"Why would you do that?"

"Because he was wrongly accused."

"Even so, to risk your own necks, give up your homeland?"

"Small price to pay."

"For what?"

He cut her a glance. "That's personal. Let's just say we all owe the marshal, and we'd follow him into h.e.l.l if need be. Great Britain, Europe..." He shrugged. "Ain't home, but it ain't h.e.l.l."

"Nevertheless, he wants to go back to America. Wants to resurrect his famous career."

The big man snorted.

"No?"

"Marshal couldn't give two nuts about fame. He just happened to be exceptional at his job. His exploits and charisma make for good press, is all."

"But he does wish to return."

"You bet."

Her stomach clenched. "To clear his name."

"That's one reason."

"To reclaim his job as air marshal?" she surmised.

"Can't say that's a prime motivator. The law system failed him. He's a mite vexed about that. Besides, he could track criminals anywhere."

"Instead he's working as an air courier. Transporting valuable, sometimes illegal cargo."

"More money to be made, faster."

Back to money. She hugged herself against the cold and the chilling thought that Tucker's marriage talk was based on finance. "Back in France, you implied that Tucker needed volumes of money to buy back his freedom."

"So?"

"So, how would that work exactly? Would he bribe someone to eliminate the so-called evidence? Pay his accuser to drop the charges? Isn't that illegal? Immoral? What if they refused? Or what if he got caught? Wouldn't he be in twice the trouble?"

"Crazy and nosy. h.e.l.l's fire."

"I'm simply trying to understand his motivation. Hardly anyone-well, in England, at least-believes Tucker guilty of that odious crime. He could continue on as he is, as an air courier, making a good living. Why risk going back?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but will you shut up if I tell you?"

She fairly tipped over the side of the boat in surprise. She honestly hadn't expected Axel to be forthcoming. She thought she'd have to guess. "Quench my curiosity and I shall be as quiet as a church mouse."

"Swear?"

She raised her right palm and nodded.

He slipped his gnawed but unlit cigar into his pocket, checked his astronomical compendium, and adjusted the steam. "First of all," he said, as they started their descent, "the marshal's innocent. He didn't steal those paintings from Judge t.i.tan's personal collection. The judge's daughter, Ida, did. Sold 'em off and stashed the cash somewhere, thinking it was a nest egg for her and the marshal. Thought she'd get him to marry her, thought they'd run off together, live on some exotic island. The woman was a loon, 'cept Tuck didn't realize how far gone she was till she was, well, gone. When he refused to play along with her plans, that crazy girl threatened to shoot him-with his own gun, no less-only it backfired. Literally."

"What do you mean, literally?"

"That six-shooter was in fact a seven-shooter. A customized piece especially made for an instance where someone got the drop on ya and stole your gun. Unless you tripped the secret mechanism, the bullet fired out the back, not the front of the barrel. Ida didn't know about the secret mechanism."

Amelia gaped. "So she meant to shoot Tucker and killed herself instead? How awful!"

"Way I see it, she got what she deserved, not that the marshal would agree. It's a sordid affair," Axel said, "and I ain't gettin' into it with you. Just know that Judge t.i.tan, a vindictive, sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d, turned everything around, vilifying the marshal instead of admitting he'd driven his daughter loco with his domineering, obsessive ways."

"I don't understand."

"And I ain't explainin'."

Amelia palmed her forehead. Axel had just revealed more details than she'd ever read, yet she felt more confused.

"Ask the marshal if you want the inside scoop. I'm just tellin' you why he wants to go back. Everything went down fast and wrong, and before we knew it the marshal was set to swing. The boys and I acted, and let me tell you, losing that air posse wasn't easy. No time for second thoughts, no time to settle affairs. It was flee or fry."

"Hence you ended up on the other side of the Atlantic. Out of U.S. jurisdiction."

"Ain't a bad life, but some of us have folks back in the States, and the marshal won't rest until we're free to come and go in America as we please. Mostly, though, Tuck wants to go back for Lily. Only gal he ever really loved."

Amelia's heart stopped; her bones jarred. Axel's bombsh.e.l.l hit her at the same time the dinghy touched down. Only it wasn't the softest landing and they slid. She held tight as the dinghy skated down a slope and Axel struggled for control. They twirled once, twice. She was too stunned to be scared. Too confused to scream as they hit a s...o...b..nk and went flying. She landed flat on her back, staring up at the lovely blue sky through the snowy branches of an evergreen tree and seeing stars. She fought a wave of dizziness as her heart hammered against her ribs. As Axel's words clanged in her head.

Tuck wants to go back for Lily. Only gal he ever really loved.

Between the crash and the bombsh.e.l.l, she could scarcely breathe.

"You all right?" Axel loomed over her, looking worried. "You didn't break anything, did you? Don't see any blood. d.a.m.n. Ain't never had that happen before."

"I'm fine."

"Then why ain't you movin'?"

"Knocked the wind out of me." Pulled the world from beneath her. She wanted to ask about Lily. Who was she? Where was she? Was she even real, or had Axel made her up in order to ruffle Amelia's feathers? Since he'd never liked her, Amelia could well imagine him delighting in crushing her heart. Anyone who had eyes had seen the affection she felt for Tucker. Then again...

What if Axel spoke the truth? What if Lily was real? Although how could Axel be certain Tucker still loved this woman, or that she loved him? He'd been on the run for a year. Things changed. People changed. Amelia's heart cracked even as she tried to reason through the existence of a mysterious woman who had, at least at one time, owned Tucker's affections.

"Miss Darcy?"

Gathering her wits and calm, Amelia gave a curt nod. "I'm fine."

"So you said. Gimme your hand."

She did, and he tugged her to her feet. "Is the dinghy all right?" she asked in a raspy voice.

"What? Oh." He turned to check the capsized boat and collapsed balloon.

Feeling a bit woozy, Amelia plucked a twig from her hair and pushed Tucker and the mysterious Lily out of her aching head. Were it not for her pesky pride, she'd sit Axel down here and now and question him at length about Lily. Unfortunately, their p.r.i.c.kly relationship hindered intimate queries and confidences. Instead, she shelved her curiosity and raised barriers around her heart. Just in case.

"Dinghy's good," Axel said. "s...o...b..nk cushioned the impact." He righted the dig, shook his head. "Don't know why she slid like that. Must've hit a patch of ice. Sorry about that."

"No worries," she said, still half-dazed, but wanting to press on. "Which way to the village?"

She heard Axel's boots crunching in the snow as he moved in beside her. "It's right in front of you. Just beyond those trees. Plain as day."

Focusing on her immediate agenda instead of the past and future, Amelia headed on shaky legs toward the small Italian town.

Axel fell in alongside her. "You sure you're okay?"

"Spectacular."

CHAPTER 24.

Amelia wasn't sure how long she'd been in the lobby of the quaint chalet lodge. There'd been a bit of a language barrier. She didn't speak Italian and the clerk's English was broken. They'd finally settled on a reasonable price and she'd been escorted into the cramped office, where she'd sent off a brief but heartfelt Teletype to her mother.

Letting you know I am fit and fine and in pursuit of the prize. How are you? How fares Ashford? Have you heard from Jules or Simon? Please respond as soon as possible. I am in transit.

Your daughter,

Amelia

While waiting for a reply, she sat in a chair by the fire. She imagined Ashford, envisioned each room of the house she'd grown up in. Imagined the sound of the bell announcing an incoming Teletype. Imagined her mother, anxious for news, waddling to the library and sliding over the polished floor in her haste to get to the communications device installed by Papa. Or perhaps Mother was away on an errand or a social call. Perhaps Eliza was reading the Teletype. She imagined the housekeeper rushing the note to her husband, Harry, and coaxing him to deliver it to Anne Darcy posthaste.

Crikey.

Suddenly homesick on top of everything else, Amelia focused on her present surroundings. The chalet was cozy, the fire toasty. The cup of hot chocolate the clerk brought tasted divine and warmed her throat and stomach. Odd that she still felt chilled.

She hugged herself, tumbling deeper into her scrambled thoughts revolving around Tucker and Ida, Tucker and Lily, and the fact that he'd all but proposed marriage to Amelia. That Tucker would marry her to secure a fortune in order to return to another woman went against every n.o.ble notion she had of the man. There had to be more to the story. If this Lily had indeed been a major love interest in the Sky Cowboy's life, why had Amelia never read about her in the romanticized dreadfuls? The more she tried to puzzle through the mystery, the more her head hurt.

"Signorina?"

Amelia jerked as someone touched her shoulder. Had she nodded off? Feeling hazy, she blinked up at the clerk, who handed her a note. She thanked the man, then squinted at the type.

Relieved to hear from you. Was worried. Lonely, but Ashford thrives. For now. Brothers are in pursuit as well. Heard from Simon. I lied and said you were safe at home. Have not heard from Jules, but you know Jules. In my heart I know you will redeem your father's name. For that I am glad and grateful. Safe travels and good luck.

Your loving mother Amelia's throat tightened. Her mother had been worried? About her? In one short Teletype Anne Darcy had intimated notions that Amelia had longed for all her life: her mother's approval and the knowledge that the woman truly cared about her husband. Plus she'd signed off using the word love. Amelia hadn't thought that word existed in her mother's vocabulary. Maybe Jules was right: Maybe their mother ran deeper than Amelia gave her credit for. Maybe she'd been too blinded by Papa's glorious charisma and glowing affection to see through Anne's intrusive and manipulative veneer.

Another conundrum.

All Amelia knew for certain was that she was more determined than ever to make things right for the Darcys.

That meant getting back to the Maverick and on to Mount Ceceri. It meant striking a deal with Tucker.

Head throbbing, she tucked away the note, returned the mug to the clerk, and quietly thanked him for his help. He said something in return, only the words didn't register. Feeling ill, she simply smiled and made her way back onto the pebbled street. She shivered whilst pulling on her gloves. The sun was shining, the temperature milder than when they'd been flying high, but her coat felt damp and the wind cut through her bones.

Amelia stamped her feet, two blocks of ice that refused to warm. She looked left and right, eyed a few pedestrians and one scraggly cat. Gressoney-La-Trinite was relatively small. Definitely quiet. Since Axel wasn't waiting, she wandered to the shop he'd pointed out earlier. She didn't see him in there either. Again, the clerk spoke broken English, but she ascertained that Axel had indeed purchased a bicycle. Maybe she'd misunderstood him. Maybe she was supposed to meet him at the dinghy.

Feeling as though something were off, she kept her head down and hastened toward the patch where they'd landed. That was when she saw a monster of a man utilizing a vicious stranglehold on Axel. She couldn't believe someone had gotten the better of the burly engineer. Then she noticed the bright red bone-shaker bicycle lying on its side, front wheel spinning. He must've been pushing it toward the dinghy when the scraggly-haired brute jumped him from behind. She saw no weapons, even though Axel carried many. Had his stun cuff malfunctioned?

Stun.

Amelia dipped into her coat pocket and palmed Papa's stun gun. She'd never shot a man. Then again, maybe she wouldn't have to. Adrenaline pumping, she steadied the gun with both hands and aimed at the man dressed in an odd combination of leather armor and animal pelts. She advanced, knees quaking. "Release him. Now!"

Monster Man spared her a look and her breath caught at the menacing sight. Pocked skin and a fleshy nose. A bra.s.s magnifying loupe was strapped over one eye, while the other red-rimmed eye drooped, reminding her of a hound dog. He paid her no mind, as if she were no more of a threat than a bothersome gnat. Instead he tightened his hold on Axel. That was when she caught a glimpse of hinges, screws, and metal. Was the brute's arm made of steel? And, good Lord, it wasn't a hand exactly, but more like a vise-claw!

"Get. Out. Of. Heeeere." Axel choked and wheezed, and though he clutched at the man's arms and bucked like a wild horse, he could not break free.

She willed her hands not to tremble, her courage not to waver as she took another step forward. Sweat beaded her upper lip. "I'll shoot!"

Axel's face turned purple; his legs wobbled.

Amelia aimed for the biggest target. She couldn't bring herself to shoot a man-any man-in the back, so she lowered her aim and pulled the trigger. A bolt of electricity surged and zapped Monster Man in the backside.

His arms flailed as he roared in pain.

Axel keeled over face-first, while Monster Man dropped to his knees, a.r.s.e smoking.

Amelia nearly sagged with relief. Papa's gun had worked! Just enough to jar the man. Just enough for Axel to break free.

"d.a.m.ned...Dogface." Gasping for air, Axel pushed to his knees and reached under his coat for his Blaster, only Monster Man/Dogface recovered more quickly. He pounced and suddenly they were rolling in the snow, throwing punches. Weakened from lack of air, within seconds Axel was once again pinned under that steel claw. "Shoot. Him."

She tried, but this time the gun jammed. Once. Twice. She threw it at the monster's head. It hit with a clang and bounced off. Was his skull metal too?

"Hit. Him."

She looked for a rock, then remembered the retracting cane. She pulled it from her pocket, thumbed the b.u.t.ton-snick, snick, snick-and swung with all her might, cracking the bra.s.s rod hard across the attacker's shoulders.

He whirled and grabbed the cane with his good hand, shoving it away with a force that sent her flying.