Chapter Thirty-Three

The area surrounding the building on Franklin Street had been cordoned off, the block closed. Police were everywhere, both regular officers and what James recognized as members of the Irish Squad. Rain crashed down like iron spikes, and the bricks of the street shone slick.

At every window of the house James saw steam cannons. Narrowing his eyes against the rain, he caught glints from the metallic bodies of steamies behind them—mechanicals, not men.

He edged toward Brendan Fagan, who stood amid a group of other officers, holding a bullhorn. Fagan gave him a look that held a full measure of hard despair before sweeping Catherine, beside him, with a glance.

“I do not want her here. We’ve enough trouble already.”

Catherine pushed by James and toed up to Fagan. “Mr. Murphy says this horrible man has my sister hostage. I want to talk to him.”

James had rarely seen Brendan Fagan lose composure, but now he tossed back his head and his eyes rolled like those of a startled horse. “Out of the question. Kilter, muzzle her and get her away from here.”

James swallowed hard. He suspected the only way he’d get Catherine away from this scene would be to drag her bodily, kicking and screaming.

He had no opportunity to speak, however, for Catherine bristled. “You can’t give him orders, nor me! Where is my sister?”

Fagan gestured with the bullhorn. “There, on the roof. We’ve been attempting to negotiate, but Boyd’s threatening to throw the girl off the building if we don’t meet his demands.”

James looked, and his throat went dry. Sure enough he saw Boyd, wet as a drowned rat and barely recognizable, standing behind the parapet of the brick building with a tiny figure in his clutches.

“What does he want?” Catherine asked.

“He’s after asking for all kinds of things, and barely rational, Miss Delaney,” Fagan said to Catherine, his eyes still raised to the roof. “We want this man in custody, but not at the cost of your sister’s life. One moment he says he’ll trade her for safe transport, the next that he’ll kill her if we don’t do exactly what he asks.”

“If he kills her, he’ll have nothing with which to bargain.” Catherine’s voice sounded remarkably steady, but James could feel her terror, just as he could feel everything else inside her.

“He’s been raving for hours and is in a perilous position now. Unpredictable,” Fagan admitted, “which is one of the reasons I sent Tate Murphy to inform you your sister’s life is in danger. I can’t tell what he’ll do at this point, but if ’twere my wee sister, I’d want to know.”

“Yes,” Catherine breathed. She tipped back her head the better to peer at the figures on the roof. “Do you think he’d trade her for me?”

“No,” James said immediately, just as he had in Mrs. Pidgeon’s kitchen.

Catherine did not so much as flick an eyelash toward him, though her fingers clenched hard on his hand.

“I would not advise you to attempt that,” Fagan said. “’Twill do us little good to exchange one hostage for another. What we want is for Boyd to take our deal on offer and release her.”

“Your deal?”

“We let him go via airship to Toronto. Our associates in the Toronto constabulary will be waiting for him when he gets there. I’d rather he had no hostages at that point. For he will be trading desperate, his back to the wall, and I would not like to say what he might do then.”

“He can’t hope to get clean away after all this,” James breathed.

“He thinks once he’s on his airship he’ll be home and dry,” Fagan said. “If we do send it in, though, he’ll have a small surprise. It may not be so firmly under his control as he imagines. But first we must get him to take the deal.”

“What kind of surprise?” Catherine asked.

Fagan flashed her a look. “One of our men will be on board disguised as crew. ’Tis not much, but it may be enough to tip the scales in our favor.”

“Then,” Catherine said, “there should be no risk if I persuade him to trade her for me.”

“There is great risk. This madman intends to take steam cannon on a dirigible. And he’s unstable as a ferret in a sack. The only thing we wish to do is persuade him to trade your sister for escape, nothing more, do you understand?”

James squeezed Catherine’s fingers and willed her, Nothing more.

The figures on the parapet moved closer to the edge, and Brendan Fagan raised the bullhorn to call, “Boyd! Have you decided to accept our deal? Your airship is fully fueled and ready to fly!”

“About time!” Boyd returned. Even after so many days James recognized his voice, full of arrogance but with an edge that betrayed his instability.

A shudder passed through Catherine; how much did she remember?

“I have told you, Officer Bog-Jumper, the airship picks me up here. My pilot can hover and drop a line.”

“Aye.” Brendan ignored the insult. “But first you release the girl.”

“Ha! You think me a fool? As stupid as you, perhaps? If I let her go, then with what will I negotiate?”

“You won’t need to negotiate,” Fagan called. “We’ve already sent word to the landing strip. By now the airship will be on its way.”

“I don’t believe you. I refuse to release my hostage until I land in Canada, a free man.” He drew the drenched figure of Becky closer to his side.

Catherine stepped forward, drawing her fingers from James’ at last. “Will you agree to take me, instead?”

James’ heart fell to his feet. Sluiced down and diminished by the rain, Catherine looked such a small, desperate figure to stand on her own.

Boyd pressed himself to the parapet and peered down. He pushed the girl he held with him; James saw her hands fly up wildly.

“Cat?” she cried.

Boyd echoed, “Miss Delaney! They told me you died from that cannon blast.”

“I was hit,” Catherine agreed, “but as you can see, I’m not dead.”

“You led me a hellish chase,” Boyd cried bitterly, “and cost me a great deal of money. You also forced me to go back to the well for what I wanted in the first place.” He twisted Becky’s arm, and she cried out.

“Becky!” Catherine shrieked.

“Cat, please!”

“ ‘Cat, please!’ ” Boyd repeated in a mocking snarl. “You betrayed me, bitch, and went back on the bargain we made. You attacked me! No one gets away with that.”

“Then,” Catherine called, “you’ll want revenge on me, not my sister. You’ll want to take everything out on me, not her.” She glared up at Boyd, the rain running down her face like tears. “Let her go and take me in her place.”

“No,” James said again, a gut reaction.

“No,” objected Fagan at the same moment. “Miss Delaney, I tell you it will do no good to exchange one hostage for another.”

“It will do her good!” Catherine turned on Fagan, unleashing a sudden storm of emotion. “Can’t you see how frightened she is?”

“Catherine,” James began desperately.

She ignored him as if he weren’t there, but Boyd leaned further over the parapet. “And who’s that there with you, Miss Delaney? The ugly, lying dog I hired to guard you, who bit my hand instead?”

“Leave him out of it. Will you or won’t you trade my sister for me?”

Boyd pondered, while the rain crashed down and the police line wavered and James weighed his heart’s ability to go on beating. For he knew, even before Boyd spoke, what his answer must be.

“I will!”

“But it must be a fair exchange,” Catherine pressed immediately, even as Fagan began to object. “Do you hear me?”

James reached for her arm. “He doesn’t know how to be fair! You can’t do this—”

She shook him off, not so much as glancing at him, her attention all on the girl Boyd now held pressed against the edge of the parapet.

“Don’t do this, Miss Delaney,” Fagan warned. “If you do, you are acting against our official recommendations. There’s no telling what he’ll do to you.”

“Am I supposed to leave her in his hands, and no telling what he’ll do to her, either?”

“He has no axe to grind with her, though, does he? I know it’s difficult to think clearly when your emotions are involved, but if worse comes to worst, we’ll trust our colleagues in Toronto to rescue her.”

“I can’t.” Catherine raised both hands in a gesture of sheer helplessness, still refusing to look at James. “She’s nothing but a child. Better he takes out his anger on me.”

Fagan looked grim. “I won’t allow it, Miss Delaney. ’Tis far too dangerous.”

James let out a breath. Perhaps Fagan would halt the madness in its tracks.

Over the sound of the rain and the crowd behind them, he suddenly heard the drone of engines; the airship approached, trailing steam against the lowering sky.

Fagan called up to Boyd, “Release the girl and the airship can pick you up. That’s the deal on offer, the only deal.”

“I want Miss Delaney, or she dies.” Boyd hoisted Becky up onto the edge of the brick ledge with unholy strength. For the first time her face, white with terror, came into view and James saw her clearly. As wet as the rest of them, eyes stretched wide in horror, she balanced like some large bird with clipped wings, arms held tight behind her back.

The crowd caught its collective breath as rage twisted Boyd’s face. James felt sure they would all see Becky fall to the street below.

Desperate, still ignoring James, Catherine turned to Brendan Fagan. “Officer, you have to let me do this. I am the only one who can get her away from him. I can’t fail her.”

Without waiting for Fagan’s approval, she called up to the roof, “Send Becky down and open the door. I’ll exchange myself for her there.”

Becky teetered on the parapet while Boyd thought about it. “Very well. But my steam cannon will decimate the first person who makes a wrong move. Do you understand?”

Catherine nodded. The breath whooshed in her lungs as Boyd pulled Becky from the ledge. With the drone of engines now loud in the air, she turned at last to James.

Eyes wide, face pinched from the rain and terror, her gaze met his, full to overflowing. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I wanted a future with you. But I remember him, something inside of me does, and I don’t think he will let me go.”

He caught her hands in a desperate caress. “That’s why you can’t turn yourself over to him.”

Sorrowfully, she shook her head. “It’s exactly why I must. There are only two choices—either he takes his anger out on Becky or he takes it out on me. It can’t be her, Jamie. I hope you understand.”

He did, and it broke his heart.

“I just want to tell you,” she hurried on, “I love you, and—well, you’re perfect as you are. Understand me? Perfect.”

Fagan pushed Tate and his fellow officers back as the door swung wide, revealing a mechanical with a steam cannon in one arm and Becky Delaney caught fast in the other. The steamie aimed its weapon not at the girl, but straight at Catherine.

Desperation rose to James’ throat in a wave that nearly choked him. Catherine pulled her hands from his and stepped forward, reaching for her sister. The steam cannons stationed in all the windows shifted, trained on her; in that instant James saw her dying all over again.

“You come,” the mechanical clicked. It shoved Becky out into the street with force enough to send her to her knees and reached for Catherine all in one movement. Becky cried out; Fagan bellowed, and one of the cannons on the right fired with a belch of scorching steam. Fagan hit the bricks and covered Becky’s body with his own.

At the same moment James leaped forward in a desperate attempt to snatch Catherine back. He ducked through the doorway, just dodging a blast from the steamie’s cannon. In the narrow confines of the portal, the heat of it seared his legs. His fingers closed on Catherine’s arm, and the armored steam unit pulled with inhuman force. All three of them tumbled inside together, and the door crashed shut with a resounding slam.