The Hostage. Сьюзен Виггс

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СКАЧАТЬ nearly choked on her tea. Dizzy, she lowered herself onto the bench. She forced her eyes to focus on something, anything, to keep from fainting. She stared at her shoes, scuffed and worn from her ordeal. For two days she had slept in her shoes.

      How strange it now seemed that Kathleen used to take her foot between her knees to do up Deborah’s shoes with the button hook. She shut her eyes in despair.

      There must have been some powerful drug in the tea, for everything swirled behind her closed eyelids, and then she knew nothing. With a vague, dreamlike awareness, she felt the mug taken from her hand. Powerful arms lifted her. The sensation startled her awake with a cry. Panic hammered in her chest, and she screamed.

      “Shut up,” said Tom Silver through gritted teeth. “I’m taking you back to your bunk.”

      “Put me down,” she yelled, horrified at his nearness, the lake-and-leather scent of him, the way he held her in his tree trunk arms.

      “Fine.” He practically dumped her down the hatch. “Just don’t fall asleep in the pilothouse again.”

      She was shaking when she returned to the cramped quarters, pressing herself back against the door. Different, she told herself, trying to still the crazed beating of her heart. This was different. This man, this Tom Silver, hated her. His hatred was supposed to keep him from touching her. She didn’t want anyone to touch her, ever again.

      Deborah awoke again hours—or days?—later to the rattle and churn of the trawler’s engine and the murmur of masculine utterances. She lay perfectly still, trying to pretend this was not real. She refused to open her eyes. So long as she kept them closed she could pretend she was back at Miss Boylan’s, in her own bed of pressed Irish linens. In a few minutes, Kathleen would come with tea and milk on a tray, and they would discuss Deborah’s plans for the day.

      But inevitably, the damp fishy smell of the boat and Smokey’s doggy odor chased away the fantasy. Once again, she struggled to the galley, finding Lightning Jack poring over a chart.

      He offered her tea again.

      “Just water, please. Your tea makes me suspicious.”

      “You should be grateful for the sleep. This is a long and boring voyage.”

      “And what is our destination?”

      “That is up to your father. If he surrenders to our demands, we’ll put you on a train in Milwaukee.”

      She felt a spark of eagerness. “Have you already sent a message?”

      “We’ll wire from Milwaukee,” he said.

      “Why are you and Tom Silver making demands from my father?” she asked. “What do you want from him?”

      “Justice,” Lightning Jack said simply.

      “I don’t understand. Justice for what?”

      He stared out the window, pocked with spray. “For murder.”

      An incredulous laugh escaped her. “You think my father murdered someone?”

      “I know he did.” Lightning Jack rose from the bench.

      “You know nothing of the sort,” she retorted. “My father has never harmed a soul. He’s a good man—”

      “He is fortunate to have a daughter who believes in him. But that does not alter the truth.”

      “Then tell me your version of the truth.”

      “Last summer—”

      “That’ll do, Jack.” A large and ominous shadow filled the doorway, obliterating the light. Tom Silver ducked his head and stepped into the galley. “Best check on the piston drivers. Weren’t you going to do that today?”

      Lightning Jack nodded. He looked at Deborah briefly. “Find something to eat. You’ll need your strength.”

      “But you—what—” Before Deborah could get the words out, he was gone. She glared at Tom Silver. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”

      “I heard.”

      “You had no right to interrupt.”

      “You have no rights, period.”

      She shot up from the table. Her vision swam, and for a horrible moment she feared she might swoon. She grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself. “I have every right to know why you took me against my will. I have every right to know why you forced me aboard this smelly boat and why you’re taking me far from home. I have every right—”

      “You claim a lot of rights for someone who’s a prisoner.”

      She tried to form an answer, but lost her grip on the edge of the table. The deck raced up to meet her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for a fall. But something stopped her. A giant male hand caught her, gripped her shoulder and steadied her. She opened her eyes, and a shiver of nauseating revulsion rolled over her. His touch was harsh, impersonal. It set off a reaction within her that made her sick.

      “Let go of me,” she said, breathing the words through clenched teeth. “I beg you, let go.”

      “Don’t beg. I can’t stand that in a female.” He gave her a shove, and she staggered back to the bench. “Do as you’re told and keep your mouth shut, and we’ll get along a lot better.”

      “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t care to get along with you?”

      “No, but it occurred to me that I could tie you up and gag you.”

      Her jaw dropped. The utter cruelty of this man stunned her. She was accustomed to the little refined cruelties of ruthless social climbers, but not to the raw force of Tom Silver’s brutality.

      “What’s this?” he asked, picking something up off the floor.

      Deborah reached for the velvet pouch. “It’s mine. It must have dropped when I nearly fell just now. Oh, don’t—”

      But he did, of course. He opened the pouch, and out fell her lavaliere. The blue topaz prism, set in silver filigree, was not the most costly of baubles, but its sentimental value to Deborah was beyond price. “That was my mother’s. Give it back,” she said, holding out her hand.

      “Nope.” He stuck it in his pocket. “We’ll send it to your father—so he knows we’re not bluffing.”

      It was the one possession that truly meant something to Deborah. “Please,” she said. “Not that. You’ve already taken my diamond engagement ring. That’s much more valuable.”

      “And more likely to be stolen by the messenger.”

      “My father might think you simply found that in the confusion of the fire,” she pointed out. Then, realizing her mistake, she covered her mouth.

      “You’re right,” he said. “Maybe I should send an ear or a finger.”

      “This СКАЧАТЬ