Hell's Gate Read Online Free Page B

in her hair, breathing in her scent. His hands didn’t go to her ass as they always did. They encircled her, lingering at the small of her back. “Do you think I’m a hero?” he asked, pulling back so he could look into her eyes.
    â€œThe papers say so.”
    â€œThe papers don’t know shit,” he said, breaking their embrace. He took off his jacket then and hung it on the back of the door. Ginny noticed for the first time that it was stained a deep red-brown on the sleeves and back. He unbuckled the shoulder holster and hung it too, the heavy Colt banging against the door. Mike shuffled to the bed and bounced on the edge, his legs seeming to give out. He started to take off his shoes, but couldn’t seem to untie the laces, so Ginny took them off for him.
    â€œIt was a damn bloodbath. One patrolman dead, two more wounded. One’s got a broken back. They don’t know if he’ll walk again.”
    â€œDid you break his back?” Ginny asked.
    â€œNo, of course not. A body came over the side. They were throwing it overboard. Landed right on us.”
    Ginny nodded. “The one who was killed, the other cop, what happened?” Mike told her about the shoot-out at the fo’c’sle, that he should have gone first down the dark gangway.
    â€œBut then you’d be dead,” Ginny said without inflection.
    â€œI should be dead,” Mike answered. “I would be except for him. He wanted to go first. Said he knew those ships better than me.”
    â€œDid he?”
    â€œSure, I suppose. He was harbor police…”
    â€œBut heroes go first?”
    â€œYeah, damn it! They do,” Mike almost shouted, standing in his socks, his hands in fists at his side. “And I’m no damn hero. Half the time I didn’t know what the hell was going on. Fuckin’ papers can say what they want, but they don’t know.”
    Ginny walked over and sat down, patting the mattress for him to sit beside her.
    â€œWho shot the man on the stairs?” she asked.
    â€œMe, I guess. Didn’t know what I was shooting at really. Too fast an’ too dark.”
    â€œYou shot them. And the others?”
    â€œThe Oysterman, I’m sure,” Mike said, easing back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling as if the scenes were playing out up there. “Right in the eye. Smilin’ Jack too, but him I’m not so sure. Maybe.”
    â€œThey shot at you, right?”
    â€œThey missed, yeah. Don’t know how, but they missed.”
    â€œYou didn’t miss,” Ginny said, putting his feet in her lap. She massaged his toes and arches, kneading with practiced fingers.
    â€œThat’s nice,” Mike said. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. “Nice.” She didn’t say anything more, just watched his face as his eyes fluttered. He was asleep in minutes. Ginny set his feet on the bed and lay down beside him. She pulled close, ignoring the dirt and blood on his clothes and the stink of sweat from the night before. She lay on her side so she could watch his face while he slept.
    *   *   *
    Mike woke with a start, waking Ginny, too. “Damn. How long’ve I been asleep?”
    Ginny looked at the clock. “Four hours, more or less. You needed it. I could see right away.”
    Mike grunted. “That’s the first I’ve slept in near two days.” He sat up and rubbed his face, knuckling the sleep from his eyes. “All the questions, reports … everything. And the shoot-out playing over an’ over in my head like one of those picture shows.” He turned and kissed her cheek. “Thanks. How’d you do that, with the feet I mean? Like somebody switched off a light.”
    Ginny smiled, half in remembrance. “My mom used to do that for my father sometimes.”
    Mike nodded. He ran a hand up her thigh, parting her robe and pulling her close. “You never stop surprising