“Maybe,” Sam laughed in return, taking a long sip of beer. He frowned then, more aware of Clay’s past than Cat, and much aware of the hardships endured. Sam had never met a man he respected more than Clayton Miller, and he had determined from the beginning that Cat needed to be back with her husband. But getting Cat to accept the husband who was more than a match for her own fiery temper was proving a slow process.
“Clay,” Sam demanded, his frown deepening, “do you really think DeVante is trying to sabotage this operation?”
“I don’t think it, I know it, Sam,” Clay said firmly, his frown matching his friend’s. “DeVante is in hock all over the place. He took a few chances too many that didn’t pan out.”
Sam narrowed his dark eyes. “How do you know that?”
Clay shrugged, his voice somewhat bitter. “I’ve been keeping tabs on Cat. I heard some things about DeVante within the business—not fact, just rumor. But when I heard about him and Cat, I couldn’t take a chance on rumor being true. So I checked up on DeVante. I called various banks and business concerns, and in a few instances I was able to have him spied on. He always suspected that Cat could find the Santa Anita. He simply hadn’t expected she’d be so stubbornly determined to find the ship herself. And he couldn’t take that chance, not unless she married him. And Cat was dragging her feet not even knowing that she couldn’t marry him because I was still alive. DeVante is in trouble, Sam. He doesn’t know that we’ve found the ship, but he knows we’re close. He has to get us out of these waters so that he can search himself. As of tomorrow, though, it will be all over. Our claim will have been secured.”
Sam began to reel off a few of his opinions regarding Jules in very explicit language. Clay firmly contained the twitches that were about to spread a grin across his entire face. Sam adored Cat. He was the finest protector alive. “You mean,” Sam demanded, “that DeVante never cared a thing for Cat, he was always after her property and her knowledge?”
“No,” Clay interrupted, his voice harsh and guttural. “At least,” he added dryly, “I don’t think so. He used to boast of her in every port and about how he was the only man she would ever give more than a hello and good-bye. He wanted her, as if she were a special jewel to covet. So in his rather warped way, it seems he does care about her. From what I’ve been told, he wants her almost as much as he wants the treasure.”
Clay could feel himself tightening as he said the words; his features seemed to tense painfully and he could swear his blood steamed. He had always tried to be logical when he thought of his wife all those years, but logic hadn’t always tempered his feelings. The vision of Cat, naked, her lustrous hair streaming over her shoulders as she approached him, her body so lithe and yet fully shaped, her lips curled in a tantalizing smile, plagued him each time he closed his eyes. He loved her, she was his. Thinking of her in the arms of another man almost made him sick with a possessive rage. But those were gut feelings. Rationally, he had to assume that another man had taken his place and he forced himself to understand. If Cat had been happy, he wouldn’t have interfered. He hadn’t lied to her. If she knew the truth about DeVante and still chose him over Clay, he would exit from her life.
Or so he had thought. But now he had held her again, felt the passion of her body respond to his. She was no longer a vision, or a fantasy. If she wasn’t already aware that she was his, he would simply have to make her so, by fair means or foul—and he admitted freely that a number of his means already had definitely been in the “foul” category.
“Where the hell did she get to, anyway,” Clay murmured, suddenly realizing that it had been some time since she had sweetly smiled and volunteered to rinse all the gear. Suspicion sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t like Cat to take to a command so readily, and although he had carefully phrased his words to make his desires sound like a logical explanation, Cat had known she had been issued a challenge.
“Something is wrong,” Clay said tensely, standing to rush out on deck with Sam behind him.
“Her mask and fins are gone,” Sam reported tersely.
“Oh, God,” Clay groaned. “What has that fool woman done?”
But it was himself he wanted to kick. He had been the fool. A sane man didn’t tell a woman that a man she had loved was crooked as a mountain road and simply expect her to believe it. He should have done something, gone with her to challenge the divers.
I wanted her to believe me because she loved me, he thought with rueful remorse. I wanted that faith from her, and I was asking too much. And lord, he thought in a sweat, he didn’t know how far DeVante would go, or just what orders his “workers” had been given.
“Let’s get the dinghy down,” Clay said to Sam. “We’ll move in quietly. …”
As they began rowing silently to the other boat, Clay could think of nothing but the admission he had forced from Cat. DeVante had never shared her bed.
The steam within Clay, the gut feeling he knew to be chauvinistic but still undeniable, began to grow. If Cat was touched, harmed in any way … Clay felt he could easily draw and quarter another human being.
But what if DeVante was on the boat himself? What if Cat did love him, was willing to forgive him once they had talked? So far, the man had been guilty of no more than a little illegal spear fishing.
Sorry, Cat, he whispered inwardly. I’m a liar. I’ll never let you go. You are my wife and I’ll fight you from here to hell and back to keep it that way.
And yet it wasn’t really his wife’s feelings he was worried about as they approached the intruder’s boat. He was simply praying she hadn’t gotten into any trouble.
Cat groaned softly, and it was her own groan that brought her back from the depths of the clouds. She wasn’t at all disoriented. The sound of her moan registered as a warning. She remembered immediately all that had happened, and she kept her eyes tightly shut as she tried to feel her environment and those around her.
She was lying on something soft … a bed within the cabin? … and as the ringing ceased in her ears, she could hear conversation.
“What do we do now? We should just have let her go. We hadn’t really done anything—”
“Don’t be a complete ass!” someone interrupted harshly. “She knew me. The only thing we can do now is get her out of here and to DeVante. He can deal with her, use some of that charm and maybe even get her to hand over her claim.”
“What good is that going to do? Miller is still sitting over the Santa Anita, and Miller is her husband.”
“A husband who hasn’t been around in a long time,” the harsh voice snickered in return. “I think DeVante will be happy to get his hands on her.” A laugh sounded. “In fact, I think DeVante will be pleased with the idea of a little revenge. He treated her like the virgin queen, then walks in to find her bedded down with a man she was claiming to be a ghost. Yeah, I think DeVante will be happy to have his ‘fiancée’ back. I don’t think he’ll let her act much like a little ice queen anymore.”
Her stomach was churning so violently that Cat had to swallow to keep herself from becoming physically sick. Oh, dear God, she prayed, forcing her eyes to remain closed with every ounce of her willpower, I have to get out of here.
The task of trying to retain a survival calm almost became impossible as she felt a finger trail over her arm. Another laugh sounded, one that held a hoarse, lascivious tone, sending chills of alarm warnings through Cat’s system. “Can you imagine leaving a woman built like this alone for all that time? Damn it, feel that skin. …”
Do something! Cat’s mind raged, but desperation kept her from falling apart in panic.
She could defend herself, but against three? She forced her mind to retreat to her teachings by Lee Chin. “We are a small race!” the young man had told her with a laugh. “And so we learn to make our adversaries use their power and strength against themselves. Channel your energies, your power is in your center, and the center is a circle of balance and grace. …”
And so she had
spent days studying the art of T’ai Chi, learning to control her mind, to perfect the movements of the body. “It is not all hostile,” Lee had told her. “It is also training in peace of mind, in the beautiful possibilities offered the body. …”
And at the time it had been peace of mind, it had been enjoyable, and she had gone on to learn a few of the more aggressive techniques of judo. Cat had been so fond of Lee, so touched by his honorable declaration that he couldn’t pay her but he was at her service, as he was not a man ever to forget a debt … so young, yet so responsible.
But Lee, Cat thought desperately, I failed once. I failed against Clay, but then Clay had obviously had some training. Among the cutthroats and thieves in prison he had learned a lot about survival. It was unlikely that these thugs knew anything but using brute strength.
Cat opened her eyes into slits. She was right inside the cabin door, not more than a few feet from it. Only the man who had touched her was actually near her. If she could escape him, the element of surprise should take her out to the open. And then, pray God, the sea would offer release. And if she was lucky, Clay and Sam would be worrying about her by now. They should be out on deck, searching the water.
Cat let her eyes open wide as she feigned a look of total disorientation and panic. As if in alarm, she reached out a hand and mumbled a very pathetic, very feminine “Pleeease …”
As she had hoped, the man before her, the evil laugher, reached out his own hand to take hers; the look in his eyes showed him rather pleased with her apparent submission.
His macho arrogance was about to do him in, Cat thought with a grim smile.
“Watch her, Al!” someone shouted.
But it was too late for Al. Cat shifted, springing from the salon couch just as Al’s own weight brought him down upon it with a heavy thud. Cat didn’t wait to appreciate his stunned expression. She was headed out the door.
She had just made the deck when she felt herself wrenched back cruelly by the hair. Shifting low, pivoting from her “center” as she had been taught, Cat wedged a foot behind that of her attacker, and leaned forward. Once again it was the man’s own weight that brought him sprawling to the deck.
But there were three of them. Dismay began to chill through Cat. How long could she keep this up? They were falling. They were cursing. She was doing a fair amount of damage. They kept coming back up. Her strength was failing her, her breath was coming in terrible short gasps.
She got a good look at Al’s livid face as he came for her a third time. He was the angriest of the men—the first to be tricked. Uneven and yellowed teeth were bared in the frame of lips drawn into a snarl.
“Oh, honey,” he hissed, “you just wait till I do get my hands on you. You’re gonna pay. …” His tone became a slimy and threatening caress. “I’m gonna make sure you ain’t no ice queen when DeVante gets ahold of you.”
“Hey, Al,” one of the other men warned uneasily, taking up a position so that the three of them surrounded her in a narrowing circle. “Don’t get any ideas about touching her. I ain’t in this for kidnapping or rape. And DeVante will have your hide.”
Al took a lunge toward Cat that she managed to sidestep, apparently infuriating him further while she still fought wave after wave of debilitating panic. She had held them off so far, but her resources were fraying. If two of them got hold of her at the same time … And the world kept dimming on her. If she didn’t keep blinking, she saw black. She was nauseated, terrified that at any minute she would pass out cold.
“DeVante didn’t tell me we were going to tangle with a wildcat,” he hissed in reply to his cohort. “This bitch has clawed me good. DeVante won’t mind me having a turn after all this tigress has lashed out to me.”
“DeVante might not mind,” a voice with the ice-edge of a steel sword suddenly drawled out in sliced anger all the more deadly because it sounded so terribly controlled.
Cat spun around, sure that she would faint now with relief. Clay was coming over the aft edge of the boat with Sam in tow behind him. “Cat,” he hissed, his eyes not on her but on Al, “I can see you’re doing rather well with those little dance steps of yours, but do you think we could stop messing around now? Get in the dinghy.”
Cat moved instantly to obey him, with Al growling behind her. She could barely breathe as she imagined him reaching for her again.
“You’re crazy, Miller, if you think I’m letting her walk right off this boat—”
“Don’t touch her!” Clay lashed out instantly, and Cat realized he held a small pistol. “I brought this just to make sure we could make a quick retreat. I’d like to stay and fight this out—you’re a bit bigger than my wife and I’d like to see how you’d fare against a man your own size—but I’m really afraid I’d be sorely tempted to kill you. In fact, you stretch one of those grimy fingers toward her again, and I’ll be real, real tempted to shoot it right off. Sam—” Clay still kept his eyes upon the three men of the Chrissy. “Get Cat into the dinghy now!”
Cat started to move, but not quickly enough. She was stunned with the relief of Clay’s appearance, and totally off guard when Al’s fingers closed over her shoulders. A small gasp escaped her; she attempted to struggle, but she was worn and weak, unable to break the grip around her throat.
“You’re not going to shoot me, Miller,” Al challenged thickly.
Cat was dazed but still vaguely aware that Clay’s apparent control was very deceiving. She knew his temper, that his rage was murderous despite the calm drawl of his voice. “You’re right,” he said softly, too softly. “I’m not going to shoot you.” The small pistol was tossed almost negligently overboard to the dinghy. Clay turned to Sam, lifting a brow. “Care to join me on deck, Sam?”
“A pleasure,” Sam agreed.
“There’s three of us!” Al snarled.
“You are at a disadvantage,” Clay said coolly. And then he was approaching Al, his footsteps the calm, assured ones of a great cat stalking prey. For just a split second his eyes touched upon Cat, then narrowed. Cat felt a searing on her forehead where his vision had brushed it. She became aware of a sticky sensation and that Clay had seen the trickle of blood against the bruise at her temple—a result of her collision with the planking in her first escape attempt. Until now, she hadn’t had the time to realize she was hurt.
Cat gasped and a cry escaped her as the hold on her throat tightened momentarily. But then she was instantly released. Clay’s hand had come upon the arm of her attacker.
“Get in the damned dinghy, Cat!” Clay roared.
Cat found the energy to run. She saw Sam fell one of the other men with a single well-aimed blow delivered by his giant hand. She heard a thud behind her that made her pause. The cocky Al was also down; Clay had brought a bloodied knuckle to his mouth, then he shook his hand, looking down at the man who lay in a heap at his feet, as if he wished to do him further injury. Dear God, Cat thought swiftly, Clay looked as if he were still ready to kill … “Clay!” she cried out.
“Sam—get her into the dinghy!”
Cat was only able to see that the third man of the Chrissy was moving backward. “I didn’t want any part of this,” he was pleading. “I was the one telling Al to leave her alone. …”
Cat was grateful to hear the sound of Clay’s voice rather than the repercussion of action as Sam grabbed her arm to follow her husband’s directive. “You just get this garbage back to DeVante,” Clay hissed. “And don’t ever let me see your face again unless you want it rearranged.”
Thank God that Sam was there to help her, Cat thought, because she was shaking so badly she barely made the step over the side of the boat. She heard Clay continue to talk as she took up a shivering position in the dinghy. “You make damned sure to tell DeVante it’s all over. The water patrol will be around soon and they’ll be staying here until the salvage operation is complete. You’re getting off easy. Any more trouble and you’ll be paying with lots and lots of years out of your worthless life.” Clay hesitated a mom
ent, his voice lowering. “And if my wife is touched again, you’ll be paying with your worthless life itself. Do we have an understanding?”
Cat couldn’t see the one man of the Chrissy still standing, but he must have been convincingly and eagerly agreeable. Clay was in the dinghy only a second later, picking up the oars.
“Clay—” Cat began miserably.
He spun on her with such fury that she was stunned into silence. “You little idiot!” he shouted. “All of this over your damned Frenchman! Because you just can’t bear to listen! Let me warn you, Mrs. Miller, another stunt like this one and you’ll find yourself chained in a cabin!”
Cat opened her mouth to protest, but no words would come. She sat in shivering misery, aware that Sam’s eyes condemned her silently just as Clay’s words had. She had been an idiot … so trusting … so stupidly sure of herself.
The oars suddenly ceased movement in the water. Clay reached out across the feet of the dinghy, gripping her chin as he examined her temple. There was no tenderness to the touch of his fingers; he was swearing soundly.
His eyes continued to flame as he abruptly released her. “You’ll heal,” he said curtly.
Cat grit her teeth to fight back tears. She knew the wound was superficial; she could barely feel it. And she knew she had been wrong, her determined persistence had put her into an extremely perilous position. But she hadn’t expected to be the recipient of Clay’s raw anger. She was sore and tired, stunned and shell-shocked, bewildered, confused—and scared silly, and she needed his comfort.
The taut, grim mask of his face assured her that he offered none.
Their return to the Sea Witch II was a tense and silent affair, with Cat struggling with an inward battle as strenuous as that which had just drained her physically. She fought to retain her dignity against a man treating her like an errant child. But her dignity broke as she tried to crawl aboard the Sea Witch II. She was too tired … she was shivering uncontrollably. Her steps faltered and she almost tripped.
Clay’s arms came around her and she was lifted into his iron hold. But there was no tenderness to his touch. He stormed through the main salon to his cabin and tossed her unceremoniously upon the bed. He bent to touch the bruise on her temple, his touch gentle despite his ill temper. A muffled curse escaped him, then he was striding out of the room. Cat struggled to sit, but before she could fully rise, he was back, an ice pack in one hand, pills and a water glass in the other. He handed her the glass and the pills, stared at her until she had swallowed them, then pressed her back against the pillow. “Aspirin,” he informed her abruptly. “The cut isn’t a half inch, and the bruise should be gone tomorrow.” His control suddenly exploded. “Damnation! Do you know how lucky you are? Do you have any idea of what could have happened?” His query ended in a sharp tone and he spun away from her, twisting back to issue one more impatiently snapped decree. “Don’t move!” he warned her curtly. “Not a damn muscle! We’ll discuss this as soon as I think I can do so with half a pretense at sanity!”
Hours to Cherish Page 16
