Devlin

by C J Matthew

  As it was turning out, she was the only person he could trust to give him the straight story on the status of the Empress Pride at Port of Kaohsiung. The container vessel had arrived late to Taiwan, then joined a very long line waiting to enter the Kaohsiung docking area. At the last update, the Empress still hadn’t reached the cranes.

  Devlin rubbed his beard. The captain and the deck mate in charge of cargo had to be going bonkers. Wasted time, wasted fuel. All unavoidable factors of ocean shipping. Still, frustrating as hell. It seemed there was one good development. It’d stopped snowing in Kaohsiung.

  Frowning, Devlin paced another lap around the lounge. How much would it cost the charter a plane? Hell, he needed his own plane. Cousin Murphy Rudraige, president of Muirdris, owned a private jet. The selfish bastard. Sure, the chieftain of the sea dragon clan claimed the Gulfstream was for all of them. Really? Where was that puppy hangered? Not Tokyo.

  A uniformed airline hostess approached and bowed. “Good fortune, Mister Rudraige. A first-class seat on our flight to Kaohsiung is available. Please come with me.”

  Hours later, Devlin awoke when the wheels of the China Air jet touched down at Kaohsiung Airport. He blinked and realized he’d been out cold for the entire four-and-a-half-hour flight. He started worrying again and texted Madam Shinsuke for an update.

  ‘On the ground in Taiwan. Where is Empress Pride?’

  ‘Cargo berth. Unloading complete in fifteen minutes. Capt. Katsu reports warning light— electrical—requests diagnostic. You are cleared to go aboard at the outer port-temporary wharf.’

  Our mate is near?

  Yep, we’re going to see her soon. Once he reached the Port the beast would be able to smell Portia.

  Outside the airport, Devlin slid into the back of a waiting cab and translated

  ‘temporary wharf’ to Japanese. The driver looked puzzled and shook his head. Devlin went for broke and tried his extremely limited Chinese. The driver bit his lip covering a laugh, and said in English, “Yes, yes, repair.”

  “That’s right, repair a big ship.”

  The taxi driver dropped him off at the end of the dock and in his excitement, Devlin over-tipped the man. Backpack thumping, he jogged to the bottom of the Empress gangway and slowed long enough to pull out his ID and passport.

  At the top of the gangway a seaman inspected his paperwork. “Captain told the officers we’ve got an equipment problem and Ichiban is flying in a repair man. That you?”

  Uh oh. He was losing track of the backstories and covers. Hope I don’t screw this up for anybody. “No, sorry, not me.” He slipped the passport into his backpack and pinned the ID badge to his lapel. With a confiding air, he murmured, “I heard Captain’s got himself a rogue warning light. Could be stuck here all night.”

  “Fuck…no shit?”

  “Swear to god, I shit you not. I’m here to check on that woman, some kind of inspector? Any idea where she is?”

  “Saw her at dinner. Not since. Name’s Portia, like the car. Her name will be on her door.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You really heard all night?”

  Devlin shrugged and headed for the cabin area.

  His heart skittered when he saw ‘Sullivan, P.’ hand written on a card inserted into the metal frame. He knocked softly.

  The door opened a crack. Portia squeaked, jerked him inside, and slammed the door. “About tim—”

  He went for a hard kiss, ending verbal communication. Dropping his bag, he frantically ran his hands over her body. He had to make sure she was really here and all in one piece. The dragon, overjoyed, pranced around like an absolute fool.

  Claim our mate. Now!

  Try to enjoy the moment.

  Portia tugged at the hem of his sweater.

  “Wait.” He snagged her wrists. “Are you sure it’s safe for now?”

  Glaring at him, she freed her hands, pulled her own sweater over her head. Staring at those generous breasts trapped in a lacy pink bra, his mouth watered.

  She bumped a fist against his shoulder. “I’ve searched this entire stinking ship looking for Hoffman and his bomb. He was here when I came aboard, haven’t seen a trace of him since.”

  “You searched his bunk area?”

  “Of course. I found his go-bag but no Hoffman and no bomb.” She jerked her thumb at a leather satchel perched on the built-in desk.

  “You stole it?”

  She gave him a mega-eye-roll.

  “Okay,” he said. “I assume there’s no bomb evidence in there?”

  “I only took a cursory look. Didn’t want to contaminate the evidence.” She cocked her head, stuck out her lower lip. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  Portia circled her arms around his neck and kissed him A kiss that sent a surge of heat to every molecule in his body and gave him the hard-on of a lifetime. Cupping her butt, he half-carried her backwards to the bed. She sat on the edge, undressing, while he watched and finally remembered to strip off his own clothing.

  God, she was beautiful. She reached up to pin her hair and her breasts also lifted, offering themselves to him. He pounced. Gone was finesse. He needed to be inside her, right now.

  Yes. The dragon was a big fan of sack and pillage.

  No. We’ll make love to her and—

  “Devlin,” she groaned. “Hurry. Take me, now.”

  Almost blind with desire, he spread her thighs, rolled on protection, and thrust in deep. She was so tight, a hot wet heaven. His mate arched her hips to meet him. He sped up. She matched his pace. As her orgasm pulsed against his cock, Portia buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed his name. When she began to quiet, he reached between them, and stroked her clit. As she climaxed a second time, he let go and emptied into her.

  Dazed, he rolled to one side and gathered his mate close. Stroking her long hair, Devlin dropped butterfly kisses on her nose and chin. Drawing his head back so he could see her reaction, he said, “Portia Sullivan, I love you.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No, you don’t.”

  “I do. And obviously I need to explain a fact of life about sea dragons.”

  “Oh, does your dragon think he’s in love, too?”

  “You make me sound schizophrenic.”

  “If the psycho-lingo fits…” She arched one eyebrow.

  “Just listen to me for one minute. I do love you, with all my heart. And I’m certain of that fact because dragons from my clan believe in mates. We each have a fated mate. A person who’s our other half. Perfect for us. I knew you were my destined mate the morning after we kissed.”

  “It’s a lovely thought…” Portia sighed.

  “I need to be able to tell you I love you. And to protect you. I know that annoys you—” she snorted— “so I’m trying to ease up on the hovering part. And now that you’ll be staying in Japan, I can work on my issue of over-protectiveness while you take all the time you need to fall in love with me.”

  She laughed. “No lack of self-confidence. Thank you for explaining. I’ll admit I think you’re a unique person and there’s lots of stuff I love about you. Still, trying to wrap me in cotton balls isn’t one of them.”

  “Back to business, then.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you fairly confident Hoffman is still on the ship?”

  “Yes,” she said. “This docking would be the first chance for him to leave and the Captain set a stowaway watch as soon as we were moored.”

  “All the lifeboats accounted for?”

  “Try not to insult me. Yes, I checked all the lifeboats.”

  He hugged her tight. “Honey, it’s too damn dangerous for the two of us to sit on this ship when we know there’s a bomber on board. I’d be more than happy to send the Muirdris helicopter to pick up a pack of bomb sniffing dogs so we can leave.”

  The phone on her desk rang and Portia scrambled to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Captain Katsu here.”

  Devlin could hear the commandin
g male voice over the phone, loud and clear.

  “Still no sign of Hoffman?” the Captain asked.

  “No.” Portia shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “We’ve been cleared to leave port. While I wait for the tugs, let’s see if we can draw-out our missing crew member. I’m ordering a drill.”

  The captain hung up.

  “A drill,” she repeated unnecessarily.

  After a beat, they both shouted, “Get dressed!” as the ship’s horn blasted. The bell joined in.

  Chapter 18

  Portia

  Portia scrambled into her clothes, adding an outer jacket, woolen hat and gloves, then grabbed two life-jackets. Devlin automatically zipped his jacket closed as he studied the ship’s diagram on the emergency placard attached to the cabinet.

  “Know the way to our muster station?” he asked.

  “Follow me. And grab the picture of Hoffman off the desk.”

  She jogged down the deserted corridor, Devlin hot on her heels. The horn abruptly stopped and left her ears ringing. Jeez. Talk about an automatic response. Knowing the drill was a fake, she was compelled to bring life vests and hurry to an assigned meeting spot. Maybe Hoffman would show up after all.

  At the muster station word spread fast this was a fake drill.

  “We got work to do,” one man complained in English.

  Should she ask the men here about Hoffman? At this point, what did she have to lose? “Has anyone seen Hoffman since dinner?”

  The complainer said, “No.”

  When she asked the question again in simplified Japanese, everyone else mumbled a negative response.

  The all-clear sounded and as the crewmen hurried away, an officer approached her.

  “Ms. Sullivan? Captain says to tell you, no joy. He has okayed our port departure.”

  “Thank you.”

  As the officer turned away, Devlin put his arm around her. “There goes our last chance to abandon ship.”

  “Let’s take a look through the engine room again.”

  “Okay. Now? After the tugs get us to the Port entrance and we’re under our own power, the engine room is the last place you want to be. It gets wicked loud when the captain steps on the gas.”

  Portia stopped by her cabin to stow the life vests before she and Devlin went down to the power plant of the ship. She stuffed hat and gloves into her jacket and hung it by the door. Trying to remember all the nooks and crannies she’d already checked, she gave up. There were two of them this time. They’d recheck everything.

  Devlin vetoed her plan to separate.

  “Fine,” she huffed. “We’ll stick together. You check for explosive components as high as you can reach, and I’ll bend over searching low.”

  He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “Get busy.”

  Two hours later, they came up empty. Again.

  “Break time,” she said, stretching her aching back. “You’re in charge of remembering where we left off.”

  “Back to your cabin?”

  “Let’s go up to the bridge. We’ll update the Captain and watch the tugs for a few minutes.”

  Bundled up again, they stopped at the exterior railing to watch a tug push the Empress Pride. “A slow but careful process,” she noted.

  The bridge was relatively quiet. Devlin shook hands with the Captain then politely stepped back while she spoke in euphemisms to detail her search so far for Hoffman, a bomb or bomb parts.

  “An innovative idea, Captain, calling a fire drill.”

  “Too bad it didn’t work.”

  “I’d like to hear more of your ideas on commanding a container ship. Maybe we could have an in-depth discussion at a later time. How long will you be Yokohama?”

  “That decision is up to Mr. Shinsuke.” The Captain lowered his voice. “I need to report to him, make certain I still have a ship.”

  Portia bowed. “Captain Katsu, I have no doubt you’ll continue to command the Empress Pride indefinitely.”

  Katsu’s eyes widened but otherwise his face remained impassive. After exchanging formal bows, she returned to Devlin.

  “Still have the photo of Hoffman?”

  “Right here,” he said, handing it over.

  “Maybe we should show it around.”

  The Captain signaled to her.

  “I believe Hoffman’s been on the ship long enough, everyone knows his face. Let’s try one more trick. I’ll announce a reward for the crewmen who locate Hoffman, bring him to me.”

  “Great plan,” she said.

  Devlin gave them both a thumbs up. “You need to set that trap asap.”

  “How much longer,” Portia asked Katsu, “’til you get your ship back?”

  With a glance out the giant windows, Katsu gauged their position relative to the open ocean. “I’d say nine minutes.”

  Clicking on the microphone, he broadcast the offer of a reward over the ship-wide system. Moments later, a crew member on a lower deck shouted up to the bridge wing. “He’s here. Hoffman. I’ll grab him.”

  Devlin craned his neck. “Where’s he been spotted?”

  “Port side, near the life raft.”

  She ran for the exit. “Keep us updated,” Devlin shouted, sprinting after her. Using the adrenaline boost, she slid down the narrow stairwell, arms braced, gloved hands skimming along the handrail.

  Coming up behind her, Devlin repeated, “Port life raft.”

  “Got it.”

  Just before they reached the end of the passage way and emerged on to the covered deck, she skidded to a stop. He almost collided into her.

  “What?” he demanded in a raspy whisper.

  “Listen.”

  “Running? Which way?”

  “There’s someone ahead of us. Running toward the bow.”

  Couldn’t he hear that? She arched her brows at him.

  “Go with it,” he hissed and nudged against her back. “I’m right behind you.”

  She took off, bolstered by his trust. And made a tight turn around the corner. From there, she pounded along the railing. Slowing as she approached each cross corridor, to look and listen, then she sped on.

  All their focus had been on a bomb. No one had asked if Hoffman was armed. She’d better assume the worst. When they reached the enclosed life boat, a Japanese sailor was already there. “Hoffman not here.”

  She spun around to Devlin. “We really should split up.”

  “No way in hell,” he growled. “It’s too dangerous.”

  But she’d made up her mind. And was a smidge faster than him in a sprint. She darted around him, ran back down the deck, retracing their steps. She heard his footsteps as he started after her and then he hesitated.

  “Five minutes,” he yelled at her back. “I’ll come looking for you.”

  She tried to calm down and think logically. Hoffman must have a hiding place if he managed to double back and they passed him on their way to the life boat. She needed to slow down and look everywhere big enough to hold a man.

  Shit, why hadn’t she requested the handheld radios the crew used for outside work in bad weather?

  Approaching another cross corridor, she stopped and then moved forward in a slow crouch.

  Only five minutes? Devlin wasn’t making much progress curing his over-protectiveness.

  About six feet along the hallway, she spotted a shadow. She froze. Listened. Squinted. Her body blocked the faint light from the railing behind her. Ahead, the narrow passage got darker. Her blood pressure thudded in her ears. She held her breath. Had the shadow moved?

  Find out. If Hoffman wasn’t hiding in here, she was wasting what little time remained. As she tiptoed forward, the shadow became a shallow cabinet attached to the wall from floor to ceiling. Shit. She finished searching the passageway and came up empty. Turning around, she ran back to the railing and resumed her progress aft.

  How much time remained? How long until the last tug departed? As s
oon as that tug radioed the bridge, Katsu would power-up the Empress Pride’s massive engines. Intensify the noise level until it became impossible to hear someone sneaking around.

  At that point, the hunt would continue but it would be a hell of a lot more difficult.

  Portia spotted another shadowy walkway ahead and she slowed. Skin crawling with goosebumps, she held her breath. Pressing her back against the bulkhead, she inched toward the doorway. Just before she lunged forward, a hand shot out. Beefy fingers gripped her arm in a bruising hold. Hoffman.

  She sucked in a breath of air, started to scream, when his other ham-sized hand clapped over her mouth. And covered her nose, cutting off all her oxygen. She couldn’t breathe so she panicked. Clawing at his wrist, she twisted and kicked.

  Hoffman trapped her other arm and held her back pressed against his solid chest. Stomping on his work-boots had no effect, so she battered at his shins. Air. Her lungs screamed. Black spots danced in front of her. She needed to breathe. Darkness crowded in.

  The deck vibrated as the engines increased power. Hoffman’s hand dropped from her mouth. She sucked in a lungful of air. Snapped her head back, connecting squarely to his chin. He released her completely. Gritting her teeth, Portia smashed the back of her head into his nose.

  Hoffman’s nose poured blood. He let out a vicious snarl and grabbed a fistful of her hair.

  She screamed in pain. Hoffman yanked the hair, hard. She screamed words, “Help. Help me. Hoffman’s here.”

  Kicking, punching, Portia was still trapped by the large hank of hair. Desperate, her screams got specific, “Devlin, help. Devlin save me.”

  Chapter 19

  Devlin

  Devlin’s sea dragon heard his mate screaming for help. And the beast put up a hell of a fight trying to shift while Devlin waged his own war to restrain him. Once they reached the port side and he saw Portia, bloodied and waging her own battle against Hoffman, he and the dragon joined forces again.

  Kill him.

  I intend to. Once our mate is safe.

  Hoffman stumbled back, out of the corridor, and toward the railing. He pulled Portia with him, twisting more of her hair around his hand until her head arched backward.