SEA ORPHAN

by J. KRAMER

  “Juanita, how long have you known me? When did Master Gavin and I get married?”

  “Juanita work now.”

  “Please answer my questions. I don’t know if Master Gavin told you, but I don’t remember anything about myself.”

  “Juanita know nothing. I work.”

  Seeing that she wouldn’t get anywhere with the girl, Becky tried to concentrate on the book. What she read didn’t do anything to help her aching crotch. It was a mixture of pain from she didn’t know what and a strange throbbing sensation caused by looking at the girl’s genitalia. The letters faded before her eyes as she thought about the maid. What was this girl to Gavin? Why would he require his female staff to wear such exotic dress and demand the piercings and removal of pubic hair? Why had she, Becky, allowed her staff to dress like that? Her head ached from the questions that milled around. She leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. The humming of the boat’s motors caused her to drift off. But it wasn’t a restful snooze. Her dreams were plagued by strange visions of a young girl happily dancing on a beach and a man holding out his arms. He had a wild mane of hair, a long bushy beard, but each time she reached out to him his face faded.

  ***

  Juanita looked at the sleeping woman with disdain. She hated Becky. Gavin had told her Becky was his wife. Now the woman was getting better Gavin wouldn’t want Juanita anymore. Soon, she wouldn’t have a job. Gavin was crazy for this woman. So crazy, that last night he fucked Juanita right beside the sleeping woman while he played with the woman’s clit. His lust wasn’t for Juanita. He wanted Becky, but Becky was still not well and sleeping.

  Softly, Juanita tiptoed to the couch and gazed down at Becky. She had to admit the woman was pretty in a pale sort of way. But what else did the woman have? Did she have the fire Juanita could give Gavin? Was her body as ripe?

  Curious now, Juanita tugged carefully at Becky’s shirt and undid the buttons. She looked at the golden breasts, large brown nipples and huge aureole surrounding them. A knowing little smile played on her lips. Gavin’s interest in the woman would soon stop and then he would call Juanita back to his bed to satisfy his needs.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The policemen and the forensics team looked at Lucien strangely as they combed the cottage for scraps of evidence. Several times they’d stop to look at one of the paintings he’d done of Becky as a young girl. At times Lucien saw lust mirrored in their eyes, some of the other men feigned disgust at Becky’s exposed genitalia. Lucien sometimes wondered at the minds of people. Hadn’t the old, famous artists even painted naked women? That was already a feat in itself in those times. He bet, if they would have dared, they would have painted every detail. Just like Lucien Moore.

  They found blood and a tuft of hair on the leg of the table indicating that Becky had fallen and hit her head against it. After searching for fingerprints, they came up with two different sets but they weren’t sure if some of them weren’t Becky’s. They had already determined they weren’t Lucien’s prints.

  Outside, and on the beach, they had taken pictures of the footsteps. One footstep was still visible in the wet sand. It was the clearest print. Their investigation seemed to take forever. While he waited, Lucien worked on Becky’s portrait they had asked for. It wasn’t hard. Everything around him dimmed while he envisioned her sweet face.

  Finally, they were finished. Lucien had completed the small painting of Becky’s face and handed it to the detective. “That’s exactly how she looks now,” he said.

  “Excellent.”

  “Be careful. It’s still wet.”

  “Why don’t you carry it then? Will it take long to dry?”

  “No. I treated it so it will dry fast.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Lucien hung around the police station, anxious for results. It took a few hours but then finally they had come up with some answers. Except the answers didn’t tell them much. The kidnappers wore American running shoes. A scrap of paper told them much more. One of the forensics team members had rescued it from the sea as it washed up on shore. It was a paper napkin; the monogram or lettering on it almost washed out by the salty water. But the lab had managed to decipher the lettering. It said, ‘The Love Queen.’ The monogram had three letters. ‘GJR’

  Within minutes the detectives were on the phone and behind their computers trying to trace a boat by that name. Nowhere in Queensland was any such boat registered.

  Lucien waited impatiently.

  Suddenly, the younger detective jumped up with a shout. “I’ve got something!”

  Lucien jumped up and rushed to the detective along with several other officers. “What did you find?” he asked anxiously.

  “A boat by that name moored briefly in Cairns to fuel up. It’s an American boat.”

  “Great. And the US is such a small country,” said one of the officers sarcastically. “We’ll have to contact the authorities in the States.”

  “Damn it! That could take forever! God knows what they’re doing to her. Look at the name of the boat, for God’s sake!” Lucien shouted in utter frustration. “It’s probably a floating whorehouse!”

  “What do you expect us to do, Mr Moore? America is a large place. The boat could be registered anywhere. It’ll take some time. Hopefully they’ll treat her well. Obviously Becky hasn’t been kidnapped for ransom.”

  “Then what the hell do they want with her? Prostitution? A sex toy for the rich?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Gavin noticed the empty space in bed beside him and frowned angrily. “What the hell? Where is she?” Grabbing the bottle from the nightstand he shook it. “Harry, get me a beer!” he shouted. “And where’s my wife?”

  Harry, always hovering nearby, entered the cabin. “Your—eh—wife was up very early this morning. She’s reading a book in the lounge.”

  “Get me a beer and some aspirin. What’s wrong with you? You know what I need when I wake up.”

  Harry knew full well what Gavin needed and it wasn’t aspirin or beer. “Do I have x-ray vision? How the hell do I know when you’re awake?” He handed Gavin two aspirins and a bottle of beer.

  “Get the girl in here!” Gavin ordered.

  “Why don’t you get cleaned up first? Last night’s semen is still caked on your legs.”

  “Aren’t you getting kind of cocky?”

  “The tub is still full. I added chlorine to the water. You know we can’t keep refilling it or we’ll run out of fresh water.” Harry looked down at the disgruntled man on the bed and smiled. Gavin’s huge cock was fully erect, but Harry knew it was a water cock. All the same, he ached to touch it, to feel it in his mouth. But first Gavin had to realize his preferences. Until such time Harry had to cool it and just watch and hope.

  “Tell Becky to join me in the tub.”

  “Okay. I’ll go and get her.”

  Becky woke up to the sound of Harry’s voice calling her, but for a moment it was a different voice. One she couldn’t quite place. She sat up. “I must have drifted off. Reading always makes me sleepy,” she said wondering at the same time how she knew that. Glancing down she noticed her blouse hanging open exposing her breasts. “Now how did those button become undone?” she wondered aloud.

  “I must compliment you on your tits. They’re the nicest I’ve seen in a long time,” said Harry. Though he didn’t desire the girl, he could admire her beauty.

  Becky looked up in surprise and quickly fumbled with the buttons to close her shirt. “Thank you, Harry. I suppose that’s a compliment.” She felt her face grow hot under his admiring gaze but saw no lust in his eyes. Just unadulterated admiration.

  “Yes. Gavin wants you to join him in the tub.”

  “Really? Tell Gavin I’ve already showered and I’ll see him on deck.”

  “He won’t like that.”

  “He’ll have to like it because I’m not about to have another bath.” For some reason she had no desire to join the man who called himself her husband.
She still wondered at her chafed cleft and aching vagina. What had he done to her while she slept so soundly? And she had plenty of questions needing to be answered before engaging in any more play with him. Especially about Juanita.

  An hour later, Gavin strode into the lounge. “What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you join me in the tub?”

  “I’ve already had a shower, Gavin,” Becky said quietly while looking at the sulky expression on his face. His hair was neatly combed, his clothes immaculate. He wore a T-shirt and white shorts, white socks and white running shoes. “We need to talk.”

  “I don’t feel like talking. I have a headache.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Becky watched as he poured himself a drink. “Aren’t you going to eat first?”

  “I only eat once a day.”

  “I see.” She held her hand up when he started to pour vodka in her orange juice. “I don’t want any.”

  Gavin sat in a chair opposite her and looked at her through narrowed eyes.

  “Gavin, I need to know about my life before the accident happened. Please talk to me? Tell me about myself? Who is the artist who did those paintings? Did I pose for him that way? Was I, am I, that wanton?”

  Gavin looked at her thoughtfully. “He was a stranger. Yes, you posed for him that way because I wanted you to. It turned me on.”

  “I see. When and where were they done?”

  He had to think fast. “We stopped at the island he lives on. He’s an old hermit.”

  “That wasn’t that long ago then because some of the paint is still sticky.”

  “It was just a few days ago.”

  “And where was that? Where did we just come from?”

  “Australia. An island off the Queensland coast.”

  “Can you turn the boat around and go back there? It might trigger my memory.”

  Gavin laughed. “Are you crazy? We’re going home, baby.”

  “But I don’t know the place you call home.”

  “You will once you get there,” he tried to reassure her.

  “Can you describe this painter so that I can try to remember?”

  “Well, he’s in his late sixties, has a wild mane of grey hair and a long beard. He’s lived on the island for years, runs around naked like a wild man. His skin is very leathery from exposure to the elements.”

  Becky tried to form a picture of the man in her mind. “Doesn’t do anything for me. Now about the maid. I don’t like the way she’s dressed. Juanita said that’s what you want but I don’t like it. I can’t imagine ever having approved of such dress mode.”

  “You need not talk. You didn’t mind Harry seeing you yesterday.”

  “I was still not feeling well and very tired and I was in the water.”

  Gavin tried to remain patient. Why was the girl acting like such a prude? After all, when he found her she’d been running around naked on the beach. “You always liked running around naked, Becky, and you didn’t care who saw you.”

  “I don’t remember and I’d like Juanita to wear a proper uniform or something. And why did you make her get rid of her pubic hair? And made her have her nipples and cleft pierced?”

  “It turns me on to see that on a woman.”

  “Is Juanita your woman, Gavin?” Becky asked softly.

  “She was a sex toy for a while. Now I don’t need her anymore,” he lied.

  “I didn’t see a ring in your dick,” Becky said sarcastically.

  “No. Never thought about it but now that you mention it, it’s an interesting idea. I could tickle your clit with my ring.”

  “Forget it. It’s barbaric.”

  “Becky, I’m crazy about you, do you realize that? Your Australian accent turns me on, all of you turns me on.”

  “Hell, I don’t realize anything. I don’t know anything,” she said tears burning behind her eyes from utter frustration.

  Gavin noticed. He stood up and walked toward her. “Honey, I love you. You’re my wife. Don’t you remember the love you feel for me?”

  “No,” she said in a small voice.

  “I’ll have to win you all over again,” he sighed while setting his glass on the table. “Come here.” He took her hand and pulled her up into his arms. “There, that’s better. This is where you’re supposed to be, safely in my arms.”

  Becky cried softly on his shoulder. Having his arms around her felt good, but did it feel right? It seemed that Gavin was the only person she had in the world.

  Gavin realized that he had to take it easy. If he wanted this girl to believe she was his wife and have her fall in love with him, he’d have to woo her as if he were courting her all over again. “Ssh, baby, don’t cry. I’ll tell Juanita to wear something else.”

  “She said she doesn’t have other clothes,” Becky said in a small voice.

  “It seems you do,” he murmured sarcastically, annoyed at the shorts and shirt she wore. “You can give her some of yours.”

  “Gavin, they all smell new. Have I ever worn any of the clothes in the closet or the dresser?”

  He held her at arm’s length. “Baby, you like to run around naked. The clothes in the closet and drawers, is your trousseau.”

  “Oh. What did I do before we got married? Did I have a job?”

  He had to think fast. “You were a fashion model. You posed for pictures.”

  “Really? What kind of pictures?”

  “Fashion pictures for magazines,” he lied.

  “Do you have any on board?”

  “No. After I married you, you were to be my model only.”

  “I see. Did I model in the nude?”

  “No. Your picture was on the cover of many magazines.” Gavin suddenly realized he was getting himself in too deep. What if she started to search for pictures of herself, phoned magazines to ask? Quickly he changed the subject. “Feel like going for a swim, my love?”

  Becky pulled away from him and frowned. “In the ocean? I don’t feel strong enough yet, Gavin.”

  “Why don’t you go change into a bikini then and we’ll sit on deck and just talk. I’ll get us a cocktail.”

  “No cocktails for me, thank you. Gavin, the artist, Lucien Moore, did he mind painting me in such provocative positions?”

  Damn, she was asking too many questions. “No, I think he rather enjoyed it. What man wouldn’t? Go and put on your bikini. I’d like you to keep that tan.”

  Deep in thought Becky went to the master cabin. Somehow she couldn’t picture the artist as a middle-aged man. But then again, she couldn’t picture him as anything. She rummaged through the drawer filled with bikinis. She held up several and noticed they were just scraps of material. After she dug through the rest, she found a one-piece bathing suit. Like the rest of her clothing, it seemed brand new.

  Before she returned to the lounge to join Gavin, she stood and gazed at the paintings imagining them on an easel, the artist with a paintbrush between his lips, looking at her. Try as she might, she couldn’t conjure up an image of Lucien Moore.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  John Ferguson’s expression was grim. “So how do they expect to find Becky? She could be anywhere in the States.”

  Lucien nodded. “I know. It worries me. I have a mind to fly to the States and start searching for her myself.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” said Paul who walked into the living room carrying several bottles of beer. He handed one to Lucien and his father. “I’ll talk to my boss. I’m sure he’ll give me time off to go search for my sister. I’ll go with you.”

  “I’ll go, too,” said John. “If we all go to different destinations to search, maybe one of us will be lucky.”

  “That’s a good plan,” Lucien said. “I’ll go to San Francisco. If you go to New York, John, and Paul goes Florida, we might find a lead.”

  “I’ll go and make the reservations. Is your passport in order, Lucien?”

  “Yes. It’s good for another four years. I’d just renewed it before I withdrew from
civilization.”

  “Great. I’ll call my bank first thing in the morning and withdraw sufficient funds for all of us.”

  “John, I’d like to fund this expedition. I’ve got plenty of money and I feel responsible.”

  John looked at Lucien’s face and his serious expression and knew he had to give him the opportunity to fund the search. “Okay. I’ll let you make the arrangements then. Are you sure you have enough money to cover all the expenses?”

  “I own Moore Enterprises. I’m sure you’ve heard of the company.”

  John nodded. “Yes. It’s the biggest electronic company in Queensland. I didn’t realize you were the founder.”

  “I’m the only stockholder. The company is mine. Once a year the board of directors report to me and I receive my dividends. Thanks to my simple lifestyle I’ve accumulated quite a fortune now.”

  John was surprised. When he’d first seen Lucien, that day he’d resembled a wild man and still did with his mop of long, unkempt hair. His clothes looked as if they’d never been ironed and Lucien resembled a pauper rather than a rich man. But he had a kind face, ruggedly handsome and he could understand why Becky had fallen in love with this man. “I see. I guess you need to go shopping for suitable clothes before we leave?”

  “No. I’ve plenty of clothes on my estate. I’ll go and get some tonight. Time I inspected the property anyway.”

  Paul had listened silently to the conversation. “I’m impressed. What on earth caused you to become a hermit?”

  “Personal reasons. I’ll tell you all about it after we find Becky, and I have a gut feeling we’ll be more successful than the police.” His words were brave, but deep down he had a sick feeling. Yet he needed to do this, to feel useful, rather than sit around and wait to hear from the police, and he knew Becky’s family felt the same. They didn’t need to put it into words, just like he didn’t want to voice his deepest fears.