Brittany Cavanaugh, an oceanographer from the year 2001, discovers a mysterious Haitian amulet on the ocean floor off the coast of Savannah, Georgia. A member of a prestigious team who will attempt to unravel the mystery surrounding the sinking of the Titanic, Brittany is left so disturbed when she witnesses the ship’s watery grave that she wishes she and her fiancé, Ian Buchanan, could have done something to stop the tragedy. In the next terrifying moments, she and Ian are swept through a mystifying tunnel that leads to the year 1912 and the teak decks of the doomed ocean liner. Their efforts to save the “unsinkable” ship prove fruitless and, they too, are left to try and survive the icy waters of the North Atlantic. A second plea opens the tunnel through time again, and Brittany’s desperate hold on Ian is broken. When the blinding light clears, she finds herself alone in the post-Civil War era, where she is mistaken for the leader of an elusive White Slavery Ring.
She meets the infamous Jacques Devereaux, a Civil War blockade runner turned White Slaver, but her heart is torn when she must choose between the pirate and Clay Gentry, a southern gentleman who is in the midst of a desperate search for his missing twin sisters--and the President's daughter.
Excerpt
Two hours later saw the hurricane at full force. The sea acted as mid-wife and mother, delivering and nourishing the storm with the elements needed to release a tumult of rain that would be replenished when more water was sucked from the sea. This ceaseless transfer of energy gave the cyclonic storm the power needed to quench its desire for destruction.
One-hundred-sixty-mile-an-hour winds lashed rain at the lone house, creating a din inside that was almost unbearable. The near thirty people huddled together in the large parlor drew courage from one another—and from Devereaux’s constant assurance that the house had been designed to withstand just such a storm.
Even the women seemed to be at ease, putting their trust in the very men who were their captors. Pirates and renegades they may be, but they knew the sea and its ways. Despite the fact that they were on land now, the women still felt secure in Devereaux’s knowledge of the fearsome storms. Only Jessie was concerned for their safety. She huddled alone in a corner at the far side of the room, near the glass French doors, and totally ignored the animated and rather loud chatter in the candle-lit room.
Brittany heaved herself up from one of the many settees scattered about the room and made her way through the close press of people until she stood before Jessie. As usual, since she had donned Wheat’s jeans and shirt, all eyes followed her. One eye in particular seemed to burn a hole in her back. She cast a venomous glare at Devereaux over her shoulder, and his responding wink only incensed her further.
Brittany stooped before Jessie. “How are you doing?”
The girl’s breath came in shallow, quick gasps. “Okay,” she choked.
The older woman sat down and wiggled her way into the corner beside the young girl and, taking a chance, drew her into her arms. Surprisingly, the child clung to her in desperation. Brittany closed her eyes for a moment and lifted her chin heavenward as she was again struck by the reality of the situation. This was the same Jessie she met on board Titanic; the same Jessie who trusted her with her life; the same Jessie who died an agonizing death in the icy waters of the North Atlantic.
“Everything’s going to be all right, Jessie. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” She lifted the little girl’s chin until she was able to look into her wide, terror-filled eyes. “No one here is going to hurt you. Not ever again.”
“But the storm...!”
“The storm is outside, and we are inside. All the windows are shuttered. Like Captain Devereaux said, this house is made to hold up against these kind of storms.”
Jessie sat back and her eyes strayed to the amulet, where it lay against Wheat’s white cotton shirt. She reached out hesitantly to touch the charm. “That’s pretty. Where did you get it?”
“I found it on the ocean floor while I was diving off the coast of Georgia—”
The absent minded words froze on Brittany’s lips when a strong gust of wind ripped the wooden shutter from the glass French doors only a few feet from them. The door flew open, and Brittany shielded Jessie with her arms as she thrust out a booted foot to ward off the inward crash of the portal. Her heel came into abrupt contact with the wooden frame, and it stopped just short of shattering against the two who crouched behind it. Devereaux, Clancy and the other guards were at their side a split second later. The captain’s dark brow was furrowed with heavy lines of concern.
“Are you two all right?” he yelled as he forced the glass door shut again. Clancy and Wheat struggled with the other portal as a shaky Brittany answered.
“I’m fine.” She released the clinging Jessie and her hands moved to the girl’s shoulders. “How about you?”
She tipped her head in a nod, too frightened to speak.
Devereaux reached down a hand to pull Brittany to her feet and she, in turn, helped Jessie up. “I think you both had better move away from these doors.” His French accent had disappeared again, but Brittany failed to notice over the frantic pounding of her heart in her ears.
Jessie quickly obliged, going into the waiting Kate’s arms, but Brittany simply looked up at Devereaux. “You’d better watch it, captain. Your concern doesn’t jive with your ruthless pirate image.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow in question. “Jive?”
“You figure it out,” she answered flippantly, then started across the room toward Jessie and Kate. She stopped on a dime when the girl screamed.
“Watch out!”
Brittany and Devereaux whirled as one toward the glass portal. The granite statue of Cupid, which normally sat atop the fountain in the courtyard, had been ripped from its berth by the fierce winds and tumbled through the churning air beyond the French doors. The sound of shattering glass reverberated in the room a split-second later, and the candles were snuffed out as the hurricane-force winds invaded the hacienda. Those inside were immediately enshrouded in an eerie, mid-day darkness.
Brittany stood five feet from the entrance, Cupid’s arrow pointed directly at her heart. She stood frozen, entranced. Devereax started to lunge toward her, but halted in mid-movement when he witnessed a phenomenon that curdled even his pirate’s blood.
The amulet glowed a bright, ominous scarlet in the darkened room. Brittany was totally unaware of the brilliant illumination and of the extreme heat that permeated her white, cotton shirt. Her wide eyes were glued, instead, to the statue of Cupid. It hung in suspended animation now, less than a foot from her. Everyone in the room held their breath until, an eternity later, the figurine crashed harmlessly to the floor.
The twenty-odd people in the parlor moved in one collective jump. The stunned Brittany, however, simply lowered her eyes to stare in wonder at the shattered pieces of granite that lay about her feet.
The room filled with an amazed silence, save for the roar of wind and rain that poured through the now open portal. Never had any of them witnessed such a spectacle; their awe was surpassed only by their fear. Finally, Devereaux found the courage to approach her. He tipped his head toward the amulet.
“What in the hell is that thing!”
The gravity of the situation struck Brittany and she started to shake uncontrollably. She looked at the captain through eyes that were wide with her own horror. “I...”
He grabbed her shoulders and swung her to face him. “What is that thing!”
Brittany’s watering gaze met his astonished one. “I...don’t know. I found it when I was diving...” she breathed.
His hands tightened to steel bands around her upper arms. “But how did it do that? You should be dead!”
Returning spunk washed over Brittany like a tide, and she struggled free of his hold. “And I told you, I don’t know! I can’t explain what just happened anymore than you can. Call it a miracle. Call it a freaky experience! Call me a witch, if you want to. I don’t care! It’s over and we’re all fine, so would you please just quit hassling me and do something to fix that damned door before we all resemble drowned rats?”
Devereaux’s one piercing eye scanned the length of her body, beginning with the hair that was beginning to plaster to her head and shoulders. His gaze moved downward, pausing momentarily on the wet shirt, which clung to her full, heaving breasts. His eye settled on the charm again. The ruby had returned to its former level of brilliance, and it winked at him in the dark room. He suppressed a shudder and turned abruptly to attend to the broken door.
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