Susan blinked as the puzzle pieces fell into place. “Because he’s a...”
This time she didn’t finish the sentence.
“Yes.” A flicker of worry crossed the ghost’s face. “And you can’t trust anyone.”
Her brain roared louder than the sea.
What chance did she have againstpirates?Outwitting the giant had already proven impossible. Now that she knew the extent of his crimes, finding herself chained to the cellar might well be the least of her concerns. She’d be just as likely to walk the plank. Or wind up on the beach with a knife sticking out of her chest. Or—
She glanced up. “How did you die?”
“Shot between the eyes.”
Spectacular. Her lenses weren’t thick enough to deflect bullets, that much was certain. She could scarce help the ghost shimmering beside her. She couldn’t even manage to help herself.
No matter what Dead Mr. Bothwick thought, that had beenherletter in the Runner’s inside pocket. Perhaps they’d also been looking into claims of piracy. Hard to say. But this Runner, this man lying dead in the sand, was murdered because of a letter she had written requesting his aid. Susan shuddered. She now had blood on her hands.
She glanced down in her lap and choked back a sob when she saw the state of her gloves. Shedidhave blood on her hands. The white silk was soaked with crimson. Susan struggled to her feet. She, in a fit of self-importance, had summoned an innocent Runner to his death. Compounding matters, she’d rifled through his corpse. And was now loitering about covered in blood, as if just waiting for the villain to return, when it was obvious she was no match for the situation at all—
She ran.
“Wait!” Dead Mr. Bothwick stayed glued to her side. “Where are you going now?”
She swiped at him with a scarlet hand.
Direct hit. He disappeared from sight.
She pulled off the wet gloves. Should she throw them into the ocean? No. They’d only wash ashore, and she had no wish to explain their appearance. She’d burn them to ash in her bedchamber. Susan shoved the sticky gloves into her inner pocket, next to the ivory-handled knife. Now she knew she could never use the blade. She couldn’t stand to touch blood. Get it off. Get it offnow.
She ran to the water’s edge and washed the crimson from her fingers in the frigid ocean. As she rose to her feet at last, she dried her trembling fingers on her skirts. No more blood. But she didn’t feel clean. The Runner... Susan started to run again, then slowed.
Where was she going?
She needed a friend. She needed a living, breathing person, someone to hold her and comfort her and make her forget, if only for a moment, what a complete and utter mess she’d made of her life—and the lives of others. Someone who might be able to help. She needed... Mr. Bothwick.
It was a sign from the heavens that she managed to find his house without becoming hopelessly lost on the way there. In a further stroke of luck, Mr. Bothwick wasn’t merely at home. He answered the door himself.
And pulled her inside.
Chapter 35
Susan launched herself into Mr. Bothwick’s arms. They were warm, strong, safe. Attached to a living, breathing man. She wrapped her arms about his neck and held on as tight as she could. He returned the embrace, pressing his lips to her forehead.
“It’s going to be all right,” he whispered.
She shook her head. It would never be all right.
“Yes, it will, sweetling.” He held her close. “I don’t know how, but I’ll make it stop. I promise.”
She clung to her knight errant. How could he stop anything? Pirates were here. The body count was already up to three. And—oh. Susan closed her eyes.
Mr. Bothwick had no idea any of those things were happening. He probably thought her distress was about Lady Emeline, whom he’d just met. While Susan was still frantic to do whatever she could to help her poor cousin, the nightmare had deepened. Her brain felt as sluggish as her limbs. She held on to him tighter, breathed in his scent.
She should correct his misconception. And she would. She needed somebody on her side. But right now she didn’t want to discuss the dead investigator whose blood now stained the pale sand. Or the girlish note that had summoned the doomed man to the sea. Or the even greater dangers afoot.
Right now, she wanted to forget. Just for a few moments. She wanted...releasefrom all this anxiety, all this horror, all this fear. Mr. Bothwick could provide her at least that much.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, and pressed her lips to his before he could say no.
