Dead in the Water

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  He cleared his throat. “It wasn’t a good situation.”

  “I’m sure you have way blunter descriptions than that.”

  His smile twisted. “I do, but I throttle that kind of language when I’m dining with a nice woman.”

  Claire’s chest seemed to unclog, and she laughed. “Well, we haven’t chosen our entrées yet, but I admit, I’m hungry. What about you?”

  “Starved. I could eat half a dozen steaks, but I guess that’s not on the menu.”

  “Nope. Kayaking in British Columbia, I tend to go vegetarian, since I’d rather not attract any local meat eaters, if you know what I mean. Fishing is a really bad idea for the same reason. Mike—” her voice hitched. “He liked to live a little more dangerously and made things like chicken curry.”

  “You don’t buy ready-made food?”

  “Some kayakers do, but I cook extensively before a trip, and freeze-dry individual portions in packets. Mike’s wife helped him with that, although he’s—he was—actually a really good cook.”

  She wasn’t ready to talk about Mike.

  “In fact, let me go see what I can dig out from his stores. This is probably a safe place to eat meat.” She hoped Adam didn’t notice her uneasy glance at the forest behind them.

  Fortunately, since she and Adam might be stuck here for a few days, she and Mike had packed more meals than they would usually carry because they wanted to take their time before a diminished larder forced them to divert to one of the scattered outposts of civilization along the coast to restock supplies. Both had mailed boxes filled with more homemade freeze-dried meals as well as candy bars, nuts, tea bags, toilet paper and more to Shearwater, where it would be held for pickup, a common arrangement for Inside Passage kayakers.

  She found a chicken-with-wine-sauce entrée that she knew from experience was good, and brought two of the packets back to the “kitchen.”

  Adam watched her return with unnerving intensity and no real giveaway about his true thoughts. When she reached for a box of matches, he said, “Once you get that lit, we should talk.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not?”

  Because she didn’t trust him? Hadn’t decided yet what she should or shouldn’t tell him? Good answers, but not ones she could share, so she only nodded.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME Claire put water on the stove and added the contents of both packets, she’d closed herself off. Adam could almost see her donning a mask. Not that he blamed her—she was too smart to have buried all doubts and bought into his claim to be a federal agent. That said, what was she hiding?

  After setting clean dishes, forks and a big spoon within reach, she sat down. “I suppose we can’t have a fire tonight.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “The gas tank for a motor that size must be small,” she argued. “Even if they carry a couple of gas cans as backup, they’d be limited. Plus...would they keep searching after dark? That can be really dangerous. I mean, do they even have detailed charts for these islands?”

  “The pilot was able to pinpoint where to meet up with the yacht. He insisted it had to be at high tide, and that they needed to bolt within an hour or two.”

  Claire looked dismayed. “I guess we can’t rule it out, then.”

  “Them still prowling come twilight? No.” He’d have to ask her if there were rocks hidden just beneath the surface that could split open the hull of a fragile dinghy. As for now...

  She took a deep breath. “So. What are we going to talk about?”

  “I need to know what electronic devices you have.” Probably he sounded uncompromising. That’s how he felt.

  She blanked all emotion from her face and eyes, as if she’d had plenty of practice doing that. Why hadn’t he asked what she did for a living? Could she possibly be a cop? She was tough enough.

  “You think I’m hiding something so I can bring help you don’t expect.” She shook her head and rose to stir and check their dinner.

  She didn’t add, Or is it help you don’t want? He heard her loud and clear anyway.

  “I’m asking because we do need help.” Right now, he was a very weak link. “We can’t broadcast a general plea on the VHF radio, but we can make a call to someone who’ll contact the Canadian Coast Guard for us.”

  “Well, here’s the bad news. Because I apparently don’t handle pressure well, the only device we have is my cell phone. Which might as well be a slab of marble right now.”

  She was lying. She had to be.

  “You mentioned using the VHF to call for help.”

  “Before I remembered Mike had it today. We...sort of handed it back and forth.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve read about how important it is to have multiple backups of anything important. I know better. I do.”

  “We have his kayak.”

  The open anguish that she let him see made him feel like a rat. “When I flipped it back over, the waterproof bag where he carried things he wanted within easy reach should have been in one of the mesh pockets just forward from the cockpit. My kayak has a day hatch, but it’s the same concept. It’s where we carry stuff like snacks, lip balm, suntan lotion...and emergency supplies and devices. He had a flare gun, too. He had to have lived long enough to grab that bag while he was freeing himself from the cockpit. Probably his last thought was to call for help.”

  “He wouldn’t have had time,” Adam said slowly.

  “He...he never surfaced. The weird thing is that he also ripped off his PFD.”

  “Because it felt confining, or he thought he could swim underwater?” He shook his head. “A dying brain isn’t rational.”

  “No.” Claire bent her attention again to their meal, dishing up a portion into an aluminum bowl and handing it to him with a fork. She set the pan in front of her, apparently choosing not to dirty a second bowl, but didn’t take a bite.

  He waited a moment out of respect for her grief, but, damn, he was hungry, so finally he let himself start eating while keeping an eye on her. After a minute, she did the same.

  They finished eating in silence. She sighed when she set the pan on a rock and leaned back again.

  “We each carried a SPOT beacon. I don’t know if you’re familiar with them. They’re what’s called an emergency position indicator. You register it in your name, so if you have to push the button, the coast guard—or whoever—knows who they’re supposed to rescue and, thanks to the GPS, where you are. You’re only supposed to use it as a last resort.” Claire paused. “Mike’s would have been in that bag I told you about. I mean, I haven’t searched, but that’s where he always carried it except when we took a short hike or something like that.”

  Adam nodded.

  “When...that guy shot Mike, I took out my SPOT, only I wasn’t as careful as I should have been. I guess I was shocked, and I was wearing my gloves, and I think I didn’t even look down. I was so transfixed by what was happening—”

  “You dropped it. Overboard.”

  Shame burned on her cheeks. “They probably float, and eventually I looked for it, but not for very long. I didn’t dare move, and I was watching you to see if there was any chance you were alive...”

  “I understand,” he made himself say, although their inability to summon help put them in more danger than she yet understood.

  At last, her eyes met his. “I should have looked harder. It wasn’t until I turned Mike’s kayak over that I realized the bag was gone.”

  “I’d say we should have looked for anything that was floating when we went back to pick up the kayak, except...” He grimaced.

  “You were in such bad shape. Getting you mostly out of the water wasn’t enough to help, not when you were sopping wet and severely hypothermic. All I could think about was finding someplace to camp so I could get you warm.”

  “I thank you for your priorities.” He’d have
reached for her hand if he’d been close enough. “I thought I was dying.”

  “With water that might not even be fifty degrees, you would have died really quickly. Even so, if I’d taken just a few minutes longer—”

  “What are the odds you’d have seen something as small as the SPOT? I’m assuming it’s not a lot bigger than a cell phone.”

  “No.”

  “My philosophy is, what’s done is done. It won’t hurt to search everything your friend carried,” Adam added, “just in case. We should probably inventory what he had anyway.”

  “He did carry an extra paddle, because the one he was using was gone, too. You can tether them to the kayak, but...neither of us did that.” More shame etched her voice.

  He nodded matter-of-factly. Kicking herself now did neither of them any good. “Okay.”

  “If you’re bored, he always brought a few books along.” She wrinkled her nose. “Just what we need most. I have some, too. We’d swap sometimes, except we didn’t share the same tastes.”

  Adam found a smile. “I’ll check out the library. I’m thinking we almost have to stay put for a day or two.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You actually think you can paddle that soon?”

  “Do you have a better idea?” he asked dryly.

  She was quiet.

  Chapter Five

  Fortunately, bright daylight kept them from needing flashlights or a kerosene light. Sunset wasn’t until something like nine forty-five, although the color of the sky would deepen with twilight up to an hour before that. Unless she was imagining it, Claire felt the chill of the oncoming night, though. Frowning, she looked more closely at Adam.

  Arms tightly crossed, he’d lost color in his face. Claire wished anew that they could afford to have a fire. She wondered if his core temperature had ever reached normal.

  After she heated water for tea, he accepted the cup gratefully. While he drank his, she collected Mike’s bags that held clothing and miscellaneous things and set them next to her chair. After taking a few swallows of her own sweetened tea, she pulled everything out of the first bag.

  To inventory it, in Adamspeak.

  “I shouldn’t have let you put those wet boots back on,” she muttered. “I wish Mike’s feet weren’t so much smaller. Ah. His parka.”

  He looked up when she carried it to him. “You can tell I’m cold?”

  Was there a faint slur in his words again? She was probably imagining it. “Of course I can.”

  He obediently held out his arm, but it quickly became apparent that they’d never get it on the injured arm. It was just plain too small to stretch across his broad back.

  After a moment’s thought, Claire fetched the sleeping bag that had been their top cover and brought it out as a replacement for the parka to wrap around Adam, creating a hood and making sure he could hold it closed with one hand. Then she tugged off the wet, cold boots and the fleece socks that had absorbed moisture.

  “I think he has a second pair...” She went back to rooting through bags, finding what she sought and sliding them over Adam Taylor’s feet. Then, with a sense of unreality, she sank back on her heels and assessed him. Here she was handling him as if she had a right to dress him and touch him as she pleased.

  The circumstances that had made her so bold must feel as odd to him as they did to her.

  I saved his life, she thought in astonishment. For all that she’d seriously practiced rescue techniques, she’d never imagined using them beyond helping someone back into a kayak after a failed roll.

  He was watching her, even as she watched him. Stranger. Remember?

  Right now, his eyes were deeply shadowed. The color was rich and bright, but changeable as the light and his mood shifted. They were beautiful eyes, set in a lean dark face. She was reassured, given her first sight of him, when she’d thought of his face as bone white. He was chilly, not freezing. Somehow, his brown stubble only emphasized the strength of his bone structure.

  “You must have shaved this morning.”

  He lifted a hand from the sleeping bag as if to test his whisker growth but winced. “Damn shoulder.”

  “Normally I’d suggest icing it, but, well...”

  “Yeah, no thanks.”

  Claire sighed. “I wish there were something we could do, instead of sitting here like, um...”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Sitting ducks?”

  She made a face at him, almost hoping he’d smile.

  He didn’t. Instead, the lines in his face deepened, aging him. “I’d give a lot to be armed.”

  Guns made her uncomfortable. No one she knew well carried one, but she shared that wish anyway.

  Whatever else she thought about this man, she did believe he wouldn’t hurt her. Steal all the paddles and leave her stranded, maybe—but he’d send help for her before he slid back into his sleazy underworld, wherever that was.

  Fine, then.

  * * *

  “NORMALLY I GO to bed long before sunset, because getting on the water early is usually best. We don’t have to plan for that, but even if we wanted to keep late hours, we have only a couple of flashlights and one kerosene lantern.”

  With quick alarm, Adam said, “We have to be careful not to show light.”

  “I kind of guessed you’d say that. Which is why I’m going to stow everything and then use the facilities.”

  Surprised, he glanced up at the sky, which seemed to have acquired a violet tint. “There’s no indication it’ll rain.”

  “You mean, why am I putting stuff away?” She was doing exactly that, starting with the clothes she’d pulled out of her partner’s bags. “You’ll totally understand if you once have raccoons visit during the night. They can do some damage, and make an awful mess.”

  He didn’t think much about his childhood, but a memory came to him. “My—” Foster father. No, he had no desire to get into that. “We had raccoons knock over the garbage cans a few times.”

  “Bears can be just as bad. They’re usually just curious, but they don’t see any need to handle strange objects with delicacy.”

  Adam laughed, feeling better for it. On top of all his other reactions to this brave, capable woman, he was finding that he liked her. She made him laugh, and he hadn’t done much of that in years.

  “Anyway, we don’t want to store food any closer to the tent than we have to. These bear vaults theoretically seal in the smell and can’t be broken into, but I’d rather not have a bear trying to crack it open only a few feet from where I’m trapped in a sleeping bag.”

  Even as she talked, she put on a smaller quantity of water to heat and produced a small plastic bottle that must hold dish soap. A dish towel came from the same plastic ziplock bag. In minutes, she’d washed the few dishes and pan they’d used and stacked them efficiently into very little space.

  He should offer to help, but felt very little inclination to move. He’d have to use the facilities, as she put it, but wasn’t eager to stagger even ten feet deeper into the trees. Crawling into the tent was more appealing, except that he’d really hate having to get up in the middle of the night and drag himself outside to take a piss because he’d put it off.

  “Here’s a bag of Mike’s toiletries,” she said. “He might’ve brought a second toothbrush, but even if he didn’t...”

  Using a secondhand toothbrush wouldn’t kill him, although it would feel wrong when the original owner hadn’t been dead even a day. Still, Claire was probably hinting that she didn’t want to share close quarters in the tent with someone who had bad breath.

  “He did bring a shaver,” she continued, “but usually only bothered to use it when we stopped somewhere with running water. Hot running water, and a shower. Partly because we carry our drinkable water, and it’s wasteful to use it if we don’t know when or where we can get more. And, in case you haven’t noticed, th
is campsite has a tiny problem.”

  “No stream,” he realized.

  “Right.”

  “So plan to grow a beard.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “Have you ever had one?”

  “A beard?” Adam was finding it harder to make out her face than it had been, which meant it must be getting on toward nine thirty. “Yeah, for the job.” He hated even wearing stubble for more than a day or two; he always itched like crazy.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” She had a roll of toilet paper in one hand, a plastic bag in the other. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She seemed to disappear. Night had found them.

  He hastily groped his way through the dead guy’s toiletries, finding an unopened toothbrush, to his relief, and a small, half-used tube of toothpaste. Claire had left him a cup with less than an inch of water in it, which he made use of.

  By the time she reappeared, he’d zipped the bag back up and given some thought to standing up.

  “Let me help.”

  He flinched at the cold when she unwrapped him and tossed the sleeping bag into the tent before coming back to serve as a crutch. Once on his feet, he wavered for a moment, not liking his weakness and dangerous vulnerability. At the same time, he appreciated Claire’s matter-of-fact brand of assistance.

  Yeah, he liked her. He more than liked the feel of her curvy body pressed against his side. And then there was the fact that she was as strong as she was feminine.

  He made himself say, “You can let go.”

  “You can make it by yourself?”

  “Don’t have to go far.”

  “Since you don’t have shoes on, step carefully. Oh, um, do you need the toilet paper?”

  He grinned at her delicate inquiry. “Not right now, thank you.”

  Of course, she was blushing.

  What he wanted to know was whether she’d opt for her own sleeping bag tonight, or decide he still needed her body heat.

  She waited for him to return from his little excursion, presumably so she could pick him up if he’d done a face-plant, but when he appeared, Claire slipped into the tent ahead of him.