"Lookee here," a gruff voice said, hauling her up on deck by the scruff of her coat's cowl.

"b.o.l.l.o.c.ks." The crude word slipped from her lips, the severity of the situation dashing all semblance of decorum. Wide-eyed, she took in the ominous sight. Tucker and his men were surrounded by a gang of leather-clad ruffians wielding swords and revolvers of various enormity. Outnumbered and outgunned indeed.

Equally disconcerting was the pirate airship floating alongside with its menacing weaponry, the attached zeppelin balloon painted to resemble a great white, hence its moniker-the Flying Shark. Glancing up she noted that the Maverick's steam-powered balloon was badly damaged. With the mast and sails still lowered, if Mr. O'Donnell didn't get the airship's blasterbeefs operating full-out, and soon, the compromised Maverick would plummet to the ground along with all on board.

The foul-smelling oaf who'd plucked her from the ladder hauled her forward. The stench of gunpowder triggered thoughts of Apollo 02. The explosion. The destruction. Papa. Amelia swallowed bile and focused her attention on the towering brute facing Tucker. Though the Informer described Captain Dunkirk as devilishly handsome, between his sin black hair, unkempt beard, the jagged scar marring his right cheek, and his piercing obsidian eyes, Amelia saw nothing but a wicked scoundrel.

He removed Amelia's hat, revealing her coiled braids, then smirked at Tucker. "Ya thought to disguise Miss Darcy as a lad?"

"How do you know me?" she blurted.

"Common acquaintance," he said, turning his disconcerting focus on her.

"You've been hornswoggled, Dunkirk," Tucker said in an even tone. "You can't squeeze blood from a stone. Her family can't pay a thousand pounds for her return, let alone a million."

"Ransom is not my objective. Like ya, I intend to capitalize on her knowledge of a hidden treasure."

Amelia swallowed hard and braved Tucker's gaze. Up until this moment he had not known her true objective. His eyes crinkled with confusion. Was it possible he was unaware of the global contest? A heartbeat later, she sensed his fury. No matter the details, he'd been duped.

His expression, however, betrayed nothing as he focused back on Dunkirk. "You should know," he said, casually b.u.mping up the brim of his Stetson, "that Miss Darcy is a fanciful sort."

"Crazy as popcorn on a hot skillet," Axel said, crossing his arms over his brawny chest.

"Loco," StarMan added solemnly.

She noticed then that Tucker and crew had been stripped of their weapons. Blood stained the ripped sleeve of Chang's shirt, and Mr. O'Donnell had a nasty gash on his Neanderthal forehead. Dunkirk's men sported injuries as well, but they didn't glare at her as though she were at fault.

"Damaged goods," Doc threw in, and Amelia felt as though he'd just stabbed her heart with the shard he'd removed from her thigh. "Hope you have a good physician on board, Captain Dunkirk. Otherwise she may not make it as far as the Swiss border."

Amelia blanched further. What the devil was he talking about? She was mending, not failing.

Dunkirk looked her up and down, then focused on her mouth, telegraphing lewd thoughts with a wicked smile. How mortifying!

"What did she offer ya for yer courier services, cowboy? A percentage of the prize? Twenty percent? Thirty? A dive in the dark?"

Tucker said nothing, and Amelia started to sweat.

"Ahoy!" someone shouted from the enemy airship. "ALE, dead ahead!"

Dunkirk ordered his men back to the Flying Shark. "Interfere with our retreat, cowboy, and I'll blow ya oot of the sky."

Tucker raised his hands in surrender. "Truth told, you're doin' me a favor, Dunkirk. That filly's brought nothing but bad luck."

Amelia stared at her hero in unabashed disbelief. Surely he wouldn't let her go without a fight. Even if he was irritated with her, he wouldn't allow these pirates to whisk her away to G.o.d knew what end? She thought about the cargo he refused to talk about. Was it worth so much? Was he willing to risk her life in order to save his booty?

Panicked, she thought back on something Tucker had said to her the night before: You don't know what I'm capable of.

d.a.m.nation! Her head and heart pounded with rage. If he wouldn't save her...She pulled her stun pistol, only to have it knocked away by Dunkirk.

"Feisty la.s.s." He laughed, then hauled her up and over his shoulder. "This should be fun, yeah?"

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" she yelled at Tucker, then pummeled Dunkirk's back, calling him every obscene name she'd ever heard her brothers utter as the air pirate dashed over the gangway linking the two airships. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Leo swoop down to attack, heard a blast, then, seeing feathers fluttering down from the sky, screamed and walloped Dunkirk in the side of his head.

"No time fer this s.h.i.te," he growled, pa.s.sing her off to another ruffian after jumping aboard the Flying Shark. "Stow her below, Cromwell."

Chaos erupted in tandem with the shattering of Amelia's heart. Was Leo dead? Dying? She d.a.m.ned Tucker Gentry, who'd promised to keep her falcon safe. She d.a.m.ned him for stealing a kiss, then quashing her illusions. Even as this Cromwell scoundrel locked her inside a cramped, dismal cabin, she plotted her escape. She would survive this, and she would prevail.

"Bad luck, my foot!"

Tuck's blood burned as he handed Leo over to Doc. "Make this right."

The gifted healer nodded and ran off, cradling the wounded falcon in his arms.

Trusting the man's extraordinary skills, Tuck holstered his Blaster and retrieved the.357 Annihilator that had been kicked out of his reach while keeping one eye on Dunkirk's retreat. In kind, his men scrambled for their weapons while Axel made a beeline for the engines. The Maverick listed just as a voluminous cloud mushroomed out of nowhere and consumed the Flying Shark. "What the-"

"Leaving same as she flew in, Marshal," Birdman said. "Concealed in a cloud. That's why I didn't spy her until it was too late."

"Not a typical cloud," StarMan said as the towering vertical ma.s.s shimmered with lightning, then miraculously blended into the cloud bank.

"Supernatural shenanigans," Eli said.

"Some Freak's doin'," Axel shouted across the deck. "Did you notice? Dunkirk's flying two banners now. The Jolly Roger and the Peace Rebel flag."

"I noticed." Tuck used his spygla.s.s to pinpoint the approaching ALE dig. Same as in the States, some Air Law Enforcers were trustworthy, some crooked. In this case he was double d.a.m.ned, since his cargo was unsanctioned. Either they'd arrest him and confiscate the liquor or confiscate the liquor and sell it on the black market, threatening to make his life h.e.l.l if he breathed a word of the robbery. "Birdman. Need Doc to look at that wound?"

The squat ball of energy squinted through his goggles at the incoming dig. "No time for that," he said, knotting a kerchief around his bloodied arm.

Tuck nodded. "Take the mizzenmast. Ready the sails."

"Masts still down," StarMan said.

"Pessimism begets failure, my friend." Birdman smacked the somber navigator's shoulder, then trotted off. "Think positive!"

Tuck pulled on his gloves. "Get the d.a.m.ned blasterbeefs up to speed, Axel. StarMan, take the wheel. Eli, we need sail power. You take the foremast; I'll take the main."

"StarMan's right, Marshal. Mechanism's still jammed. I've tried everything."

"Did you whack it with a wrench?"

Eli frowned but took off toward the bow.

Doc ran up behind Tuck. "Leo's resting. What about Miss Darcy?"

Tuck ignored him and hurried toward the mainmast.

"We can't leave her to Dunkirk's mercy."

"One crisis at a time, Doc."

"But-"

"Can't help her if we're dead in the air." He glanced at the ALE dig, short minutes from contact. "Or locked in the hoosegow."

The young doctor stepped back, and Tuck inspected the retracting mechanism. He blew out a breath, shrugged. "What the h.e.l.l?" Using the b.u.t.t of the .357, he gave it a hard whack. He heard a metallic c.h.i.n.k and groan, and on a whim cranked the rotor wheel. The telescopic inner core extended with ease and speed. He shook his head and laughed. "Eli," he shouted over his shoulder. In tandem he saw the foremast shooting up and Eli waving a wrench in victory.

"Blasterbeefs at full capacity!" Axel yelled.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned."

The engines roared and belched. Sails snapped and billowed. Steam, rocket, and airpower surged through the previously compromised ship.

Tuck grasped StarMan's shoulder. "Taking the wheel."

"About time."

The Maverick burst forward and Tuck took control as ALE gave chase. Adrenaline surged as he outmaneuvered and outran the less sophisticated airship. Yes, the zeppelin cruiser was equipped with steam turbines, but they couldn't compare to the additional power of the Maverick's outboard blasterbeefs. As he circled into a ma.s.s of midlevel clouds, then out the other side, breaching the channel's sh.o.r.eline and taking an alternate route, as dictated by his navigator, Tuck's mind fixed on the mishaps that had plagued his normally tip-top dig overnight. All three masts, for chrissake, and the blasterbeefs. Malfunctions that coincided with Amelia's presence. He wasn't a superst.i.tious man, yet as soon as she was off the Maverick his luck had turned for the better. Just like that the masts and blasterbeefs were in good working order, and he'd secured the safety of his cargo by fleeing, not fighting, his preferred method of dealing with the law-crooked or otherwise.

"All clear," Birdman yelled down from his elevated vantage point.

Pocketing his astronomical compendium, StarMan moved in beside Tuck. "That was close," he said in a hushed voice.

Tuck eyed his trusted friend. "Too close."

"Miss Darcy is an enigma," StarMan added.

"You mean a liar."

"We're better off without her."

"Absolutely."

"Going after her, aren't we?"

"We are."

Concern had twisted Tuck's gut when Dunkirk's man had hauled her into the fray. Her nectarine kiss still sweet on his lips, her fiery pa.s.sion simmering in his blood, all he could think about was her reckless spirit and vulnerability. Bad enough when he'd thought Dunkirk considered her a tasty boon to his intended theft. But when he'd learned the air pirate was specifically after Amelia and not his illegal shipment of absinthe, concern had turned to confusion, then anger. What the h.e.l.l was Flygirl playing at? She'd claimed she was bound for Italy to visit her dying grandpap. Instead she was involved in some treasure hunt? The h.e.l.l if he wasn't intrigued and furious at the same time.

"Observation," StarMan said.

"Go on."

"With the ship operating at full power, maybe we should make haste for Paris, deliver our shipment, and collect our due while good fortune smiles upon us. Then set off on this rescue mission. You know as well as I do that Dunkirk will not kill her, not if she can lead him to a million pounds."

"Ain't killin' I'm worried about," Tuck said. He'd seen the way Dunkirk had leered at Amelia. Even though she'd concealed her figure under his all-weather overcoat, there was no hiding that pretty face, that tempting mouth.

StarMan dragged a hand over his face and sighed. "You like her."

"Of course I like her. She's worth a fortune." Though it wasn't Tuck's top reason for wanting to rescue Amelia, the notion had seeped under his skin and burrowed into his brain.

"So it's the treasure you're wanting, not Miss Darcy."

"A million pounds? Windfall like that'll pave the way to freedom, StarMan."

"Yeah, but are we talking gold? Diamonds? A priceless artifact? Dunkirk asked what Miss Darcy offered for your courier services. So she planned on tricking us into delivering this hidden treasure to...who? Where? What are we getting into, Tuck?"

"I intend to find out. Take the wheel. Skirt the clouds till you're certain ALE's not tailing." They were out of the Brits' jurisdiction now, but that didn't mean the law enforcement agency wouldn't alert the French, negotiating for a cut.

"Destination?"

"Paris. For now." Tuck gave over the wheel, shouted a few dictates, then called for Doc. "Come with me."

The younger man trailed after as Tuck strode toward his cabin. "What you said about Miss Darcy's wound...You told me she was on her way to bein' right as rain."

"She is. I thought if Dunkirk considered her a liability, maybe he wouldn't take her. Or maybe he'd take me along to look after her. At least then I could've afforded Miss Darcy some protection."

Tuck glanced over his shoulder. "Smart. Although, no offense, Doc, you ain't much of a match for Dunkirk and his kind. They have no compunction about killin' a man. You do."

"Yes, well, I am a healer."

"Among other things." Tuck pushed into his cabin. "That cloud," he said while shutting the door behind them. "That was a c.u.mulonimbus. Indicative of thunderstorms."

"Dunkirk mentioned a Stormerator. Something that generates storms?"

"That'd be my thinking." Tuck s.n.a.t.c.hed Amelia's satchel and tossed it on his bed, striving for a casual tone as he entered sensitive territory. "Sense any Freaks amongst Dunkirk's men?"

When Doc didn't answer, Tuck pushed. "Flying the PR flag," he said as he sifted through Amelia's belongings. "Means they welcome Mods and Freaks."

"I know."

"Could a Freak be responsible for that supernatural cloud?"

He heard Doc shifting his weight, knew he was considering his words. "There's been talk of a few who can...modify the weather."

"Conjure rain on a sunny day? Summon clouds out of nowhere? That kind of thing?"

"Don't know much about it, Marshal. Just heard talk."

"Ain't askin' you to rat out one of your people, Doc. Just need to know what we're getting into when we go after Miss Darcy."

The younger man blew out a breath of relief. "So we're going to steal her back."

"I've got a bone to pick with that gal and a score to settle with Dunkirk."

"Surprised you let him take her in the first place."

"Weighed the options. Considered the outcomes. It was the wiser choice at the time."

"And now?"