Charon's Crossing

She was leaning back on her heels, clutching to her bosom two ugly black things.

"Look at what?"

"Oh, it works," she sobbed, her eyes glowing with happiness. "It works!"

Matthew stared at her. "What works?"

"The phone!"

"The fone?"

"Yes!" She jammed one of the black things against her ear. "My God, it really works. Didn't you hear the dial tone, when it fell?"

Matthew's brows knotted. "Catherine, I want you to calm down."

"I am calm," she said, scrambling to her feet. "I am completely calm." His gaze shot to her hands. She was holding the two black things as if they were precious jewels and backing slowly towards the door. "All right, Matthew. Last chance. Leave now, or I'll call the cops."

"The kopz?"

Catherine stamped her foot. "Will you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"You know what! Repeating things as if I—as if you..."

"Look, just go away. If you don't, I swear, I'll telephone the cops."

Telefone the kopz?

What the hell was she talking about?

Matthew had not been this contused since he'd been a cabin boy on a merchant ship bound from Boston to Dublin.

"You'll love the city, lad," the old Cookie had told him. "The beer is like nectar and the girls are beautiful, 'cept for them thinkin' it's English they speak."

It was how he felt now, listening to Catherine. She was speaking English but what was she saying?

Kopz? Fone?

If it was a threat, what did it mean?

His eyes narrowed as he watched her. She'd put the length of the room between them but even so, he could see that her cheeks were scarlet and her eyes far too bright.

Perhaps he hadn't caught her in time, when she'd swooned. Perhaps she'd bumped her head against the marble floor.

He'd seen that happen, on shipboard. A man would stumble in a heavy sea, bang his skull against something not hard enough to truly notice. He'd seem fine but then, a bit later, he'd suddenly turn shiny-eyed and puke up his lunch.

Not that he gave a damn if she'd bumped her head. Not that he gave a damn if she'd split it open...

"Hell and damnation," he snarled.

"Don't try and intimidate me," she said quickly. "I'm going to count to three, and then—"

"Cat," he said, his voice soft and easy, "does your head hurt?"

Kathryn blinked. "Does my head hurt?"

"Yes. Where you hit it."