Passion's Wicked Torment

by Melissa Hepburne

  “There’s nothing he can do,” Ironman boasted again, indicating McShane’s ship, which was racing toward them. “He’ll cut to the side any second now, giving us a wide target to shoot at. We’ll exchange a broadside of gunfire, and then we’ll outdistance him and be gone. We’ve got more men than he has anyway!”

  McShane was clearly visible now, and Kristin could see that he was grinning. His strong handsome face made her spirits soar. He leveled the raised-up barrel of his Tommy gun and prepared for contact.

  Hunter suddenly understood what McShane’s intentions were. He whispered sharply in Kristin’s ear, “When I tell you to, move back with me away from the side. As fast as you can.”

  “He’ll cut to the side any second,” Ironman said again, but now his voice was worried. It sounded uncertain. The Kristy was extremely close now.

  “Boss, what’s he waiting for?” Riggio cried out desperately.

  “He’ll cut to . . . the . . .? Suddenly Ironman’s eyes went wide as he understood. “He’s going to ram! The son of a bitch is going to ram!"

  “Now!” Hunter yelled to Kristin, grabbing her hand and pulling her far back from the side, away from the center of the ship.

  “Open fire!” shouted Ironman. “Open fire!”

  Sean McShane, on the bow of the ship, was laughing as the Kristy jetted forward, appearing huge now that it was practically on top of them. Then it rammed right into the Daisy, slicing the vessel amidships. Men who had been flat on the deck of the Kristy, bracing themselves for the ramming, now sprang to their feet and began firing.

  Ironman’s thugs began firing too, but their numerical superiority was no longer apparent. Several of Iron man’s men had been killed by the impact of the ramming bow. Others had been catapulted into the air and were now thrashing about desperately in the water as the meat-teased sharks converged on them. There was wailing and screaming from all sides and from the water. Staccato bursts from Tommy guns shattered the air. The noise was so loud that it was painful to the ears. A fire broke out at the point of impact, and thick gray-black smoke billowed up from the Daisy's ruptured engines.

  Kristin was down on the deck on her stomach, with Hunter lying protectively across her, sheltering her with his body and hands. Now Hunter rose up enough to look about, to assess the situation. Kristin looked too. The situation was desperate. Bullets were whizzing about everywhere. Men were dropping, screaming, clutching themselves where they were hit.

  On the Kristy, McShane was high up on the bridge now, firing down at men on the Daisy. He glanced toward Kristin and Hunter and waved his arm to motion them onto his ship, yelling frantically above the roar of gunfire. “Kristy, come on! Come on!”

  The Daisy was now listing at a sloping angle, and Kristin was sure the ship was sinking. The fire continued to spread, as oil from the damaged engines coated the surface of the surrounding sea, setting the sea itself aflame. Through the tumult of the battle, Kristin scanned the deck and the sea for Ironman. She could not find him anywhere.

  Hunter stood up and grasped her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come on,” he said, leading her forward. In a half-crouch they hurried down the sloping deck, then around behind the rows of cabins toward the far side of the ship. A hood with a Tommy gun appeared suddenly, blocking their way. Hunter did a swift half-turn and lashed out with his foot, kicking aside the gun barrel just as it went off. Then he leaped upon the man with a hammer blow to his throat, shattering his windpipe. As the man went down, Hunter grabbed his Tommy gun. He motioned for Kristin to continue after him, then he hurried around the row of cabins.

  Kristin understood now what he intended to do. He would lower a rowboat from the side that was farthest from the flaming sea. But she saw that someone else had the same idea. Ironman and Riggio were letting out the lines that lowered the boat down to the sea. They were working frantically. Ironman’s beefy face was sweating, his eyes intent upon his task. His pistol was tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Riggio had a Tommy gun slung across his back by a strap.

  Seeing Ironman about to escape incensed Kristin. She thought of Chad and the horrible thing Ironman had done to him. The visual image of the way Chad had looked when he had come on board her ship that day he was killed was clear in her mind: gaunt, scarred, delirious with madness. She made a grab for the Tommy gun Hunter held, but Hunter refused to give it to her. “You’ll blow away half the hull of the rowboat with this thing,” Hunter said, his voice low.

  Kristin was so incensed, though, that she did not even think to keep her own voice low when she replied. “I want to kill him!” she shouted. “Give it to me! Give it to me!”

  Ironman and Riggio looked up sharply at the sound of her voice. Ironman saw the two of them and dove away from the boat, releasing the line. The rowboat was too much for one man to handle, and Riggio lost his grip on his own line as the rowboat careened down, bumping its way along the side of the ship, then crashing into the sea with a splash.

  Riggio and Ironman both reached for their weapons. Hunter fired at Riggio first, whose Tommy gun presented the greatest danger. He hit him with a barrage just as Riggio opened fire. Riggio’s shots went wild as he slumped down to the deck, his chest bloody. Before Hunter could turn toward Ironman, however Ironman got off two shots with his pistol. One of them hit Hunter, spinning him around and sending him sprawling.

  “Dallas!” Kristin screamed, running to him. She got down on her knees before him, between Hunter and Ironman, horrified that he might be dead.

  “Now I’ve got you!” Ironman cried with feverish rage behind Kristin.

  But Hunter was not dead. His teeth were gritted, and his brow was tightly knit. He did not rise up from the deck. Kristin heard him say in a commanding voice filled with urgency, “Jump back.”

  She did so, instantly.

  Suddenly there was nothing between Ironman and Hunter. Ironman saw Hunter’s gun barrel aimed at him. He looked terrified. He raised his pistol to fire. Hunter’s Tommy blasted away, a burst that was ear-splitting, the barrel sparking with flame.

  Ironman screamed, clutched his stomach and chest and reeled backward. He hit the railing and continued over into the flaming sea. His scream continued as he thrashed about in the sea, burning to death, taking a long time to die in agony. A final note of his scream hung in the air, a ringing, clear note, until finally it dissipated in the wind.

  Hunter stood up. He was woozy, but he managed to regain his strength and footing. He shook his head to clear it. Kristin saw that it was his shoulder that had taken the bullet. She began pulling at the hem of her skirt, trying to tear loose a strip of material to use as a bandage. She could not tear the skirt with her hands alone. She kept trying, frantically.

  “Stop it,” Hunter said. “I’m not bleeding that badly.” She kept trying to tear part of her skirt loose, despite his words and despite the impossibility of the task. She did not realize she was becoming hysterical until he grasped her and made her look at him. His face was intense, his eyes piercing. “Don’t let me down now, babe. Keep your senses. I need you.”

  She stared at him, her eyes afire. Then she realized what he was saying. His words penetrated to her brain. She nodded her head. “Yes,” she said.

  She watched him looking around for some avenue of escape. They could not go to the lowered rowboat, or to any other. The men from the ship—those who were still alive—were swarming around the skiffs, clawing with each other to get into the only two that had not been ruined by flames or gunshits. It was a madhouse. No one was firing at the crew on McShane’s ship now; everyone was desperately trying to just stay alive, to fight their way off the burning, sinking ship.

  Kristin thought for sure they were going to die. The situation looked hopeless. There was nothing McShane or his men could do to help either. He had been forced to reverse their engines and pull back, lest the bow of the Kristy catch too. The Kristy was now a few yards away from the sinking Daisy. The crewmen could not even row across in rowboats, for the sea su
rrounding the Daisy was blazing from the oil-slick surface. Panicked men kept running into Kristin and Hunter, almost knocking them down. Hunter had to hit several of them to protect Kristin from being trampled by hysterical men blindly searching for escape.

  Kristin began coughing and could not stop. The black smoke from the engine fire was now a thick cloud hanging over them. Her eyes stung with the acidlike smoke. She felt Hunter’s arm go behind her legs, and then she was up in the air, being carried in his strong arms. She tried to protest, knowing that the added exertion was making his wounded shoulder bleed more profusely. She could not even speak though. Each time she tried, she coughed more. Hunter’s eyes were squinted against the smoke as he walked stolidly up the sloping deck toward the bow. Finally they were above the smoke and flames of the midship fire. But now where could they go?

  “Throw a line!” Kristin heard Hunter yell above the roar of the fire. Turning to where he was shouting, she saw McShane standing at the most forward part of the Kristy. His face was contorted in frantic concentration. He put a hand to his ear, signifying that he could not hear.

  “A line!” Hunter screamed.

  McShane’s eyes brightened. He nodded. Hunter set Kristin down and held her arm to steady her so she would not slip down the sloping deck. There were no other men this far up. The others were all clawing at each other at the point closest to the water, where escape seemed more likely. Screams permeated the air.

  Kristin watched as the man McShane motioned to came forward carrying a coil of line. McShane grasped one end, then swung the coil around and around his head to get momentum. Finally he released it. It sliced through the air toward where Hunter stood. It looked like it would fall short, but Hunter reached quickly forward and grasped it before it fell into the flaming sea that separated the two ships.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Kristin shouted above the roar of the fire and the screams of the men. Her coughing fit had subsided, but her eyes were still wet and stinging.

  “Grab this line and hold it as taut as you can!” Hunter handed her part of the rope. She grasped it and braced her feet, leaning back against the railing, holding the line taut with all her strength. It was very hard, for the line spanning the distance between the ships was extremely heavy in the middle where it sagged.

  Hunter was behind her, holding the major bulk of the coil, spinning it out as he backed toward the cabins, A circular life preserver hung from the cabin on sturdy metal hooks. Hunter threw the life preserver into the flaming sea. Then he pulled the line as taut as he could and wrapped the coil around the metal hooks. He tied a knot.

  “All right,” he called to Kristin. “Let go!”

  She released the line. It hung in the air, stretched between the two ships. McShane, on his end, had secured the line to the forward anchor crank.

  Kristin knew what Hunter had in mind, and she was frightened. His eyes, as he came close to her, showed that he understood her fear. But there was absolutely no choice. They would have to cross over to the Kristy on the line above the blazing flames that leaped up from the sea. If they lost their grip for even a second, they would fall and be burned to death.

  “Trust me, babe,” Hunter said.

  “I trust you.”

  “Liar,” he said, grinning at her crazily, his face sweating. Then he kissed her passionately.

  “Hurry!” shouted McShane, his voice carrying for the first time on a gust of wind. He yelled something else, but most of the words were drowned out. Kristin knew he had made some comment about what would happen if the ships drifted farther apart. The line would snap.

  “Babe, I want you to put one arm over my right shoulder, one arm under my left, and hook them together in front of my chest. You’re going to be behind me. Hold me as tight as you can, and don’t let go.”

  “You can’t carry both of us!” Kristin protested.

  “It’s a strong line.”

  “But your shoulder! You’re still bleeding!”

  He brought his face close to hers, his expression commanding. “Do as I say.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. There was no other way for her to get across, and Hunter knew it. She had never had the experience of hand-walking along a rope. It was simply not something that could be done without practice and skill.

  He got up on the railing and grasped the line firmly in both hands. “Now,” he said to her over his shoulder. She got up on the railing behind him, wobbling dangerously, and put an arm over his shoulder, another under his opposite shoulder. She locked her hands in front of his chest as tightly as she could.

  A thought entered her mind just before they pushed off. Hunter seemed to read her mind, for he said to her over his shoulder, “Don’t you dare let go to lighten the load. If you let go, I let go. It’s the two of us from now on. Or nothing at all.”

  He jerked his legs up sharply and hooked them around the line. They were up in the air now, over the sea. Hunter’s powerful hands were gripping the line, his legs hooked over it farther back. He pulled himself forward toward the Kristy, headfirst. Kristin’s arms were locked around him, her legs swinging freely out over the sea. The billowing flames reached high up, and she could feel the intense heat beneath her. The smoke was all around them.

  “Come on! Come on!” Men from the Kristy were shouting frantically, urging them on. They were all gathered at the bow, reaching out, waving them forward. Most of them were Kristin’s friends from her days as part owner of the ship.

  Kristin did not see how the two of them could possibly make it. And yet Hunter kept inching forward, his mighty hands grasping the line, pulling, regrasping and pulling again, his legs pushing for added aid. With her arms around him, Kristin could feel his hard muscular chest. She could see his powerful arm and shoulder muscles bulging with the strain. Hunter was sweating so profusely, Kristin thought she might lose her grip due to the slickness of his chest. She held on tightly.

  Then—thank God!—hands reached out and touched her. An instant later arms were locked around her waist and chest, pulling her forward. “Let go of him!” came a command. It was McShane’s voice. He had her firmly in his grip and wanted her to swing free so he could pull her over the Kristy’s railing. She would not let go though—or could not, she was not sure which. Her arms remained frozen in place around Dallas Hunter’s mighty chest.

  Then arms reached out and grasped Hunter, too, as he came near, and finally the two of them were being hauled aboard over the edge of the railing. Their legs touched down on firm decking. A triumphant cheer went up from the men around them.

  Hunter turned around within the circle of Kristin’s arms to face her. His face was slicked with sweat, smudged by the black smoke that clung to his features. He grinned that familiar, wonderful, powerful Hunter grin, which made Kristin want to melt with love. “You can let go of me now,” he said.

  “Never!” she cried.

  His arms closed around her in a crushing embrace, and he kissed her passionately. The world dissolved into swirling, soaring emotion. Kristin heard McShane’s jubilant voice—not at all petty or jealous—as if from a great distance, declaring, “I told you I’d be there when you needed me!” But she could not focus on it, for nothing seemed to have any reality but Dallas Hunter’s lips upon hers, and her overwhelming, all encompassing love of him.

  She seemed to actually become her love of him, to cease to exist physically and to be transformed in that magic instant into love for Dallas Hunter—and he into love for her. The two of them became as one.

  “My love,” declared Hunter, his lips brushing her ear. He crushed her in a magical, transcendent embrace, and Kristin’s heart and soul soared. She could not stop crying tears of joy.

  EPILOGUE

  When Kristin came back into the living room with the baby’s cereal, Sean McShane was still bouncing little Sean on his knee. The baby was loving it, smiling and gurgling, but Kristin was concerned. “Hey, be careful,” she said. “He’s only six months old, you kno
w.” “Listen, lass, don’t you be telling me how to treat my godson,” Sean laughed. “Me and little Sean here, we’re in training. The way I figure it, if he sticks to the program, we’ll make a Mountie of him yet—in twenty years or so.”

  “Well, maybe. But in the meantime, you quit jogging him up and down so I can give him his dinner.”

  McShane settled the baby down on his knee and held him, while Kristin began spoon feeding him his food. Dallas Hunter came in from the back porch, where he had been cooking steaks on an outside grill. “They’re almost ready,” he said. He looked at Kristin and Sean on the couch, feeding the baby. He grinned. “Now there’s a domestic scene if ever I saw one. And you’re supposed to be such a rough, tough Mountie.”

  “Yeah, you should talk,” said McShane, partly defensively. He knew Hunter was teasing him, but still, he prided himself so much on his full-time commission as a Mountie that he felt called upon to counter Hunter’s aspersions. McShane had given up his casino ship shortly after the rescue of Kristin and Hunter a year and a half ago, and he had returned to Yukon. He was once again the law in that backwoods city, which he loved and where he was greatly appreciated by the townspeople. He had always loved being a Mountie, though he never admitted it. Kristin had guessed long ago though.

  His reverence and respect for the uniform had been a dead giveaway.

  “You’re the domestic one,” McShane chided Hunter. “Kristy here tells me you’ve given up your job as a T-man since the last time I come to visit. What are you doing now?” he asked with good-natured humor. “Selling vacuum cleaners door-to-door? I’ll bet that’s it, eh? Or something of the like.”

  Hunter grinned. “Something just like it.”

  “Now, you stop that,” Kristin scolded McShane. “I had a hard enough time making him give up that dangerous federal agent work now that he’s a family man. I think it’s a very thoughtful, considerate thing that he did it too.” She held out her hand and touched Hunter’s supportively. She turned back to Sean. “Don’t you be teasing him about being a softy. Or he might want to go back.”