Wherever You Are Read Online Free PDF Page A

forward, staring at her as if they’d just pulled an alien from the ocean. A wet sticky substance covered the front of her and she realized with sick certainty that she was lying in a pool of her own blood.
    Hands touched her arm and with a cry, Juliana shrank from them.
    “It’s all right,” the lady whispered in her ear. “No one else will hurt you.”
    She let the woman help her stand. Immediately her world went dark. Her stomach heaved and she threw up all over the deck. The woman held her gently, waiting for the spasms to abate. She began to shiver even though the wind was balmy, almost hot.
    Hot wind.
    Come inside, sweetheart. It’s too cold to talk out here.
    Emily Langtree. Zach’s mom had said that when Juliana visited. It’d been cold. And now it was hot.
    Slowly she straightened. The skin on her back screamed in agony, causing her stomach to churn even more but blessedly she didn’t throw up again. Her vision faded and all she concentrated on was standing upright.
    “Give me your shirt,” the woman said to Thomas.
    “My shirt?”
    “Your shirt, damn it.”
    Thomas yanked his shirt over his head. Carefully the woman pulled it over Juliana, covering her bloody back and exposed breasts. Juliana whimpered. Every sigh of the wind, every dip of the ship on the ocean, every muscle twitch added to her misery until there was nothing but pain.
    She wished the woman would put her out of her misery. Her rescuer turned to the unruly mob who now watched silently. “Back to work,” she barked out, and the frightening men scrambled away.
     
    Morgan sat at his desk with his sextant and map in front of him. He needed to chart their course to London, but his mind kept wandering to the past.
    Barun.
    The man was like a black cloud on Morgan’s horizon. Death nipping at his heels.
    He buried his fingers in his hair and hung his head to massage his aching temples. His hand fell to the scar on the inside of his arm and he rubbed it. Sometimes he still felt the hot poker searing his skin, still smelled the stench of his burning flesh.
    Get the Parkers’ ship to London. That was his plan. And then…
    Morgan feared the “and then”, because he had no plan. He was weary of constantly looking over his shoulder, of knowing Barun lurked in his future just as he lurked in Morgan’s past.
    He would never rid himself of his enemy and the thought tired him.
    He’d escaped once but had no energy for a second time. He was thirty-two years old, had lived far longer than most men in his profession, and had nothing to show for it. Nothing to live for. No home. No family. Nothing but a lot of ill-gotten money he couldn’t spend in two lifetimes.
    With a tired sigh he crossed his arms on top of his maps and laid his head down. First he had to get Isabelle and Reed’s cargo to London. And then—
    The door to his cabin banged against the wall. Morgan grabbed the cutlass leaning against the desk and rose to a fighting stance in one smooth motion. Isabelle marched in, the young stowaway stumbling behind.
    “I should have you flogged.” Isabelle pointed her sword at him.
    Morgan’s cutlass dipped until the point hit the floor. “Pardon?”  
    She advanced and his curiosity gave way to trepidation. He knew that look. She was beyond angry, and if he was smart he’d get the hell out of there. But Isabelle rounded his desk, her eyes blazing, and trapped him behind it.
    “Do you make it a habit to flog women?”
    The softness of her voice and the fury in her eyes caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”
    She reached behind her for the stowaway, but the boy recoiled and tried to hide behind Isabelle.
    Isabelle pulled the whelp forward. With a show of defiance, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Morgan through red-rimmed eyes.
    Morgan looked from Isabelle’s angry face, back to the boy.
    He stared at the outline of her breasts and his heart damn near stopped beating.
    Her breasts?
    What the hell?
    He took a step