Captain's Paradise Read Online Free Page A

abilities.”
    He half turned to stare at her, keeping one hand on the wheel. “No, I don’t know you,” he agreed flatly. “But I know
them
. I know their kind. They don’t give a sweet damn about the sanctity of life, Robin. They solve every problem with guns and violence, and they’ll solve the problem you present the same way.”
    She almost flinched from the hardness of his voice—especially with the memory of too many other hard voices still rawly alive in her mind—but made herself remain still. Her chin lifted. “And I know
that
. I’m not a fool, whatever you think, and I’m not stupid. But whether you like it or not, I’m a part of this. For one thing, I know what that yacht looks like.”
    “Do you? One yacht looks pretty much like another.”
    “I can identify some of the men.”
    “If you get close enough.”
    Robin’s frustration grew, and she tried to keep her voice calm and level. She felt cold inside, andafraid and alone, and the thought of facing those men again terrified her, but she couldn’t let him see that. “Mr. Siran—”
    “Michael,” he interrupted, adding sardonically, “since we’re in this together.”
    She ignored the tone. “Michael, you weren’t with those girls. I was. I felt the needles, and the cruelty, and the terror of being kidnapped. I felt the horror and anguish of believing I’d be bought and used and sold like a piece of merchandise.” Robin was hardly aware that her voice had gone flat and steely, but it didn’t escape the man beside her.
    She took a deep breath. “This is my fight a hell of a lot more than it is yours. I’ll do anything I have to do to stop those men. Anything. That’s something you can
count
on.”
    “I see.”
    Robin wondered if he believed her. She wondered if she believed herself. She was so afraid. And this time her fear could endanger others rather than just herself. This time her fear could get someone killed.
    “Robin …” He hesitated. “I understand how you feel. You were degraded, even dehumanized, by what happened to you. And now you’re mad, and you want to get even.”
    “I want justice.”
    “Be honest with yourself.” He turned his head to give her a long, steady look. “You want to get even.”
    Reluctantly she admitted, “That’s part of it. But not all. I want to help those other girls, and I want those men stopped.”
    Michael turned his gaze forward again. “All right. But this isn’t a game for amateurs.”
    Her curiosity about this man had been growing, and she took advantage of the opening. “Which you aren’t?”
    He was silent for a moment, and then shrugged. “Which I’m not,” he agreed flatly.
    “You’re an—expert at dangerous games?” When he remained silent, she probed determinedly. “You weren’t surprised by white slavers; most people would be. You talk about men of violence as if you know them well. You sail aboat named for the angel of death. Tell me something, Michael. What do you do for a living?”
    He smiled. “I run a charter service.”
    Robin silently weighed his tone, which was flippant, and studied the quick, somewhat menacing smile. Oddly enough, she wasn’t afraid of him, but she thought a great many people would be. “Are you a smuggler?”
    Michael didn’t seem surprised by the question. “No.”
    “Gun runner?”
    He shook his head slightly, and seemed amused. “I notice you’ve placed me squarely among the bad guys,” he commented.
    “Am I wrong in that?”
    His look of amusement faded. “No. No, that’s where I generally tend to be. Among the bad guys.”
    On impulse she said, “But you wear a white hat?”
    He glanced at her, and his face hardened. “Dirty gray, maybe. White hats don’t stay clean very long, Robin. Filth rubs off.”
    It was a disturbing comment, but because of her own background Robin was less unsettled than many would have been; she came from a long line of police officers, and knew what Michael meant. It
was
a dirty