BATH, NORTH CAROLINA
A gale pounded the deck, strong enough to shift the cannons. He held the wheel tight, keeping the bow pointed northeast. He was running at the edge of the sand that extended from shore, a narrow gap that required a tight course. Close-reefed topsails billowed outward, driving them along.
A ship appeared.
On a parallel course, its masts thrusting dangerously close to his sails. What was it doing here? They’d dodged it for most of the day, and he’d hoped the storm would be his shield.
He sounded the alarm.
The tumult increased as crewmen flooded out from below into the squall. Danger was quickly realized and weapons were burnished, ready for an attack. Men who found their cannons waited for no order and poured the newcomer’s broadside with salvos. He kept the helm steady, proud of his ship, which belonged to the house of Hale, in North Carolina.
It would not be taken or sunk from under him.
A fresh wind tested the rudder.
He fought for control.
Men were swinging across from the other ship, boarding his. Pirates. Like him. And he knew where they came from. The house of Bolton. It, too, of North Carolina. Come for a fight on the open sea, during a squall, when his guard would be down.
Or so they thought.
This kind of attack was foolhardy. It violated every principle under which they lived. But Boltons were fools, and always had been.
“Quentin.”
His name on the wind.
A female voice.
More men appeared on deck, armed with swords. One leaped through the air and landed a few feet away.
A woman.
Strikingly beautiful, her hair blond, skin pale, eyes alight with interest.
She sprang upon him and tore away his grip on the wheel. The ship slipped from its course, and he felt ungoverned motion.
“Quentin. Quentin.”
Hale opened his eyes.
He lay in his bedroom.
A storm raged outside. Rain assaulted the windows, and a howling wind molested the trees.
Now he remembered.
He and Shirley Kaiser had retreated here on the promise of some special garments she’d brought.
And special they had been.
Lavender lace, draping her petite frame, sheer enough to fully distract his attention for a little while. She’d come to his bed and undressed him. After nearly an hour of fun he’d dozed off, satisfied, glad she’d appeared without an invitation. She was just what he’d needed after dealing with the other three captains.
“Quentin.”
He blinked sleep from his eyes and focused on the familiar coffered ceiling of his bedroom, its wood from the hull of an 18th-century sloop that had once plied the Pamlico. He felt the comfort of fine sheets and the firmness of his king-sized mattress. His bed was a four-poster, stout and tall, requiring a stool for ingress and egress. He’d twisted his ankle once years ago when he stepped off too quick.
“Quentin.”
Of course. She was here, in the bed. Perhaps she was ready for more? That would be okay. He was ready, too.
He rolled over.
She stared at him with an expression not broken by a smile or desire. Instead, the eyes were hard and angry.
Then he saw the gun.
Its barrel only inches from his face.
Cassiopeia watched as the rescue vehicle removed the wounded burglar. The remaining intruder, the one she’d taken down with a swipe of her gun, remained in custody, using an ice pack to nurse a lump the size of an egg. No identification had been found on either one, and neither was talking.
“Every minute we’re stalled,” Danny Daniels had said, “is another minute Stephanie stays in trouble.”
He stood at the door leading out of the Blue Room.
“I know the symptoms, Mr. President. Caring for someone is hell.”
He seemed to understand. “You and Cotton?”
She nodded. “It’s both good and bad. Like right now. Is he okay? Does he need help? I didn’t have that problem until a few months ago.”
“I’ve been alone a long time,” Daniels said.
His somber tone made clear he regretted every moment.
“Pauline and I should come to terms. This needs to be over.”
“Careful. Make those decisions slowly. There’s a lot at stake.”
His gaze agreed with her. “I’ve served my country. For forty years politics has been my life. I’ve been a good boy the whole time. Never once took a dime from anyone contrary to the law. Never once sold myself out. No scandal. I stayed to my conscience and principles, though it cost me sometimes. I’ve served as best I could. And I have few regrets. But I’d like to serve myself now. Just for a while.”
“Does Stephanie know how you feel?”
He did not immediately answer her, which made her wonder if he even knew the answer. But what he finally said surprised her.
A car wheeled into Kaiser’s drive, and Edwin Davis emerged from the passenger side. Fingerprints from both intruders had been taken more than an hour ago and she’d been promised an identification. Davis had then been only a voice on the phone, but apparently he was on the move. The neighborhood had come alive with people, police cars filling the street.
No way to keep this a secret.
“The car they used was found a few blocks over,” Davis said to her as he approached. “It carried stolen North Carolina plates, and the car was stolen, too. Registered to a woman in West Virginia. We’re still waiting for the prints to run. But that assumes these guys have either been in trouble, registered to buy a gun, taught school, or any of the other thousand things that requires fingerprinting. The one I’m hoping for is military service. That would provide a wealth of info.”
He looked and sounded tired.
“How are the president and First Lady?” she asked.
“I heard he paid you a visit before you left.”
She had no intention of violating Daniels’ confidence. “He’s upset over Stephanie. He feels responsible.”
“Don’t we all.”
“Anything from Cotton?”
“Nothing from him personally.”
She caught what he hadn’t voiced. “Who have you heard from?”
“Cotton wanted no backup on the scene.”
“And you went along with that?”
“Not exactly.”
Hale realized this was the first time he’d ever had a weapon pointed at him. A strange sight, particularly given that he was lying naked in his bed. Kaiser held the gun like she knew what she was doing.
“I’ve been shooting since I was a little girl,” she said. “My daddy taught me. You used me, Quentin. You lied to me. You’ve been a terribly bad boy.”
He wondered if this was some sort of game. If so, it could be particularly arousing.
“What is it you want?” he asked.
She shifted her aim from his face to his crotch, only the blanket separating his bare skin from the gun.
“To see you suffer.”