Still, if he simply pressed his lips to mine, what would I do?No. I can’t let my thoughts go there. Not when I know he’s a liar and a killer. But they stray there anyway, giving me brief fantasies that can never come true.
Someone clears their throat behind me, and I whirl as my door clicks shut and the man blocking it gives me a withering glare.
Chapter
Twelve
Smee had pleasant names for everything, and his cutlass was Johnny Corkscrew, because he wriggled it in the wound.
“Idon’t know what your purpose is or what you could hope to accomplish by spying for Pan, but I assure you it won’t work.” Smee’s words are clipped. He seems even more like an accountant now, his tone implying that I screwed up all the numbers and I’ll have to stay behind to balance the books. “I’m onto you. You won’t be leaving here with any information. Maybe the captain can’t see you for what you are, but I certainly can.” He steps forward, menace in his gait.
I back up, but there’s nowhere to go. When I blink, I see Calico Jack, not Smee.
“Don’t.” I put a hand out in front of me as Sally flaps away from the windowsill. “Don’t come any closer.”
Smee’s eyebrows draw together in disdain. “Excuse me?” He puts his hands on his hips and moves to the middle of the room.
“Stay back!” I scream.
He actually jumps, his mouth dropping open. “Ibegyour pardon?”
It’s not Calico Jack. Calico Jack is dead. He’s dead.I can’t blink, because if I do, I seehim.
“You’re not him,” I tell Smee. “You don’t look like him or sound like him.”
“Who?” Smee’s initial haughty tone has fallen away somewhat. Now he’s more perplexed than anything. “Who are you talking about?”
“Calico J-Jack.”
That gets his nose in the air quick. “As if I would ever be in the same room with that reprobate.”
“I was in a room with him.” I try to get air, but even though I’m breathing faster, I can’t seem to hold it in. It’s like there’s a leak where my courage should be. “He … He …” I get a flash of him leering at me, his hands on me. It makes me want to retch all over the lovely wood floor.
Smee’s face softens for only a moment. “Oh.” He steps backwards and keeps going until his back is to the wall beside the door. “Oh, I see. I didn’t realize you?—”
The door bursts open, flying straight into Smee’s face.
He yowls as Hook stomps into the room, his cutlass out as he whirls and yanks the door away from Smee.
“What are you doing in here?” Hook bellows.
Smee holds his nose, which is now bleeding profusely. “Captain, I was just interrogating the prisoner. I thought she might?—”
“Out!” Hook’s yell seems to put air into my lungs, my breathing slowing as I blink away the dark spots floating in my vision.
The pirate scurries away, and Hook slams the door, hitting Smee in the ass with it, then kicking it all the way closed. He drops his cutlass and comes to me, his own nose a little bloody as he cups my face. “You all right?”
“I’m …” I’m too shaky to actually answer that question. But I’m not too rattled to notice Hook is still shirtless, a fine sheen of sweat on his toned body. He’s supposed to have a grotesque hook for a hand, for crying out loud. He’s supposed to have a giant feather plume and questionable taste in 18thcentury clothing. But that’s not him at all. Not even close. Wendy was full of shit.
“Damn Smee.” He shakes his head. “Meddling twat.”
That brings a weak smile to my face. Something about the way Hook talks is soothing. He’s got that odd mix of English and Scottish, and when he says colloquially filthy words, they sound so … interesting.
“Come, lass. Have a seat.” He leads me to the bed, but I stiffen when he tries to sit me on it.
“All right.” He lets go of my hand and walks to the wall beside the window, then crosses his arms and leans back. “Sit down. I’ll stay right here.”
“Thank you.” I let my knees go and sink to the bed.
