Читать книгу The Wicked Redhead - Beatriz Williams - Страница 22

THERE ARE two men dead of bullet wounds and another four injured. Anson piles them into the motor launch with the help of the first mate, who jumps in, too. Logan’s left arm and leg are badly slashed, but he insists on staying with the ship. Thanks us profoundly. Tells me I am a damn good shot. I stick the revolver in the pocket of my dress and acknowledge the truth of this compliment.

I don’t believe Anson and I exchange a single word the entire journey back to shore. The first mate has brought a bottle of whiskey, and he and I take turns. Settle our nerves. Anson just pilots the boat and refuses the bottle. I nudge him with the neck of it. “Come on. Not even your nerves are made of that kind of steel.”

“I’m all right.”

“You threw back two full glasses on the ship. Watched you do it.”

Without so much as a blink, he says, “We’re back inside United States waters now.”

And all at once, I am filled with fury. I fling that bottle into the water. Take him by the arm and strike my good left fist against his chest, over and over, while the boat makes this crazy lurch and the first mate dives for the wheel.

“Why? Why? We were safe, Anson, we were safe at last, and you head out to some ship and near enough get us killed!”

He pulls me right up against his chest while I keep screaming.

“Was it worth it? Was it? That fellow nearly killed you, and for what? What the hell did we learn that was so important as that?”

“We learned that the game’s about to change, Ginger. Learned that more people are going to get killed. More blood’s going to spill.”

I have nothing to say to that. Just fall back into my seat. The engine’s roaring, the boat lurches across the water. Blue sea jumps and spins before me. I think I might vomit. I turn my head over the side and I do vomit, heave the sparse contents of my stomach over and over into the horizontal draft. When I’m finished, when I’m collapsed on my seat, Anson’s hand lands gently on my back.

“All right?” he says.

“I’ll live. You?”

He pats my back once more. Caresses my hair swiftly. Returns his hand to the wheel and says, “So long as you’ll live, I’ll live.”