Beautiful Tempest(9)

         
       
        

"But if Lacross is still in prison, what did Drew even hope to find there?" Boyd asked.

"Not all of that pirate's men were captured the night we defeated him. But in any case, I should have been on my way back there long before now, considering that when I retired from the sea, I left more'n one enemy behind in the Caribbean. Drew wouldn't know them if he met them. I need to talk to them myself to determine if any of them hatched this plot. Drew doesn't know who to question to get answers that might be helpful, whereas I-"

"Get answers by any means," Warren said, then added abashed, "That was a compliment, James, not a slur."

Anthony chuckled. "You're taking all the fun out of this, Yank." But then he said to his brother, "No need to fry me, old boy. You might have upped your truce with them a notch for the duration of this mission, but I haven't."

James ignored that remark, saying, "I would have left sooner if my darling Jack hadn't kept this from me. She found it on the ship that sailed off with her from Bridgeport. Her abductor, the ship's captain, insisted on sending us a more polite version of the original ransom note."

"A polite kidnapper?" Boyd said in surprise.

Warren snorted. "What kind of pirate writes a polite note?"

Anthony read it aloud: " ‘Your life for hers. Sound familiar? You know the place. Do hurry, mon ami.' "

James explained, "Jack made a copy of this more goading note penned by her abductor's boss before she forgot the exact words."

"Yet she kept it a secret from you all this time?" Anthony asked. "Why?"

"She was afraid I would be walking into a trap if I returned to the Caribbean too soon, that they would be expecting me. The writer, who she knows is Catherine Meyer's father, obviously thought I would know exactly who he was by those otherwise cryptic words."

"Do you?"

"Yes, except he's still in prison."

Warren said, "Lacross again?"

"Now wait," Boyd put in. "You can't assume the man is French just because of that mon ami. I'm not all that familiar with the French language, but doesn't that particular phrase mean ‘my friend'?"

"Sarcasm at its best," James replied. "That note implies he wanted me to know exactly who was orchestrating my demise without providing proof that could be used in a court of law. And that, more'n anything else, sounds like Lacross. I also wouldn't be surprised if Lacross has a daughter who's a jewel thief and as clever as a fox, that shrew Catherine Meyer, who our fake distant relative Andrássy brought aboard The Maiden George." 

"Does she resemble Lacross?" Warren asked.

"Not closely enough for me to conclude that she's his daughter," James admitted. "But she could be doing Lacross's dirty work. Either the warden in Anguilla lied to Drew, or Lacross is pulling strings from inside that prison. The point of this entire plan could have been to hand-deliver me to that prison and right into his cell."

"Not possible," Boyd disagreed. "I thought you nobles never got locked up for anything."

"That's usually the case," James said. "But Captain Hawke would be."

"Captain Hawke died in England. I could have sworn you made sure of it."

"I did," James said. "But news of Hawke's demise might not have reached all the islands in the Caribbean, where warrants for Hawke's capture could still be active. And I've been back there and someone who knew me as Captain Hawke might have spotted me. More to the point, Lacross saw me when I helped Drew rescue Gabby and Lacross was captured, so he knows I'm not dead. What I can't figure out is how Lacross or whoever is behind this plot figured out that Hawke is James Malory. I went to great lengths to keep Hawke's true identity a secret."

Warren groaned. "Are we going to have to attack a British prison?"

"No-well, I hope not," James replied. "I do need to have a talk with that warden, though. However, I can also think of two other men who might have said something similar to what's in that original note. So many questions remain. Nothing is conclusive other than I'm sailing the morning after that damned masquerade ball I got browbeaten into attending."

Boyd chuckled, guessing, "Georgie at her finest, eh?"

"On the contrary. I just bloody well hate balls. My George, however, can be enjoyably persuasive."

"Oh, God, he didn't just imply-?" Warren started to complain.

Anthony cut in with a snicker. "Course he did, Yank."