now she found herself in an impossible situation.
Oh, Father in heaven, what am I todo?
Chapter 18
Nick reread the letter from Mrs. Schmitt, torn as to what he should do. His father was quite ill. Mrs. Schmitt felt certain he was dying. A part of Nick wanted to race to Boston to see him one last time. But he wasn’t sure he’d even be admitted to the house. His father had made it clear that he would never be welcomed back, but Mrs. Schmitt felt otherwise. In fact, she urged Nick to come home immediately. She pled for him to put aside the past and see his father before it was too late.
He glanced at the top of the letter. It was dated a week prior. It might already be too late. His father might be dead by now. He considered sending a telegram, but Mrs. Schmitt probably wouldn’t have the money to send a reply without asking for help from Father.
“I must go to Boston.” He shook his head. There was no other choice.
“I was hoping you’d be back from town,” the captain declared, walking toward him across the deck. “I’ve got some problems.”
