Bride of the Night by Heather Graham Page B

odd—the man seemed out to prove she was guilty of the most horrible offenses, and yet, he meant to see to it that she was supplied with this secret necessity.
    The better to keep her alive and torment her, she thought.
    However, with her new sense of energy filling her limbs, she couldn’t help but be grateful. He knew what she was; he could present her to the others as a monster.
    But then, wouldn’t he have to admit himself a monster, as well?
    She couldn’t begin to fathom the working of his mind.
    Tara left the little copse and started walking along the beach. She waved to Billy, and kept walking back around to the tangle of mangroves she’d stumbled upon the night before. From there, she could see that a number of the Union longboats were out in the vicinity of where Peace had gone down. One trunk bobbed in the water, and three sailors in a boat were trying to capture it with a hook. Tremblay himself was aboard another of the boats, and, as she watched, Richard surfaced, dragging a rope. Tremblay and another man reached for the salvage he had secured from the ocean floor, dragging the barrel aboard their ship. A moment later, Finn surfaced, another of the barrels in his arms. He managed to lift his arms high above the water himself, and Tremblay needed only to lower the barrel to the boat.
    Out by the remains of the Union ship—its masts all that rode above the waterline—she could see that the men were busy. They had apparently fashioned a diving bell out of scrap metal, and they had a man down to find what he could.
    She chafed, being on shore. She knew that she would be excellent at finding whatever treasures might have been blown clear of Richard’s ship.
    She noted, however, that hanging on the longboat catching their breath, Finn and Richard seemed to have easy enough conversations.
    Did Finn seriously believe that she or Richard could be Gator, the spy supposedly known to be heading north to attempt an assassination attempt? She had expected grueling interrogation, not collective efforts to secure supplies.
    She watched the work, a sense of bitterness overriding the moment’s goodwill she had felt toward Finn Dunne. He couldn’t begin to imagine how tormented she was, longing to help the man he seemed convinced she wanted to kill.
    And, of course, he should be careful with her; perhaps he had a matching strength, but he should really know better than to underestimate her.
    Tara hesitated another minute, and then could stand it no longer. She was already down to little more clothing than a cotton blouse, pantelettes and skirt. She doffed her shoes, made her way over the mangrove roots and dove in.
    It didn’t take her long to near the area where the Union longboat awaited the divers. She surfaced there and faced Tremblay.
    â€œCaptain, I can help,” she told him.
    He looked at her, and smiled slowly. “There was chloroform on the Peace, so Richard has told us. I believe we have thus far raised coffee and rum, clothing and a score of boots.”
    She nodded. “The chloroform is heavily wrapped, sealed in a barrel, sir. It might have exploded, you know, along with the gunpowder.”
    â€œWe will search a while longer,” Tremblay said.
    As she clung to the hull of the boat, speaking with Tremblay, Finn surfaced again, bearing a carpetbag that was the worse for wear, but still closed. She knew the travel bag; it was her own.
    Finn gave no thought to the bag, tossing it into the boat. He stared at her, his eyes burning with that red tinge that seemed to warn of danger, his brows knit in a scowl. “You were told not to assist, I believe, Miss Fox!”
    He was shirtless, down to his breeches. Water sluiced over his shoulders and she saw the sun-bronzed ripple of his shoulder and back muscles. Sleek dark hair slashedin wet disarray over his forehead, and she was disturbed to realize that, even wet and dripping, he was an imposing man. And an