Page 16 of Ghost Walk
“I donea know. There must be something special about you.”
“There’s not.”
“To me, you are the most special person in this world.” Jamie assured her. “I need you to help me clear my name.”
This uptight woman was his only hope. For over two hundred years, he’d been branded a murderer. More than even dying, he hated that everyone, everywhere thought hewas a killer. That, throughout history, he was disparaged and reviled. This was his one shot to prove his innocence.
Grace stared at him for a long moment. “You’re out of your invisible mind.”
Of course she couldn’t make this easy.
Frustrated, Jamie got to his feet and restlessly moved to look at the books on her cluttered shelves. Not one romance or fairytale. Just dry historical tomes, guaranteed to bore the hell out of anyone with an ounce of passion in her soul. “Do you not own a paperback, love?”
“I’m a stable and practical person,” she shot back, “except when I’m being haunted by condescending jerks.” She shifted on the sofa, so she could glower at him. “Don’t try to change the subject. How do you expect me to clear your name?”
“Does that mean you’re drunk enough to listen to all I have to say?” Hopefully so, because Jamie was eager to fix his unlife. He had no doubt it would take some convincing to get such a timid lass to lend a hand, so he’d like to get started.
Luckily, there was quite a bit to appreciate about Grace while he waited for her to acquiesce.
His gaze flicked to the long length of her legs. The fuzzy robe had slid up to her knees when she turned, so the view was suddenly spectacular. Of the many things he admired about this century, women’s fashions were high on the list. Whoever it was who’d convinced them to do away with long skirts and petticoats was a bloody genius.
“Drunk or not, I’m not sure Iwantto listen to you.” Grace muttered, still not noticing his distraction. It was as if the woman didn’t even consider her own appeal. “If you’re not a brain tumor…”
“I’m not a brain tumor.” He was bloody sick of repeating that fact.
“…then you’re James MacCleef Riordan.”
Finally,she was getting it. “Yes!” He moved to stand in front of her. “I’m Jamie Riordan.”
“Captain of theSea Serpent…”
“Yes!”
“…Patriot…”
“Yes!”
“… and notorious serial killer.” Grace watched him with a brooding expression. “Did you hurt those girls?”
“No.” He crouched down, his eyes locked on hers. “I’ve never hurt a woman, Grace. I give you my word of honor.”
She didn’t look convinced. Hell, he didn’t blame her. Even when he was alive his word of honor hadn’t meant much. The girl was right to be skeptical of a cad like him.
“Gregory Maxwell, the hero of Yorktown, wrote a whole book about your crimes and his poor murdered sister.” She said with an obstinate expression on her face. “Horror in Harrisonburg. My aunt has an original copy.”
“Gregory Maxwell was the biggest moron alive, outside Parliament. I doubt he could write his own name, let alone an actual book. And hecertainlywasn’t a hero at Yorktown. He ran at the first sign of battle. Believe me, I was there.”
“I’ve read that book at least a dozen times.” Grace insisted. “It lays out all the evidence against you in a very convincing way.”
“If it was even halfway comprehensible, then someone ghostwrote the damn thing for him.” Jamie sighed and got to his feet, again. “No pun intended.” What could he say to persuade her to help? Nothing brilliant popped to mind, so he went with the truth. “Look, whoever killed those girls put a great deal of effort into the crimes and it netted him nothing but blood. I am not a fellow who puts a great deal of effort into my crimes, unless I’m going to gain a great deal ofcoin.” Jamie arched a brow. “I was abusiness man. I cared about money and all the nice things it bought me.”
He cared about having enough that no one would ever hold him prisoner, again. For thirteen years, he’d been a hostage to his father’s hatred and the memories of it still shook him to the core. Ian Riordan had been a righteous and God-fearing pastor, with a dark hatred for his only child. Jamie’s twinkle of knowing had damned him forever in his father’s eyes.He was an odd-duck, when Ian wanted a swan. Nothing could have convinced him than Jamie wasn’t the devil, so “spare the rod” hadn’t even been an option. He’d been determined to beat the magic right out of him, the way he had with Jamie’s mother.
Fiona Riordan had been a shell of a woman by the time Jamie came along. Once she’d been pretty and lighthearted and saw fairies dancing in the hills, but those parts of her died in Ian’s captivity. For so long, Jamie had been angry at his mother. With no way to support herself or her son, she’d squandered her life on that sadistic bastard. She’d stayed with Ian until she finally escaped into death. Maybe his mother was just afraid to leave her comfortable house and servants. Or maybe she’d made the right choice and saved them from dying on the streets. Either way, money had killed her. The lack of it, anyway.
Jamie had left Scotland the day she died, determined that he would somehow acquire enough gold to keep himself free forever. And hehad… for all the good it did him. Damn treasure was lost, now. Buried with no map to find it, again. Stuck in the darkness.
Just like Jamie.
