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Georgia put her attention on the play of his tongue over her skin, the slither of his hands along every inch of her body. When he had sampled every bit of her that was exposed, he grazed his stubbled cheek over her skin, igniting a deep shiver within her. He put kisses along her waist. She wanted the satisfaction of completion, the fulfillment she had experienced only once before at the hotel. He continued to administer lazy kisses along her hip where her panties had recently rested. ‘Jack?’ She grasped at his shoulders with her fingertips, desperate to hold him in her arms, inside her. Damp heat pooled between her legs, a swirling, restless ache. He ignored her plea, sliding off the bed to kneel on the floor beside her. She whimpered in frustration until he settled one thigh over his shoulder and kissed her in the most shocking, delicious way. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ she gasped, then whispered, then sighed and moaned in turn as his tongue flicked over her again and again. The restless heat. The cruiser sped away from Gallagher's Island at full speed burning valuable fuel but putting them a safe distance from the wrath of the headhunters.Gallagher noticed in the early morning darkness that the boat was headed more on a southerly course and not Northeast as he would have expected for a return to the waters around Miami. The Skipper noticed it as well and they both confronted Scotty about the strange course he had set for a return to civilization.Mr. Candleford was busy trying to hump poor Essie and Lovey at the same time on the wheel-house deck and seemed totally unconcerned with the three-way conversation. Everyone else was sound asleep."Scotty my lad, please tell us where are we laying a course to? We can see it is obviously not to the mainland because Florida is in the other direction."Scotty put his finger to his lips warning them to keep their voices lower. Apparently, he did not want anyone else to witness the conversation despite the fact everyone was sleeping.
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Then she was gone. A moment later he heard the clang of a heavy iron door and as its echo died away he stepped back from the bars. As he did so he realized that he was grasping the brass box tightly in his right hand. He dropped it into one of his pockets where it hit something with a metallic note. Investigating he found, apart from the empty matchbox, a fifty Reichspfennig coin. He examined it closely; 1935, the year he had joined the S.S. Eleven years ago. He could remember shaking Himmler’s clammy, bony hand, putting on his smart gray uniform with its black rank patches for the first time, and the respect that it had earned him and the fear that it had produced in people. How his world had changed since then! He turned away from the bars and saw the letter on the floor. It had a gray footprint on it – his own. He picked it up and tried dusting it off without success, vaguely remembering having once read that in India it was considered very bad luck to place writing or a book on.

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