The Night Mark(89)

“What’s the Kentucky? Your ship?”

Carrick raised his head slowly and looked at her through narrowed eyes.

“Of course it was my ship. It was Marsh’s ship, too. You know that, lass.”

Faye went silent and her blood stilled. There was silence in the room, the same silence she’d heard before the storm.

She’d done it. She’d committed an error so egregious there would be no way to explain except with the truth.

“Carrick,” Faye said, putting her hands over his on her hips. “I have to tell you something.”

“You did hurt yourself that night, didn’t you? When you fell off the pier? You’ve been different. I knew something was wrong. I should have hauled you to the doctor whether you wanted to go or not.”

“That’s not it, I swear.”

“Was it Marsh? I told you my dad hit my mom so hard sometimes she forgot—”

“Carrick, stop. Listen to me, please.”

“Talk,” he said.

Faye was shaking. She had no idea how to explain it to him, how to make him believe her. “You promise you won’t think I’m crazy?” she asked.

“I would never think that of you. The only crazy thing you’ve ever done is come to me when you could have gone anywhere.”

“That’s the least crazy part of all this. Carrick...”

She looked down into his eyes. There was no way to say it but to say it.

“I’m not Faith Morgan.”

“Well, yes.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m not Millie Scarborough, either, or Millie Carlyle.”

Carrick looked at her but didn’t seem to see her. Or perhaps he was seeing her, the real her, for the first time. Faye couldn’t say, but he’d never looked at her quite like this before—with suspicious, searching eyes and his usually warm hands cold in her grasp. He looked afraid. Though she’d seen him scared before, she’d never seen him scared of her.

“Who are you, then?” he asked.

“Someone who loves you,” she said. “And someone who came a long way to be with you.”

Outside the house she heard the unmistakable whine of a motor boat coming into dock.

“Ignore him,” Carrick said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t ignore him. I have his money. Dolly and I found it right before the storm.”

“Money? What money?”

“Ten thousand dollars, all in cash. It was in a book under the dresser. That’s why Hartwell broke in. I’m going to give it to him, and hopefully we’ll never see him again.”

Faye let go of his hands and started to leave.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. “When I come back, I’ll tell you everything.”

Faye fumed as she walked out the house to the dock. The sooner they were rid of Hartwell, the better. She didn’t care at all that he was a bootlegger, but he knew too much about her real relationship with Carrick, and she hadn’t come ninety-four years back in time just to let some Southern-dandy daddy’s boy hurt the man she loved.

Hartwell had his back to her at the end of the pier where he’d tied off his boat. She wanted to walk right up behind him and kick him into the water.

“I found your money, Mr. Hartwell,” she called out to him. “Come and get it. Then get the hell out of here for good.”

Hartwell stood up and turned around. Though it was his boat, it was not Hartwell.

The man standing before her was tall and broad shouldered. He wore a light gray suit, a gray fedora with a black silk band. Everything about him looked imposing, from the too-jaunty tilt of his hat to the smile on his lips made sinister by his thin, impeccably groomed mustache. She didn’t know him, but instantly she feared him.

“Now, now, Millie, my dear. Is that any way to greet your husband?”





21


Faye started to scream for Carrick, but Marshall took one step forward and slapped his hand over her mouth and grabbed her by the back of her hair.

“If you scream, I’ll snap your pretty neck, sweetheart,” he said. “You understand?”

Faye slowly nodded.

“Good girl. I’m glad I don’t have to kill someone else today. It gets messy.”

He dropped his hand from her mouth, though he still gripped her roughly by the back of her hair.

“Someone else?” Faye asked.

“Where do you think I got the boat?” He laughed and dragged her toward the end of the pier.

“You killed Hartwell?” Faye was horrified. She couldn’t stand the man, but she’d never wished death on him.

“I killed my wife’s kidnapper.”

“Kidnapper? I wasn’t—”

“Of course you’ve been kidnapped. After all, no woman in her right mind would run away from a loving husband who dotes on her the way I dote on you.” Marshall pulled her into the boat and pushed her down onto the floor.

“You’re a wife beater and a rapist,” Faye said. “And you should be in jail for the rest of your life.”

“A rapist? A man can’t rape his own wife,” Marshall said as he wrapped ropes around her ankles. “As for beating you, well, I’m half tempted to beat you to death, but I’ve been waiting on that baby two years. I’d hate have to start over with a new wife.”