Tender Mercies - By Kitty Thomas Page 0,70

and then it would only be if he was incredibly lucky and could somehow convince them he wasn’t a killer. To be released before the sun rose was hard to process.

“It seems someone has materialized to take the rap for you. James LaFont. Name ring a bell?”

Asher just stared, unsure if admitting to a friendship with James would land him right back in the cell or if denying any knowledge of the man would just look more suspicious. James had confessed? So who was with Grace?

When Asher didn’t say anything, the guard continued. “LaFont claims he took your slave off the property without your knowledge to borrow her and that in the course of the time at his home, there was an accident. He confirmed where the body was buried. According to his story, he couldn’t bring himself to face you afterward and fled to the other side of the island to live with the natives.”

At least the story meshed with him not saying anything one way or the other about knowing James. He finally made his feet move out of the cell and out of the station. He called his driver to bring the car. He wanted to talk to James, but he knew they wouldn’t allow that right now, and he needed to get to his pet.

When he got home, William said James had been by and confirmed Grace was at the camp. In all likelihood, she was safe and sound with the natives. But what if she wasn’t? He couldn’t shake the dream of her crying for him in Lucas’s dungeon.

Many crops were doing poorly this season. Hunting was probably a little rough, too. Which meant even those who lived off the land weren’t immune to the promise of money and the comfort it could buy. If she was with the natives, safe and sound, she’d still be with them if he checked the Stone estate first. But if she was with Lucas, any second he wasted could end her life.

***

Grace’s teeth clattered as the bucket of icy water splashed across her face, rousing her from unconsciousness. The water dripped down her body as she tossed her head back to get the hair out of her eyes. It took her a moment to figure out where she was, and she cringed when the Australian shepherd started licking water off her thigh.

“Not now, boy. I get first dibs, then you can play.” He swatted the dog’s haunches, sending him to the corner to sulk. “Morning, pet. Did you dream about me?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

He raised a hand as if to strike her but quickly pulled it back. “Oh no you don’t. I know your game. You want me to either kill you or keep knocking you out. But if I do that, where’s my fun?”

Grace pulled experimentally on the chains. Her arms ached. They were raised over her head, the shackles looped around a large, metal ceiling hook in the center of the dungeon, the kind of hook a pirate might use for a hand. Lucas had used a spreader bar to keep her legs extended so she couldn’t kick out at him. The temptation to do so was powerful.

Now that she’d awakened, the idea of rescue seemed almost stupid. Even if James had good intentions, as soon as he’d gotten back to civilization, he would have rethought things. He would have realized some random slave he didn’t know wasn’t worth it. He would have justified leaving Asher in prison so he could have his own life. They obviously hadn’t spoken for a long time, why should he give up everything now? He wouldn’t. And he hadn’t.

Either way, Asher probably said something incriminating during questioning. If that had happened, it was unlikely they’d let her master out.

The idea that she’d end up giving in to Lucas turned her now empty stomach. Asher had kept her so well fed that missing a single meal felt like cause for panic. The tears started to move down her cheeks.

“There she is,” Lucas said, approvingly. “I knew you were in there somewhere. My frightened little mouse.”

While she’d been unconscious, he’d set a table up with various whips he liked to use on her. He preferred things that marked well, broke the skin, left scars. It was as if he chose to mark her because he couldn’t truly have her. It was the only way he could be assured his name would remain in her memory for any reason at all.

A wicked-looking knife gleamed from