Page 203 of Once an Angel
She touched his shoulder. His skin felt like warm marble to her fingertips. He flinched, but did not pull away.
"Tell me about Nicky," she whispered.
He swung around, and their faces almost collided. His tension had returned, as palpable as his suspicion.
"The nightmare," she said swiftly. "You cried out his name."
He bent to scoop up a stone and cast it into the darkness. "Nicholas was my partner."
"What happened to him?"
"He died. His vanity killed him."
Emily was very still. If vanity had killed Nicholas Saleri, what had killed her father? she wondered. His generosity? His loving nature?
A humorless laugh bubbled out of Justin's throat. "Even the wilds of New Zealand couldn't rob Nicholas of his precious vanity. He used to preen for the natives in his fine coat of English broadcloth. He even deigned to let the high priest run his shriveled hands down his silk lapels."
"He must have been quite the swell."
"He was." Justin tugged his ear. "The earrings were his idea. He fancied us Gypsy rogues—daring exiles from society. He pierced our ears himself with Maori needles that seemed as long and sharp as spears.
I bled for days."
Emily bit back a small, sad smile as she tried to imagine her bewhiskered father sporting a dashing
earring.
Justin's eyes clouded. "Sometimes I can still see him in the firelight, swilling beer with the natives.
I believe he thought himself immortal."
"He was wrong?"
"Dead wrong."
A night bird echoed a haunting refrain. Emily shivered, remembering something her father had said in
his last letter. "Did you trust this Nicky?"
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "He was my friend. He was penniless himself, but took me in when everyone else turned their backs on me. I suppose I loved him. But, no, I knew him too well to trust him." He stared unseeing into the shadows. "When the land wars broke out and the Maori turned against us, he insisted on going to talk to them alone. He honestly believed his old drinking companions wouldn't hurt him." Justin met her gaze, his jaw set at a grim angle. "We never saw him alive again."
Emily swallowed. Justin had been only too clear on how the Maori dispensed with their enemies. Had
her father met with such a fate? Why did Justin never mention his name? Was David Scarborough haunting yet another of his twisted nightmares?
Her vision blurred. She swayed on her feet. Then Justin was there, his strong arms wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth. She buried her face in his chest, too shaken to apologize.
He rubbed his cheek against her curls. "God, girl, you're as pale as milk. I'm bloody sorry. You're so damned brave about everything. I wasn't even thinking how such a story would affect you." He tilted
her chin up, running a thumb over her trembling lips. "Where's my courageous Em? The one who fought the deadly dragon, routed savage cannibals, and even faced the dreaded scourge of naked toddlers."
She laughed weakly. "I left her snoozing on my pallet."
"Let's go find her, then, shall we?"
He carried her into the dim hut and lowered her to the blankets. Penfeld was still snoring blissfully.
"Dreaming of winged teapots, no doubt," Justin whispered.
