CHAPTER ONE

 

The wake of a passing boat slapped against the pilings and the weathered dock planking groaned beneath her feet. Gulls circled tirelessly above the bait tanks, shrieking rusty cries of impatience, waiting to dive upon the anchovies which slipped through the nets.

Ginny took a deep breath. The mid-morning air was invigorating. It smelled of fish and boats too long in the water, just the way she knew it would. She watched the fishing boat's wake and breathed in the dank salty smell of the harbour.

She remembered Willow Springs which smelled of sagebrush and smoke trees and hot, dry desert air. Her cheeks never felt damp at noon in the desert. It would be nearing 100 degrees by then and her school children would be slowing to a sluggish tolerance, a signal of the day's rising heat. Her clothes would be damp from perspiration and she would be glancing at the big clock and wishing it would sound recess. By 3 o'clock in the afternoon she would be irritable and the children would be squirming in their seats. Finally the bell would ring and she would gather up the homework papers and leave.

Leslie Bryant would be waiting in his conservative tan Chevrolet to drive her home, properly solicitous of her health, her work and her reputation. There was little in Willow Springs to spawn misconduct - there were only a few eligible bachelors in the whole county, of which Leslie Bryant was typical. The town was as conservative as Leslie. It had two restaurants, one movie theatre and 214 solid, if somewhat drab, citizens who had known each other since childhood. It was like living in a giant boarding house with 214 anxious relatives to pick who you dated, where you went, and tch-tch if you went for a drive with a man after the Saturday night movie show. Ginny Lee Barnes was a senior citizen at the age of twenty four.

She breathed the damp salty air again and shivered with anticipation. This vacation was going to be different. She loved the seacoast with its morning fog and gulls and cool wet nights. Three whole weeks in this busy beach town with no schedules or rules or third-grade students. And not one nosy neighbour to complain. It seemed too good to be true. No stifling days, no muggy nights and best of all, no Leslie Bryant to kiss her, father-like, on the cheek after three years of sterile courtship. Who knows, she might even meet an interesting man ... maybe one with the dark brooding good looks of the fisherman loading that boat over there. She leaned on the railing and watched the tall, dark-tanned male. He was stripped to the waist and his hard, muscular body reflected the heartiness of the sea swelling as he bent and strained at his chores, his muscles rippling as he did.

Big Jim Portola was aware of her eyes on him. He lifted the heavy wooden crate and rested it on one shoulder, using his arms instead of his legs because he knew it made the heavy muscles bulge across his back. More than one woman had known his bed because of his strong back and lean good looks. He moved down the small pier, across the boarding ladder and deposited the crate with the others on the aft deck of the boat. With studied care, he straightened his back, ran his fingers through the curly black hair and then pushed the skipper's cap back on his head. It was strictly a grandstand play for the girl's benefit.

Jim was a seaman through and through and accustomed to wearing his cap pulled hard down to keep the sun from his eyes and the wind from tearing it from his head in heavy seas. Pretending to lash down the cargo, he watched from beneath his black brows as the girl's eyes followed his every move. Pretty little thing, like a cupie doll at a carnival, all blonde and soft and breakable. Nice. Too bad he didn't have time to try for a piece of that. Bet she never had a real man in her life. Maybe when they'd delivered their 'special cargo' and came back with some dough to spend, maybe he could look around the docks and find her again. Naw, she'd not be hanging around that long, not a pretty little broad like that, he thought. Probably waiting now for her swabbie boyfriend to hit shore and squeeze her tits in the back row of some movie house. Big deal.

He leaned back against the aft cabin bulkhead and fished around in his pocket for a cigarette. He was openly watching her now, letting his dark eyes roam the contours of her trim figure. He could feel his dungarees tighten across his loins as the dormant penis throbbed awake in response to his thoughts. Man, he wouldn't mind sinking it in her soft little twat. His pants grew tighter and he knew there was no mistaking the meaning of the growing bulge in his britches. He sucked deeply on the cigarette, exhaled through his nose and stepped onto the dock.

Never taking his eyes off her, he strolled up the wharf all the while thinking how it would feel to shove his cock into that little white crotch. Every thought made the bulge grow a little bigger. Hell, give the broad a thrill he thought. He deliberately grasped the belt of his pants and shifted them on his body as if easing his discomfort. Yeah, she caught the move. He hoped she would. He saw her eyes move down to the swollen area then flash away. He could see her turn red and she fumbled with the camera to hide her embarrassment, making sill futile adjustments with the dials and knobs. He was beside her now.

"Mornin' Miss." He touched his cap, his dark handsome face insolent, but ruggedly appealing in this harbour setting.

"G-G-Good morning," Ginny stammered softly, scarcely raising her head from behind the camera. Her face was flushed red. She knew he had seen her staring at the bulge of his pants; she knew that she was aware of his crude display of male desire, and she was embarrassed. But he was good looking in a rough sort of way and somehow this embarrassed her even more.

Ginny heard his steps continue on. She heard him stop and deposit two coins in the cigarette machine beside the supply shop and she was relieved. He hadn't come up the dock specifically because of her, she thought. The coins dropped and the package fall into the chrome trough. Then she heard the soft tread of his deck shoes coming back towards her. The ancient pilings moaned as his weight hit each loose plank. Ginny busied herself with the camera once more, careful not to look up, but wanting to just the same. It was hard to keep her eyes off him, she thought. She was curious if this rough looking stranger still carried the bulging evidence of his interest in her. His crude behaviour shocked yet excited her. Almost unconsciously she straightened her shoulders and pushed her firm little breasts taut against the material of her crisp summer dress. It was a bad habit to allow oneself to slouch, she rationalised. The footsteps paused behind her.

"Having trouble, Miss?" His voice was deep.

"N-n-no ... no not really ... it's a new camera, well, new to me anyway. It belongs to my neighbour, Miss Darwell, back home in Willow Springs, and I wanted to take some pictures of the boats and things ... and well, I didn't have anything else to do. I mean, I'm on vacation and we don't have boats and fishing in Willow Springs and ..." Ginny hadn't meant to ramble on so. He'd only asked a simple question and here she was making a fool of herself, telling him she was alone and on vacation and all, just like she was asking him for a date. Get a hold of yourself, Ginny Lee Barnes, she thought, and quit acting like a ninny.

"Really, there's nothing wrong, I'm just not quite familiar with the operation of this particular camera yet." She tried to smile casually at the big man beside her. "I think I have it now, but thank you anyway."

The tall man touched his cap, nodding with exaggerated politeness.

"If you have any more trouble with your ... camera, I'd be happy to help." His dark eyes slid down over her body, slowly, then he turned abruptly and went back to his loading chores, hoisting the heavy crates on his bare tanned shoulders and depositing them with a thump on the deck. He didn't look up again.

Ginny strolled down the wharf, pretending an avid interest in the many boats and the small shop that sold fishing supplies, bait and tickets for deep sea fishing trips. She paused to take several shots of the boats and their crews. She snapped the big grey freighter anchored in mid-channel waiting for dock space and she watched the flapping descent of a pelican on a nearby cleat and took the last picture as he made his unwieldy landing.

As she unwrapped and inserted the new film, she looked around for candid subjects to take home to Willow Springs. Her glance lingered on the tall, bare-shouldered man loading the last supply crate aboard his fishing boat. She wondered if she dared wander back and take a quick shot of his boat and crew. Two men had joined him on the deck and were working with the lines. She could hear their voices, carried to her by the wind. Why not? It might be fun to have a picture of this brawny, weather-tanned stranger who brazenly flirted ... flirted? ... with her. Anything would be pleasant to remember once she returned to Willow Springs, anything except the frigid past with Mr. Bryant.

Ginny clicked the film in place and walked boldly back down to where the swarthy crew was preparing to depart. She stopped at the entrance to the piers, raised her camera and sighted in on the boat. She waited, camera ready, for the tall man with the sinister good looks. As he came through the hatch and straightened in the sunlight, Ginny pressed the small button. She lowered the camera to advance the film, noticing the shorter, heavy set man pointing in her direction and talking excitedly. Well, she thought, let them look. There's no law against taking pictures of fishing boats, even if the captain has his shirt off! She raised the camera a second time then a third, recording the brief morning interlude firmly in her mind. It was going to be a good vacation, she was determined about that. If she had caught one man's eye, then she could catch another and, perhaps the next man would be more of a gentleman. A gentleman, she thought, almost regretfully.

"Pardon, Miss." A rasping voice spoke behind her.

Ginny jumped. She hadn't heard anyone approach.

"Didn't mean to scare ya none, Miss." He smiled at her with stained teeth through peeling wind-burned lips. "The Capt'n, he says you should maybe come on board where you could take better pictures."

"Oh?" She glanced toward to the deck of the boat. "Well ... no ... tell your Captain I said no thank you."

Ginny looked wishfully towards the boat. The tall tanned figure leaned casually against the back cabin wall; hands in his pockets, the glare of the late morning sun causing his eyes to remain half closed. He had a shirt on now and it was fully buttoned, even the shirt-tail was tucked into his pants, neat and proper, perhaps she had been wrong about his intentions.

"The Capt'n says if you want to take good pictures for your folks back home, you could get some real action shots of the crew casting off and all."

Well, it would make for good pictures, no question about that. She could stand on the dock beside the boat and get close-up character shots, maybe even win the summer photo contest in the Willow Springs News. She looked again towards 'The Capt'n' as the hulking mate had called him. Yes, he had a good face for photography, the rugged, weather-pounded look of a seafaring man who'd known every challenge the sea could throw his way and never broached before its wrath. Leslie wouldn't approve. Ginny smiled. Pish on Leslie Bryant, it was her vacation.

She followed the lumbering crewman down the main wharf to the turn, then on down the narrower walkway to where the fishing boats were tied off, one after the other, like sardines in an open-sea can. The seaman straddled the boarding ladder and stepped onto the deck. She looked at the Captain's casual stance against the bulkhead and smiled with haughty politeness.

"Thank you. I'll only take a couple of pictures and then I'll be off." She nodded curtly at him and began aiming her camera over the span of the boat.

He nodded but neither moved nor spoke. The two other men on the deck stood back, arms folded across their chests, looking at her ... in a rather strange way, she thought. Oh well, she was a tourist snapping photos of them as though they were specimens in a zoo. She really couldn't expect them to be professional models but she did wish they would do something.

"Go right on with your work," she suggested, "what I'd really like is pictures of a fishing crew actually working. You know, doing whatever you do with ropes and fishing poles ... and all that."

The Captain straightened from his propped position against the cabin bulkhead and casually walked over to the boarding ladder. His teeth were white and straight against the dark tan of his face.

"Well now, Miss, these men do most of their work below decks from here on until we cast off. You can see we've already loaded this month's supplies for the trip and," he glanced at his watch, "in about twenty minutes we'll be casting off to catch the tide right. The men have got last minute work below decks, securing the gear and all. Come aboard, Miss, and I'll show you around while there's still time."

He held out his hand to help her over the side. Ginny hesitated, wanting to go but restrained by years of rigid training. A nice girl didn't mix with total strangers, it wasn't the right thing to do, she thought. Miss Darwell was always saying that back home and so was Leslie. His hand was still stretched out towards her, the dark knowing smile just touching the corners of his mouth. A girl shouldn't get mixed up with strangers, she agreed, still this was going to be a pretty dull vacation if she didn't mix with somebody. Taking pictures couldn't really be called mixing ... it was more like talking to a taxi driver or the restaurant waiter. They had a sort of impersonal immunity.

Ginny placed her small hand in his strong one and accepted his steadying strength as she climbed the boarding ladder. She was glad she had decided to wear low heels.

"Welcome aboard the Midway Queen." He smiled down at her with that same all-knowing expression that had given her the shivers on the dock. It was rather like someone looking inside you instead of at your face. No matter how different his smile, she thought, there was no excuse for bad manners.

"I hope I'm not keeping you from your work?"

"Not at all, Miss." He looked toward to the two men on deck and gestured with his eyes towards the open hatch. They disappeared inside. His full attention returned to the girl.

"The Queen is rigged out as a lobster boat right now," he began, by pointing to the stack of wire traps with their bright buoys and lines. "Most of our traps are already set. We'll be checking on them later today and we're also fitted with outriggers for the big game fish."

Ginny followed his pointing arm and was acutely aware of the corded muscle as he grasped the outrigger pole and shook it.

"Do you live on the boat?" Ginny asked, trying to keep the conversation - and her thoughts - tactfully in tow.

"Sometimes." He took a deep drag on the cigarette then flipped it over the side and looked down at her. "Sometimes I just roll into bed wherever I happen to be..."

Ginny could feel the blush rising to her face again and turned her back and fingered a stack of gear that was nearby.

"What are these things?" She held up a red and white feathered object.

"Jigs. It's like fly-fishing except that we use bigger flies for bigger fish."

"Ohh ..." Ginny aimed her camera at the wire rack on which the feathered jigs hung in gay profusion. The camera clicked. She turned the film on and looked about for something else to fasten her attention on beside the tall man at her side. "I'd better hurry, I'm sure you're anxious to leave," she said.

His smile grew more pronounced and he raised one eyebrow just enough to emphasise his thoughts. Jim Portola knew his rough looks flustered the girl, but it was nothing new and it always amused him. But this was not the time for the pleasures of the flesh. He must do what he had to do ... and as quickly and quietly as possible.

"This way, Miss." He gestured through the open hatchway. "The men are lashing down the loose gear and you want to get some pictures of them at work."

He propelled her through the doorway with a firm hand on her shoulder, talking all the while so she wouldn't notice the urgency of his move.

"The galley, crew's quarters and all, they're up forward." He pressed against her back, urging her subtly on with the proximity of his own body. As the girl stepped through the aft cabin, with its crowded gearboxes and stores, he reached back and pulled the hatch cover closed, letting it slip silently into place.

"Is it always this dark inside of a boat?" she asked, "Or do you uncover the windows, I mean the portholes, when you get ready to leave?"

Ginny stepped into the centre compartment. The other two men who had previously gone below deck were standing in the centre of the small cabin. Just standing there, looking at her with leering expressions and ready hands. Ginny stepped back into the supposed security of the Captain's vicinity.

Suddenly a big hand clamped over her mouth and a strong arm held her to his chest like a steel band, holding her so tightly that she struggled for breath. She tried to scream but the hand covered her mouth and the only sound in the cabin was the shuffling of her own feet as she battled against the arms of iron. She made small muffled moans as his hands forced her against him and she tasted blood. She tried to kick him but the soft kid sandals didn't even make him wince.

He let the struggling girl tire herself out. It was the easiest way. She would wear herself out in a couple of minutes and be tame enough to handle. He tightened his arm across her chest, feeling the firm breast squashing beneath his arm. Suddenly the girl went limp in his arms. She had fainted. No ... no, she hadn't fainted, he thought ... guess he had cut off her air supply with his big hand across her face. He hadn't meant to do that but perhaps it as for the best. He slipped one arm down and under her legs and swung the limp body up and into the nearest bunk.

"What we gonna do with her, Jim?" It was the rasping voice of Joe Viviano who had talked to Ginny on the pier. "You know, with the ... stuff ... and all? We gonna take her with us?"

"Don't see as we have much choice." Jim pulled a dirty cloth from the overhead locker and tore it in half. He stuffed a tight ball of the cloth into the unconscious girl's mouth, then used the other half to wrap around her head as a gag. Couldn't have her waking and start screaming while they were still in the marina. God damn it, why'd the stupid broad have to take pictures of them! Now she was in for it, he thought.