She was suddenly looking at him with accusing eyes. "What? Whythat look?" he asked.

"That man in the bathroom tonight. It was almost as if... It looked like... Hitting him seemed to come easy. Was it?"

He hadn't expected her to bring that up. "It felt right," Blu hedged. "I hit Sam because he was all over you and he deserved to pay for it."

She looked as if she wanted to believe him, but then a half hour ago he had been all over her, too. The irony almost choked him.

"You knew him?"

"He's one of the welders down on the docks." Blu rubbed at his jaw, studied her some more. "You weren't exactly enjoying his attentions, as I recall."

"No. No, I wasn't."

"Then I don't see why we're discussing this."

"You didn't enjoy it, then? Hurting him, I mean?"

Of course he enjoyed sinking his fist into that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's face and sending him to his knees. But that's not what she wanted to hear, and the way she was looking at him... Oh, h.e.l.l, his conscience was growing. "No, Angel I didn't enjoy it. I just wanted him off you." Hoping that would suffice, he said, "It's late. Past midnight. You need to get some sleep."

"Sleep? No, I really-"

"You look tired."

"I haven't been sleeping well. I've been having nightmares."

Blu strolled across the deck, opened the door that led below, then gestured to the stairs. "I've got two beds. You can have your own room. I'll bet once you stretch out you'll fall right to sleep."

TheNightwing was called "The Charmer" by the local fishermen. She was forty-five feet of sleek design and unchallenged speed. In a cla.s.s by herself, theNightwing, however, didn't stop with surface beauty and speed. Below deck, the well-crafted cruiser had a roomy U-shaped galley and generous living s.p.a.ce, and was equipped with two private sleeping quarters, each with their own head.

In comparison to the Dump, the cruiser was a floating mansion, well-cared for and cleaner than anyone would expect.

"This is a surprise," she said as she came to stand in the teakwood galley.

Blu glanced around. "She was custom-made for a guy over on Lake Borgne. When he died, his wife put her up for sale. She's a one-of-a-kind."

"And yours?"

"Oui,she's mine."

Blu watched Angel as she considered the s.p.a.ce with an experienced eye of someone who knew what she was looking at. "I know it's weird, but I feel comfortable here. Like maybe I used to live on a boat or something." She ran her hand along the teakwood cabinets. Suddenly she closed her eyes as if she were trying to remember. For several minutes she just stood there.

Blu came up behind her, but made a point to not touch her. "Do you remember something?" She blinked open her eyes, turned to face him. "I wish I did, but no. There's nothing." As if the ordeal of trying to remember had stripped her of her last ounce of energy, she stepped around him and sank onto the sofa bench that hugged the table on three sides. Blu retrieved a gla.s.s from the cupboard and ran water into it at the sink. "Here. You hungry?" "No." He slid the gla.s.s onto the table and she stared at it for a long time before reaching for it. He said, "You trying to decide whether it's clean or not?" "No. But now that you mention it, this place is quite a change from your apartment building." "It's going to take more than a little bit of cash to fix up the Dump and turn it into a house. Like I told Jackson, I'll get to it eventually. But there's more important things sucking my back pockets dry at the moment."

"Like your fishing boats?"

"The duFray Devils are more than just boats. They're a legend. To retire the fleet or sell them out would be a crime. More than thirty men and their families depend on that fleet. That's not to mention my mother's fish market, and a dozen others like it."

She took a sip of water. "So the Blu Devil isn't as tough and heartless as his name implies."

Blu scowled at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that your concern is puzzling. You care about your crew and your mother. But Sister Marian

warned me that-"

"Listen to her. I'm no saint."

"I won't argue with that, and I'm sure that man in the bathroom tonight won't either." She set the gla.s.s

aside, yawned, then crossed her arms on the table and laid her head on top of them. "I'm going to rest

here for just a bit," she mumbled. Blu ambled down the hall to the spare bedroom to see what shape Mort had left it in. Disappointed, he decided to give Angel his room for the night.

"You ready to turn in?" He had come back into the kitchen and was standing a foot away from where she sat resting her head on folded arms. Her eyes were closed, but he hadn't been gone five minutes. She couldn't be asleep. Not that quick. Could she?

"Angel?" When she didn't answer, Blu hunkered down to study her face. She was sleeping, all right-her breathing was slow and even. He reached up and pulled the wig off her head and watched as her long blond hair tumbled over her bare shoulders and into her lap. Groaning, he drawled,"Bon Dieu! But you're beautiful,fille."

He stood slowly, his groin pulsing with the sweet memory of how good she'd felt against him while they had been in Lema's closet. Frustrated, Blu returned to his bedroom and threw back the sheet, turned the light on that hung on the wall above the bed, then backtracked to the galley. Careful to not wake her, he lifted her into his arms and moved down the hall as light-footed as he could. In his bedroom, he gently laid her on the wide, built-in teakwood bed, then removed her shoes one at a time.

She had slender legs, delicate ankles and feet with narrow arches. Her toenails, Blu discovered, were painted a soft pink.

He set her deck shoes on the floor and as he turned back, she was stretching in her sleep. A moment later she was lifting one small arm high above her head, revealing the bruises above her elbow.

Reminded once more of what she'd been through, Blu wondered if there were more bruises elsewhere. His curiosity piqued, he reached down and parted the colorful sarong to expose her legs.

Though he enjoyed feasting his eyes on her beautiful legs, the best part was not finding anymore bruises. Relieved, he inched the sarong higher and uncovered a pair of nude-colored lace panties that showed off her flat belly and s.e.xy little navel. The narrow V where her legs came together caught his attention. She was so d.a.m.n pet.i.te and tiny that the idea of what kind of patience and restraint it would take to make love to her made him wince.

She shifted, bent a s.e.xy knee. It caused her legs to part slightly, exposing aging black bruises high on the inside of her legs. Blu frowned, then leaned over to examine the discoloration, as well as the size and position of the marks. Aconnoisseur of bruises, he knew exactly what he was looking at-someone had forced her legs apart, gripping and pinching at the same time. The angle of the hands and the separate finger definitions putthat someone over top of her. Blu estimated that it had happened no more than four or five days ago.

Rage flared inside him, and in that same moment his past and the present collided head-on. He gulped air, tried to shake off the irony of it all. His own greed had put him in the business of brutalizing people to fix his own mistake. He'd felt justified because he'd made the excuse that he was saving the duFray Devils. But he was no better than Salvador Maland-hurting someone to get what he wanted, to keep what he wanted.

Blu swore silently. If he was a superst.i.tious sort, he would say someone was toying with his mind to get even for his past transgressions. And there was sure something to that. Lema would remind him that in the spirit world all things were possible. She would remind him of the time he had come to her and she had called upon Agwe, the voodoo sea G.o.d, to watch over his aging fleet. A request that had not been ignored-how else could he explain his ships returning to port safely day after day, their hulls full of shrimp, his crew healthy? His repairs minor?

A sour taste in his mouth, Blu covered Angel with the sheet and left the room feeling a jumble of emotions: rage, revulsion for the man he'd become, disgust for l.u.s.ting after an innocent. He'd been all over her like ... like he wanted to climb inside her, as if he had the right to taste perfection. A man like him.Bon Dieu!

Feeling like a hypocrite, Blu stood topside and watched as a band of dark thunderheads swallowed up the sky. The wind had picked up, and the high-masted sailboats on either side of him swayed and groaned with each sudden gust. But tucked safely within the sheltered berth of the larger boats, the Nightwing rode safe as a newborn babe in a cradle.

He smelled the rain before he felt it, but it didn't chase him below deck-he had too much thinking to do, too much guilt to swallow.

A half hour later, soaked clean through, Blu turned away from the railing, his decision made. Patch Pollaro knew people in low places and if anyone could find out the skinny on a sc.u.mbag named Salvador Maland, it was another sc.u.mbag. It was the right thing to do, he decided-to pay a visit to his old boss. Then why did he feel as though his life had just taken a giant step backward?

* * * The old nightmare had a new twist. Kristen was drowning. But she wasn't drowning alone, someone else was there with her. Someone who wasn't going to make it back to the boat.

The fear in those green eyes, the terror...

Kristen cried out, tried to go back and help. The water was so cold and the waves so angry and unforgiving.

No,he wasn't going to make it, and she couldn't reach him.

"Ben! No! Ben, noooo-"

"Angel?"

"No, Ben. Ben, please!"

"Angel, wake up."

Kristen snapped her eyes open and found herself staring into the scowling face of the Blu Devil. The next thing that registered was that he was all wet, a green towel curled around his neck. No, he wasn't just wet, he was soaked.

"What's happening? What's wrong?" She scrambled up into a sitting position.

"You tell me. Who's Ben?"

"Ben?" Kristen shook her head. "I don't know. Why are you all wet?"

"We've got a storm kicking up."

"It's raining?"

He nodded. "I was topside for a while. You were calling for Ben. Another nightmare?"

"Yes." Kristen shoved the sheet aside and hugged her knees. The white sheets were surprisingly clean, the built-in bungalow was cozy and it smelled like... "Is this room yours?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you said there were two rooms."

"Mort's stuff is all over the spare. He must have thought we were going to- I already planned on taking the other room, but if you prefer to stay there, I'll-"

"No. This is fine."

He turned away, tossed the towel on the floor, then stripped off his wet T-shirt. "Tell me about this nightmare."

"I was drowning in the Gulf." His muscular torso caught Kristen's eye. Not wanting to stare, she began to study the room. She heard a noise, and she turned to see Blu rummaging in one of his drawers. Her gaze traveled the length of his broad back, then lower to where his wet jeans hugged his b.u.t.t and long legs. She had been going to say something, now she couldn't remember what it was.

She should look away. She should snap out of this foolish fog she'd drifted into and concentrate on the nightmare. But all she could think about was how alive she had felt when the Blu Devil wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.

In his bed, seeing him half naked, she should be clutching the sheet and reliving the deja vu fear that had been her life for three years. Yet as big and powerful as Blu duFray was, she wasn't afraid of him any longer. It was crazy, and she didn't completely understand why, but fear was no longer an issue.

She knew very little about kissing, but Blu duFray certainly must. The mind-numbing heat he'd offered her with his mouth had been all about giving instead of taking. And what he'd given her was still churning low and warm in her belly.

He turned and caught her staring. "Sorry. I should have... I'm just used to-"

"This is your room. It's only natural to do ... uh, to do whatever it is you do in here." She'd gotten tongue-tied and it was all because she couldn't look at him without remembering the amount of heat and emotion he could fan to life by just breathing on her.

"The nightmare... We were talking about the nightmare."

"Yes." Glad he'd brought her down to earth, Kristen curled her legs beneath her in the middle of his bed, ready to tell him anything he wanted to know. Well, almost anything. She still wasn't ready to expose Amanda to anyone. "I've had trouble sleeping in the past. Dr. Eden gave me a prescription to help me relax."

"Sleeping pills?"

"Yes. He called it a mild sedative."

"Do you have them on you?"

"No. I stopped taking them the night I left the house."

"And you've had trouble sleeping since?"

"Yes."

"You called out to Ben. Got any idea who he is?"

He hung one hand on his hip, the other held a pair of jeans he'd retrieved from his drawer. He looked tough and dangerous, and Kristen wasn't the slightest bit afraid. "I don't have a face to put with the name, but he has green eyes. Don't you think that's strange, that I would know what color his eyes are and nothing else?" His wet jeans were making a puddle on the floor. "Maybe you should change." She motioned to the water on the floor.

He glanced down, saw the puddle. "Yeah, I suppose I should. I'll be right back."

He disappeared inside the head, limping slightly as he went. Again, Kristen found herself wondering what kind of injury had been responsible for the limp. But she didn't have long to wonder. Minutes later he was back wearing a pair of dry jeans that hugged his thighs and hard, flat belly. They were well-worn, and the contrast between the light-colored denim and his coppery chest was startling. Wonderful.

He must have been aware of her roving eyes, and to her surprise, he pulled a gray underwear tank from a drawer and slipped it on. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he asked, "Do you think you're having trouble sleeping because you don't have the sedatives with you?"

The question brought a frown to Kristen's face. She'd never given any thought to whether she'dneeded the pills to sleep. She'd just been blaming that dreadful nightmare on the lack of them. Yes, she'd gotten used to taking the pills, mostly because they had helped her to deal with the anxiety of having to endure Salva's attention, but she'd never thought- "Oh, G.o.d! Is that why I can't sleep? Do you think I'm addicted?" When he didn't answer, Kristen stiffened. "You do, don't you? You think I'm some kind of prescription junkie!"

"Hold on," he growled. "I never said that. Don't go putting words in my mouth." He ran his hands through his wet hair, then looked at her as if he was trying to decide something.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I was just wondering if it was intentional. If the pills were a way to control you."

She didn't dare to comment, but she knew it was true-the pills had helped her, but they had also aided Salva's sick obsession with her. The more repressed she was, the easier she had been to handle. And though he liked seeing her fear grow and her body tense with the knowledge of what would come next, there were times when she...

Kristen squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to remember.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She felt a strong hand on her arm, and she blinked open her eyes to see that even though he'd sat as far away from her as he could get, he'd still been able to reach out and touch her. "I can't go back there," she whispered. "Please, don't ever let him touch me again. Please..."