burned. Treachery was the order of the day, and there were no holds barred. It was a game her father hated, Jessie knew. But he was in it, and there was no getting out.
Finally the war intensified in a manner Starbuck had never imagined. On a trip to Europe, a runaway carriage struck down Sarah and killed her. Starbuck knew it was no accidentâhe, instead of his wife, had been the target. In a rage that Jessie could still not connect to the kind and gentle man sheâd known her father to be, Starbuck took his revenge. He found the man responsible for Sarahâs death. They had taken from him, and he would take from them in kind. The old Prussian count had a son, a young man in his twenties. Alex Starbuck, who had never committed a violent act in his life, killed the Prussianâs heir with his own hands...
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âJessie?â
She looked up and found Ki watching her. She could hardly make out his face in the gathering dark, but knew what was there. âYes, Ki?â
âIt does no good to go back,â he said gently. âIt can change nothing.â
Jessie forced a laugh. âMore Oriental wisdom, old friend?â
âNothing so grand, Iâm afraid. Only words. Things that scatter quickly in the wind, and are likely as useless as brittle leaves.â
âNo, thatâs not so at all,â she told him, reaching across to touch his hand. âNot true at all, Ki.â
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Starbuck had told her the rest of the story on his deathbed, his eyes flooded with tears of shame. The murder of his enemyâs son was the one act in his life he could never forgive, though he was paying for it dearly.
The old count waited, and finally struck back. His assassins caught Starbuck in a hail of bullets on his own Texas ranch. An eye for an eye, one manâs son for another manâs wifeâand then the man himself.
And it doesnât stop there, Jessie thought grimly. The earth was dark and the gloom seemed to close in around her. It goes on and on, and there is no way to bring it to an end...
Chapter 2
In light of his earlier encounter, Ki urged Jessie to let him stay in her compartment for the night. She could curl up under a blanket on one side of the small room, while he kept watch.
âYou will be less comfortable,â he told her, âbut you will be safe.â
âI donât think thereâll be any trouble, Ki. Really,â said Jessie. âAnd youâll be right next door.â
Ki pushed the point, but in the end Jessie won outâpromising to keep a revolver handy and pound the wall if she needed help.
After a quick dinner she didnât enjoy, she let the porter make up the room and locked the door behind him. She knew, of course, that it made little difference whether Ki was with her, or just behind a wall. Even when there was little chance of trouble, heâd be on guard. Ki slept, but it wasnât what she called sleep at all; at the slightest hint of danger, his mind and body would be instantly alert. She didnât pretend to understand how he did this; she simply accepted it for what it was. It was a part of Ki. A part of kakuto bugei, the true samurai way. And a samurai, she knew, was as likely to let himself fall into a deep, snoring sleep on guard as he was to dig for worms with his precious katana longsword.
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Jessie turned the light down low, slipped out of her tweed jacket and skirt, and perched on the bed to remove her stockings and cordovan boots. Standing again, she slid the white silk blouse off her shoulders, unhooked the light chemise underneath, and let it fall about her ankles. She was naked now, except for the red garter holster she wore high on her left thigh. Neither the holster nor the ivory-handled derringer tucked inside did much to hide her charms.
Crossing the small compartment, she caught a quick glimpse of herself in the narrow strip of mirrorâa flash of full, uptilted breasts, the