“We’ve found it,” she whispered. “We’ve found it.”
He put his arms around her, rested his chin on the back of her head. Together, they stared at the treasure. “This is it.” His voice sounded so normal, so calm. How could that be when inside he was shaking like a rabbit? “This is it,” he said louder, listening to his voice echo through the cave. He squeezed Josie tight. “We’re rich!”
“Correction,” a voice said from behind him. “We’re rich.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Josie jumped, rapping her head hard on Westman’s chin. He spun her around, and she was staring directly into the face of a one-eyed man.
He was old, his partner far younger and holding a pistol pointed at her heart. Westman immediately took her by the waist and pushed her behind him.
“Good evening, Lord Westman. Miss ’ale,” the one-eyed man said. “Thought we might find ye ’ere.”
“Thought we might see you two again,” Westman said, angling his body to shield her. Josie took the opportunity to back up, closer to the treasure. If she could just close the lid of the trunk she’d opened, maybe the men wouldn’t see . . .
“Miss ’ale,” the one-eyed man said. “I wouldn’t go touching that if I were ye. It’s not yourn.”
She paused, hand hovering above the trunk. Slowly, she turned back to the men. “It is mine. I’ve been searching for this treasure since I was six years old.”
“Josephine,” Westman warned, but she ignored him, pushing past him when he tried to hold her back with an out-flung arm.
“This was my grandfather’s treasure, and I don’t care if you have a pistol.” She flicked her wrist in the direction of the younger man. He was probably her age but shorter, skinny, too. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. She could have taken him—except, of course, he had that pistol. “You can’t have it.”
“Aye, lass, we can,” the one-eyed man said, stepping forward. “Because it was mine long afore it was yourn.”
“Is that so?”
“Josephine,” Westman said again. He grabbed her elbow, but she pulled away.
She put her hands on her hips and stared into the one-eyed man’s good eye. This close she could see that a shriveled eyelid covered the other. “Who are you?” she hissed.
He doffed his old cap and offered her a low bow. “Me name’s Jack. You might know me as One-Eyed Jack.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Westman said from behind her. “You were on The Good Groom,” Josie said.
“We read about you in James Doubleday’s journals.”
“And ’ere I am in the flesh, wanting me piece of the treasure. Yer grandfathers weren’t none too fond of sharing. Family trait, I see.”
“Too much jabbering,” the man with the pistol said, waving his weapon, at Josie, then Westman. “I say we take ’em out and shoot ’em. Now that they found the treasure for us, we don’t need ’em.”
“First we get ’em to ’elp us load the treasure.”
“We’re not helping you with anything,” Josie spat. “We’re not—”
Westman hauled her up against him and put a hand over her mouth. “We’ll help,” he said, then murmured in her ear, “Are you trying to get us killed?”
“Lift them trunks and carry ’em outside,” One-Eyed Jack ordered. “And don’t do anything foolish. My sight ain’t what it was, but I can still use a cutlass good as any man.”
Westman pushed Josie back toward the treasure chests, and, together, they lifted the first one. It was heavy, and she stumbled under the weight. One-Eyed Jack led them through the narrow passage back toward the beach, and the man with the pistol followed.
“Why are we helping them steal our treasure?” Josie hissed at Westman.
“Because some things are more important than treasure. I value your life, Josephine Hale.”
They emerged into the night and had to struggle to wedge the chest through the small opening between the rock and the cave. When they got it through, Josie dropped it immediately. Her hands were dented and red.
“O’er there, lass.” One-Eyed Jack pointed to a small rowboat bobbing in the waves at the edge of the beach. No wonder she and Westman hadn’t seen the men following them tonight. They’d never thought to look out at the water.
