Dark Avenger

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Copyright

“An eye for an eye, Miss Stevens.”

Nikos gave Carrie a grim smile. “A tooth for a tooth. I’m sure you’re familiar with the biblical reference?” He nodded with ironic amusement. “It’s only common justice, after all. What your brother did to my sister I can easily do to his.” He paused, then showed his teeth in another smile of grim anticipation. “I’m going to make you pregnant, Miss Stevens. Gloriously and abundantly pregnant.”

ALEX RYDER was born and raised in Edinburgh, Scotland, and is married with three sons. She took an interest in writing when, to her utter amazement, she won a national schools competition for a short essay about wild birds. She prefers writing romance fiction because at heart she’s just a big softie. She works now in close collaboration with a scruffy old oneeyed cat who sits on the desk and yawns when she doesn’t get it right, but winks when she does.

Dark Avenger

Alex Ryder

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CCARRIE had pleaded, cajoled and threatened but nothing seemed to work. She gave one final frustrated push at the starter button but the ancient diesel engine refused determinedly to fire up. Swearing softly under her breath, she backed out of the cramped engine compartment and climbed on to the deck for a breath of fresh air.

She shouldn’t have to be doing this, she thought angrily. Looking after the engine was Jimmy’s job and he’d promised to be back an hour ago. Shading her eyes against the glare of the sun, she impatiently scanned the jetty for any sign of her young brother. She was going to chew his ears off when she got her hands on him. Her gaze took in the white-painted houses and shops facing the harbour. More than likely he was sitting in some taverna staring soulfully into the dark eyes of some young local beauty. Well, that was all very well. He was a red-blooded nineteen-year-old and he was only doing what came naturally but it was high time he remembered his responsibilities. They had a living to make. If that load of supplies wasn’t delivered to the archeological team on Desvos by tonight, as promised, that would be one more customer they could kiss goodbye to.

A trickle of sweat glistened on her slender throat and ran down her neck. She wouldn’t mind sitting in a taverna sipping a cool drink herself, she thought. The August heat in the Aegean could be fierce and as she looked over the side she was almost tempted to dive into the clear blue water and cool off.

The Miranda rocked gently beneath her feet in the slight ripples made by a boat leaving harbour and she wiped the sweat off her brow with an oily rag. They needed a new engine. No, dammit, she thought, let’s not kid ourselves, Carrie Stevens. Miranda was getting old and she really needed a thorough overhaul and paint job, but as always it was time and money that was the problem. Financial survival depended on them providing a regular and reliable service between the smaller and more isolated islands. A thorough overhaul would take a month at least and that was long enough for some rival to step in and take over.

She looked along the jetty again, then, frowning with annoyance, she descended once more into the engine compartment.

She jabbed the starter again but the hope on her face turned to despair as the engine merely coughed instead of bursting into life as it was supposed to do.

This had happened before. Jimmy had merely grunted then grabbed a spanner and done the business and got the engine going. She should have paid more attention but she’d always had a thing about anything mechanical. A sort of mental block. Even her father, when he’d been alive, had never managed to get around that block. He’d taught her good seamanship and she knew the weather, tides and currents and how to read a chart. With a chronometer and a sextant she could navigate her way round the world if need be but the mysteries of valves, pumps and pistons were a closed book as far as she was concerned.

But things were going to have to change from now on, she told herself. They both had an equal stake in the Miranda and they’d have to learn each other’s jobs so that in an emergency either of them could handle the boat on their own. Then again she’d had the feeling recently that Jimmy had other things on his mind. The day might well come when he’d get tired of nursing this old wreck back and forth between islands. He might very well decide to go back to England, find a nice girl and settle down, and who could blame him?

If the worst did happen she’d simply grit her teeth and carry on by herself. She certainly had no intention of ever returning to England. There were too many bitter memories for that. The Miranda might have seen better days but at least she provided something which Carrie had learnt to value above all else: independence. She’d tried trading that in once for the promise of a wedding-ring but Victor’s promises, like everything else about him, had proved worthless.

With mounting frustration she pushed the starter a few more times. There was the usual whine then an abrupt silence which was broken by a voice from the deck. ‘You’re going to end up with a flat battery if you keep doing that.’

Turning her head awkwardly, she saw the tall figure silhouetted against the blue sky beyond the hatch.

She frowned in irritation at the stranger’s unwarranted trespass on to her boat then thought better of it. He might be a potential customer and right now she needed all the business she could get.

Emerging on to the deck, she once more blinked in the strong sunlight and looked at the visitor apologetically. ‘The engine won’t…’ Her voice trailed off in confusion as the impact of his appearance made itself felt.

‘Won’t what?’ he asked in a deep masculine voice.

‘Start,’ she said. ‘It…it won’t start.’ What the blazes was wrong with her? she wondered. Why was she acting like a nervous schoolgirl? Was it those eyes that were busy surveying her from top to toe?

He was tall and slim with wide shoulders and slim hips but it was definitely those eyes that held her attention. Light jade-green eyes, all the more startling in someone with the dark complexion of the southern Mediterranean. He was wearing dark trousers and a crisp, blinding white shirt unbuttoned down the front to reveal the hard muscles of his chest rippling beneath the smooth sun-darkened skin. An expensive gold Rolex watch gleamed dully on his wrist and his shoes were handmade Italian unless she was mistaken.

She felt her insides curling in embarrassment. If he was a potential customer she shuddered to think what kind of impression he was getting. An old converted fishing boat with peeling paint, sunbleached woodwork and a dodgy engine was bad enough but her own dishevelled appearance wasn’t likely to inspire confidence either. Her unkempt blonde hair was crammed beneath a grease-stained baseball cap. Jimmy’s overalls hung round her like a hobo’s tent and her face was streaked with oil.

The green eyes appraised her briefly, took in the state of the littered deck then returned to fasten on her once more. After a nerve-racking silence he spoke sharply. ‘I’m looking for Miss Stevens, the owner of this…this floating junkyard. Where is she?’

His derogatory tone and description of Miranda annoyed her but she swallowed her pride. When times were bad it was something you quickly grew used to.

‘I’m Carrie Stevens,’ she said with quiet dignity. She made an embarrassed gesture towards the engine compartment. ‘It’s nothing serious. My brother will be here any minute now. He’ll fix it.’

His eyes widened a fraction and he looked disappointed. ‘You’re the older sister of James Stevens?’

There always came a point where you couldn’t swallow any more pride and this was it. Just who did this character think he was, talking down to her like that? And what did he have to do with Jimmy? Jimmy had never ever mentioned meeting a tall, dark stranger with green eyes and a built-in sneer.

She drew herself erect and challenged him frostily. ‘Just what is it that you want to see me about, Mr—er—?’

‘You’ll find out all in good time,’ he informed her coldly. ‘May I suggest that you change into something more befitting a woman, and wash the grime off your face? Only then will I answer your question.’

Under the oil her face reddened and she said resentfully, ‘Look, I…I didn’t expect anyone. We’re due to sail now. Anyway, how I care to dress is my business and no one else’s.’

He ignored her outburst and went over to the engine compartment. Glancing in, he shook his head in wonder then turned to her. ‘Where did you find that? In a museum?’

She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists behind her back. ‘It isn’t that bad. I admit that it might be old but it’s perfectly good once it gets going. Jimmy can fix it. He’s done it often enough before without any trouble.’

A grim smile played across the stranger’s lips. ‘Ah, yes. James Stevens. Or Jimmy as you so fondly call him. Unfortunately he isn’t here when you need him, is he?’ He glanced at his Rolex. ‘That’s a pity. I was told that it was imperative that you delivered your latest cargo to Desvos by eight tonight. That’s a good six-hour trip for a vessel in this condition. It has already gone two.’

‘We’ll make it,’ she said with more defiant assurance than she felt. Damn Jimmy! If he had been here on time they’d be on their way to Desvos by now.

The stranger removed his shirt and hung it carefully on the rail. The action took her completely by surprise and she found herself staring in fascination at his tanned, lean and muscular body. Under the sunlight his skin seemed to glow like dark silk. At last she found her voice and she gulped. ‘Wh—what are you doing?’

‘I’m going to fix that engine,’ he said curtly. ‘And you, Miss Stevens, are going to go below and tidy yourself up so that I can see what you really look like.’

Her mouth opened in protest then she hurriedly closed it. There was a do-it-or-else look in those green eyes that sent a shiver of fear down her spine. This was not the kind of man you argued with, she told herself. You could tell he was used to having people jump at his command and though he had no legal right to be on board she wasn’t about to discuss the finer points of the law with him. He wouldn’t pay any attention in any case.

With an almighty effort she assumed an air of indifference and shrugged. ‘I was just about to have a wash when you came aboard. And if tinkering with engines makes you happy then go ahead. I don’t want to spoil your fun.’

Hurriedly she turned her back on him and went below, securing the hatch firmly behind her. Who the devil was he and what did he want? she wondered. People with handmade Italian shoes and Rolex watches didn’t hire boats like the Miranda. They were more likely to go along the coast to the place owned by the Spirakis family and hire one of their gleaming motor cruisers.

She frowned. Unless…unless he was up to something shady. Like smuggling, for example! Did he look like a shady character? Yes, she decided. Very shady indeed. And dangerous. Like someone from the Greek Mafia, if there was such a thing.

Well, as soon as Jimmy got back they’d tell him that they weren’t interested in anything like that and send him packing.

In her tiny cabin she stripped off, lit the Ascot in the tiny bathroom and scrubbed herself under a hot shower. Drying herself quickly, she donned a clean pair of jeans and a white cotton T-shirt then attacked her hair with a brush.

After a moment she laid down the brush and reached up for the faded picture of her father, which was pinned to the bulkhead. It had been taken shortly before he died and in the picture he was standing on the deck of the Miranda, grinning and looking indestructible. Any time she felt disheartened and ready to pack it all in she just had to look at this picture and it made her feel better, stronger and ready to fight for what was hers and Jimmy’s.

The Miranda had been her father’s pride and joy. An ex-navy man, he’d always dreamed of owning his own boat one day but marriage had put that dream on hold. When her mother had been alive he’d worked industriously in a nine-to-four office job, hating it but never complaining.

She’d been twelve and Jimmy had only been six when their mother had been killed. Just out shopping, for heaven’s sake! One minute strolling home from Tesco with a carrier of chicken breasts and cold ham and in an instant her life taken by some drunken fool of a company director driving home after a boozy lunch.

It had left them all shattered. But the agony hadn’t ended there. The driver had got off with a five-hundred-pound fine and two years’ suspension. There was justice for you! She’d often wondered since then if the driver and the judge had been members of the same old boys’ club. Probably. It was a lousy world and these things happened.

The compensation paid by the driver’s insurance company had been equally derisory and in disgust her father had suddenly whisked her and Jimmy off to Greece. Later he’d told her that there had been too many memories of her mother and he could never face the thought of spending the rest of his life in an office.

He’d found Miranda, drowsing and neglected at a quayside in a place called Kiparissia. She was a converted sixty-foot fishing boat and they’d all fallen in love with her at first sight. Her father had found the owner and completed the deal that very day and two days later they had headed south round Cape Matapán then east into the Aegean with its thousands of islands scattered like green emeralds across the vast blue shimmering sea.

For two months her father had been content to sail whenever the spirit moved him. Somewhere at the back of his mind he must have been wondering how they were going to live when the money ran out but he was content to leave that in the hands of fate, and it so happened that fate duly obliged.

One afternoon they had dropped anchor in a secluded bay on a tiny island when they were hailed frantically from the shore by a man waving a handkerchief. Her father had rowed ashore in the dinghy to see what was the matter and had duly returned with the news that he’d been hired to transport a wedding party of fifteen to the next island.

It seemed that the owner of the boat which was supposed to have taken them had celebrated too freely the previous night and was still out of combat.

They’d no sooner done that job than a guest at the wedding hired them to transport a dozen sheep to the nearest market.

By word of mouth their business had grown. The larger islands were served by the regular ferry lines but the smaller and more remote communities were badly in need of such a service as the Miranda could provide.

It had been the most wonderful two years of her life but it couldn’t last. Their father had rightly enough decided that their education was being sadly neglected and, much to their dismay and his sorrow, he’d sent them back to separate boarding-schools in England.

After the free and easy life aboard the Miranda the rigours and discipline of a strict school had been like a douche of cold water, but looking back on it now she knew that it had been a valuable experience.

Greece of course was only a few hours away by plane and every school holiday had found her and Jimmy flying out to spend another few glorious weeks with their father.

Then she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. Even now, seven years later, she still felt sick at heart when she thought about it. She’d been eighteen, and with her father’s approval she’d decided to stay in England and go to university, but she’d never even got as far as applying for a place. Oh, no. Trust her to make a mess of everything.

She pinned the picture of her father back on the bulkhead then stared at herself in the mirror. No. She wasn’t going to think about Victor. That was all in the past. It was history and she had no desire to re-open old wounds.

Hurt and bewildered at the time, her first thought had been to rejoin her father but she’d had second thoughts. For one thing, Jimmy had still been at school and it might have seemed to him that he was being deserted and forgotten. But there had also been a darker and deeper reason—guilt and a feeling of self-disgust. A failed relationship surely didn’t mean that she herself was a failure, did it? The only way to find out was to stay and try to make it on her own.

She’d enrolled in a college for a two-year course in business studies, then, armed with her diploma, she’d set out, brimming with confidence, to land a job worthy of her talents.

Well, there were jobs in plenty. Part-time checkout operator. Part-time barmaid or waitress. Girls with better qualifications than she had were cleaning offices to earn a living.

Things would get better once the recession was over, they kept telling her. She’d eventually landed a job with a travel agency where her knowledge of the Greek islands and proved a great asset, but the sight of all those tempting travel brochures had only unsettled her and made her long once more for the feel of a deck beneath her feet. Nevertheless she had stuck it out.

It was two years later when her father had died in a sudden and tragic accident. Jimmy had left school by now and had started an apprenticeship in a local garage. They had both flown out in time for the funeral and found comfort in each other’s arms at this time of the greatest grief they had ever known.

When the service was over they had both shaken hands with the many friends who’d come to pay their last respects, then their father’s lawyer had driven them to his office.

There was a little money, he had explained, but if they were interested he could dispose of the Miranda for them. He was sure he could find a buyer prepared to pay a reasonable price.

‘No!’ She and Jimmy had turned down the offer in unison and they had looked at each other in mutual understanding. The Miranda had been their father’s dream and to sell it to a stranger would be an insult to his memory. Besides, England no longer held anything for them. They’d keep the Miranda and carry on the business their father had started.

The lawyer had looked at them doubtfully but when she had assured him that she and Jimmy could easily handle the Miranda between them he’d reluctantly given in and agreed to see to the necessary formalities and paperwork.

Three days later, full of confidence and with a list of their father’s regular calls, they had set off in the Miranda to deliver a load of piping and a water pump destined to make life easier for the villagers on a tiny island south of Naxos…

The faint noise broke into her thoughts and she felt the slight tremor as the engine began throbbing. Good. Jimmy must have returned. Now she could tell that interfering stranger to go away and mind his own business.

Her blue eyes stared back at her critically from the mirror. The years in the sun had bleached her naturally blonde hair to platinum. Usually, for practical reasons, she kept it short, but she hadn’t been near a hairdresser for months. Now she simply tied it back carelessly with a black ribbon. She never wore make-up, not even on the rare occasions when they found themselves calling at one of the larger islands during the tourist season. Her complexion and colouring were entirely due to her active outdoor way of life. No cosmetic had yet been made that could compete against sunshine and soft rain.

Finally she slipped her feet into a pair of ropesoled sandals and made her way up on deck.

Emerging into the daylight, she stood for a moment frozen in surprise, then she gasped in outrage. Not only had the stranger managed to start the engine, he’d also cast off the bow and stern lines and was now in the wheelhouse, and they were already a hundred yards away from the jetty and heading out to the open sea!

Frantically she gazed around the deck and into the engine compartment but there was no sign of her brother. Furiously she called up to the wheelhouse, ‘Hey! You there! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Turn this boat round immediately.’

The stranger ignored her for a few moments while he consulted the compass reading then he locked the wheel and casually descended to the deck to confront her.

He still wasn’t wearing his damn shirt, she noted with discomfort, and she glared at him. ‘Turn this boat round. My brother isn’t here yet.’

The green eyes were now roving over her body with an intense interest and the raising of a dark, quizzical eyebrow gave his lean features an even more devilish look. ‘Surely you can’t be the woman I was talking to a few minutes ago?’ he drawled. ‘She was shapeless and covered in oil. You can’t possibly be the Carrie Stevens I came to see. Are you?’

She felt practically naked under his hard stare of undisguised lust and her mouth went dry. ‘L-look…’ she stammered ‘…you’ve no right to—’

He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘I hadn’t expected anyone quite so sexually attractive, Miss Stevens. But the fact that you are will make my mission a pleasure rather than mere duty.’

She had no idea what he was talking about but by the sound of it she was in deep trouble. Taking a deep breath, she put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m going to report this act of piracy to the police. You’ll be in big trouble.’

‘No, you won’t, Miss Stevens.’ He suddenly showed a row of white teeth in a shark-like ironic smile. ‘“Miss Stevens” sounds far too formal. Since we’re going to have a very intimate relationship I think I’ll call you Carrie from now on. I am Nikos Spirakis.’ He paused and for a moment his jade eyes gleamed with cold amusement. ‘Does that name mean anything to you, Carrie?’

She let her eyes smoulder at him in anger for a moment then she snapped, ‘No. Why should it? I’ve never…’ She paused as a sudden thought flashed into her head. Spirakis? No, it couldn’t be! And yet…There was something about him. He had that cold selfassurance that only wealth and power could bestow. She looked at him more closely then said hesitantly, ‘The…the only Spirakis I’ve heard of is the family who own half the ships and olive groves…’

He raised a hand. ‘I know exactly what we own. You could say that we are one of the richest and most powerful families in Greece.’ There was no hint of a boast in his voice. He was merely stating a fact.

She gulped. Everyone knew about the Spirakis family but if they talked about them it was mostly in whispers behind closed doors. The general consensus seemed to be that it would be safer to spit in the devil’s face than have a Spirakis as an enemy.

Of course it had all been hearsay as far as she’d been concerned but now that she was actually face to face with one she was beginning to think that there was more than a grain of truth in the accusations.

Quelling the feeling of panic that was rising in her breast, she mustered as much dignity as she could and said frostily, ‘I don’t care how rich or powerful you are, Mr Spirakis. You’ve still no right to be aboard this boat. If you don’t turn us round I’ll do it myself. My schedule means that I won’t be back here for at least a month. I can’t leave my brother stranded. At least I’ll have to find out if anything has happened to him.’