AN: There are islands near Argentina if my research is correct, but for the purposes of the story I've chosen to make some up rather than use any real ones.
July 1924
The coast of Argentina
The Valkyrie was a small boat, just large enough for a half dozen or so passengers and the necessary crew members. There was a galley, two rooms for the crew, a captain's quarters, a common room for the passengers, three staterooms large enough for two people each, and a small cargo hold, which was empty as often as it was not. The boat carried mail and supplies to some of the small islands, but its primary function was as a touring vessel. The current captain was Clarence Worley, a twenty-five year old American with short, dark hair and blue eyes. He was a small but well-built man. He had been at sea for the better part of a decade, but this was only his second trip as captain of the Valkyrie. The hold was loaded with supplies, including tools and food. The crew was made up of two other men, who unbeknownst to Clarence, had loaded the hold with cargo of their own.
They sailed at noon. The sky was clear, and the sun shone brightly. The sea was calm. Rose hardly noticed she was on a boat. Although nervous at first, once they were aboard, excitement took over. Laughing, she grabbed Jack's hand and ran along the deck. "It's hard to imagine the ocean can look like this," she said, leaning against the railing. The wind blew her hair back. It was shorter than it had ever been, but it wasn't quite the bob that was in fashion. Jack leaned next to her. "Yeah, it is," he said. "And I bet it's warm, too."
"We should go swimming—right when we arrive," Rose said. "I don't care if it's midnight. We should just leave our things on the beach and run into the water!"
"We'll do it," he said. "Clothes and all."
Rose smiled flirtatiously. "Who said anything about clothes?"
Jack feigned offense. "Really, Miss, I can't believe you would say such a thing—" He half-heartedly resisted as she pulled him closer. "In public, Miss?" he said as she kissed him. She giggled. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his forehead against hers. "Happy?" he asked.
She nodded. "Very. I'm glad you talked me into this trip. I don't know if you could tell, but I was nervous about spending so much time on boats."
"You were?" he teased. "I didn't even notice. You were so calm when we got on the ship in New York."
"And I suppose you felt nothing, no doubts or unpleasant memories?"
In fact, Jack had been very nervous as they boarded the ship, but he did his best to hide it. His stomach was in knots, and his heart raced. For the first two days, he couldn't sit still; he couldn't sleep, and he barely ate. Rose was in an even worse state. She jumped at every sound, sure something awful had happened. It took everything he had to convince her to go out on deck. At the sight of the water, she clung to him. Swallowing his own rising panic, Jack did his best to convince her they were safe.
Now, they were in warmer waters, with much shorter trip ahead of them. The boat was small, but it was reliable. Its four lifeboats were more than enough for everyone onboard, but as he kept saying to Rose, why would they need them?
…..
"Is everything ready?" The speaker, a tall, wiry man with a thick mustache, dark blonde hair and grey eyes surveyed the small hold.
"Yeah, it's ready," replied a second man. This one was shorter, with thinning dark hair, dark eyes, and a build like a barrel.
"Good," said the first man. "We're leaving in a few minutes. Make sure
Worley doesn't come down here."
"You think he's getting suspicious?"
"No, and I wanna keep it that way. Go on to your post, Smith, and don't do anything until I give the signal."
"Right."
Thomas Peters smiled, his grey eyes twinkling with glee. The plan was going off perfectly.
….
Samantha carefully removed her hat. Her hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. She smiled, pleased with her reflection. Her blue eyes were bright. Her skin was smooth and fair with just a hint of color in her cheeks. Her lips were a little thin, but a bit of lipstick helped with that. She was particularly fond of her neck. She liked to say it wore jewels well, but given the size of the jewels, it might have been more accurate to say they wore her. She smoothed the skirt of her traveling suit before getting up. Cal was in the common room, and he would be expecting her.
It was only their second trip together, which was remarkable considering they had been married nearly four years. But the businesses needed Cal's attention, especially after the war, and Samantha was happy to remain at home. After all, she was the Queen of Philadelphia society.
He glanced up from his newspaper when she came in. At forty-two, he was still handsome. His hair hadn't begun to grey or thin. His build was still good. Overall, the years had barely touched him. It was his looks and smooth way of flirting that had won Samantha just as much as his millions. There were lots of girls who liked him, but she genuinely loved him. Being married to her was both pleasant and odd. She was perfectly agreeable. She did anything he asked without question. She planned lavish parties, was a fashion plate, charmed his business associates—in short, she was everything his wife was supposed to be. And yet sometimes, Cal found himself wanting something more, although what that would be he didn't know. Since marrying Samantha he had found himself thinking of Rose. At idle moments his thoughts would turn to her. She hadn't been agreeable at all. She had been exasperating, impossible to impress or control. And yet, deep down he suspected the challenge she had posed had been a substantial part of her appeal. With Rose, he had had to work for every smile, every word, and they were always given grudgingly. With Samantha, things were almost too easy.
"Hello, darling," she said, taking the chair next to his. Cal gave her a small smile of acknowledgement. "I trust the cabin is acceptable?" he said.
She nodded. "It's rather small, but I suppose that's to be expected. It doesn't matter anyway; we'll be on the island by morning."
"You informed the staff about our arrival?"
"Of course. The house will be open and ready when we arrive." Samantha looked around the room, taking in the handful of tables and chairs. "Are we the only passengers on board?"
Cal's focus had returned to the newspaper. "There's another couple, maybe two," he said.
"They're going to the island as well? Do we know them?"
Cal shook his head. "They're not our sort of people."
….
"Is it just us?" Rose asked. They strolled along the deck, hands clasped.
"Besides the guys runnin' the boat, I think so," Jack replied. "There were supposed to be two other couples, but I guess they didn't show up. Or they're hiding," he joked.
"So, we have the boat to ourselves then?"
Jack eyed her curiously. "Basically," he said. He knew the look in her eyes well. In twelve years it had never cease to excite him. Their relationship had always been good, all respects. They were always friends; they were always kind to one another, even they fought. Neither had ever intentionally tried to hurt the other. They had argued, disagreed, and debated, but they rarely yelled. Since the end of the War, they had grown closer, if that was possible. This was their first trip in three years, and the first to take them outside the U.S. The War had put a temporary end to their plans to see the world.
Rose wrapped her arms around his neck. "Do you remember that thing we talked about?" she said. He nodded, instantly knowing exactly what she was referring to. "I think we should do it," she said.
"Really?"
"Yes. I've been thinking about it. I want to."
His hands rested on her waist. "Are you sure?" he asked. "It's a pretty big decision."
"I know, but I think it will be good. We can do it. Don't you think so?"
"Actually, yeah, I do," he said. He had thought about it more than once since they had last discussed it and had realized he wanted Rose to bring it up again. He didn't want to sound too eager or like he was trying to push her into it.
Rose smiled. "So, we're going to do it?"
"I think we are," he said.
A new energy buzzed between them. Rose tilted her head up and kissed him. "I'm glad," she murmured. She kissed him eagerly, laughing in between each one. "Excited?" he said.
"Aren't you? Jack, this is—this will change our lives forever."
"I know," he said. "That's why we have to be sure. It has to be the right time."
"I can't think of a better time," Rose said. She pulled him down into another kiss. "You know, we've got a whole room of our own," Jack said. "We don't have to stand outside."
"Or at all," she said mischievously.
He grinned. "Or at all."
In the twelve years they had been together, not once had a week gone by when they didn't make love, aside from the time they spent apart during the War. They always slept next to each other, even when they fought. The years had not dimmed their attraction. It seemed to have grown stronger as their relationship had grown deeper.
They shed their clothes quickly, not caring where they landed. They fell onto the bed, a tangle of hands and kisses. Nothing else existed; they were in a world alone.
….
Rose lay her head on Jack's chest. She snuggled closer to him and curled an arm around him. He held her, his hands resting on her back. They drifted off, lulled by the gentle rocking of the boat.
…
"You ready?" Thomas demanded, taking a quick look around. He pulled a gun from his pocket. It was heavy and solid in his hands; he liked the way it felt almost as much as he liked the way it made him feel.
"I'm ready," Smith replied, giving his own gun an affectionate pat.
"You deal with Worley. I'll round up the passengers."
"How many we got to deal with? Six?"
"Four. So, this'll be even easier than we thought. Two women and two men."
….
The sky was beginning to fill with black clouds; the sun was growing dim. The water had become choppy. Clarence studied the rapidly changing weather with growing unease. They were in for a storm. But it had come out of nowhere; all the reports had called for calm seas. He shook his head. It was useless to try and predict what the ocean would do. He should have known better than to put any stock in the weather report.
…
A loud crack woke Rose. She lay still for a moment, unsure what she had heard. It was dark, and the boat's rocking was aggressive. Next to her, Jack slept on, undisturbed. She raised her head and looked through the porthole. It was raining steadily. Overhead, there was a sound like pounding footsteps and voices. They didn't sound pleasant.
"Jack," she whispered, shaking him.
"Yeah?" he mumbled. "What is it?" He didn't open his eyes. She shook him again. "Jack, something is wrong," she said.
"What?" He opened his eyes. Blinking against the darkness, he sat up. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," she said. "Something has happened." Fear shone in her eyes.
"How do you know? How long were we asleep?"
"I'm not sure. There's a storm coming. I heard something, voices, running—maybe a gunshot."
He was instantly alert. "A gunshot? Are you sure?"
"Well, no," she admitted. "But it sounded like one. Maybe it wasn't. Jack, something just doesn't feel right."
"I'll go check it out." He climbed out of the bed and dressed quickly, despite the darkness. She followed his lead. "You're gonna stay here," he said.
"No, I'm coming with you." She slipped into her shoes. The unmistakable crack of a gunshot ripped through the air overhead. "You're not," Jack insisted. "You're gonna stay here. Lock the door and don't go anywhere. Don't open it unless it's me." He reached into his art supply bag and pulled out the knife he used to sharpen pencils. "Keep this," he said, putting it into her hand. "You won't need it, but hold onto it, alright?"
"Jack, no—"
"Rose, yes. Don't fight me. Please." He kissed her forehead. "I won't be long."