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Or could it?
Had the worst finally happened? Had the Sons of Liberty discovered his treachery and followed him here? Tonight’s meeting at the tavern around the corner would begin any minute—any one of them could easily witness . . .
Please no, Lord. My friends must never know what I’ve done.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he clenched his eyes shut. The sooner he left Boston and started his life over again in Sandwich, the sooner he could leave his terrible past behind him.
He jerked again at a rustling sound. A rat scurried out of a pile of refuse and ran into the dim moonlight before disappearing around the corner. Thomas exhaled and raked his hand over his head.
Blasted rat!
Breathing still labored, he stared at the brick wall across the narrow alley. Paranoid. That’s what he was—that’s what two years of being blackmailed would do to any man. He crunched the folded paper in his fist as the tall, dingy walls closed in. How could he refuse the British, only to have Daniel imprisoned and dear Clara and the children sent to live in the streets? Impossible.
The blood slowed to a halt in his veins. But what about liberty? Hadn’t he pledged his life to that very cause? How could he stand before God at the judgment day knowing that he had been such a coward? Robert Campbell would be ashamed.
At least he never knew.
Forgive me, Lord. Please forgive me.
“You have the information, I trust?”
Thomas jumped at the sound of Samuel Martin’s voice, then quickly widened his stance, holding his arms at his sides. His muscles strained. Martin approached, his crimson uniform taking on a foreboding shade of black, while the tiny bits of light from the street flickered off his buttons.
Inhaling a deep breath, Thomas pushed out his chest and raised his chin. The sour odor of rotten fish drifted on the sea breeze and bit his nose. He fought the urge to laugh. Was that foul smell from the wharf or simply Martin’s cologne? Either way, the stench suited him.
Without wasting a second, Martin reached out, wiggling his fingers. “Watson, you have the information, do you not? I should hate to have to make good on my promise if you don’t.”
“Promise? You mean your threat.”
Martin’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have it?”
Thomas’s anger boiled but he said nothing, only handed over the crumpled paper. He clenched his jaw in an effort to hold back the dagger-like words that threatened to erupt.
“Well, Watson.” Martin’s voice sounded far too relaxed as he unfolded the paper and looked it over. “I know you will be most pleased to hear that my superiors are extremely grateful for the information about the Sons of Liberty that you have so kindly supplied.” He chuckled and smiled, the faint light gleaming off his teeth. “You’re country thanks you—your king thanks you.”
Thomas clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked. “I have no king. Massachusetts is my country.”
Martin gripped the sword at his side with one hand and jabbed his finger in Thomas’s chest with the other. “Watch your words patriot, or you will find yourself in the pillory for speaking treason!”
“You don’t frighten me.”
Martin sneered. “I have you right where I want you, Watson. And you will do what I say, or your cousin and his family will—well, you know the rest.”
Standing to his full height of six foot two, Thomas gauged his opponent who stood an easy three inches below him. His muscles flexed and his chest pumped. Martin may appear impressive in uniform, the sword at his side may be long and razor sharp, but Thomas’s shoulders were broader, his arms more powerful. More than anything he wanted to feel the crack of Martin’s square jaw as he sent his fist into it.
At that moment another Redcoat emerged from the shadows. Thomas jerked. Where had he come from?
“This had better be urgent.” Martin hissed when the man reached his side. “Can you not see that I am busy?”
The man made a quick bow at the waist. “Please forgive me, Captain. You’ve requested to be informed about any changes in Robert Campbell’s condition.”
“Aye, and?”
The soldier cleared his throat. “He passed away earlier today, sir.”
The ground under Thomas’s feet rippled. His lungs seized and he bit the inside of his cheek to conceal his reaction to the blinding news. Dear Lord, no!
Even in the faint light Thomas saw Martin pale as his features dropped. Was the man upset? Surprising. Yet . . . Thomas reconsidered. Robert had been beloved by the Tories in town, especially the lobsters. It was no wonder Martin would want to know of his passing.
