A crescent moon hung like a crooked lantern in a velvet sky. The Gulf was calm under a light breeze, the tide lapping gently against the shoreline. Silvery beams of starlight skipped and skittered across the dark waters.
Libbie waited in her Chevy coupe. The car was parked at a sheltered cove five miles west of the amusement piers. The spot was a short distance off the road and overlooked the white sand of a moonlit beach. Hers was the only car at the cove.
The call that morning from Nolan had been a godsend. She was still infuriated with her father, and hadn’t spoken to him since their argument yesterday morning. Yet her concern was for Jack, and the deeper fear that her father had reported him to Quinn and Voight. She was worried for his safety.
A car pulled in behind her, quickly cut the headlights. She looked around and saw Nolan step out of his Stutz Bearcat, his features visible in the faint cast of the moon. He glanced back at the road, as though assuring himself they wouldn’t be seen, and then walked around the side of her car. He slipped into the passenger seat.
“Hi there, gorgeous,” he said lightly, cupping a hand behind her neck. “Been waiting long?”
“All my life.”
His touch was like fire against her skin. She scooted across the seat, into his open arms, and he enfolded her in an embrace. She kissed him fiercely, wriggling to get closer, her breasts pressed against the holstered gun beneath his suit jacket. She didn’t care about the gun, or who he was, or what he might have done. She never wanted to let go.
They finally parted, slightly breathless, his mouth smeared with lipstick. “Damn,” he said with a jester’s smile. “I think maybe you missed me.”
“Don’t you dare kid,” she said, nuzzling into his shoulder. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”
“Tell you the truth, I felt the same way. How’s things with you and your dad?”
“After yesterday, we aren’t speaking. Has he said anything to your bosses?”
“No, not directly.” Nolan hesitated, suddenly somber. “He sent the message through Monsignor O’Donnell. Quinn got called on the carpet this morning.”
“What!” She sat up, rigid with shock. “He told Monsignor O’Donnell about us? About our—?”
“The whole kit and caboodle. Quinn even heard about the hotel in Houston.”
“The son of a bitch! I can’t believe he’s my father. Why didn’t he just take an ad in the newspaper?”
“Didn’t need to,” Nolan allowed. “Monsignor O’Donnell evidently read the riot act to Quinn. I got the story first hand, loud and clear.”
“What happened?” she said, a little hitch in her voice. “Are you in trouble?”
A wayward thought flashed through Nolan’s mind. Her father was yet another reason why he wouldn’t kill Durant, perhaps the best reason. There was revenge of sorts in letting Durant continue to frustrate the old bastard. He liked the idea, a lot.
“Jack, didn’t you hear me? Are you in trouble?”
“I was,” Nolan said, wishing he could tell her the truth about her father. “Quinn and Voight raked me over the coals pretty good. We finally came to an agreement.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, looking at him. “What kind of agreement?”
“I took a blood oath I’d never see you again. Told them we were finished.”
“You’re not serious!”
“On my honor.”
“But you’re here.”
Nolan smiled. “I lied like a dog.”
“Tell me it’s true,” she said, staring into his eyes. “Tell me you’ll never leave me.”
“I’ll never leave you, and that is the honest-to-God’s truth. What was it you said once, kismet? We’re stuck with one another.”
“Oh, Jack!” She hugged him desperately. “I love you so much. You just don’t know.”
“Yeah, I do,” Nolan said softly. “It’s the same for me.”
“Is it, you mean it? You’ll never take it back?”
“Never in a month of Sundays. You’ve got me hooked.”
“Good Lord!” Her features went taut. “I just happened to think. What will Quinn and Voight do if they find out?”
“That’s not an option,” Nolan said seriously. “We have to be damn careful from now on. Double damn careful.”
“But we can’t sneak around like this all the time. The Island’s too small, and there are too many busybodies. We’re bound to be seen.”
“I’m already working on it. I’ll think of something.”
“Jack.”
“Yeah?”
“Make love to me.”
“In a car?”
“Yes, dammit!” she said in a husky voice. “I need you.”
Nolan hadn’t done it in a car since he was in high school. Though the seat made it awkward, they managed to stretch out just enough by opening the door. She loosened her garter belt and slipped off her panties, and he fumbled his pants down. She took him in a rush of emotion, pulling him deep inside, and they both peaked within moments. When they finished, spent and breathing hard, she clung to him, unwilling to let go. She whispered in his ear.
“Jack.”
“Yeah?”
“Next time bring a blanket.”
“What for?”
“Silly,” she said, kissing him tenderly. “We’ll do it on the beach.”
“The beach?” he said doubtfully. “Won’t that be a little sandy?”
“Well, good-lookin’, we’re definitely going to make love. So it’s the beach or the car. Which would you prefer?”
“I’ll bring the blanket.”
They decided to leave ten minutes apart. After they were dressed, she walked him to his car. He took her in his arms, holding her a moment in a snug embrace, then stepped back. He looked down at her in the moonlight.
“One last thing, and it’s important.”
“Okay.”
“You’ve got to convince your dad we’re finished. You can’t let on we’re playing for time.”
She laughed wickedly. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll convince him.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, sweetheart mine, I’m very sure.”
“Good, give me a kiss for luck.”
She kissed him soundly on the mouth. “When will I see you again?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Delmonte’s was one of the finer restaurants in Galveston. A family-owned establishment, it was off the beaten path, and seldom frequented by tourists. The clientele was composed primarily of Islanders who appreciated fine food.
Durant had a reservation. Earlier, at the bank, he’d asked Aldridge to recommend a restaurant for a special occasion. He declined to elaborate even when the older man gave him a questioning look, but Aldridge nonetheless told him of Delmonte’s. All that afternoon he had avoided talking with Catherine, and just before closing time, he’d invited her to dinner. She readily accepted.
The special occasion Durant had in mind was an ending. Alone, sequestered in his office, he’d spent the afternoon deliberating his future. He knew the mob would attempt to kill him, and for every attempt that failed, there would be others. His refusal to run was a mixture of pride and anger, and the knowledge that he couldn’t live with himself if he turned tail. All that said, he now viewed his prospects with a degree of fatalism. Yet he would not allow fear to make him a coward.
Which left the matter of Catherine. He felt he had at last found a woman who interested him and kindled a depth of affection he’d never known with other women. Those feelings led inevitably to the realization that every time they were together, he placed her life in jeopardy. There was no absolute that the mob wouldn’t try to kill him when he was with her, and however inadvertently, catch her in the crossfire. That was a risk he was unwilling to take, one he would never ask her to share. He planned to end their relationship tonight.
The service at Delmonte’s was impeccable. They were shown to a cozy booth, where the table was appointed with linen and fine crystal. A waiter materialized to fill their water glasses and present a basket of freshly baked bread. He nodded approvingly when Catherine selected the braised squab, and all but shrugged when Durant ordered a rib-eye steak. Dinner began with a delicate squash soup, followed by salad.
Durant played on Catherine’s fascination with motion pictures. He subtly led her into a conversation about some of the more bizarre stunts he’d been involved with, dwelling on humorous mishaps that went with the job. From there, he easily prompted her questions about movie stars, particularly glamorous women, and their madcap eccentricities. He kept it light and entertaining, a last dinner she would remember with fondness. He intended to end it when he took her home.
A story about Gloria Swanson, just as Catherine finished her squab, brought tears of laughter to her eyes. She dabbed away the tears with her napkin, her cheeks flushed with happiness, and calmed herself with a sip of water. She looked at him across the table, still smiling, and shook her head with amusement. He thought he’d never seen her more radiant.
“All right, now,” she said, composing herself. “You’ve kept me in stitches long enough for one night. I want to hear what happened with Jack Nolan.”
Durant tried to shrug it off. “Another harebrained idea that went nowhere. There’s nothing much to tell.”
“No?” Her gaiety of a moment ago suddenly vanished. “Then why is Mr. Aldridge so desperate for you to leave town?”
“How’d you know that?”
“Earl, he’s worried to death about you. He said he argued himself hoarse and you wouldn’t listen. He asked me to talk with you.”
“Nothing to talk about,” Durant said, sloughing it off. “Ira’s jumping at shadows.”
She studied him intently. “You’re not telling me the truth, are you? There’s something more.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because of the way Mr. Aldridge is acting. I think Nolan threatened you this morning. Threatened you with more than another beating. Didn’t he?”
“Yes and no,” Durant said slowly. “There’s more to it than you know.”
“Things you haven’t told me.”
“Yes.”
“Earl—” She touched his hand. “Do you know what I feel for you? Do you?”
“We’re probably feeling the same thing.”
“Then don’t you think I deserve to know?”
Durant saw his good intentions slipping away. Despite himself, he ended up telling her everything, including how he’d killed Elmer Spadden. She was shocked, but at the same time, she felt an incredible sense of relief. She finally understood what he’d been facing alone for so long.
“I’m glad you told me,” she said when he finished. “You never again have to hide anything from me.”
“Catherine, there’s even more to it. These men don’t give a damn who they hurt. They’re the sort—”
“You believe I’m in danger, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do.” Durant was startled by her intuition. “Look, I think it’d be better—”
“You want to stop seeing me, don’t you? So I won’t get hurt?”
“Only till things shake out. Another week or so and we’ll know what’s what.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“I won’t stop seeing you,” she said in a no-nonsense voice. “And let’s not discuss it any further. I’ve made up my mind.”
“Well, I think I’ve got something to say about that. I’m the one who has to be the judge of what’s best.”
“Earl.”
“What?”
“My mind’s made up. Okay?”
Durant knew better than to argue it further. When they left the restaurant, he walked her home, alert and watchful, expecting Nolan and his goons to appear at any moment. He fully intended to end it once they reached the house. A quick kiss and a firm good-bye. Discussion closed.
She surprised him again. The house was dark, even though it was only a few minutes past nine. At the door, when he started to kiss her, she took his hand and pulled him inside. She shushed him with a finger to her lips.
“Mother’s already asleep,” she whispered. “Just follow me and don’t bump into anything.”
“Don’t you think—”
“Will you please hush!”
She led him to her bedroom. A faint blush of moonlight filtered through the window, and she tugged him inside, then gently closed the door. She put her arms around his neck and gave him a smoldering kiss, darting his mouth with her tongue. She pressed herself to his groin, felt him grow hard, and laughed a minxish little laugh.
He knew then they would never argue about it again.
Libbie arrived home shortly before ten o’clock. She sat in the car a moment, composing herself for the charade she was about to play. Her one imperative was that her father be convinced she was the jilted woman.
On the drive back to town, she had come to grips with the reality of the situation. The most vivid part of the evening was Jack’s entreaty that she persuade her father their affair was over. She realized what he was saying between the lines, trying not to frighten her too much. Quinn and Voight would have him killed unless they believed it was finished.
The key was her father. She somehow had to dupe him to the point that he believed she’d seen the last of Jack Nolan. Only then would he express a genuine thanks to Quinn and Voight for having ended the affair. Only then would Quinn and Voight feel confident their intervention had brought the affair to an abrupt, and final, halt. Her father was the key to Jack’s survival.
She would have to trust Jack to find a way from there. She knew in her heart of hearts that he loved her, and she believed him when he said he would never leave her. Though he hadn’t said as much, she knew he would never be content with furtive meetings on the beach, so shabby it was almost gauche. She was certain he had some scheme in mind he hadn’t told her about, something he was working on. Something clever and secure, something lasting.
Which meant she had to be equally clever. Her father was quick and perceptive, nobody’s fool. On the way into town, she had stopped at a bootlegger’s and bought a pint of Old Crow. She’d taken a slug to fortify her nerves, and then dabbed drops here and there on her dress. The whiskey overpowered not only the scent of her perfume, but also the musk of love. She reeked when she walked into the house.
A light was on in her father’s study. She was thankful the scene wouldn’t be played out in front of her mother. Opal Magruder, unfailingly, retired to the master bedroom suite around nine o’clock. Her father was generally not far behind, for he arose at sunup and was in the office precisely at seven every morning. The light in the study indicated he was waiting for her to come home. She braced herself for a convincing performance.
Magruder was seated in a leather wingback chair. He was reading the Southwest Cotton Journal, and he lowered it to his lap when she stepped through the door. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You smell like a brewery.”
“Wrong again, Daddy.” She crossed the room and flopped into a chair, legs spraddled. “Your little angel wouldn’t drink beer on a bet. I’m oh-too-much the sophisticate.”
“Where have you been?”
“At Mary Lou Henley’s.”
“I could check on that, you know?”
“Why, please do. Give her a call.”
Libbie wasn’t worried. Mary Lou Henley was her best friend, and they had a pact to cover for each other in case their parents inquired. She took a cigarette from her purse and lit it with a gold lighter. Magruder folded his trade journal.
“What were you doing at Mary Lou’s?”
“Drowning my sorrows.” She exhaled a streamer of smoke. “Girls love to exchange sob stories. Didn’t you know that, Daddy?”
“Not particularly,” Magruder said. “What sorrow are you drowning?”
“Oh, I have so many to choose from. How about my father’s a cheesy, unfeeling bastard?”
“How dare you!”
“How dare you!” she fired back. “How dare you involve other people in my personal life. How dare you go to Monsignor O’Donnell!”
Magruder blinked with surprise. “I intended that to be a private matter. How did you find out?”
“Jack told me.”
“Jack who?”
“Innocence doesn’t become you. What other Jack are we talking about? Jack Nolan, my lover.”
“You’ve seen him?” Magruder demanded.
“No, I regret to say.” Libbie deliberately tapped ash from her cigarette on the Persian carpet. “He called me this afternoon and told me about Monsignor O’Donnell. How could you reveal my innermost secrets to a stranger? We’re not even Catholic!”
“Monsignor O’Donnell is a man of discretion. He and Oliver Quinn are friends, and I needed a suitable intermediary. I could hardly go to Quinn myself.”
“Why go to him at all?”
“You left me no choice,” Magruder said churlishly. “I will not have this family dragged into a scandal and held up to public ridicule. Your lover, as you shamelessly portray him, is a gangster. A common hoodlum.”
“Ex-lover,” she said softly, concentrating on forcing a tear to her eye. “He broke it off on the phone this afternoon. I’ve lost him.”
“Good riddance,” Magruder pronounced. “You’re far better off for it, my dear. The man would have ruined your life.”
“You are so callous it scares me. Do you have any idea why he called it off? Do you, Daddy?”
“I presume Quinn spoke to him.”
“Spoke to him!” she said sharply. “Oh, yes, Quinn and the other one, Voight, spoke to him all right. They threatened his life unless he jilted me. They all but put a gun to his head!”
“You make my point,” Magruder admonished. “These men are thugs, very lower-class indeed. And Jack Nolan is one of them.”
“You don’t know anything about him! Nothing at all.”
“I know who he works for, and that is more than sufficient. Quinn and Voight are not accepted in polite society.”
“Aren’t we sanctimonious?” she said cattily. “Everyone in town knows you have political arrangements with them. Doesn’t that scandalize the family name?”
“Not in the least,” Magruder huffed. “Politics oftentimes requires alliances of an expedient nature. That doesn’t mean I would invite them into my home.”
“Or into your daughter’s bed.”
“I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, young lady.”
“You drove Jack off and you expect me to be civil? You don’t understand at all, do you?”
“Understand what?”
“You broke my heart, Daddy. You broke it into little pieces, and I’ll never forgive you. Not ever.”
Libbie crushed her cigarette in an ashtray. She focused all her willpower into a single moment, and brought tears brimming into her eyes. She stood, walking to the door, then turned back. She looked at him with a little-girl-hurt expression.
“I feel all dead inside, Daddy. I only wish you knew.”
The front door opened as she moved into the hallway. Sherm stepped into the foyer, closing the door, and walked toward her. He saw the tears glistening on her cheeks.
“Libbie.” He stopped, taking her arm. “What’s the matter?”
She swiped at her nose. “I’m surprised Francis lets you stay out so late. You’re such the devoted husband.”
“I was at a beauty pageant meeting. I saw the lights still on and thought I’d stop by.”
Sherm was co-chairman of the International Pageant of Pulchritude. Young, shapely contestants came from all over the world to participate in a swimsuit revue, which was held every year in late spring. The pageant drew crowds of fifty thousand or more, pumping revenue into the town’s economy, both legal and illicit. Oliver Quinn was the other co-chairman.
“How very timely,” Libbie said in a wounded voice. “Did you and Mr. Quinn discuss my scandalous little romance?”
Sherm squinted at her. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“Ask Daddy.”
She walked to the stairway. She bowed her head, sniffling loudly, and mounted the stairs as though sapped of energy. A small, hidden smile touched the corners of her mouth.
She thought Jack would have been proud of her.
The moon stood high at midnight. Nolan was alert for a signal as he steered the Cherokee south into the Gulf. Whizzer Duncan, armed with a Thompson submachine gun, was beside him in the cockpit. The fleet of lugger boats manned by his rumrunning crew plowed along in his wake. The dim glow of a lantern suddenly appeared off the starboard bow.
Nolan turned the wheel over to his pilot. Some minutes later, the motors throttled down, they swung in under the lee of the Shark. The schooner, painted black and almost invisible in the pale moonlight, swayed at anchor against gentle swells. The lugger boats stood off from the Shark as Nolan clambered up a rope ladder.
Captain Rob McBride waited amidships. “Jack, my boy!” he called out with a jaunty laugh. “I’ve missed the sight of you, and there’s a truth.”
“Goes both ways, Rob.” Nolan handed him a manila envelope stuffed with cash. “Sixty thousand and not a penny less. I know you’ll count it.”
“Why of course I will, laddie. What’s a count between friends?”
A short while afterward they stood watching crates of liquor being off-loaded onto the lugger boats. McBride, one eye on a net slowly clearing the hold, glanced at Nolan. He grinned his pirate’s grin.
“Tell me, Jacko,” he said. “Have you ever given any thought to smugglin’? There’s far more money in it, and pleasurable work it is.”
Nolan looked at him. “You offering me a job?”
“Aye, indeed I am! I’ve just bought another schooner and I’m lookin’ for a captain with a head on his shoulders. We’d go partners.”
“A speedboat and a schooner are just kissing cousins. I’m no sailor, Rob.”
“Nothin’ to it,” McBride assured him. “A couple runs with me and you’re ready for the high seas. You’ll be lazin’ about in Jamaica with rum punch in one hand and a lass in the other. Never a better place to hang your hat.”
“Well, it’s a twist,” Nolan said with a humorous smile. “I never pictured myself as Blackbeard.”
“I’ve been watchin’ you, laddie. You’re tough and you’re smart, and you’ve got what it takes to make a smuggler. Put on your thinkin’ cap.”
“I might just do that, Rob. No harm in thinking, is there?”
“None a’tall!”
The lugger boats loaded, Nolan went down the ladder to the Cherokee. As they pulled away from the schooner, he looked back and saw McBride in the spill of light from the lantern. The old pirate waved, and Nolan tried to picture himself flying the Jolly Roger. Then, almost unbidden, he took it a step further.
He wondered how Libbie would like Jamaica.