Free Fire And Ice by Paul Garrison Page B

heard his footsteps down the stairs. Moss was standing too near her. She backed up. "What do you want?"
    "What do I want?" he echoed, mocking her accent. "You think you're better than me, Doctor? You think 'cause your rich African daddy sent you to college you're better than me. You think this white doctor coat makes you white?"
    He seized the cloth. Buttons tore loose, exposing her shoulder. He trailed his heavy hand over her shoulder, then under the cloth to her breast. "Black," he said. "Black like me." Sarah stiffened. His touch made her flesh crawl. But he was far too powerful to resist physically. She tried to contain her panic, looked desperately for something to defuse him. She could sense in him a deep bitterness that had the potential to build to uncontrollable rage. Were she a man he would beat her half to death. But against her it would explode in a brutal sexual attack.
    "Your friend needs me," she said. "I'm his only hope."
    "I don't see him gettin' any better."
    She stared down at his hand kneading her flesh—her fear turning to anger—imagining a scalpel with which she would amputate his fingers. The vision was so bright for a second, she thought she saw blood. Then she realized that her white coat was speckled red.
    "You're bleeding."
    "Cut my knuckle." He made a fist to show her a deep gash. "Gimme a tetanus shot."
    "If I were you I'd pray that Ah Lee isn't HIV positive." "Say what?" He backed away.
    "You've mingled your blood with his," she answered, and felt a deeply satisfying thrill at the raw fear that flickered in his eyes.
    "Where the hell would a Chinese kid get . '." his voice trailed off as the possibilities sank in.
    Sarah closed her coat. "Next time you beat up somebody, wear latex gloves." The black man mastered his fear with a cold resolve that Sarah found as frightening as his touch. "I'll keep it in mind. Next time I have to."
    "He's just a boy. Why did you hurt him? Are you demonstrating your authority? I'm already aware of your power over me and my child. I'm doing everything I can to care for Mr. Jack. What more do you want?"
    "Ah Lee left his post. . . . We don't allow folks desertin' their watch on this ship." He stared down at her. Sarah looked away, praying he wouldn't touch her again.
    "You been married long?" he asked, after a moment.
    "Twelve years."
    "The guy on the island is Ronnie's father?"
    "Of course."
    "She's near black as we are."
    "A mystery of genetics, Mr. Moss. My husband is Ronnie's father. I'd like to get back to Mr. Jack, now." "How'd you end up with a white man?"
    "He's not a 'white' man, he's my man."
    "Not at the moment he isn't. And you ain't his."
    "At the moment," she retorted evenly, "I am Mr. Jack's doctor."
    "And that little girl's mother. I got a word of advice
    for you, 'Mummy.' Watch your ass if you don't want her face lookin' like Ah Lee's." Sarah felt her will die. He knew about the satellite phone, her mind shrieked. But before she could control her terror, Moss asked, "You a smuggler, Doc?"
    "I beg your pardon?"
    "You on the lam?"
    "I don't follow you."
    Moss walked to the windscreen and stared down at the Swan. "Carbon fiber mast, Doc. Kinda funny on that old boat. Captain tells me that's totally tech. Says customs radar can'
    t spot you. You two runnin' a little dope?" He turned to gauge her reaction. Sarah failed to cover her smile of giddy relief. "I see. No, we are not drug smugglers."
    "What you laughing at?"
    "My husband salvaged the mast from a wreck. The owners told us we were welcome to it, but they didn't believe we could actually remove it from their boat and step it on ours. You see, it was just the two of us. Ronnie was only five. And the wreck was on a nasty bit of reef."
    "How'd you do it?"
    "Frankly, I don't know. He wanted it and we got it. He's quite ingenious." Moss had studied the guy through the sniper scope and wasn't impressed: a stocky little graybeard with the skinny legs you saw on sailing folk. Not much bigger than Mr.