“Probably, but it’s long gone.” Unless the load hadn’t been fully transferred. He’d expected to see them use a little extra care with the truly dangerous part of the cargo. Maybe it had happened while he was playing dead in the water...but maybe the captain of the yacht had panicked and fled with the exchange incomplete.
Might he still have a chance to keep the delivery from happening?
Not sitting on his butt on a rocky beach that was more of a sliver cut between the sheer rock walls of this island. The idea of endangering the courageous woman who had saved his life didn’t sit well with him—but that cargo had the potential to kill thousands. Tens of thousands. Or more.
He needed to get word out, but he also had to live to do that.
“Damn,” he exclaimed. “This campsite is visible from the water.”
* * *
THE STRANGER—ADAM TAYLOR, if he was to be believed—faded fast after draining the mug of hot chocolate while cradling his hand around it as if it felt better than anything he remembered experiencing. He supervised while she used a knife to cut some branches to further disguise the kayaks—especially Mike’s bright orange-and-red one—and the tent. Once the stove had cooled off, she moved it and her heap of dry bags to a rocky spot that was mostly shielded from the water by a boulder.
After dropping a couple of bags, she circled back to the tent to find his head nodding. When she gently disentangled his hand from the mug, he jerked back to awareness and conceded that this might be a good time to take a look under his bandages.
He wasn’t quite handsome, she decided, but he had a strong-boned face with a nose that was slightly off-center—broken?—and a sexy mouth. And, boy, she was an idiot even thinking a word like that in connection with him. The odds were not good that he was really a US Drug Enforcement Administration undercover agent. Although it was a clever story, she had to give him that.
All that gave her hope was when he’d said, I won’t hurt you. In that moment, she’d believed him.
Which made her stupidly credulous. Except...she couldn’t have left him to die. She just couldn’t. Right now, he needed her. Once he no longer did... She hoped she recognized that moment when it came.
Prepare first, she told herself practically. But not yet.
With him watching her sidelong, Claire felt way more self-conscious than she had even when she was stripping him naked the first time. Now all she had to do was lift the sweatshirt off over his head. She then unpeeled the vet wrap, trying to look dispassionate at having to grope his body.
If not for the puckered hole seeping blood—and a long, thin scar crossing the left side of his rib cage—his shoulders and chest were magnificent. Those shoulders were broad, and she was disconcertingly aware of the powerful muscles sliding beneath his skin and the mat of brown hair centered on his chest.
Yep, dispassionate, that was her.
And, no, she couldn’t help letting her gaze lower to where the by-then-narrow trail of hair disappeared beneath the waistband of those too-tight thermal pants. Heat rising in her cheeks, she hoped he hadn’t noticed.
After squeezing plenty of ointment in the hole, she placed the dressing over the wound.
“Can you hold this while I look at your back?”
He reached over with his left hand and complied.
Glad he couldn’t see her once she shifted behind him, she admired a muscular back very briefly. Then she paid attention to the blood soaking the dressing. Not gushing, but...
“This might hurt when I unpeel the pads.”
He craned his neck, but of course couldn’t see the exit wound. All he said, flatly, was, “Do it.”
They came fairly easily, but she hated looking at this hole torn in his skin and muscle. His wounds needed more help than her basic first-aid training could provide. Given her limited supplies, she cleaned this jagged hole, squeezed more ointment out of the tube, then made a thicker dressing before she renewed the vet wrap.
“Is that too tight?” she asked worriedly.
“No.” He started to roll his shoulders, winced and reached for the sweatshirt.
Claire helped him ease it on.
“I think I need to lie down.”
She urged him to eat a handful of almonds first, because it was the easiest, quickest thing she could think of.
Then he retreated back into the tent, but did some contortions that had to be painful, judging from the grunts and groans she heard, and turned so the head of the sleeping bag faced the opening.
“This can yours?”
She saw what he held out. Oh, thank God. She took it from him, aiming to appear casual. “Bear spray.”
“A bear likely to come visiting?”
“Probably not.” Claire didn’t like the uncertainty she heard in her voice. “This is a really small island. But there are plenty of black bears around here.”
“Grizzlies?”
“Only on the mainland, thank goodness. But any female black bears we encounter at this time of year will likely have cubs with them.”
“Don’t want to get between them.”
“No, you definitely don’t.”
“Any chance you or your friend were carrying a gun?”
“This is Canada. Neither of us would have been anyway, but it’s not legal.”
“We had a steel deck panel that lifted to stash weapons if the coast guard boarded us.”
“Too bad you didn’t have a handgun stashed in one of your pockets,” she said flippantly, while thinking, Thank God he’s unarmed.
Well, except for all those muscles.
“Lousy planning,” he grumbled.
“If your wallet disappeared, the gun probably would have, too,” she pointed out. “I’ll wake you in a couple of hours for dinner.”
“Or if you hear any company coming.”
Her heart jumped. “Yes. Okay.”
He mumbled something else she couldn’t hear and seemed to drop immediately into sleep—or possibly a coma. Claire only stared at him for a minute before turning away and going back to her minikitchen. She would have given a lot to take a walk, but thick vegetation crowded right up to the tiny, pebbled beach. Finding this spot had been a miracle; asking for a path perfect for stretching her legs was pushing it.
Besides, feeling jittery was her real problem. It was like having spiders crawling up her arms and legs. Some of the numbness must have worn off after the sugar boost.
All she could think was, Now what?
Load her kayak with the essentials, drag it back to the water and paddle away for all she was worth? Or stay to take care of the man she’d saved and trust that he really wouldn’t hurt her?
Could she be so attracted to a real scumbag? Was she foolish to think she could read him, when he was either a criminal lacking any sense of morality or an undercover federal agent who had to be an Oscar-worthy actor?
She gazed at the green walls of the tent, as if she could see through the fabric and into the heart of a man who, whether he was a good guy or bad, had plenty of secrets.
Then she sighed. Getting away at all wasn’t likely. Unless Rick aka Adam Taylor really was in a coma, he’d hear when she pulled her kayak from hiding and carried it down to the water—which was a lot farther away now than it had been when they got here. Yes, he was weak...but what if he summoned the strength to stop her?
That was the moment when the noise of a motor reached her—and this time, it sounded a lot closer.
Chapter Four
Feeling drugged, Adam blinked bleary eyes and stared up at the pitched green roof of a small tent. Light filtered through the fabric. The sight made no sense. Where was he? Why?
A hand shook his arm. “Are you awake?”
A cascade of memories returned. Shot. Dumped overboard. Breasts pressed to his chest, smooth belly melting the ice.
&nbs
p; He turned his head slightly to see startling blue eyes set in a sunburnt face. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.
“I hear a small boat again, a lot closer this time.”
He groaned, gave his head a hard shake and listened.
Small engine, running a little rough.
“Damn.” He lurched upright and, to his regret, her hand fell from his arm. Unzipping the bag, he growled, “Need to look.”
“I don’t know if you can without being seen. And if anyone is crawling out on the rocks, it’s me.”
“You wouldn’t recognize the men.” He scrambled through the opening made by tied-back flaps, having to hold his right arm up to his chest. His shoulder and back hurt horribly. Amidst his other miseries, he’d been able to ignore this one.
Once out of the tent, he assessed the setting. Yes, they were hidden if someone nosed partway into the narrow inlet. If they were curious enough to follow it to its end, intruders could probably see the green of the tent that didn’t quite fit in, or a glint of the gaudy paint job on the one kayak. That wouldn’t happen right now, not after the tide had receded so much.
Aware of Claire next to him, not to mention the buzz of a small craft puttering somewhere within a half mile or so radius, he grabbed his still soggy boots and started to pull on the left one. Swearing under his breath, he had to ask, “Help?”
“This is stupid.” She’d already knelt close enough to wrap her right arm over his thigh and between his legs so she could help pull. “Let me do the right one. But if you fall and hurt yourself worse—”
If Claire Holland was afraid of him, she wasn’t about to let him know.
She also had a point.
But if this boater—or these boaters—were complete strangers, say, hearty-looking guys in their fifties, he could signal them. She surely carried flares. The boaters could notify the coast guard.
Feet protected from any sharp rocks, he rose to his full height, trying hard not to sway. “Do you have—”
Claire handed him a compact pair of binoculars.
He had to grin at her. “Don’t suppose you have—”
She rolled her eyes. “A Remington rifle? AK-47? Or did you have in mind a nice T-bone to toss on the grill?”
“Any or all.”
Man, his legs felt like noodles cooked al dente. Kind of there under him, but ready to fold up at the least excuse. The astonishing woman who had rescued him eased herself under his left arm and wrapped hers around his waist, ready to prop him up even if she was six inches shorter and at least eighty pounds lighter than his big body.
“We might be able to get a ways toward the open water.” She pointed at jumbled rocks crowded with small twisted spruce and cedar trees, huckleberry bushes and more growing from cracks. The footing looked treacherous, assuming they could push themselves through the tangle.
Adam grunted and started forward.
They never made it to the rim of the island that would have given them a broad view. They did find a spot where they could crouch and get a slice of a view beyond the narrow passage.
The buzzing sound of the outboard motor was enough distance away, Adam felt safe in lifting the binoculars to his eyes. He was surprised by the crystal clear quality of the lenses when he focused across the water to other densely-green islands.
He saw a ripple in the water, followed by the appearance of a dark head, then a second one. Seals? Sea lions?
“There!” Claire said with sudden urgency.
He followed her pointing finger. Metal dinghy, running low in the water. Two passengers. One of the two bent over the engine, but Adam knew that jacket. The other was looking this general direction, using binoculars of his own.
Adam swore and let his drop, not wanting to take a chance of the sun glinting off the glass.
“Two of my shipmates,” he said grimly.
“But...they’ve been searching all day? I mean, I don’t have any way to check the exact time, but it has to be evening!”
“Unless you heard a different boat earlier. I don’t like this persistence.”
“Could they have found Mike’s body?”
“And wondered why they didn’t find mine?” He thought about it. “I’m guessing they’re more worried about the missing kayak.”
Or not. They’d worry about a witness, but he knew too much. Yeah, they’d be desperate to be sure he really was dead. Pretty slapdash of them, he thought wryly, to sail away without pausing to hold target practice, using his body.
He glanced at Claire to see her stricken expression. “I should have left the kayak. Except...”
“Except you needed clothes that would fit me, and probably other supplies.” He kept his gaze on her face. “We’d have been trapped here without a second kayak.”
Her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “I could go for help. You’re not in any shape to paddle anyway.”
Adam jerked his head toward the dinghy, disappearing behind the arm of the island they hadn’t been able to traverse. “And meet them?”
“I... No,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean right away.”
Never. But he only said a milder, “Let’s get back to camp, and we can talk about our options.”
Claire nodded and rose lithely to her feet. He climbed awkwardly to his own and then would have gone down if she hadn’t immediately tucked herself up against him, demonstrating her strength when she bore a good deal of his weight.
“Thanks. Damn, I’m as weak as a kitten.”
“Kittens are whirling dervishes. Haven’t you ever seen one?”
His laugh was more of a rumble in his chest. “Yeah, now that you mention it.”
They made their slow way back, Claire finding footing and then instructing him where to put his feet. Even so, he screwed up by taking a too hasty, incautious step, and felt a wrench on his ankle as his boot slid into a deep crack. She braced herself, patient and solid, while he recovered.
What would he do without her?
I’d be dead, that’s what, he reminded himself.
* * *
THE STUBBORN MAN refused to take the only chair she’d set up, although admittedly, it was awfully low to the ground for such a tall man with long legs. Still, there was no place soft to sit without moving to the other side of the tent where they risked being spotted.
“I’ll get Mike’s.”
“Don’t bother. I’m fine—”
She spun. “You are not fine! You’re shaky on your feet, you’re hurt and you’re stupidly macho!”
She stomped to the best of her ability to the bright red kayak and dug farther in the compartments, retrieving the second sleeping pad as well as the chair—and noting the extra paddle Mike had carried. She’d brought an extra, too, but a beginner was all too likely to capsize himself and potentially lose his.
These intricate passages between islands, so far from any civilization, were not recommended waters for a beginner to learn. He’d have only her, and that frightened her.
One more scary reality.
She returned, unfolded the chair and plunked it down. She had a bad feeling her cheeks were still red. “There.”
He gingerly lowered himself, supported the last distance by her.
“You mad at me?” Adam asked.
She gave a distinctly unfeminine snort. “Why would you try to convince me you’re A-okay? Unless you plan to take off on your own, you need me—and I need to know what you can and can’t do.”
Very smart. Give him a chance to lie about his intentions.
But he sat quiet for a minute, then gave her a crooked smile. “You’re right. With the kind of undercover work I’ve been doing, I rarely have a partner. It’s not smart to confess any weakness to the scumbags I investigate.” His mouth quirked. “I’ll...try to curb the tendency to be stupidly macho.”
“Sometimes I don’t
know when to shut up.” Speaking of confessions. When they first met, Devin had claimed to love her directness. He rapidly found it less charming. He belittled her in front of friends, always with an “I’m just kidding” air that fooled some people, but not all. Then he hit her.
She was almost glad he had. She’d put up with too much, started asking herself if he was right. She was happier single than she’d been having to watch every word out of her mouth. Being dominant in a relationship was too important to some men. She should be celebrating the fact that getting tangled with a guy like Devin hadn’t left her timid.
As if to echo her thoughts, Adam Taylor was shaking his head. “I want you to speak out. Here, you’re the expert. Except when it comes to dealing with criminals who are quick to turn violent.”
“If you’re the expert on that, how’d you get shot?” Claire challenged him, then resisted the instinct to cringe or apologize. Standing up for herself was one thing, rudeness another.
Amusement crinkled the skin beside Adam’s eyes. “You can be really hard on my ego, you know.”
She made a face. “I’m sorry. Your job must be dangerous.”
“It is. But in this case...” He shrugged. “Speaking of not knowing when to shut up, I knew the minute I opened my mouth that I’d made a mistake. Then I should have groveled, but I didn’t. I’ve seen more men killed than I want to remember, but they were always people involved in the drug trade. Or cops or federal agents, and at least we know the risk we take on. Seeing that creep just casually shoot a completely innocent man who wasn’t a threat in any way was a shock.”
A fist tightened around Claire’s heart, and she bent her head in apparent contemplation of the unlit camp stove. “It was.”
“Yeah.” Adam’s gravelly voice didn’t do tender very well, but he seemed to be trying. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have prevented it.”
She swallowed and looked up with eyes that burned with her need to cry. “I wish you had, too, except...was it even possible? There were a bunch of men on the freighter, and more on the yacht. You’d be dead if you had, I don’t know, tried to jump the guy with the rifle, and then he or someone else would have just shot Mike anyway.”
Dead in the Water Page 4