by C. B. Clark
The soft curves of her breasts and the sweet roundness of her ass were proof of her womanhood. His blood heated, and his heart rate quickened. He ached to take this further, to claim her once again and hear her throaty moans of surrender, but he refused to take advantage of her vulnerability. He wanted her. Hell yeah. But the next move had to be hers.
The room darkened, and his arms grew weary, but still he held her.
Otis padded into the room, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He laid his bristled chin on the edge of the bed and whined. When he didn’t receive the response he wanted, he barked.
Athena backed out of Russ’s embrace and sat up, leaning against a pillow. Her hair was a tousled cloud around her tear-stained face. “Why are you still here?” Her limpet-blue eyes searched his.
Because I want to make love to you. Right here. Right now. She’d never looked more beautiful. He breathed deep and fought the desire raging through him like an out-of-control wildfire. He tightened his lips, kept silent, and erupted off the bed as if he’d been scalded.
Otis barked again.
Athena patted the mattress. “Come on, boy. Come here.”
The oversized, gangly dog leaped onto the bed in a single bound. The bed bounced under the impact, and he licked Athena’s tearstained face.
She shoved him away. “Stop, Otis.”
Otis circled three times on the mattress before settling with a plop, his head resting on Athena’s lap.
“I’m sorry I doubted you.” Russ’s voice was a rough croak. “Let’s talk to this JD Burroughs. He might remember something.”
Her fingers threading through Otis’s fur stilled. “You’ll help me?”
He nodded, unable to speak around the boulder stuck in his throat.
She stared into his eyes as if seeking answers to an unspoken question. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
The choking lump in his throat dissolved, and he grinned, uncaring he was acting like a schoolboy who’d just been noticed by the most popular girl in class.
****
The small car-and-passenger ferry steamed through the aquamarine waves toward the wharf. As the rugged, forested hills of Hornby Island neared, butterflies danced in Athena’s stomach. She gripped the rusted metal railing and breathed in fresh sea air laced with the acrid tang of the diesel exhaust spewing from the ferry’s tall, black smokestack.
Other passengers, who, like her, had left the boat’s warm interior and braved the cold wind and damp air, crowded the railing.
A trio of Pacific white-sided dolphins caroused through the rolling wake off the ferry’s stern. Seagulls circled high overhead in the clear, robin’s-egg-blue sky, shrieking and diving into the white-crested waves. The ferry’s horn blasted a single long, lonely wail announcing the boat’s arrival.
She glanced at the tall, handsome man leaning against the railing beside her, and her heart skipped a beat.
The wind ruffled Russ’s thick, dark hair and reddened his cheeks. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, his expression unreadable.
Once he’d agreed to her plan, he was all in, and he’d helped her track down JD Burroughs. An Internet search and three phone calls confirmed JD had sold his supply boat years ago and retired. The man who’d bought the business knew the old sailor’s current address.
She could have phoned JD and asked him her questions. That would have saved them the long trip, but she wanted to meet him in person so she could see his face when she asked him if he’d been on the island the day her parents disappeared. That was the only way she could be certain he was telling the truth.
The kennel was overbooked, and she didn’t have anyone with whom she could leave Otis, so instead of flying, they drove. The three of them. In Russ’s small, red, two-door sports car.
The dog thought the road trip was a terrific idea.
She wasn’t so certain.
They’d crammed the massive, shaggy dog into the small back seat where he alternated between staring out the window, panting and drooling, or curling up on the seat and sleeping. Dog hairs floated in the air, slobber painted the side window, and muddy dog prints marked the leather seat.
Throughout the long, ten-hour trip from Calgary to Vancouver, she and Russ took turns driving, stopping only for take-out meals, gas, and Otis’s numerous pee breaks.
Russ didn’t seem to mind. Another plus in his favor. He liked dogs. A lot. And he really liked her dog. A bubble of laughter filled her throat as she recalled the time they pulled into a picnic area along the side of the highway. In an effort to burn off some of Otis’s energy, Russ had found an old wool sock and played tug of war.
The dog yapped and tugged on the sock like a puppy, his teeth bared in mock battle. He was so excited playing the game, he’d peed all over Russ’s boot.
She’d held her breath, waiting for Russ’s blast of anger, but instead of cursing and yelling, Russ had burst into peals of laughter.
Otis yapped and bounced around Russ’s feet, oblivious of the faux pas he’d committed. Even now, she couldn’t help chuckling at the memory.
When they had radio reception, they listened to music and watched the endless miles pass. They followed the Trans-Canada Highway out of Calgary and into the foothills. Climbing higher, they ascended into the Rocky Mountains and to the Rogers Pass where they drove through five long avalanche tunnels.
The rugged, snow-covered peaks of the mountains were stunning. Coniferous forests climbed the mountainsides, frozen lakes and ice-choked rivers filled the narrow valleys, and melting snowbanks lined the sides of the road.
As if they’d agreed ahead of time, they didn’t talk about Shelter Island, the unsettling events on the Minerva, or their relationship. If they even had a relationship. She wasn’t so sure about that.
Once they reached Vancouver, they drove straight to the ferry terminal and caught a ferry to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. From there, they’d driven thirty minutes along the Island Highway to Comox and boarded the small car ferry to Hornby Island.
In all those long hours, she hadn’t been able to keep her gaze from Russ’s handsome face. The incongruity of his rugged features offset by the softness of his mouth intrigued her. All too well, she recalled the sublime feeling of those lips pressed to hers—lips that could be demanding and insistent one minute, and achingly tender the next. And then there was that damn dimple. When he grinned, and his dimple deepened in his lean cheek, she melted.
She tore her gaze from him and focused on the approaching shore. This trip could be a waste of time. Her memory might be faulty. Maybe JD Burroughs was telling the truth, and he had been delivering supplies to another island.
Maybe.
Or just maybe she was right, and JD delivered his supplies to the other island, and then stopped at Shelter Island. The possibility that he might know something about what happened that fateful day made the trip worthwhile. The ferry bumped against the dock with a jolting thud, and she staggered.
“Careful.” Russ gripped her arm and held her steady. “Are you ready for this?”
“I…I think so.” She swallowed. Was she? What if JD didn’t know anything? Worse, what if he was the one responsible, and he was a murderer? Were they about to confront a coldblooded killer? She thrust her fears away. “I’m driving.”
“Shotgun.” Russ’s laughter followed as they threaded their way through the tightly packed vehicles on the ferry deck.
“What are you talking about? You’re the only passenger.”
He pointed at the sports car. “I don’t think so.”
Otis sat perched on the front bucket seat, his head stuck out the open passenger seat window, his long pink tongue lolling.
She grinned. “Looks like you lost your seat.” She opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel.
Russ shoved his sunglasses onto the top of his head, opened the passenger door, grabbed Otis by his collar, and dragged the resisting animal off the front seat. “Nice try, boy, but that’s my spot.” He
flipped the front seat forward and, grunting with the effort, lifted the heavy dog and shoved Otis into the back.
With a smug smile, Russ settled into the front passenger seat, dispelling a cloud of dog hairs.
She bit her bottom lip to stifle a giggle, but he must have heard her because he slid her a stern glance.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No. Of course not.” But too late, her chuckle spilled out. “Okay, maybe just a little.”
He grinned, and the devastating dimple made an appearance. The tiny crinkles beside his eyes deepened.
Her laughter stilled. Dear Lord, he was pretty. Especially when he laughed. She stared into his hazel eyes and bathed in the searing heat. For a moment, she forgot where she was, forgot to breathe.
A car behind them honked, breaking the spell.
He slipped his sunglasses over his eyes. “Let’s go.”
Heart fluttering, she drove off the ferry ramp and bumped onto the road leading from the ferry terminal to the interior of the small island. As she negotiated the winding roads beneath towering cedar and Sitka spruce trees, she peered through the filtered afternoon sunlight, studying the road signs.
“There it is.” Russ pointed to a narrow gravel lane branching off the main road. “That’s the road we’re looking for.”
She steered the car onto the lane. The houses were set back from the road amidst dense, old-growth rainforest and lush emerald-green meadows. They bumped over a single-lane bridge spanning a small creek clogged with moss-covered rocks and tangled, leafy ferns.
The road grew rougher, and she slowed as she steered around deep, water-filled potholes. They hadn’t seen another house for the past kilometer. A forest of tall trees and thick brambles lined both sides of the road. “Are you sure this is the right road?” She steered around another yawning hole.
He studied the map on his phone. “I think so. That guy I called said Burroughs lives at Number Sixteen, Gable Island Road.” He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and peered through the mud-spattered windshield. “There. Turn there.”
She swung the car onto a long, winding driveway shaded with towering coniferous trees and pulled to a stop in front of a mobile home protected by a rusted, moss-covered metal roof.
A small wooden addition, sided in faded silver-gray cedar slats, protruded from one side of the narrow trailer. A sagging, cedar-planked deck extended from the front. A wild tangle of weeds filled what had once been well-tended flowerbeds. The rusted hulk of a car, tires flat, windows shattered, and weeds growing inside, sat in the middle of the front yard like a giant lawn ornament.
Her heart sank. “Do you think anyone lives here?”
Russ nodded at a shed on the far side of the weed-filled clearing. A white, late-model pickup truck was parked under the sagging, moss-covered roof. “Looks like someone’s home.”
Turning off the motor, she opened the car door and climbed out. An air of desolation hung over the small, rundown mobile home. A row of grime-encrusted windows lined the front. She narrowed her eyes at a flicker of movement behind one of the windows. Someone was watching them. She shivered and rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.
“This’ll be okay.” Russ clasped her hand and squeezed. “No matter what you find out, you won’t be alone. I’m here with you.”
Warmth from his soft touch and his words radiated through her. “Let’s do this.” She pushed through the weeds, avoiding mud puddles and fallen branches, to the sagging porch. Climbing the rickety steps, she crossed the deck to the screened front door, drew in a deep breath, raised her hand, and knocked.
Chapter 35
The door swung open. A tall, heavyset, gray-haired man stood framed in the doorway.
The first thing that struck her was the smell, and she reeled back from the sickly-sweet stench of stale alcohol radiating off him in palpable waves.
“What do ya want?” His eyes were sunken, the whites threaded with red, and his nose glowed under a myriad of broken veins.
He was a drunk. She recognized the all-too-familiar signs. He’d probably had a beer for breakfast and a lunch of whiskey with a rum chaser. “JD Burroughs?” The years had been hard on him. His once-thick dark hair had thinned to greasy strands and dulled to a dingy gray. His muscular build had softened beneath layers of fat.
His bleary eyes, buried in a sea of wrinkles in his weathered face, studied her with suspicion. “I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re sellin’.”
He started to close the door, but she held out her hand and stopped him. “Wait, JD. It’s me.”
He blinked. “Do I know you?”
“It’s me, JD. Margaret O’Flynn.”
His eyes widened, his efforts to think through his alcohol haze almost comical.
“Maggie?” He opened the door wider and stepped onto the porch. “Well, I’ll be. My goodness. Look at you. You’re all growed up.” A wobbly grin wreathed his face. “Damn, if you don’t look just like your mama. What are you doin’ here? How did you find me?” His gaze swiveled past her, settling on Russ, and he reeled back, grabbing the doorframe to steady himself.
Russ stepped onto the weathered deck and extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Russ.”
JD’s smile bared nicotine-stained, crooked teeth. “You’re Maggie’s husband?”
Heat flooded her face. “Er…no…um…” She ignored the teasing glint in Russ’s hazel eyes. “Russ is a…er…he’s a friend.”
“A friend, is he?” JD cackled. “So that’s what they call ’em these days.”
Russ snorted, and she shot him a lethal look.
Suppressing an obvious grin, he said, “I’m sure you’re wondering why we’re here, Mr. Burroughs. Maggie has a few questions she’d like to ask you.”
The old man’s gaze swiveled. “You do, do you, Maggie?”
“I’d like to talk to you about my parents.” Was it her imagination, or did JD’s grizzled face lose some of its ruddy color?
“Your parents? Terrible thing, but that was a long time ago. I don’t remember much.”
His warm spittle sprayed her face, and she reeled back. “Please. We’ve come a long way. This won’t take long.”
A nerve twitched beneath his left eye. “If we’re gonna be relivin’ old times, we’ll be needin’ something to celebrate seein’ you again, won’t we? Helps with the memory, if you know what I mean.” He winked. “Right, Maggie?”
She flinched as if he’d struck her. Did he know about her drinking problem? No way. How could he? She hadn’t seen him since she was a child. He was drunk, that’s all. When people were inebriated, they said and did things they didn’t mean. She inhaled a steadying breath. “Don’t worry about us. We don’t want anything to drink.” He was already well on his way to being drunk. She’d never get the answers she wanted if he was hammered. Besides, then there’d be two drunks, instead of just one.
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“What about your friend?” His gaze switched to Russ. “Do you wanna drink?”
Russ shook his head. “No thanks.”
JD shrugged. “Suit yourselves, but I’m sure you won’t mind if I indulge.” He opened the trailer door. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the dark interior.
“Are you going to be all right?” Concern softened Russ’s hazel eyes.
Her face flamed at the certainty he wasn’t referring to the emotional meeting with JD. Russ was worried she’d succumb to her craving and have a drink. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” The lie slid off her lips.
He leaned close and brushed a stray curl behind her ear. His warm breath fanned her cheek. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”
She beamed under his approval, praying her smile didn’t look as goofy as it felt.
“JD’s quite a character.” A furrow formed between his dark brows. “I wonder if he knows anything.”
“He seems nervous, but his anxiousness could be because our visit surprised him, and he’s been dr
inking.” She smoothed her hand over her hair. “I don’t remember him being much of a drinker, but I was just a kid.”
“He likes his booze now, that’s for sure.”
The door opened, and their host appeared, carrying a beer bottle.
She stilled. The frosty amber bottle, beaded with condensation, looked like heaven itself. She could smell the sweet, yeasty hops. Her mouth watered, and she licked her lips.
JD held up the bottle. “You sure you two don’t want one? Plenty more in the fridge.”
Her hand trembled with the bone-deep ache to rip the bottle out of his hand and down the contents in a single gulp. But she dug deep, swallowed back the insatiable thirst, and shook her head. “No thanks, JD. I don’t drink.” Not a complete falsehood. She didn’t drink. At least, she hadn’t for the past eighteen days.
JD’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Huh.” He lifted his bottle and gulped a giant swig. “Ahhh.” He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You two don’t know what you’re missin’.”
She stared at the beer, unable to look away. The beast inside her demanded to be fed, but she held to her resolve and resisted. As if sensing her struggle, Russ looped his arm around her waist, lending her added strength by his nearness. She tore her gaze from the beer long enough to shoot him a grateful look.
“Is that your dog in the car?” JD leaned in, his ninety-proof breath leaking through his teeth.
She winced and followed the direction of his gaze.
Otis had climbed into the front passenger seat, and his head and half his body hung out the sports car’s open window.
“That’s Otis.”
“Nice lookin’ pooch.” JD guzzled another slurp. “Let him out if you want. I don’t mind. I like dogs.”
Glad to put distance between herself and the yeasty smell of hops, she hustled over to Russ’s vehicle and opened the door.
Otis bounded out, his body wriggling with excitement. He galloped over to the porch and greeted JD with sloppy licks on his hands and face.
JD chortled and petted him. “Hey there. Aren’t you a handsome boy?”
A squirrel chattered from somewhere in the surrounding trees.