Terrified, she couldn’t make much of a sound because of the socks.
He hauled her upright and then hit her in the face again, this time opening a wound on her cheekbone.
Her eyes rolled back in her head from the force of the blow, and when she could focus again, she saw to her horror that he was hard. This excited him.
She shouldn’t have been surprised, but the actual proof of how twisted he was stunned her.
And in that instant, she knew that if she was going to survive this day, she had to play possum. Manolis hit her again, catching her in the temple, and she forced her whole body to go limp, pretending to pass out. She slid in a boneless heap to the floor, forcing her face to remain expressionless even though her left shoulder screamed in agony and her head hit with a thump.
Dead. I am playing dead. Just like in the movies.
Her captor made a noise of disgust and kicked her in the ribs. Again, she forced herself not to respond, lying there like a wet towel.
He hauled her up from the floor and threw her on the bed once more. Then, mercifully, he seemed to buy her ploy and left her alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
NICK HAD BEEN on the bridge since dawn, and it was now pushing ten. He would go to Helena and say goodbye. He was tempted to try to patch things up and ask her on a date on dry land sometime.
But what was the point? He belonged on water and knew it in his soul. He’d been born next to the sea and he would die next to it. The Thames wasn’t going to cut it for him. And how could he ask her to give up the career she so obviously loved?
His mind in turmoil, Nick nevertheless kept his outer calm. It was what the captain of a ship did, no matter what the situation.
He walked to Helena’s cabin, disappointed that Gideon hadn’t been able to pinpoint the threat yet. He’d hoped for better news, hoped that they could have taken the guy down overnight so that she could stay aboard. But with the stalker still at large, he didn’t want to risk her becoming a physical target.
Nick nodded at the guard and knocked on her door, but got no answer. “Helena?” he called.
“She left the room a few minutes ago, sir,” said the guard.
Perhaps she’d gone for coffee. He’d try calling her from the bridge in half an hour or so.
He headed back up there, only to run into Gideon. “Sir!” the chief security officer said breathlessly. “I think we’ve got him. The immigration authorities in Valletta called me with suspicions of false papers on one of our passengers. He’s traveling under the name of Craig Peters.”
“And his real name?”
“Manolis. Kostas Manolis.”
Nick went cold inside. Of course. Manolis had been on the ship for days under his alias, observing Nick. He’d have seen him with Helena, followed them. And so he’d targeted Helena as a way to get revenge on Nick.
“Get Helena Stamos off this ship immediately, Dayan. Her limousine isn’t coming until noon, but I don’t care. Get her another one. Then, once she’s safe, pick up Manolis. Seal his room and stop any service to it.”
“Yes, sir. Consider it done.”
Nick went straight to the nearest courtesy phone. Even though he doubted she’d returned so quickly, he called Helena’s room, letting it ring at least twenty times. She didn’t answer.
He started to get concerned. Oh, come on, Pappas. She went to get a cup of coffee and a Danish. Relax.
But knowing that Kostas Manolis was on his ship ate at Nick, and he was now positive that the man was to blame for the incident in his office and the one in Helena’s room. He’d been gathering information.
Restless, Nick checked the Espresso bar and the American Grille in hopes of finding her there. He went up to the spa—maybe she’d gone for a manicure before departing. He checked the tearoom. No Helena.
Nick went back to the bridge and called Gideon. “She’s not answering her telephone. I can’t find her in any of the usual places. Has she already left?”
“No, sir. She’s still aboard ship.”
“And Manolis?” Nick asked sharply.
“Not in his room.”
“Find him. Find him and hold him on a false documents charge.”
“Sir, a search has been initiated for both of them.”
Nick hung up, now close to frantic. Where the hell was Helena?
He actually jumped when the telephone rang next to him moments later. He picked it up and barked into it, “Pappas.”
“Nick?”
Her voice was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. He almost collapsed with relief. “Helena! I’ve been worried about you. Where are you?”
“I’m…I’m fine.” But her voice caught and he knew instantly that she’d been crying.
“What is wrong, agape mou?”
“Nothing,” she whispered. “I just don’t want to say goodbye.” She broke down.
Nick clenched the phone and took a deep breath. “I don’t, either, Helena. But this is for your safety. Do you remember the woman who called to warn me? Eva?”
“Y-yes.”
“Manolis, her ex-husband, is on board under an alias. He is the man who was in your room—I am certain of it. I’m so sorry, Helena.”
Her only response was a ragged breath, drawn in slowly.
“Where are you?” he asked again. “I have called your room again and again. I have looked for you.”
“I just went out for some air. But, Nick, there are some things we need to talk about in private before I leave. Will you meet me at your stateroom? I can be there in five minutes.”
“I’ll be right there.” Nick hung up and walked quickly to the elevators, so relieved to hear her voice that he felt weak in the knees.
KOSTAS TOOK the telephone receiver from Helena’s nerveless hand and replaced it, with great satisfaction, in the cradle. She stared at it hopelessly, her eye throbbing where he’d hit her. The open wound over her cheekbone stung from the salt of her own tears.
She’d just completely and utterly betrayed Nick, set him up to walk into a trap. How could she have done it? Yet with a revolver pressed into her temple, what else could she have done?
Manolis kept the gun aimed at her head as desolation closed in on her. The black, menacing hole at the end of the muzzle reminded her of his eyes. She stared into it, seeking answers to riddles she’d never solve.
What made certain people merciless psychopaths?
How could sadists live with themselves? Why were some minds utterly empty of conscience or morality?
I don’t understand, God. I simply do not understand.
But none of that changed the fact that she’d just deceived and entrapped Nick; that even now he was hurrying to his death because of her—and the pregame show Manolis had planned didn’t even bear thinking about. She blocked that from her mind by focusing once again on her physical pain. She was fairly certain he’d cracked one of her ribs when he’d kicked her. It hurt to swallow, since he’d throttled her.
Her hands, which he’d finally untied when she’d begged to use the bathroom, were purplish and swollen. They crawled with thousands of invisible ants as the blood slowly began to circulate in her fingers again.
“You are a world-class liar, my dear,” said her loathsome captor.
A compliment. How lovely. Is this where I say thank you? Take a bow? She inspected the ligature marks on her wrists and rubbed her chilled arms, which were covered with goose bumps.
“You’ll bring Captain Pappas right to the door, and I’ll do the rest.”
Yes, such beautiful teamwork. If she thought it would do any good at all, she would have jumped him, beaten him with her fists, slammed her head into his jaw. But by now she knew that Manolis wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her. Or with little effort, knock her—or strangle her—unconscious, and then she’d be of no help to Nick at all.
Think, Helena. Think!
“I don’t know why I should be surprised by your skill,” Kostas said. “All women are liars. Deceiving whores�
�” He poured himself another whiskey.
She shuddered and averted her eyes—or rather, eye. The right one was now swollen shut. She sat propped against the headboard of the bed, her arms hugging herself and her head hanging low. Her chin almost rested on her chest.
Ever since he’d thrown water in her face and slapped her to force her to regain consciousness, she’d adopted a beaten, cringing posture. Let him think I am weak, so he doesn’t expect any resistance. Let him think that he’s already broken my spirit.
She was no student of psychology, but she was learning quickly from this experience. The more she’d resisted, the more Manolis had enjoyed himself.
Please, Nick. Put two and two together. Bring the whole security detail of Alexandra’s Dream with you. Don’t come alone!
But she hadn’t been able to hint that she was in trouble, not with Manolis’s revolver cocked and ready, pressed to her head.
I should have let him blow my brains out…but then he’d only shoot Nick down, too, when he came to investigate.
Manolis was doing that lizard thing again with his tongue and the rim of his whiskey glass. It made her sick, but that was the least of her concerns.
He set down the glass, licked his lips and checked his watch, a showy gold number. “Get up,” he ordered. He retrieved the gun from his chair, then cocked the trigger again.
Slowly she swung her legs over the side of the bed and got to her feet.
“Quickly! Stupid bitch. Get over here.” He strode to her, spun her around and clamped her neck into the crook of his elbow, hauling her against his chest. It was broad but curiously bony, and then he went soft at the stomach. She shuddered at the contact and at the sickening sweet, smoky stench of him. It mixed in her nostrils with his deodorant, and she felt faint.
Worse, she could feel his erection against her lower back and he rubbed himself against her, grunting. He propelled her to just inside the cabin door and they waited together in twisted, unhappy cohesion for Nick to arrive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NICK WALKED to the elevators and rehearsed what he wanted to say to Helena. He nodded and smiled at other passengers and an attendant with a cleaning service cart in the corridor that led to his suite.
Helena wasn’t there yet, but she’d be along shortly. He slid his key card into the door and pushed it open, only to freeze in his tracks.
She stood in front of him, inside his own room. She was shaking and gagged, her face tear-stained and bruised, her eyes full of terror and self-recrimination.
A man’s arm was around her neck—and there was a gun at the back of her head.
“Come in, Capitano,” Manolis said in smug tones. “Please come in and make yourself at home.”
As Nick recovered from his initial shock, his first instinct was to charge the man.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said the bastard. His face was coated in a sheen of perspiration, his fleshy lips slick, but his hands appeared cool, dry and murderously calm.
“Step inside,” he ordered Nick. “Slowly. Normally. Without making a sound. Or the brains of your little bitch, here, will splatter all over your pristine white uniform.”
“Let her go,” Nick said. But he had no choice but to do as Manolis told him.
“I’m sorry, Nikolas,” Helena whispered.
“Shut up!” Kostas tightened his hold on her neck and ground himself against her spine. “But yes, you are sorry, you pathetic, bony whore. And I will make you sorrier.”
“Don’t call her that,” Nick snapped.
“I will call her whatever I please, Pappas.” Manolis backed slowly away from the door, dragging her with him. Then he inclined his head toward Nick. “Go and sit in that chair. Do it now. Stop to argue and I’ll blow her ear off.” He slid the nose of the revolver through her hair and jammed it against the cartilage of her right ear.
Nick’s whole body went rigid. Screwed on to the end of the gun was a silencer. Nobody would ever hear the soft pop.
Trying not to think about it, he quickly scanned Helena from head to toe and began to vibrate with rage. The bastard had beaten her up, hurt her.
Fury raced through his veins along with his blood, sending the most primitive messages to his brain. Kill Manolis. Kill him. Pound his head against the floor or the wall until he is dead. Break his neck. He tried to reject the primal signals. After all, Helena was alive. He just needed to get her out of here, away from danger.
He looked at her again slowly, from her swollen right eye to the cut on her cheek, from the bruises around her neck to her torn skirt, which exposed bare thigh and a glimpse of her pale pink panties. Last, he saw the raised, red welts on her ankles, the man’s belt lying on the floor. He didn’t want to think about what else had been done to her.
And in that moment he knew that he truly could kill Manolis. That even if he wasn’t given the chance, he would take it—courts and trials and civilization be damned. His captainship be damned. This man had hurt the woman Nick loved—and the entire purpose of his life boiled down to two goals. One, get her out of here. And two, send Manolis straight to hell, where he belongs.
He focused on the first goal for the moment. “Your issue is with me, and not with Helena Stamos. Let her go, and we’ll settle this between us.”
“Let her go, like you let Eva go?” Manolis shook his head and produced a nasty laugh. “I don’t think so.”
“She has nothing to do with this,” Nick insisted.
“Au contraire. She has everything to do with this, Capitano. You stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong. You interfered with my life and my woman. Now I’m going to interfere with yours.”
Nick didn’t know how to respond. Should I deny that she’s my “woman”? Tell him that I don’t care at all what he does to her? Will he let her go then?
Finally he said, “I interfered, as you call it, in your life because Eva asked me for help.”
“My wife is a liar and a fantasist.”
“Is that so. She imagined the bruises I saw on her? She beat herself? She had the posture of a frightened old woman because she was happy with you?”
Nick hadn’t thought it was possible for those black eyes to get any darker. But they did, as Manolis’s malevolence toward him expanded like a thundercloud. Nick swallowed. When the cloud burst, he didn’t want the man anywhere near Helena.
Kostas tightened his grip around her neck and dragged her over to the bed, where he sat and pulled her into his lap. She lay there pale and unmoving, like a porcelain doll—and that was what scared Nick more than anything.
Fiery, dramatic, colorful Helena did not behave this way. She threw off robes, made love as if the world would end in the morning. This waxen reproduction of Helena shook him to the core, reminded him all too much of Carolina.
“My wife belongs with me. She is my property. You stole her, Pappas. And now you’re going to tell me where she is so that I can go and get her.”
Nick stared stonily at him.
“You will tell me,” Manolis repeated, tightening his hold on Helena.
Nick flinched.
She didn’t.
“Where is my wife, Capitano?” Kostas demanded again, and Nick closed his eyes.
“She’s no longer your wife, and she never was your property.”
In a single savage motion, Manolis ripped open Helena’s blouse, laying her torso bare except for a pink lace bra.
Nick leaped to his feet and lunged forward, only to stop as Kostas punctuated his next words by tapping her chest with the gun. “Where. Is. Eva?”
“Goddamn it, shoot me! Kill me in cold blood, but leave her alone!”
“Wrong answer,” Manolis snarled. He ripped the bra away from Helena’s skin, and she couldn’t help a small sound of protest. Her small pink nipples puckered in the sudden draft, and she covered herself with her hands.
Nick saw that they, too, were red and swollen—the bastard had obviously tied them. Hating himself, he broke. “Eva is in Ca—”
Kostas slapped Helena’s hands down and nuzzled her breast with the gun.
Nick saw red and could barely keep from launching himself at the man.
“You were saying?” Kostas inquired.
“California. Now take your hands off her, you piece of shit!”
Manolis laughed softly. “Does this bother you, Pappas? Surely not. She’s a whore. She was taking it from Tzekas behind your back.”
Helena opened her eyes and shook her head almost imperceptibly.
Nick’s heart nearly broke that in this horrible situation, she could possibly care what he thought. I know. I would never believe his lies. He tried to tell her that through his gaze, tried to steady her.
“Where in California, Pappas? I want a city. I want a street address. I want the name she’s hiding under.”
“I don’t know that information, Manolis!”
“You know it,” Kostas said grimly, his hand moving to the hem of Helena’s skirt. He pulled it up.
Blood roared in Nick’s ears. No. Oh, God, no. This cannot happen. Not in front of my eyes. I will not let this happen.
He shot forward.
“Sit down, Pappas!”
Nick stopped. The man had the gun muzzle between Helena’s thighs. Tears trickled silently from under her closed eyelids and ran down her poor battered face.
The primal urge to kill hit Nick again. Just throw himself on Manolis, consequences be damned.
But the man would kill her for sure.
And Nick loved her too much to risk that.
Get a grip on yourself, Nikolas. Slowly, resenting every millimeter of retreat, he stepped backward until his knees came into contact with the edge of the chair. He sat, like a goddamn dog obeying its master. He sweated. He seethed.
“You’re not cooperating very well, Capitano. Make a choice.”
Some goddamn choice. Watch the woman I love be manhandled and probably raped—or watch her die?
“I don’t have the information you want,” Nick stormed. “I. Don’t. Have. It.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Manolis with cold malice. “Did Eva suck you off for your silence?”
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