Page 17 of Passion's Wicked Torment

Kristin’s mind was in a turmoil. She did not know why he was acting so angry to her, but she did know she was being exposed to a dangerous, violent new side of him that she could not trust. But what was her alternative? To not follow him and remain on the island? She’d end up in Rooney’s clutches again, back on that brothel ship.

She picked up her pace so as not to lag behind as he cut through the brush on his way down to the beach. The branches and brush scratched at her legs as she half-walked, half-stumbled forward. The cold night air chilled her. She looked at Hunter’s impervious back and wondered how she could ever have felt any kind of affection for this man. What a fool she had almost become! Thank God she had realized it in time. He was just what he appeared to be, and nothing more: a ruthless, heartless gangster.

“Hold it.” He held out a hand to keep her from moving past him as he stopped at the base of the hill, near the edge of the trees and brush. He looked out at the beach. His voice was low. “You stay here. I’m going to get us a skiff.”

She saw that he was looking at the beached skiff that had been used by the three hoods from the Paradise. Two of them were seated around a campfire near the boat—Bill Bonebrake and a man named Caleb. The third hood was gone. Kristin had watched earlier as he left, walking up the coast. Hunter had told her thát the man was leaving to alert the island’s residents to their presence and to offer a reward for their capture.

The two men seated near the skiff, one of them leaning back against it, were heavily armed. Bonebrake wore a shoulder holster, Caleb a belt holster. Both also had Tommy guns. Bonebrake was speaking, his words indecipherable from this distance. His face was yellow from the glow of the fire. It was an assassin’s face.

“What are you going to do?” Kristin asked Hunter in a quiet voice.

“Throw you to the wolves.”

“What?”

“Move down to the beach to your left. Stay hidden in the tree line until you get about thirty yards away. Then I want you to burst forward and run into the water.”

She was shocked. “Won’t they shoot at me?” “Probably. At least they’ll try. Don’t worry. I think I can rush them before they have a chance to draw a bead on you.”

“You think? You’re talking about my life!”

“All right, you want to do it the other way around? I’ll go down the beach and rush into the water, and you tackle them and take their guns away while they’re distracted.”

She glared at him. In that instant she hated him. She believed there was probably some other way of saving themselves. Didn’t he say he had something else in mind earlier, before she had inexplicably angered him by asking those questions? Well, there was nothing she could do about it now. He was not open to reason. And no matter how dangerous the scheme seemed, it was more desirable than trying to get off the island by herself, without his help.

“There’s just one thing I want to do, Dallas, before I go down the beach and risk my life following your stupid orders. I may not have a chance to do it again, and I don’t want our making love—I don’t Want what happened up there on the hill—to be your last memory of me.”

“All right,” he said impatiently. “What is this last thing you want to do?”

“Just this.” She slapped him with all her might.

He stared at her, more in surprise than anger. She glared at him, then turned her eyes to the men on the beach. The sound had been louder than she expected. Fortunately, though, the breaking of the waves on the shore was loud enough to drown it out. The men had not heard. She started off down the beach, staying low to avoid being seen. Then, when she was a good distance away, she prepared to rush out of her hiding place into plain view toward the sea.

She felt keyed up. All her nerves were jangled. Her breathing was rapid, and her skin felt prickly. She didn’t want to die. She took a deep breath, then ran out from her hiding place toward the water.

At first they didn’t see her. There was a good distance between the beach and the tree line. She was halfway to the water when she heard one of the men yell, “Hey! Over there! It’s her!” She poured on the power, running with all her might, feeling the hard wet sand yielding beneath her pounding feet.

She stumbled. She was on the ground. She looked and saw Caleb aiming at her, while the other one rushed toward her along the sand. Hunter was an apparition off to the side, barely in her field of vision. But with speed that seemed incredible, he sprinted forward, leaping into the air and catching Caleb in a flying tackle, bringing him down. The gun fired, the bullets zinging wildly astray.

Caleb yelled. This brought Bonebrake to a halt, and he turned back in time to see Hunter wrestling the gun away from Caleb and smashing him in the head with it. Bonebrake fired at Hunter. Hunter raised his Tommy gun but surprisingly did not return the fire.

Suddenly Kristin understood why. She was in his line of fire. If his bullets missed the hood, they might hit her. She scrambled to her feet and scurried off down the beach. This had taken only a few seconds, but it gave the hood a chance to draw a bead on Hunter. Kristin saw Hunter swivel around as at least one bullet tore into him. He swiveled back and unleashed a long blast. The bullets stitched the sand to the left and right of the hood—and right through his middle. He fell to the ground screaming. His scream ended, the final shrill note hanging in the air.

Hunter was on his knees. Then he stood and ran toward Kristin. She started toward him. When he was near enough to see that she was unhurt, he turned sharply and moved off toward the boat. “Come on!” he yelled at her.

He threw his weapon into the skiff and began pushing it out to sea. She reached the boat and helped him. She could see that his upper arm was bleeding profusely, but he did not seem to be hit anywhere else. The boat was in the water now, and Hunter told her to get in. He jumped in also. He pulled the cord several times before the motor sprang to life, roaring loudly. Off in the distance, Kristin saw other men hurrying down the beach, drawn by the gunfire. The man in the lead was the third hood from the Paradise. The boat roared out to sea and beyond the range of any of their weapons.

“You’re hurt,” she said, going up to him as he sat in the stem, holding the keel steady with one hand.

Hunter said nothing. He watched the men on the beach grow tiny as the distance increased. Kristin told him to take off his shirt. Then she soaked it in the icy sea water and washed his wounded arm. There was a large gash, but the bullet evidently had not remined in his arm; it appeared to be a crease. He winced as the salt water mingled with his blood. She tied the shirt tightly around his upper arm to stanch the flow of blood.

“Do we have enough fuel to get back to the mainland?” she asked.

“You better hope so.?

? That was all he said during the entire trip back. He was still angry at her, and she didn’t know why. At dawn they reached the coast off New York City. A harbor patrol boat spotted them, and though Hunter tried to lose it, it was far swifter than the skiff. They were taken aboard. Hunter’s wound was properly cleaned, and he was given an emergency bandage. When they reached the harbor, they were held while the police were summoned.

They were questioned at length. They lied. Then both of them were taken away in separate police cars.

CHAPTER 11

Hunter lay on his back on the cot, alone in the closed room of the county lockup. He cursed himself for being so stupid. It was not often that he let himself act in such a crazy, emotional way. It was not often that he acted so insanely as to fall in love.

He slammed his fist down on the side of the cot. Idiot! Right from the start he’d been attracted to her. It was her spirit, her style, her class—her total personality. She was the kind of woman who appealed to the deepest part of him. The kind he wanted to protect and care for and. . . .

Stop being a fool, he cursed himself as he stood up and began to pace around. Things are bad enough without my becoming maudlin to boot. Kristin was only the second girl in his life he had ever fallen in love with. The first girl, Sabrina St. Claire, he had met during the war. He had been too irresponsible and wild then . . . too in love with adventure to ever settle down. He had given her up to another man, a British commando who would make her a far better husband than Hunter ever would have.

Now he was in love with Kristin, more deeply in love than he had ever believed possible. And for the first time in his life he had been ready to give up his bachelor ways and consider settling down, raising a family. She was the woman he had always dreamed of, the woman who would make him happy as his wife and as the mother of his children. He had not let her see this, though, during the weeks they had lived together. How could he? He couldn’t let her know the truth about himself. And besides, though he loved the kind of woman she was, he despised her infatuation with the world of violence. Wanting to become a moll—what kind of ambition was that for a girl like her?

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