'Nobody looks like

what they really are on the inside.

… It's true of everybody.'

Neil Gaiman

DEAD MAN'S SWEETHEART

15

Catherine found Nathaniel Sherman standing by the fireplace and Colonel Frobisher still confronting him. In the hall outside there was the sound of purposeful feet and the thud of bodies being flung to the floor. Then four other men, those who had so successfully invaded his house, entered the room and stood on alert guard. Rueben Bradley was the only one of her uncle's employees who remained at his side. She moved across the room to join them and to face the formidable force now drawn up against them.

Her entry in to the room was swiftly followed by a rush of young footsteps and, in a replay of that morning, Andrew Sherman hurled himself across the room into the arms of the man who had so recently threatened to drop him from the first floor landing. His voice choked as he cried: "You're really here!"

"Easy, Tiger! There's someone else here you'll be very glad to see too!" Caine Warwick turned the boy from his embrace, so he could see the stretcher.

"Slim!" Andy leant towards his brother and then shock, pain and relief so flooded his being that he staggered and almost fainted. Strong arms caught him and a reassuring voice murmured, "It's all right. It's all all right now!"

"You!" Nathaniel spat out in consternation, suddenly realising that all his schemes had been thwarted by someone he had been both trying to recruit into his organisation and, at the same time, to eliminate. He ground his teeth as he glared at a man over whom neither power nor success nor money nor status nor safety had any influence. "Why? You could have had everything a man could want if you'd thrown in with me! Why?"

Caine Warwick bent over the stretcher and reached down to trace the scar on the unconscious man's cheek with a gentle finger. "Because unlike you, Nathaniel Sherman, and despite the name I bear, I am my brother's keeper."

Nathaniel looked at the boy, clinging with his arms round the ruthless knife-man, and at that knife-man's hand, so capable of dealing death, which still lay lightly on the released prisoner's cheek. He could not come to terms with the contradictions, for never before in his life had he felt real force of the power of true loyalty.

Warwick straightened up and ran his hand through the boy's hair, then gave him a gentle push towards the man who had entered the room with him. "Stay with Cal, Andy, while I do what needs to be done here."

Shocked realisation was working its way, like slow poison, through Nathaniel's mind and he snarled, "You're no member of the Warwick family! You're just a small-time drifter on the make!"

"He's been adopted." Lieutenant Warwick sounded unexpectedly amused but the reminder was timely. Nathaniel knew and feared the reputation of the St John Warwick clan and those they acknowledged as theirs. He suddenly realised what an efficient, professional force had been arrayed against him in the person of the seven who had obviously disarmed his own men and were now filling his drawing room with the threat of further violence. And he heard a cold voice that struck fear into his heart – the voice which he knew was swiftly followed by the application of a razor-sharp knife:

"Perhaps your opinion explains your error of judgement. Do you know what your mistake was? The one thing that led to uncovering your plans? You should never have tried to persuade me to leave – I would have gone by myself and willingly. What did I have to stay for? But you measured me by your own greed." Warwick reached into the breast pocket of his coat and withdrew some folded paper. "Now I am going to make you eat your bribe and your idea of me!"

He moved suddenly, with fluid and deadly speed, grabbed Nathaniel by the throat and prised open his mouth. "Eat!"

The torn up 100 dollar bills were forced between his teeth. No matter how he struggled and tried to fight back, implacable fingers bit into him like steel and he gagged, choking on the money. He remembered Caine Warwick's first handshake and the pain he had not then recognised as a warning. The irony of his own knowledge of the man's ruthless and deadly character finally overwhelmed him. His breathing faltered and his vision began to blur.

"Jess." It was the red-headed man from whose face the scars now seemed mysteriously to have disappeared and to whom, for some reason Nathaniel could not fathom, Andrew Sherman had been entrusted. "He can't answer in court if he can't speak." His voice was calm and practical, the call of sanity in a world of pain and rage.

Nathaniel felt the fingers slacken. His knees gave way and he dropped to the floor, struggling to spit out the vile-tasting bills. As he coughed helplessly, the Colonel addressed him again: "Do you still think I have no evidence for the accusations I've charged you with tonight? At least four people in this room can testify against you and those you employ!"

"We were just following orders!" Bradley spoke for the first time, making the classic defence dear to those caught red-handed in acts against civilisation. At the sound of his voice, the man who had driven a knife through his hand turned and took two steps towards him. Bradley tried to back away but found himself cornered against the table in the middle of the room. He was horribly trapped as he stared into that face, as ferocious and merciless as any he had ever given orders to.

But Warwick simply said quietly: "Oh, yes – Mr Bradley. I'm in your debt. You must remind me what I owe you!"

The words struck a chord of memory, but Bradley's mind was struggling with panic and a sense of the ground falling out from under him. He knew when he had heard them and he knew they were about to unleash a deadly revenge. He had committed the look of that stubborn ranch-hand to memory and he simply could not believe this revelation. The cold-blooded, silent villain, with whom he had lived and worked, bore no resemblance to what he remembered – only the driving, unwavering self-command did. He tried desperately to think of some way of escaping. He stuttered confusedly, "You're part of this, Warwick! Think what you're losing. You're wasting everything we've built up."

"Built up by driving out honest people from their homes, by terrorising and intimidation and beatings. What part would I want in that?" Warwick grabbed him by the arm, twisting it savagely behind his back so he doubled over the table. "Perhaps you need to know what your methods feel like?"

Bradley gasped out: "You've been part of them! You've acted tough enough up till now! Are you resenting the little misunderstanding we had the night we took over your relay station?"

"Resenting?" Warwick laughed disbelievingly. Then he gave another savage twist to Bradley's arm and growled: "Do you think there is anything you could do to me, anything that I wouldn't suffer, for Slim?"

The sound of his own name in those deep tones roused the man on the stretcher. He struggled to sit up and cried out: "Jess, is that you?"

Bradley fell back as his assailant abruptly let go of him and went swiftly across the room. He caught the struggling man in his arms and held him gently, "Relax, I'm here."

" 'Bout time too!" Slim mumbled groggily. He dragged his bruised eyes painfully open and peered blurrily at the dark face bending over him. "Dear God, you look terrible!"

"So do you!" Jess's arms tightened convulsively as he took in for the first time in good light the details of the damage done to Slim. "Now let the doc take care of you - and then we're all going home!" He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder, "Stay with him, Andy. I've still got something to finish."

The boy slipped out of Cal's arm and moved at once to kneel beside his brother, taking a shaking hand in his. Jess eased Slim back with infinite care until he was lying flat again. Then, with a blur of movement too fast for anyone to stop, he lunged across the room and lashed out with a savage kick, propelling Bradley backwards over the table. Jess had a knee on his chest and a knife in each hand before anyone else could do more than gasp.

He said in quiet, almost matter of fact tones: "Now, Mr Bradley, you'll pay for what you did - not to me, but to Slim."

"Stop! Don't!" The plea came not from Bradley but from the stretcher. Slim could read Jess's voice, even if he couldn't see what was going on. "Jess, you don't have to do this."

"No. But I want to."

"No you don't. He isn't worth it."

"But you are."

"I'm telling you to stop."

"Why?"

"Because I don't have the strength to get up and make you!"

For a long moment, everything hung in the balance. Then Jess dragged Bradley to his feet again. "You are one very lucky man, Mr Bradley. I hope they find a suitable hole for you to rot in!"

He shoved the grovelling agent in the direction of Vin, who had been half way across the room before he recalled that someone else was in command now. Everyone else released the pent-up breath they had been holding. At a signal from Vin, the other members of the Ranulfhjar seized Bradley and marched him out to join the rest of the demoralised guards, who were trussed up in the hall.

"Outside there are US Marshalls, waiting for my signal to arrest you and your criminal gang, Mr Sherman." The Colonel's voice was cold and remorseless. "On the evidence we have found tonight in your house and the details uncovered by Lieutenant Warwick and his team, I have no doubt that you will be brought to trial and convicted very swiftly." Frobisher paused for a moment and then added with obvious distaste, "You are a neighbour and have given me to understand that you are a gentleman. I therefore offer you the option of leaving the house without being restrained like the rest of your employees, provided I have your word – for what it is worth – that you will come without resistance."

Nathaniel visibly pulled together the shattered remnant of his dignity and authority. He was already counting the friends he had made whose power and influence he relied on to rescue him from the ruins of his schemes. In passing, he snarled futilely at the man he still thought of as Caine Warwick: "And this is how you repay my hospitality!"

Warwick stalked over to the stretcher. He looked down at the two Sherman brothers. The elder, exhausted by the cost of intervening to stop Bradley being cut to ribbons, had collapsed back into unconsciousness. Successive shocks had brought the younger very nearly at the end of his physical and emotional resources. Warwick's eyes lifted and his black stare transfixed Nathaniel, as he said in icy tones: "This is the hospitality I am repaying!"

"Come!" The Colonel stood at the door, ready to escort Nathaniel Sherman to his arrest. He had no option but to obey. In the hall, Vin was issuing brief orders about the disposal of the prisoners.

As Nathaniel was marched from the room, Jess turned to the red-headed man. "Cal, take Andy and Slim to the Frobisher's, will you? Vin and I'll tidy up here."

Cal nodded and extended a hand to Andy. "Come on, Tiger. The doc's waitin' for Slim and so is Jonesy. He'll be hoppin' about like a cat on a hot bricks!"

Andy let go of his brother's hand and decided the time for following Jess's instructions was now over. He gave his rescuer another mammoth hug and demanded: "You will come soon, won't you?"

"As soon as I've finished what I have to do," Jess gave the promise again. He handed Andy over to Cal's care and stood quite still, watching as the stretcher was carried away and the others followed it. When he could hear them safely leaving through the front door, the smallest sigh escaped him.

# # # # #

Catherine Sherman-Gordon stood alone in the room which had suddenly emptied the frightened and the angry. She drew in a deep breath and summoned every ounce of her considerable will-power.

Caine Warwick had his back to her. He did not move. It was almost as if he was not there, but had escaped somewhere far off. Again she was overwhelmed by the feeling that she was in the room with a ghost. But what had been between them was far too real. She clenched her fists, for she too was still unable to believe the real identity of the man who has so successfully played them at their own game. Her rage at the deception struck out, but it was as if she were trying to attack at a chimera, a delusion. Yet there could be no doubt about Warwick's reality nor about what she thought of him.

It seemed as if he would leave without looking back, but then, at the last moment, he turned in the doorway and took a couple of steps towards her. His face was completely expressionless, as if they were total strangers.

"I find it hard to believe," she hissed at him, "that a nobody like you has the brains to organise a ruthless plot like this! But you've been totally unscrupulous in following your orders."

"You've been surrounded by the ruthless and unscrupulous all your life – some of them have much more to answer for than you seem to care about. You gave me to understand you preferred that kind to anyone with integrity."

"You could have had everything if you'd joined them!"

"More than I've already had?" The question was delivered with a kind of grim amusement.

Catherine spat back at him: "You were just something to while away the time."

"You should be more careful how you spend your time, then!"

"And how did you spend your time? You came here to lie and cheat. You imitated a gentleman, which you certainly are not! You used our trust and hospitality treacherously to plot against us! You came here just to undermine and thwart your betters!"

"I came here to find out if you shared my grief. Your every action showed that you did not. And I came to see if you would care for a bereaved child. You made your priorities clear from the very start." Just for a moment the mask was torn away and she was looking into the eyes of someone driven by an overwhelming compulsion to complete a harrowing task, if necessary by methods which revolted his true being. Catherine smiled without mirth, knowing that she was revenged by the damage which she had done to the spirit of this man because she had made his impersonation a reality. Turning the knife in the wound, she taunted: "Yet you couldn't resist me, could you?"

His implacable expression instantly cut off all sign of emotion. The cold glance ran over her as it had done at their first meeting. He shrugged and said unemphatically: "I closed my eyes and thought of someone I'd rather be with. Perhaps you did the same?"

Rage and pride obliterated all other considerations in her mind. She could not bear to speak of the intimacy they had shared, but lashed out at him with trivialities: "When I think that I have breathed the same air as you, walked on the same carpets, sat and eaten at the same table – it revolts me! You are nothing – a vulgar, unimportant underling – worthless – trash! I'm surprised you can even use a knife and fork properly!"

"Oh, I can use a knife all right!" His hand flicked back his coat, revealing the knife-belt as he had earlier in that day. Catherine turned suddenly pale as he said quietly, "I've never been more tempted to use one on a woman!"

They were the last words to pass between them.