Page 13 of Passion's Wicked Torment

The John’s voice was strangely familiar, even though it was deliberately low and muffled. When he raised his head and grinned at her, Kristin was shocked: It was Dallas Hunter. Her eyes went wide, but she tried to recover quickly, so as not to let the captain see that she recognized this man.

Hunter held out the flowers. “For you, ma’am. I’m pleased to meetcha.”

The captain doubled over with laughter, holding his stomach, slapping his knee. “She’s likewise, I’m sure.” He started to leave the room, but turned back in the doorway for a last word to his customer. “I know you’re not too familiar with this kind of thing; so let me warn you. These girls like to tell tall tales sometimes, to stimulate you.” He winked. “Take it with a grain of salt.” Then he left. The door was not locked after him, but Kristin knew there would be someone outside it, watching to make sure that when it was time to leave, no one but the John walked out.

“Dallas!” She went to him and flung her arms around him. She almost felt like weeping with relief. “Hey,” he said, “you’re crushing my flowers.” “What’s your plan, Dallas? Are your men going to take over the ship? Is that it?”

“It’d be a hard thing to do.” He went over to the porthole and cautiously peered out. “Seeing as how they’re still in Chicago.”

“You came onto the ship alone?” she asked with a sinking heart.

“Babe, I had a hard enough time coming by myself. Ironman is totally against this. As far as he’s concerned, you’re as expendable as an ice cube in a steam bath. He doesn’t know I’m here. I couldn’t bring my men without his finding out. And there wasn’t any time to try to recruit here in New York. Besides, my credit’s not so good down here. I’m out of my territory. New York mobs don’t like Chi-town hoods, not even coming down on ‘pleasure.’ ”

He was glancing around the room, looking at everything, getting a feel for the place, trying to figure out some way of using the materials at hand. He looked resolute and determined, which seemed very much at odds with the hayseed outfit he was wearing.

“Why did you come?” she asked softly but with a challenging edge. “If your boss is so against it. And if your life is in such great danger.”

He stared at her, his brown eyes deeply penetrating. “I’ll tell you, babe. That is what you call a real mystery.”

It was because he did feel deeply about her, she thought. That had to be it! Why else would he be here risking his life? “You’re pretty soft for a supposedly tough hood,” she said gently, affectionately.

“Maybe I’m here because I think there’s something fishy about you, and I want to find out what it is.” His voice was hard, but she suspected it was a false hardness. “I don’t go for this bit you’re handing me, about you being an amoral, adventure seeking Sheba. If I have to come on board to try to save your neck, to find out what the truth is, maybe I don’t have much choice.

Do I?”

“Sure you do. You could have forgotten about the whole thing and not risked your life.”

There were footsteps outside the door. Hunter went to her quickly and put his arms around her, bent her half backward and kissed her passionately. But the ruse was not necessary. The door did not open. The footsteps moved away. He pulled his head back slightly, but still held her in his arms.

Looking at his expression, she could not help saying something that she knew was not what he wanted to hear. “You’re not so hard-boiled as you make out. That wasn’t an impersonal kiss.”

His voice was harsh and cutting. He clearly wanted to preserve his image as a tough gangster, though Kristin could not imagine why. “You’re a lady with a lot of experience in that area, are you?” he said.

She pushed away from him and stared at him.

“Look, babe. This is not the time for any psychological analyzing or for you trying to convince yourself that I might . . . care about you. We need to get you out of here. Now, I brought a rod, but shooting our way out isn’t going to work. There are too many of them, and once we got on a skiff, they’d have the advantage with their rifles and Tommys.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Well, I can take credit for planning ahead a little bit.” He picked up the bouquet of flowers that had been laid on the bed and ripped off the colored wrapping paper enclosing the base. This revealed a cylindrical metal tube with a handle attached and a trigger.

“What is it?”

“Signal flare gun. The flare’s already inside, and it’s primed. Guaranteed to create an A number one diversion.”

So that was why he had been checking out the porthole. To make sure it was unobservable enough from the outside so he could stick his hand out and fire off the flare.

“We try to run for one of the skiff boats when the flare goes off?” she asked.

“No.” He opened the porthole and peered out, then stuck his hand out. “The flare itself won’t cause much of a diversion. It’s the Coast Guard cutter it’ll summon that will do that.”

Kristin heard a loud popping sound, like that of an air gun going off, and then an even louder “whoosh,” as the flare shot up into the black nighttime sky. Hunter pulled his arm back in quickly and hid the flare gun under the bedcover. Kristin looked out the porthole and saw the black sky suddenly light up in bright ruby red as the flare exploded and drifted slowly down on its tiny parachute. Immediately a commotion broke out on the deck outside the doorway and above the porthole.

“Get into the bed, quick. Pull the cover up to your neck and jam the pillow down next to you so it looks like I’m in there with you.” He moved to the hinged side of the doorway and flattened himself against the wall so he would be hidden from view when the door opened. “That flare will last thirty seconds. The Coast Guard should be here within a couple of minutes after it’s down.”

“But we’re beyond the three-mile limit,” Kristin protested worriedly.

“Doesn’t matter with a ruby-red. A ruby-red is a distress flare, a summons for help. They may not be granted permission to board, but they’ll sure as hell come alongside.”

He stopped speaking as the door handle turned and the door came open. One of the ship’s hoodlum’s looked in and saw Kristin in bed as Hunter had instructed her. He came in fully and shut the door. “Don’t make a sound, lady.” He had a gun in his hand, pointed down, and his voice was businesslike. He went up to the bed. “And you, m

ister. Don’t worry about a thing. Sorry to barge in on you like this. But we got’s us a little problem, and we got to make sure everybody keeps nice and quiet and doesn’t yell for help when the Coast Guard comes.”

Kristin stared up at him, pretending fright. The man ignored her and gazed down at the lump of pillows next to her, covered by the blanket. He smirked. “Real cozy in there, are you, fella? Don’t worry. We don’t make a habit of interrupting our customers like this. But someone shot off a signal flare, and we can’t figure out who. The Coast Guard is coming soon, and we want you to keep quiet for your own good. Wouldn’t want your name in any papers, would we?”

There was no response from the form on the bed. He nudged it, his finger poking into the unresisting pillows. “Hey? What the hell!” He swiveled around just in time to catch Hunter’s gun barrel as it swung down to the side of his head, knocking him unconscious instantly.

Hunter grabbed him under the arms and dragged him to the bed. Kristin was out and by his side now. “Get his gun,” Hunter told her as he put the hood into the bed next to the pillows, then pulled the cover up over him. He inspected his handiwork, shaking his head pessimistically. He turned to Kristin, who was now holding the gun. “You carry that with you. You may have to use it.”

“Use it? I’ve never even held one before.”

“It’s simple.” He pointed. “This here is what we call the trigger. This here is what we call your finger. You put your finger on the trigger, point it at somebody and squeeze.”

“You better hope I don’t have to use this thing.”

“I hope, babe. I really do hope that.” He grinned at her, a very self-assured grin that excited her.

Hunter went to the door and opened it a crack. He peered out. He shut it quickly. Kristin could hear footsteps outside. There was the sound of a sea siren now, which grew louder as the Coast Guard cutter neared. The commotion on deck became frantic. Kristin could decipher the confused, nervous voices of the other Johns, mingling with the reassuring voices of the captain and crew. There were frequent hurried footsteps as crew members scurried about, trying to figure out where the flare had been shot from.

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