Passion's Wicked Torment

by Melissa Hepburne

  “I heard two of Ironman’s men talking about it! They said a man named . . . oh, what was his name! . . . Terry! A man named Terry killed him and dumped him in the river on Ironman’s orders.” Hunter shook his head. “We know about that ruse. Ironman deliberately spread it. He doesn’t know who the T-man is in his organization. He had Terry spread the word to everyone that Chad is dead so that whoever the T-man is—meaning me—would fall for it.”

  Kristin looked confused, but McShane seemed to understand. “He did it so you federal people would call off the search,” McShane said. “If you thought he was dead, you wouldn’t keep looking.”

  “That’s right. The heat is really being poured on, and Ironman is beginning to feel it. I’m just part of the search, working from the inside. One of our top Treasury Department agents, a man named Elliot Ness, is coordinating the search from the outside.”

  Kristin was hot under the collar and highly irritated. “Why don’t the federal agents just raid Ironman?” she demanded. “Why don’t they search everywhere Chad might be?”

  Hunter shook his head. “That’s the surest way there is to get your brother killed. We don’t know where he’s being held. We could raid the places we know he isn’t being held, which wouldn’t do anybody any good. All it would do is force Ironman’s hand. He’d kill your brother for sure, then, so there’d be no chance of us catching him red-handed, with your brother as a live witness to testify against him.”

  Hunter paused, debating whether to add anything else. Then he said grimly, “To tell the truth, we don’t even know why he’s kept him alive this long. If they haven’t made him talk by now, they should know they probably never will.” Hunter was almost snarling. “Babe, your brother is going through a lot of hell on my account, to protect my identity. And I’m going to do everything I can to find him and get him away from those cutthroats. So don’t hold me up any longer.” He turned away from her.

  “Wait,” she said, going up to him. “I’m coming with you.”

  Hunter glowered with surprise and disapproval.

  Kristin said to McShane, “You understand, don’t you, Sean?”

  “Aye, lassie. A brother is a brother. And I understand something else too.” He went to her and put his hand possessively on her arm. “I’m coming too.” He nodded curtly, showing that this was an indisputable statement of fact.

  “Neither of you is coming with me,” Hunter declared.

  “Who are you to give me orders?” Kristin asked hotly.

  “I’m the man who’s going to save your brother, if you stay the hell out of my way!” His teeth were gritted and his nostrils flaring. “Babe, let’s get this said without pulling any punches. I love you. I want to marry you.

  You don’t want to marry me, though, and I can live with that. But I can’t live with you tagging along after me, constantly getting in the way while I’m on a sensitive, highly dangerous mission like this. You’ll get me killed.”

  “I won’t get in the way!”

  “You’ve done nothing else ever since you butted in, right from the start. You’ll get in the way, all right. And having Santa Claus here tagging along”—he gestured at McShane—“isn’t going to make matters any easier.” McShane came forward threateningly. “Laddie, I’ve had just about enough of you.”

  Kristin pulled him back. “But I can help you, Dallas!”

  “Yeah? Just like you did the last time you were around me? You’ve done nothing but endanger my life and the entire mission, right from the start.”

  “Me? Me endanger your—”

  “Did you forget already that Ironman was going to have me killed out of jealousy over you and me?”

  Kristin glanced out of the corner of her eye at McShane to see how he was taking it. He was not taking it well.

  Hunter continued in a heated, no-nonsense voice. “If you hadn’t butted into the picture, I’d still be in Ironman’s organization. And I’d probably have the mission accomplished by now. But you’ve managed to mess things up for me every single step of the way. First you forced me to take you on as my moll. Then you moved up to Ironman and made lovey-dovey to him so that he got jealous and decided to have me killed. Then, as an encore, you get yourself abducted off to that whorehouse, and I have to spend valuable time tracking you down so I can help you, when I should have been using that time to locate and save your brother!”

  Kristin flinched back under his withering glare. She wanted to deny his accusations, however everything he said was true. But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that Chad was still alive and in danger, and she could not sit idly by and do nothing.

  “He’s my brother, Dallas!”

  “Then why don’t you do the poor sap a favor and stay out of my way! So I can save him!” He seethed. But then, slowly, as if by an act of will, his expression softened. Kristin realized he did not want to leave her with this last impression of him angry at her. “Look, babe, you’ve got a life here, you said so yourself. You’ve got a man you obviously . . . love. A business. A town. So just stay with it, and let me do what I’m a lot better at doing than you are.”

  His eyes went to McShane. “If you really care about her, you’ll keep her here. Don’t let her get mixed up in this. She almost got killed the last time she got mixed up in it.” He swiveled on his heel and left.

  Kristin did not follow him. She watched him depart. She was breathing through flared nostrils, her blood coursing through her. Behind her, McShane sighed loudly and sank into a chair. She turned and looked at him challengingly. “Are you going to try to stop me?” He shook his head. “Kristy, lass, I know that I’d lose you if I tried to do that. Besides, he’s your brother.” “That’s right,” she said. “Well, let’s go then.”

  “Not so fast. Come here.”

  She hesitated. She went over to the chair he was sitting in. He took her hands. “I’m going to teach you a lesson: patience.” She tried to pull away, but he held her. “Take it easy, take it easy. You’re like a young colt. Lassie, I’m trying to help you. Now, here’s what I’m saying. You go off half-cocked like this, with no plan in mind, you’ll do just what your friend said—ruin everything. You’ve got to have a plan. So let’s you and me sit here, calmly and patiently, and work one out. Then we’ll go. At least then we’ll have a chance to succeed.”

  Kristin was eager to leave now, to just get on the road and worry about a plan while they were traveling. But she understood McShane’s appreciation of patience. After all, hadn’t he just spent almost a full year waiting patiently for Ambrewster to return so he could avenge his partner’s death?

  “All right, Sean. We’ll work out a plan.” She added quickly, “But then we’ll go. And no one—Dallas Hunter included—is going to stop me!”

  CHAPTER 22

  Several weeks later Kristin and McShane were standing on the deck of a casino ship named the Kristy three miles offshore of New York harbor. The ship had originally been a commerical steamer named the Brenda Dickerson. They had bought it in Quebec after traveling across Canada to find one that suited their needs. After some expensive, elaborate reconditioning, they had steamed it down the coast to its present location.

  Now they were addressing part of the crew of their ship in preparation for the grand opening, which was to take place in just a few minutes.

  Kristin glanced at McShane. She knew he was concerned, but his expression showed nothing but confidence and strength. He expected violence tonight. He had prepared for it, though, by hiring a motley group of cutthroats and vagabond goldminers who had given up the hope of striking it rich in Canada. In a firm voice, McShane was now giving final orders to his band of assembled brigands. They stood before him in their blue jacketed shipboard uniforms, looking uncomfortable and self-conscious about the unaccustomed attire.

  “I want you to keep your handguns close at all times,” McShane was saying to them. “The heavy artillery is in the lockers at strategic locations around the ship. You all know where your own weapon
s are. ...”

  Kristin left the assembly to go examine the main-casino lounge, which she had put the finishing touches to only yesterday. She had designed and supervised the outfitting of it herself.

  It had been McShane’s idea to close down the saloon and use the substantial profits they had earned to open a floating casino. Kristin thought the idea was a stroke of brilliance. How else was she going to get to Ironman? This way she solved the problem. If all went well, Ironman would eventually have to come to her. She had located the Kristy only a mile away from the Daisy, the casino ship that he operated—though not personally— and that brought in a good portion of his empire’s profits.

  She had learned a lot from running her saloon. She knew how to attract customers and give them what they wanted. She knew she could draw away from Ironman’s ship at least half his clientele, and probably more.

  Ironman had money pouring into his organization from many illicit avenues, but he still would not take it lightly when his most profitable enterprise began losing half or more of its profits. Especially now that the federal tax people were breathing down his neck, threatening to attach several bank accounts. She had read about this new development in the papers, and she knew that Ironman would need every penny he could get now. If the government did manage to bring him to trial on tax evasion charges, his best hope was that he could pay off any levies made against him. If not, he might end up in prison.

  Kristin figured that Ironman would be very eager to make a deal with her after he saw how much money he was losing as a result of her operation. She had sent word to him that she was Chad’s sister and that she would hoist anchor and steam away in return for his letting Chad go free. She smiled now, thinking about how he must have reacted to that letter, to the realization that he had had Chad’s sister—the girl he was feverishly seeking—right in his very household, right under his thumb. And he had let her slip away!

  Kristin glanced at the Daisy, anchored a mile away off the starboard beam. She knew that, more than likely, Ironman would not accept her offer—at least not at first. He would send his thugs to try to ruin her ship and put her out of business. And capture her in the process. McShane’s hired cutthroats would protect her though. Also, McShane intended to stage a raid on Ironman’s ship for every one Ironman staged against the Kristy. That would cost Ironman dearly. Few customers would continue patronizing a ship that was the scene of frequent attacks. Ironman couldn’t just move his ship to a less desirable location either, because the Kristy would follow him, keeping up the pressure.

  Kristin went into her casino now, thinking about how the first attack would probably come tonight. Flyers had been sent up and down the coast, announcing tonight’s grand opening. Kristin put her hand on the plush red-flock wallpaper she had installed, and then touched the shiny brass fixtures as she moved along the casino interior. Her every instinct told her that this casino, under her operation and with McShane’s protection, could easily outdraw Ironman’s. She felt prideful and full of optimism. She had found a niche, something she was good at, and she believed she was better at it than anybody else. The problem, of course, was that the whole plan depended on the Kristy’s being able to survive Ironman’s attacks. If they could not, they would not be around long enough to eat into his profits.

  “Evening, Miss Fleming,” said one of her blackjack dealers, a man named Sampson, who was wearing the customary vest and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and gartered. He had a green visor above his eyes, and a handlebar mustache.

  “Good evening, Sampson. Is everything ready?”

  “Yes’m.” His voice was nervous, and so was his manner. “Everything ready with Sean and his boys?”

  She nodded. She knew that most of the staff and crew were nervous right now. She had not lied to them about the danger. The very high pay she offered had tempted them to come despite the danger. And the fact that Sean McShane was organizing the ship’s defense helped too. Except for Sampson and one other, the men were all recruited from Yukon, and all knew McShane. They would trust him with their lives, which, in fact, they were doing. McShane had resigned his commission as a Mountie, very regretfully, Kristin noticed, despite his having said often that he was not a very good one and that he did not care for the job.

  Kristin went back on deck. The night was foggy. Off in the distance, coming out from the brightly lit shoreline, she could see the water taxi bearing the first load of partygoers and gamblers. She looked up at the bridge of her ship. Captain Logan saw the taxi too, and he gave two welcoming blasts on the ship’s steam whistle. On this signal, the white-coated band Kristin had assembled began to play.

  McShane glanced at the water taxi, which was still a couple of minutes away. He turned back to his men. “Go to your stations. And remember, lads, when the battle begins, we can win it. We can match them man for man, fire power for fire power. Keep alert. Don’t hit the civilians. Keep your heavy weapons hidden until you’re sure you need them.” He sliced a finger down through the air, leveling it at them. “Go!”

  As the men dispersed, Kristin glanced again at the approaching water taxi. She was tense with suspense and anticipation. Would Ironman attack now? Or later? Or maybe not even during this first night, but some other night, when they might be less on guard. She shuddered slightly. Then she patted down her vampish black-spangled gown, forced a smile on her face and went to meet the docking partygoers

  A mile away, anchored northward of Kristin’s ship, was Ironman’s yacht, the Daisy, which was his pride and joy. On deck, standing at the railing, was Ironman himself. His hands clutched the railing as he angrily watched the water taxi dock at the side of the Kristy. He listened to the merry music as it wafted across the ocean and glared with displeasure as the Kristy’s staff helped the guests up the floating stairway that was attached to the ship’s side.

  Ironman slammed his fist down on the railing and said to Riggio, who was at his side, in a seething, drawn-out voice, “I-I-I w-a-a-ant to get that bitch.” Riggio was cautious in his reply. He knew every one of Ironman’s moods, and he recognized this as one of his most dangerous. “I know what you mean, boss. I want to get her too. And the boys are ready whenever you give the word.”

  Ironman turned on him. “Ready for what, huh? You tell me. For what, huh, huh?” He grasped Riggio, then pushed him away disgustedly. “Until that damn head doctor tells me the reporter is recovered, what can we do? I can’t attack while he’s aboard in this condition.” “I know what you mean, boss.” Riggio’s manner was fawning and defensive.

  “Ah, what do you know?” Ironman lit a cigar and blew smoke into the night in a thin stream. “You don’t know nothin’.” No one understood the problem except him, Ironman knew. No one had any brains but him. The problem was that Chad Fleming was hidden aboard his ship right at this minute, and there was no risk-free way of getting him off the ship. And until he could get him off the ship, he could not risk starting a battle against Kristin and her Mountie.

  “All right, Riggio. We’ll see how smart you are. You tell me. How do I get that scribe off my hands?”

  Riggio raised a finger to his thin Brooklyn face, touched his lips and frowned. He appeared lost in thought, contemplating the problem.

  “Don’t hurt your head thinking too hard.”

  “Boss, I’m not so dumb. I know why we got to keep him here. It’s because the heat’s on all of a sudden to find him. The feds know we got him, or at least they’re suspicious. That’s why they keep lookouts on shore to check out each skiff that goes from the ship back to the harbor. And that’s why our boys are always followed and stopped and checked when they try to take a skiff to any other spot on the coast.”

  “Yeah, you got that much right.” Ironman’s tone was still disgusted. “The feds know that if they can catch me with that reporter on my hands, they got me cold. They can fry me. So they’re going all out.”

  “I still don’t see why you don’t send him off to Mexico or Canada, where our boys can hold h
im in peace.”

  “You think he’d get there? I send a skiff out on the high seas to one of those places; they send a boat to follow it. And as soon as it enters territorial waters, the Mexican or Canadian feds descend on it! Show how much brains you got.” He blew out a thick stream of gray smoke from his cigar. “Come on. Let’s go down and check with that head doctor again. That psycho . . . psyche . . . what is it?”

  “Psychiatrist.”

  “Him.” Ironman stalked off down the deck and took the gangway steps down, two at a time.

  Riggio had to almost run to keep from falling behind. “Boss, I don’t see why we don’t just make him a stiff, weight him down and give him the old heave ho.” He stopped short, nearly bumping into Ironman’s chest as the heavyset gangster stopped abruptly midway down the gangway steps and swiveled around to face him.

  “What do you think we grabbed him for in the first place?” thundered Ironman.

  Riggio stammered, “T-to find out who the fed is inside our or-organization.”

  “And did we find that out?”

  “N-n-no, boss.” Riggio watched with relief as Ironman turned away from him and continued down the steps. He hurried after. Ironman reached the cabin where Chad Fleming was being held, but instead of entering, he decided to do something else first. He stalked off down the narrow hallway to the crew’s recreation room at the end.

  As Riggio followed him, they passed another guard. They had already passed several on the way down. They were stationed to keep away the gamblers and partygoers who might inadvertently wander down from the casino deck. And they were also protecting against any undercover federal agents posing as gamblers. Ironman threw open the rec-room door and burst in. Riggio was hot on his heels.

  The psychiatrist sat moodily at the counter of the bar in the rec room, a water glass half-filled with whiskey in front of him. The only other person in the room was the crew member serving as bartender.

  Riggio was in awe of the head doctor. Psychiatry was one of the newest of the medical sciences, and it involved what Riggio considered very spooky, hocus-pocus type things, like the subconscious. This head doctor was reputed to be one of the best in the country, having studied under the founder of the new science, Sigmund Freud, in Vienna. That was why Ironman had wanted him. He was also reputed to be one of the biggest lushes ever to be booted out of the medical profession, which was why a known hood like Ironman had been able to recruit him. The doctor was a discredited outcast and needed the money.