Page 58 of Part of Your World

"The smugglers are on the other side of the island?" Quinn's tortured gaze matched the tightness in Zane's heart.

"Yes." Zane held out his reins. "Take my horse. I'll ride double with my father. If Liam was searching the train yard, Grandpa Clem should have found him by now and given him the news. I'll do everything I can to stall Mrs. Underhill and buy you time to help Muriel."

Quinn took the reins and pierced Zane with a deep look. "Ye love her, don't ye?"

"I do. And it's killing me that she's putting herself in danger. But she's the stronger swimmer. And I wouldn't want her facing Mrs. Underhill and her hired thugs anyway. She's safer in the water." Zane swallowed hard. "She blames herself for Fletcher's kidnapping. I worry she'll take risks to rescue him. Get to her fast, sir. Keep her safe."

"Only the Lord can keep that one safe," her father said, fondness softening his features for a moment. "But the Almighty gave me these arms fer a reason, and I aim to use 'em."

He placed his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle with an awkwardness that proved he was more at home on the water than on a horse, but the determined set of his mouth ensured no animal would get the best of him this night.

"Watch yer back, Erickson," he said. "If that woman would steal a child, she'll not hesitate to send ye to the undertaker."

Zane nodded, well aware of the danger that awaited him.

"I see the viper brought a couple friends." Zane's father's voice sounded as if it had been squeezed from a lemon. "Seems my despisal of the woman has not been misplaced. I still can't believe she actually arranged that child's abduction."

Zane lowered the spyglass he'd borrowed from Eddie after finding the carriage parked in the dunes. No matter how hard he squinted through the lens, he couldn't see Muriel anywhere in the water. He could see the boat well enough, even in the rapidly fading light, but the darkness of twilight hid all evidence of a slender swimmer making her way across the surface of the waves.

He prayed she was still on the surface. The sea was calm, but the same darkness that hid her hid other dangers.

Don't go down that road. Trust her to know her abilities. Trust God to watch over her. And her father.

Zane might not have spotted Muriel, but he had spotted the white planking of a large rowboat hitting the water west of the hotel. Patrick Quinn and Liam Doherty were on their way to assist. Two fathers rowing to save their children. They would make it. They had to.

And he had to deal with Mrs. Underhill. God help him.

"Did you hear me, Zane?" His father rounded the back of the carriage and smacked Zane's arm. "She's here."

"I know." His pulse had kicked from a jog into a full-blown sprint when the distant jangling of harness had met his ears a moment ago.

He lifted the spyglass to his eye again and aimed it inland. Octavia Underhill strolled across the dunes. A pair of rough-looking fellows assisted her, one at each elbow. The men also carried lanterns. Smugglers' lanterns. The type used to signal ships from shore.

Heaven help me. What do I know of clandestine meetings and bargaining with men of the criminal class? I'm an architect's apprentice, for pity's sake.

But there'd be no drawing himself out of this situation. Geometric calculations and ruled edges carried no weight with those who operated outside the lines of morality. Yet Muriel was counting on him. What if he failed her?

"Bury those thoughts, son." His father's clipped voice carried no derision, only instruction. "Doubts are deadly with this crowd. If they sense your fear, your feelings of inadequacy, they'll go for the jugular."

Zane lowered the spyglass and turned to his father, the tightness in his gut loosening just a little.

Horace Erickson lifted his chin and held his son's gaze with a penetrating stare. "Hold yourself as if you hold all the cards. As if Octavia and her minions are the ones in need of your approval. You are in control, and they are lucky you even agreed to this meet."

"I don't think I can."

Father narrowed his eyes. "Of course you can. You're an Erickson." He sighed. "Look, Zane. I know you don't approve of my business practices, and to be honest, after seeing all the ramifications of this journal debacle, I'm starting to question a few things myself. But you've got to trust me. I know how that Underhill woman thinks. How she operates. Perception of power is everything. She's desperate. Use that against her. Plus, she doesn't know about the stunt your woman is pulling. That means you have the upper hand. Don't give it away by letting her smell your fear."

As much as Zane hated to admit it, his father might be right. He certainly had experience dealing with power-hungry businessmen and crafty cotton buyers and coming out on top. "I guess I can pretend to be you."

Father chuckled and slapped Zane's back. "That's the spirit."

Zane checked his watch. Three minutes 'til the designated meeting time. He snapped the lid closed and tucked the timepiece into his trouser pocket then extended his palm toward his father. "I'll take the journal now. It's time for me to keep my appointment."

Father quirked a sly grin. "Not a chance, son. I'm going with you."

A protest rose to Zane's lips, but then he saw it. A flash of fear in his old man's eyes. For his son or his reputation? As cynical as his opinion of his father had turned lately, Zane knew in his heart that at this moment, his sire cared more for his son than his business. If there was to be any hope of salvaging their relationship moving forward, he couldn't push him away now.

So he nodded, handed the spyglass to Eddie, then headed off across the dunes, his father at his side.