Page 61 of Passion's Wicked Torment

Keys jiggled in the lock, and the handle was turned. The door remained closed, though, due to the wedged chair. Hunter handed Kristin her clothes. They dressed in silence, while beyond the door, Riggio was shouting, “Hey! What’s going on in there? What kind of stunt is this?”

When they were dressed, Hunter opened the door. Kristin had an intuition of what Hunter would do—if not now, then later. He was not the kind of man who would sit back and let them choose their own time and method. He would attack, even though there was no chance of success. He would go down fighting, she knew that. And she made a decision that she would follow his lead in this too. What a grand, crazy finale that would be! How startled Ironman would be to see the two of them hopelessly, futilely rush his army of gangsters, like lemmings swimming in a suicide mission upstream.

“Come on, come on,” ordered Riggio. “I ain’t got all day.” He motioned Hunter and Kristin out of the cabin. Three henchmen were in the doorway, all carrying weapons.

They went out of the cabin, down the corridor, then up on the deck. Riggio led the way; Hunter and Kristin followed. And behind them were the others. Waiting on the deck to greet them was Ironman, wearing his vested pinstripe suit. His slicked-back hair was uncovered, his face grim. Behind him the sky was blushing powder blue with dawn. It was chilly out, and the salty sea air swept in on the breeze.

Ironman folded his arms across his chest and looked at Hunter and Kristin, allowing himself to smile maliciously. “I’m finally getting rid of you, Dallas. You been nothing but a pain to me for way too long. You federal turncoat! And you, Kristin, you could have had it so good as my moll.” He shook his head commiseratingly. “But, no, you had to try to put one over on me. Well, now you both come to what you been asking for.” He looked over the side of the ship, into the sea.

Kristin looked too. She saw two fins breaking the surface of the water, circling around.

Ironman called to one of his men on top of the forward cabin. “Go ahead! I want to make sure they’re hungry!” The man reached into the bucket he was holding and pulled out a big hunk of red meat taken from the ship’s galley. He tossed it out into the sea. Immediately the fins converged on it. Enormous jaws broke the water as one of the sharks showed its fearsome head for the first time. There was a loud snap, and the meat disappeared. The sharks dove to fight over the catch.

When Ironman grinned at Kristin and Hunter, there was evil in his eyes. “I don’t have to worry about any traces of you two showing up as incriminating evidence. I brought you this far out into shark waters just to make sure. And I’m sure.”

Kristin saw Hunter’s jaw tense, and she sensed that he was about to charge Ironman. It would be futile.

The men on board all had their weapons in hand and were watching Hunter, just waiting for him to try something like this. But Kristin thought, What did it matter? Better to die trying to kill human scum like Ironman than to docilely let themselves be fed to the sharks. She watched Hunter closely, her mind made up. She would charge forward at the same instant he did to do whatever damage she could with her nails and teeth before they. . . .

“Ship aho! Ship aho!” shouted one of the henchmen, pointing off to the starboard side.

“That’s ahoy, stupid,” said Riggio.

“What do you want from me? I’m no damn sailor.

I'm—"

m—

“Shut up!” roared Ironman. He peered into the distance at the approaching ship, frustrated and furious that his plans were being interfered with, even though he was sure it was only temporarily. All eyes turned to look at the approaching ship, which was yet only a speck on the horizon. The ship closed toward them fast though, and soon they could make out its markings.

“Boss!” exclaimed Riggio. “It’s that one with the golden hull. The one we saw heading in our direction when we first left shore!”

From farther away down the deck one of Ironman’s henchmen said accusatively to another, “The harbor fights reflecting off the water, you said! Diffusing through the fog, you said!”

“Ah, shut up,” growled the other.

Everyone watched the ship come closer. Ironman ordered three of his men down to the Daisy's armory to get the Tommy guns in case they were needed. At the moment, his men carried only pistols. Tension was electric in the air as all eyes focused on the approaching golden-hulled craft.

“Boss,” said Riggio nervously, nodding toward Kristin and Hunter. “Do we dump these two to the sharks?” “Not now, you fool. Wait till we pull away from that ship. You think we want witnesses!”

Kristin was the first to recognize the ship, though she was not quite sure. The outline of it was very familiar, but the color was so strange. Then she remembered: McShane had repainted the Kristy to erase memories of her personal touch. “Sean,” she whispered.

“So what the hell is it?” Ironman shouted to no one in particular. “Whose is it?”

The Daisy's captain leaned out of the pilot shack and shouted down from the bridge. “She’s not responding to radio contact!”

“Boss,” said Riggio uncertainly, “it’s not . . . you don’t think it could be that ship Kristin here owned with that partner, do you? The one that was interfering with our casino operations?”

It was impossible to tell clearly, for the ship was racing through the sea straight toward them, with only the front of its bow and its narrowest profile visible. But soon the ship was close enough so that figures could be detected on board. Kristin was amazed and jubilant to see that the foremost figure at the front of the ship, his leg raised up on the railing, holding a Tommy gun toward the sky, was Sean McShane. Crazily, he wore his Mounted Police uniform. It was only the second time she had ever seen him wear it. His face was not yet clearly visible, but his burly, muscular body and arrogant bearing were unmistakable, as were the crimson coat and flat-brimmed hat.

“It’s that damn Mountie!” said Ironman, amazed. “What the hell is this, anyway?”

Riggio shook his head, dumbfounded.

One thing was clear. The men aboard the oncoming Kristy had weapons and intended to use them. “Prepare to open fire!” Ironman ordered. “Captain, get this damn tub moving!” A burst of activity erupted aboard the ship. The men returning from the armory were besieged by the others now, who quickly grabbed the arriving Tommy guns. Ironman’s men fanned out along the length of the starboard side, from which McShane’s ship w

as approaching.

The engines aboard the Daisy sprang to life with a rumble and a roar, and the ship began moving forward,very slowly at first. Ironman said to Kristin, “Your boyfriend there ain’t going to save you. Don’t get your hopes up. We got some big engines here. A ship like your Kristy’s got maybe half as much horsepower. That’s why it took so long for them to catch up to us. We outdistanced ’em. And we’ll do it again too! There’s no way they can stop us.”

Kristin watched tensely as the Kristy approached. She feared Ironman was right. She stepped close to Hunter, who put his arm around her waist. They both watched McShane’s ship approach.

“Is there anything he can do?” she asked Hunter. Hunter’s eyes did not leave the approaching ship. “He can’t catch us if he lets us reach full power. Ironman’s right about that. If Ironman hadn’t kept slowing the Daisy earlier so he could entice the sharks to us with his meat bait, and if he hadn’t come to a full stop now, your Mountie would never have gotten this close. He must have seen us being taken aboard the Daisy and been trying to catch up to us ever since.” Hunter paused. “He’s got to reach us before we get up to full power, or he never will.”

“Get ready, men!” Ironman shouted.

McShane was close enough now so that it was only seconds before the ships would rendezvous. Ironman was clearly not worried though, and in fact was relishing the approaching encounter. He knew that all the Mountie could do would be run alongside for a minute or two and exchange gunfire with the Daisy. Then, within two minutes—probably even less—the Daisy would reach full speed and would outdistance the Kristy. McShane could never catch up to them again once that happened.

“He’s got no hope,” chortled Ironman. He looked at Kristin and Hunter. “And neither have you. Soon as we get away from here, it’s over the side with both of you. No more fooling around.”

Kristin saw Hunter staring up at the pilot’s bridge, and she knew he was considering making a dash for it to try to reach the controls and reverse the engines. She put her hand through his arm, though, holding him. She knew he could not make it. Ironman’s henchmen were all up and down the length of the ship. Hunter might pass three or four of them, but he’d never pass all of the men who stood between here and the pilot shack.

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