That did it. She sobbed. “Noooo. Please no.” He waited. He didn’t have the heart to smack her again. It was all he could do not to take her into his arms and call off the whole thing. His heart was breaking for her. Her voice sounded like a child to him. Apparently, she was back in that frightening time again.
“Talk, Harper. Just to me. Tell me what happened.”
She gasped through her tears. “He hurt me. Grandpa hurt me.”
“What did he do to you, Harper?”
“He touched me in my private place, and he said I was a nasty, dirty girl, and he hit me with his belt. It hurt. Grandma wasn’t home.”
“Did it happen just one time, Harper, or did he do it often? Give your pain over to me. Let the anger and hurt out.”
“He did it whenever Grandma went out.” She was quiet for a few moments, and Morgan just waited her out. She seemed to come back to the current time, and when she spoke again it was in an adult voice. “I can’t remember how old I was when it started, but when I started school, it didn’t happen as often. I guess he didn’t have as many opportunities. By the time I was a teenager, he didn’t bother me too much. Maybe he only liked really young girls. I tried to tell my grandmother once, but she just said I didn’t know what I was talking about and to never say that again. I hate them both. Once I graduated high school, I left for college and never went back. I was lucky to get a full-ride scholarship to Fordham, but I still had to work for spending money and stuff. It was hard, but a lot of kids have it harder. I was carrying the maximum number of credits. I wanted to get done as quickly as possible and start a new life.”
Morgan moved close to her back again and put his arms around her and just hugged her tight. He ran his hands up and down her arms and over her back and finally soothed the red handprints on her butt. “Tell me everything. Get it all out. Nasty things die in the light of day. Hiding them in the dark just lets them fester.”
* * * *
Once the dam had broken, the words spilled out of Harper. She had never told the entire story to anyone. She had told limited versions to the couple of therapists she had tried, but she had never completely unburdened herself. She had never trusted anyone enough to let it all out before. Morgan released her wrists and ankles, picked her up, and took her to one of the sofas in a private corner at the back of the room. He removed his mask. He covered her with a soft blue blanket and just rocked her in his arms as she continued to pour out her story. Both of her parents had been drug-addicted students and had died from a bad batch of heroin. They had lived together but had not been married. She had researched their story when she was in law school and had access to the criminal databases on the computers in the law library. She had thought maybe knowing the whole story, and not just what her grandparents had told her, would help her move on. The pusher who had sold them the bad drugs was eventually caught, tried, and sentenced to a long prison term for manslaughter, as well as the drug trafficking charges. Harper had been left in the charge of her maternal grandparents at the age of three—a couple totally unsuited to the care of a young child. It was just another failure of the system. When she was old enough to understand, she wondered if he had abused her mother as well. Maybe that was what drove her into the drug culture in the first place.
When Harper had finally run out of steam, Morgan continued to hold her tightly against his chest. She knew that neither of them had the strength to move at the moment. Morgan seemed content to just cradle her in his arms. She could feel his heartbeat in sync with hers.
She knew she had a long way to go, but she hoped this chink in her armor would be a good start toward her healing. She knew some things could never be gotten over completely, but maybe she could start to move on.
Harper was content to lie in Morgan’s arms. She had felt a physical rush as the emotions had poured out of her body when she began talking, and now she was drained. As she started to come around, she reached up and kissed Morgan’s cheek and said, “You’re still here.”
“Of course. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here for you.”
“Master, I want to give you pleasure.” She looked into his eyes.
“No, baby, this is about you. You’ll give me pleasure another time. We’ll give each other pleasure.”
She wondered how he felt right now. He was probably as exhausted as she was. The experience must have been as draining for him as it had been for her. Maybe now she could go back into therapy and actually make some progress. She knew that she felt miles better at this moment, and that was worth her weight in gold.
Chapter Fourteen
Harmon had slipped into the dungeon behind a couple wearing the outrageous costumes he had come to expect. The woman had stripped down as soon as they had entered, and Harmon began surreptitiously taking pictures. He was beside himself with excitement when he spotted Morgan Court and Harper Cameron in the rear of the room. He positioned himself in one of the back corners, and he continued snapping pictures with his cell phone. He didn’t know how much detail he had captured, but he knew he had some powerful stuff. The one disappointment was that Morgan Court had been wearing a mask most of the time and that he couldn’t hear what they said. He had finally removed the mask, and Harmon had been able to zoom in for some fairly good close-ups of their faces. Wow! This shit has to be worth a fortune. He hadn’t taken the time to look at any of the pictures yet. He hadn’t wanted to miss anything. He thought it was now time to e-mail some pictures to Cullen at the paper. Not too many. He had to carefully guard this goldmine. He wanted to make sure he got the credit and the financial windfall from this coup. He certainly didn’t trust Cullen or the newspaper. He couldn’t wait to get back to the storage room and check out what he had actually captured on the camera. The trick now would be getting out of here unseen and getting off the ship.
* * * *
Natasha Romanova was making a sweep of the dungeon. While they didn’t always have a dungeon monitor on duty, both she and Greg felt it was a good idea to keep an eye out to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. Most of the passengers on this cruise seemed to have rather moderate tastes, but one never knew when something could go wrong. It paid to be vigilant.
As Natasha was checking out the action in the various scenes, she noticed someone standing in the back corner. He was wearing a uniform and a cap. She couldn’t tell who it was from this distance. She decided to walk in that direction and chat for a minute. She wanted to see which of the crew members was hanging out in the dungeon, not that that was necessarily a bad thing. When she got closer, he turned his head away from her instead of greeting her. Then she saw the cell phone in his hand. Cell phones were not allowed in the dungeon because of their picture-taking capabilities. No exceptions.
She speeded up her pace, and as she got closer, the man started to move toward the door. This doesn’t look good. She took out her walkie and radioed the bridge for a couple of the ABs from Greg’s special security team. She might need a hand here. Just as the man was getting near the door, Natasha put her hand on his shoulder and spun him around. She was shocked. She didn’t recognize this man. Who the hell is this?
* * * *
Shit! It was the Russian bitch, and she might have seen him. Harmon would try to edge out of the room as quietly and inconspicuously as possible. Then he would boogie like hell for his bolt hole in the storage room and hope she thought nothing of it—that he was just another crewman. He was starting to sweat, and his heart was beating a mile a minute. He had had such a run of good luck lately that he had gotten a little careless. He apparently wasn’t as invisible as he had hoped.
Harmon started to move toward the door when he felt the bitch’s hand come down on his shoulder. He raised his fist and started to turn when two crewmen came through the door at a run.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, fella. That would be a big mistake.” The first crewman grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him. The second slapped a pair of handcuffs on him.
�
��Secure him to the hanging chains, Sam. I see he wears a green bracelet. Let’s see how he likes to be my sub and what we can find out. Tommy, let bridge know we have stowaway.” Natasha took the cell phone out of his pocket while she texted 911 to the dungeon to Greg on her own phone.
“Let me go. You can’t do that. Give me my phone back.” Harmon saw his photo windfall slipping out of his grasping fingers. He was also just beginning to realize he was in big trouble. When they saw the pictures on his phone, he would have no friends aboard this ship.
“You are a criminal trespasser. We can do anything we like. Where did you get the uniform?”
“From the laundry room. I just borrowed it. Really, I would have left it behind when I got off the ship.”
“So, you’re a petty thief, as well as a trespassing stowaway. You had better hope it’s the captain who gets here first and not this lady’s man. When Greg hears you were going to clock her one, I don’t think he’ll be in a very good mood. You might find yourself swimming for shore, and that water’s damn cold.”
Harmon found himself standing in the middle of the dungeon, secured to the chains. He was scared to death. Who knew what these people would do to him.
* * * *
Before rushing to the dungeon, Captain Cortelis said, “Alex, keep us out of Canadian waters until we get a fix on this situation.”
“Yes, Sir. No problem. Navigator, steer an easterly course back out into international waters and hold it steady until further orders.” Con nodded to Alex. They understood each other. This was the worst type of problem. Not only were they responsible for the safety of the stowaway, but they were criminally responsible for transporting an undocumented alien into Canadian territorial waters. The laws surrounding stowaways were murky and could vary in different jurisdictions.
Con and Greg rushed out the door of the bridge and down the central stairway. When they reached the dungeon, Con took Natasha aside for a briefing. She explained that she had noticed the “crewman” standing at the back of the dungeon and had originally intended to just chat with him, and then she realized that he was holding a cell phone and that she didn’t recognize him. She turned the cell phone over to Con. He quickly accessed the camera roll and began to swear in Greek. He switched to English. “Son of a bitch. He’s got at least a hundred pictures here of Alex’s session in the dungeon yesterday with the two subs, pictures of the Johnsons, as well as pictures of Morgan and Harper’s session here tonight. Shit. How did this bastard get aboard? We have a guard on the gangway at all times while in port.”
Greg turned to Sam, one of his special security ABs. “What happened?”
“Natasha contacted the bridge on the walkie, and Tommy and I ran down here just in time to see him about to punch her in the face. We grabbed and detained him. He’s on the chains.”
“I have to presume it’s a damn lucky thing you came through the door when you did, or our unwanted guest might already be more than just detained in chains. She might have whipped his ass for him.”
“True enough, boss. Too bad she didn’t get the chance. I wouldn’t mind a go at him myself.”
“He might have already been over the side. Tasha can be fierce.” Greg grimaced.
Con and Greg conferred before approaching the stowaway. “What’s your name and nationality? Do you have papers?” Con could see him shaking in his boots. Good. I want him scared shitless.
“I don’t have to answer any questions. I have rights.”
“Your rights are severely limited. You are a criminal. As of now, you are an undocumented alien in international waters. If I don’t get satisfactory answers right damn now, I’ll pull into the first Canadian port and turn your ass over to the Canadian immigration authorities. That’s probably my best course of action in any case.”
“You can’t do that. I’m a US citizen, but I don’t have a passport with me.”
“That, my friend, is not my problem. You had better start cooperating. I’m rapidly losing patience with you.”
After Harmon has disclosed his name and that he was a newspaper reporter on board to get pictures of Morgan Court and Harper Cameron, Con shook his head. Could this get any worse? Their high-profile passengers were supposed to be guaranteed absolute privacy aboard the Golden Dolphin. That was the purpose of the strict confidentiality agreements signed by all crew and passengers.
“The public has a right to know…”
“That’s bullshit. The passengers on this ship have an expectation of privacy. You have absolutely no right to be aboard this private vessel, nevermind to take pictures of the passengers.”
Harper struggled out of Morgan’s lap and walked over to Con. It was obvious she and Morgan had heard what the stowaway had said. “Captain, may I speak with you privately?”
“Of course.” He walked out into the passageway with her.
“Captain, what are you going to do?”
“I have no idea at the moment. I’ll contact the ship’s owner for directions before I do anything.”
“If you like, I can get on my computer and access my LexisNexis legal research account and see what I can come up with. It would be better to be armed with a little actual legal knowledge before making any decisions.”
“I would appreciate any input you can give me, Harper. I sincerely apologize for this invasion of your privacy. It’s unforgivable.”
* * * *
Harper and Morgan had been carefully watching the proceedings. This could end up being a nightmare for all of them. The invasion of her privacy at such a private moment was devastating, but she knew she had to buck up and put her attorney hat back on and right now. She and Morgan returned to her cabin. She quickly booted up her laptop and entered her account number and password.
She reviewed the existing case law regarding alien stowaways and the Immigration and Naturalization Service versus ship owners.
Harper and Morgan returned to the dungeon, where questioning of the stowaway was continuing. She motioned Con over, and they went back out into the passageway. She didn’t want to be overheard.
“Con, do you have a dollar in your pocket?” He looked confused. “I need a retainer. Anything we say after that carries attorney-client privilege.”
“Certainly.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled dollar bill and handed it over. “Now, what can you tell me?”
“Okay, this is just a quick overview. Section 1101 of Title 8 of the United States Code defines an ‘alien’ as ‘any person not a citizen or national of the United States.’ The Canadian government levies a fine of seven thousand dollars on ships found to be carrying stowaways. Apparently they want to encourage ship captains to discourage stowaways.”
“Shit. It’s not like I want to encourage them…”
“I understand. I think, given the circumstances, since this man is a US citizen, your best course of action would be to return to Bar Harbor or Boston and offload him there, where he will not be an illegal alien. The ship owner will not be responsible to pay repatriation and deportation costs under the immigration laws and won’t have to deal with the Canadian fine. He would be subject to criminal prosecution as a stowaway if you chose to press charges. I think you should detain him securely, feed him, and offer him medical treatment if necessary. You should confiscate the cell phone, which would unfortunately be lost overboard, and get him off the ship as quickly as possible. Did he manage to forward any of the pictures back to the paper?”
“I looked at his e-mail records, and as far as I can tell, he hasn’t yet had an opportunity to forward the pictures.”
“That’s good news. Perhaps, given that he is in a very precarious legal position, you can prevail upon him to sign the standard confidentiality agreement. We might want to contact his newspaper and have them sign one also and fax it back to you if they don’t want their reporter charged with criminal trespass. The newspaper is the party with the deep pockets if litigation becomes necessary. I would really not want to see that happen. It wou
ld be bad for everyone aboard. You shouldn’t volunteer any information that we might have already crossed into Canadian waters or that he might have taken any pictures on board. Do not mention any cell phone. I personally never saw one. I would be happy to put the fear of God into him and his editor regarding his legal position if you like.”
“I hate the thought of having to go back to Boston, but I think you’re right about that being the best solution for us as well as for the passengers. It really ticks me off that he is going to go scot-free after all the problems he’s caused.”
* * * *
Con and Greg approached Harmon Burke. Con put on his most intimidating expression. “You are going to be detained under armed guard in a cabin on the crew deck. One of our passengers, who is an attorney, as you well know, will speak with you about your legal situation tomorrow morning. In the meantime, don’t give me a reason to let any of these fine gentlemen have a private talk with you”—he gave a frightening chuckle—“or God help you, Natasha. You really don’t want to have a private conversation with her. You would not come out of it with a whole hide, I guarantee.”
Con turned to Greg and said, “Take him down to the cabin we used to detain Cartwright and Conklin in Manaus. Post an armed guard outside the door. Have the galley bring him some food, and see if he needs medical attention.”
Greg nodded. “Yes, Sir. I’ll secure him in the cabin and post a guard. I think we’re going to need to designate that cabin as our brig. Who would have thought you would need one aboard a ship like this.” He gestured to the ABs to bring the prisoner along.
* * * *
Harper's Submission [Golden Dolphin 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 7
