ELUDING DESTINY
Chapter Eighteen

She found Tommy and Fabrizio on the other side of the ship, huddling around the doors to the gymnasium. Fabrizio was frowning as he gazed off into the clear, cold night; his dark eyes reflected the blackness of the water that silently splashed beneath them. Tommy had his hands in his pockets, and he was looking around alertly. His face wore an expression of grim satisfaction. She knew it gave him some sort of perverse thrill to come and go as he pleased on a ship where he was supposed to be behind locked gates.

"Any luck?" she asked them, and the wind blew her voice into the night.

"No," said Fabrizio. "We find nothing."

Tommy's eyes focused on the gun she still held in her hands. "You aren't planning on doing away with us, are you?" he asked, laughing just a tad nervously.

Rose held the gun up for their inspection. "I found this by the second class stairway," she said quietly. "Jack always goes that way to get back to steerage. It hasn't been fired."

"Think it belongs to your bastard of a fiancé?" Tommy asked. "Sorry," he added offhandedly, and lit a cigarette with hands trembling from the cold.

Rose raised an eyebrow. "I think it might, actually," she said. "And don't apologize. I couldn't have put it better myself."

Fabrizio was shuffling his feet impatiently. "So," he said, "what we do now?"

Rose cleared her throat. "Now, gentlemen," she said, with more certainty than she felt, "we find him. I don't care what it takes. I'll search all night and all day tomorrow; I'll search all the way to New York if I have to."

"So will I," said Fabrizio. Tommy nodded his agreement.

Rose took a deep breath. "I think that he's alive," she said. "And I'm certain he's being held against his will. Most likely, Cal will leave Lovejoy to watch him while he gets his beauty rest. But I would be on the lookout for either of them."

"Do you think he's got one of them high-falutin' shipmen to help him?" Tommy asked. "A man like that must have some influence, eh?"

Rose hesitated. It was horrid to think about, but she had learned that almost anyone, good or bad, could be bought. It just depended on how high the price. And Cal...Cal, and his millions, could certainly buy just about anyone. It was certainly a possibility that he'd enlisted the help of the crew to keep Jack contained; perhaps even the Master-at-Arms.

She let out her breath slowly.

"We can't trust any of them," she said at last. "We'll have to find him on our own."

"And then what?" Tommy asked practically. "What happens when we find him? How can we help him escape? There isn't really any place for us to go." He gestured around the silent, deserted boat deck.

Rose set her jaw. "We will cross that bridge," she said firmly, "when we come to it."

There was a long moment of silence. The wind whistled and howled around them, lifting her dark curls and swirling them in front of her face. The bitter cold was seeping into her bones.

Finally, Fabrizio cleared his throat. "I'm thinking," he began, "that they hide him somewhere nobody can find him. Like the--what do you say? Engine room? Down there. We look down there."

Rose stared at him, then laughed a little, for the first time in what felt like days. "Yes," she said. "Yes, Fabrizio. That's a very good place to start." She paused. "And believe it or not, I know just how to get us there."

*****

His head hurt.

No, he thought, lashes fluttering as he fought the lure of unconsciousness. No, it doesn't just hurt. It throbs.

He groaned softly as his mind began taking note of all the various aches and pains that afflicted his body. His arms and legs were numb. His torso felt like one big bruise. And his head, God, his head...it felt like somebody had socked him but good.

Or hit him with the butt of a pistol.

The memories filtered back, slowly but with increasing clarity. He opened his eyes slowly, and was greeted with the face of a man he'd grown to hate.

"Mr. Dawson," Lovejoy said mildly. "Welcome back to the land of the living. Care for a cigarette?"

Jack could feel the hatred building inside him, and he gritted his teeth, wincing at the pain in his head. He tried to move his arms, and pain exploded in his shoulders. His hands were cuffed behind him. He coughed and struggled to lift himself from his fetal position on the floor.

"You...unbelievable...bastard," he managed hoarsely.

Lovejoy merely chuckled. It was creepy the way his smiles never reached his eyes. "Now, now," he said. "You should feel lucky to be alive."

Jack coughed again, and spat in his direction. "You...should feel...lucky," he got out. "Won't be...alive...much longer."

Lovejoy laughed humorlessly, his flat gray eyes regarding him with a coldness that was unsettling. "And just what do you think you will accomplish from over there, Mr. Dawson?" he asked mildly.

Jack sucked in a breath and managed to pull himself into a sitting position. Pins and needles screamed up and down his arms. "Everyone gets what's...coming to them," he whispered hoarsely, and gave the man a charming smile. "Even...you, Mr. Lovejoy."

"I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with you," Lovejoy said, fingering his gun where it lay before him on the table. "There isn't much justice in this world, Mr. Dawson. I would think that you, of all people, would be aware of that."

"Why?" Jack rasped, leaning his head back against the cold roughness of the wall and regarding his captor through half-lowered lids. "Do you think I'd rather be like Mr. Hockley?" He fairly sneered the name. "That everyone wants to be rich beyond imagination, coddled and taken care of their entire life? That's..." He shook his head, coughing weakly. "That's no way to live, Mr. Lovejoy. Me? I live for all I'm worth."

Lovejoy merely smiled. "And soon you'll die."

A stab of fear hit him in the gut, but he tried to ignore it. He took a deep breath. "Where is Rose?" he asked, changing the subject.

"In her bed, having sweet dreams, I expect," the man said calmly. "Too bad she'll wake up tomorrow morning and her precious lover will be gone."

A wave of relief washed over him. Rose was okay. For now, that was all that mattered.

"And the man you take all your orders from?" Jack asked. "Where is he?"

He wasn't certain, but he thought he saw a flash of anger in Lovejoy's eyes. "Mr. Hockley's whereabouts," he said, slowly, deliberately, "are no concern of yours."

"Or of yours, it would seem," Jack retorted. "He seems to have no problem leaving you in this..." He glanced around. "…this cold, musty storage area to do his dirty work."

"Mr. Hockley is my employer," Lovejoy said icily. "You have no understanding of that--you've probably never worked a decent day in your life."

"Actually," Jack murmured, "I worked my way to and across Europe. And not just drawing pictures, either. I guess you might say I'm a...a jack-of-all-trades." He smiled faintly at the pun on his name.

Lovejoy did not seem amused. "You're nothing but a scoundrel," he scoffed. "It is unfortunate that you found yourself taken by the young Ms. Bukater. It will cause you an untimely death, young man."

"You know, you're pretty good at threatening, Lovejoy," Jack said with more confidence than he felt. "But when it comes down to it, we both know you can't do a damn thing to me until Hockley gives the word. I've seen this sort of thing before. He says jump, you say how high. At least," and he knew he was treading in dangerous waters here, but he couldn't resist, "I've got my self-respect."

Lovejoy glowered at him wordlessly. His fingers twitched beside the gun, and Jack could see how badly he wanted to put a bullet into his head.

But he couldn't. It wasn't his decision.

"I'll take great pleasure in putting an end to your miserable existence, Mr. Dawson" he said finally, hate lacing his every word.

Jack gazed at him impudently, then shut his eyes as though he couldn't be bothered with him any longer. "And I," he muttered under his breath, "will take great pleasure in proving you wrong."

Chapter Nineteen
Stories