Dead in the Water

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  “Do you suppose they have a map showing potential campsites?” Claire asked.

  He took his eyes off the boat. “I don’t know. Do you?”

  “Yes. I’ve been worrying that the campsites everyone knows about might not be safe for us.”

  Adam handed her the binoculars. If she ended up alone, she had to know the bad guys when she saw them. “Take a look. Memorize their faces.”

  She didn’t look happy about the directive, but adjusted the binoculars and stared through them for a long minute.

  “Those campsites,” Adam said. “Who is likely to stay at them?”

  Lowering the binoculars, she answered, “Other kayakers, mostly.”

  “Who’d be carrying a VHF radio or satellite tracker.”

  “Yes, but...”

  He kept an eye on the inflatable, which was gradually growing closer, but also watched her.

  “Well, would help come fast enough if they see us? And...would we be endangering other people?”

  Given a new worry, he quit listening and took back the binoculars. Unless the path of the boat changed, the two men wouldn’t be able to miss seeing the almost-hidden entrance through the crack in the sculpted rock wall of the island. All they’d have to do was come back once the tide was high again.

  Adam and Claire wouldn’t have any defense against being strafed with bullets from semiautomatic weapons.

  * * *

  LUNCH CONSISTED OF rehydrated soup, dried fruit and a candy bar each.

  Adam was never chatty, and Claire had been so frightened by the near disaster that she still felt shaky.

  Something had distracted those men. The one sitting in the bow had pointed northeast, and the pilot had steered them into a curve leading away from Adam’s and her hideout.

  Thank God.

  Adam had kept a sharp eye on her for a while, but finally started reading one of the books from the pile. He’d tossed aside a couple of them—Mike had really liked thrillers—in favor of an older science fiction novel, The Mote in God’s Eye, that even Claire had read and enjoyed once upon a time, although she didn’t remember much about it. Even as he appeared to be engrossed in the story, she suspected his attention was as divided as hers was.

  She’d let herself feel almost safe here. Illusion obliterated, she started at every tiny sound, from a flurry of wings as a flock of ravens came to rest in the taller trees behind her, to the cries of gulls and terns. The ravens especially disturbed her. Northwest Coast First Nations legend had it that ravens perching on a house meant a death would come.

  Once they heard a powerful marine engine, but too far in the distance. If anyone on board saw a flare, they’d come looking, but as Adam had pointed out, someone closer could find them first.

  At a loud splash, she must have jumped a foot, but the new arrival was a black oystercatcher, a foot-and-a-half-tall bird with distinctive red markings that paddled into sight and, ignoring them, poked in the tidal pools to one side of their miniature beach.

  If a black bear had waddled into sight, Claire probably would have had a heart attack.

  “I doubt they’ll be back today.” Adam didn’t even look up from his book, but he’d read her anxiety just fine.

  “I know.”

  His faint smile annoyed her.

  She stared at the lit screen of her electronic reader and discovered she was on the last page of the book. She hadn’t a clue what had happened in the previous two chapters and didn’t care. Only a sliver of battery life remained. She closed the cover but still clutched the reader in a tight grip. She could grab her remaining paperback, or sort through Mike’s, but reading was futile.

  With the bad guys apparently gone for now, maybe she and Adam should pack up and make a run for it. Claire almost opened her mouth to suggest it, but then she took a good look at his face.

  The flesh seemed to have evaporated, leaving skin stretched tight from sharp cheekbones to the bony line of his jaw. If anything, the stubble enhanced the gaunt effect. Creases marred his forehead, and his eyes... She waited for him to lift his head.

  When he did, she sucked in a breath. “You hurt.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said shortly.

  “Why would you suffer when you don’t have to?” She gave her head an exasperated shake. “You’ve been wounded before. Surely a few doctors along the way have given you the lecture about the benefits of staying on top of the pain?” Her voice had been steadily rising. “As in, you’ll heal faster?”

  “I did intend to ask for some more Tylenol,” he admitted.

  “I think you should go for the heavy-duty stuff. Maybe even take a nap.” Except she’d be left alone out here, afraid to miss a single sound.

  “No nap. I’ll take the meds, though.”

  So he hurt even more than she’d guessed. Shaking her head, Claire poured water into a cup and handed it to him with two of the pills. He gulped them down and gave her back the cup.

  “I don’t like admitting to weaknesses,” he said after a minute.

  An apology, she suspected.

  “It’s not a weakness to feel the normal symptoms from a wound. I mean, a bullet went through you.”

  “Yeah. I’ve had a lot of practice at hiding what I’m feeling.”

  “Because of your job?”

  He rubbed his hand through his hair, which had to be stiff with dried salt. She kept watching him, and finally he said, “I’m guessing you grew up feeling secure.”

  “I did. My parents split up when I was fourteen, but...yeah. I knew Mom and I’d be staying in the house. I’d keep going to the same school. It was just weird with Dad not there. I was ashamed for friends to find out.”

  “Did he stay in touch?”

  “Sure. He didn’t always show up when he’d promised to, but he mostly paid the child support, and my mother encouraged me to understand he was having a hard time.”

  “In what way?”

  None of this was his business, but he was a good listener, and they had to do something while they waited for nightfall.

  “He was drinking heavily. After a couple of DUIs, he spent months in jail. It took him a couple of years to get himself together, but too late for Mom.”

  “He’d broken her trust.”

  “I guess so.” He’d broken hers, too, but he stayed sober the days he took her out for lunch or to do something fun, like ride the ferry or go to the Puyallup Fair, so she’d been able to continue loving him, and knew he loved her. Still, she’d felt abandoned, which might explain why she’d stubbornly stayed with Devin despite all the warning signs.

  What an unexpected conversation.

  “Did your father walk out on you and your mom?”

  “Before I was born.” Long pause. “My mother had her own problems. She worked as a waitress or in a bar, from what I remember. I was four when she didn’t pick me up at this home day care. I went into the system. Never saw her again.”

  “That’s awful.” Claire knew she couldn’t let him think she felt pity. He’d close up tight. Tighter than he already was, that is. He was talking, but not giving away much emotion. “Did she... Were her problems with drugs?”

  Their eyes met, and he made a rough sound. “Guess I’m obvious. Yeah, I have a few memories of watching her shooting up. When she couldn’t afford her next hit—” He shook his head.

  Claire didn’t even like to think about what he hadn’t said.

  “Did you look for either of your parents later?”

  “Mother. Found out she’d died a couple of years later. My father...no. Why would I?”

  She understood. She wouldn’t have, either.

  He stayed quiet for what had to be several minutes, not reading, just frowning. At last he shook himself. “I don’t usually talk about my past.”

  “We’re spending a lot of time tog
ether.” No TV, tablets or phones to distract them. And...she had shared more than she’d have expected with him, too.

  Adam grunted what could have been a laugh. “Sunbathing and dining together. You’ve started introducing me to your favorite sport.”

  Sleeping together, too, she couldn’t help thinking.

  “Right.” She smiled. “Nothing but fun.”

  “Might be, under other circumstances.”

  The painkillers must be having an effect, because Adam’s eyelids grew heavy. He lapsed into silence for a few minutes again, Claire not breaking it. A raven cawed and, to her relief, they all took wing. Spreading their blessings elsewhere? Adam’s gaze appeared unfocused. He really should take a nap.

  His voice startled her. “Look.”

  “What?” She tipped her head back to see the sky, the endless blue marked by a long vapor trail. Claire felt a strange pang. There was proof they weren’t alone in the world, but they might as well be.

  “You like your job?” Adam asked unexpectedly.

  Still gazing at the vapor trail, she had to think about that. “Most of the time, but...it’s a job, not a passion. You know. I suppose I wouldn’t miss it, but I’m satisfied. I make a good living, and I can put it out of my mind when I leave the office.” She realized how that sounded. “I guess you can’t do the same, can you?”

  “Ya think?”

  “I don’t think I’d enjoy a job where I got shot on an average day in the office,” she said honestly.

  That earned her one of his hoarse laughs. “Yesterday wasn’t an average day.”

  “You have an awful lot of scars.”

  “Yeah.” He fell back to brooding.

  It was all she could do not to fiddle, or chatter brightly about some inane topic. Desperate at last, she said, “Would you like some hot chocolate? Or coffee? Or...”

  His eyes, now bloodshot, met hers. “Can we spare the water?”

  “We can’t let ourselves get dehydrated.”

  “Hot chocolate.”

  Heating the water and preparing the drinks kept her busy for a few minutes. Once she handed over his, she worried when she saw the way he cradled the mug and breathed in the steam. She certainly hadn’t stripped to her T-shirt, but the day wasn’t cold. If he started to shiver...

  But he took a sip and lifted his head to study her. “Why’d you break up with the fiancé?”

  Nosy, but she’d been dying to ask if he’d been—or was currently—married or living with someone.

  Anyway, why not answer? Once they reached safety, she doubted she and Adam would ever see each other again.

  “He didn’t like being challenged, not even in little ways. If he told me his opinion about some issue and I mentioned an article I’d read that included facts that didn’t support what he was saying, he’d be cutting. He’d say I was credulous, believing everything I read no matter what the source. He hated that I made more money than he did. It got so he was constantly putting me down, both in private and in front of our friends. He seemed so confident when we first met.” Claire felt her face twist. “Maybe I’m a know-it-all—”

  Adam made a derisive sound. “Sounds like he wanted a submissive partner whose goal in life was to make him feel big.” His eyes narrowed. “Did he get abusive?”

  “You mean, did he hit me?” She clenched her jaw. It was an effort to say the rest. “Yes. Once. That was the end.”

  “Did he grovel afterward and tell you he wouldn’t do anything like that again?”

  She nodded. “I told him he needed counseling, went to spend the night at a friend’s house—” Mike and Shelby’s, of course “—and told Devin to be out by the time I got home from work the next day.”

  “Your place? Bet that rubbed him the wrong way.”

  Of course it had, but he liked living above his income. “He had an apartment—I own a nice condo.”

  She hadn’t been surprised to come home to find him still there. He’d packed, but he had also cooked a fancy dinner and set a candlelit table. He’d uncorked a bottle of wine to breathe.

  Fortunately, she’d had the forethought to ask Mike to go with her. Devin screamed ugly accusations and obscenities at her as he handed over his key and left.

  After she was done crying, she and Mike had planned this trip but had to wait until they’d both saved enough vacation from their jobs to take it.

  He’d given her the gift of anticipation, even hope, and what had his kindness and friendship given him? A senseless death.

  She started to cry and had to cover her face with her hands to try to hide it. The next thing she knew, Adam was kneeling by her chair and embracing her. She let herself cry against his shoulder for a minute, that was all, then lifted her head to give him a shaky smile and to lay her hand lightly over his heart.

  “Thanks.”

  “That son of a bitch.”

  Surprised, she said, “I wasn’t crying about Devin. It was...”

  She didn’t have to explain, it was for Mike...and Shelby. He retreated to his chair and stayed silent for so long.

  “Are you married?”

  His head turned sharply. “God, no!”

  Well, that was telling her. Not that she was foolish enough to be thinking of him in that context.

  “Not a fan of the institution?” she asked.

  “It’s not that.” He frowned. “I don’t know many people who’ve made a success of marriage, though.”

  “You don’t run in the best circles,” she pointed out.

  Adam shrugged a concession. “I know agents who’ve been divorced two or even three times. There’s a flaw in the ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ theory.”

  “It would be hard. But if you love someone enough, and that person loves what they are doing...”

  “Nice idea, but then you have children, and you’re trying to be both parents, hold down a job, make decisions you resent having to make on your own, while they are off doing God knows what, and what if your partner is having an affair while away from home? Or what if they come home with yet another bullet hole?”

  “You can’t tell me there aren’t spouses tough enough to take it.”

  His eyes, unblinking, held hers longer than was comfortable. Then he growled, “Let’s talk about something else.”

  And what exactly would that be?

  Chapter Eight

  Bedtime rolled around at last, thank God. Adam swore he wouldn’t ask Claire to share the sleeping bag with him, but, damn, he wanted to. Her curves fit him just right. She didn’t have to worry that he’d expect anything but a warm body to hold. He’d been deluded earlier, thinking about having sex.

  “Strange trying to sleep when the sun is still high,” he grumbled, crawling first into the tent. It was dim inside here, but far from dark.

  “Didn’t you on that boat?”

  “We had bunks inside.”

  “Oh. Well, if it really bothers you, I can throw a space blanket over the tent. That would help.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Especially if he could clutch her to him like a gently worn teddy bear—or the lover he’d like her to be, when he regained his strength. When they were both safe.

  “Okay.”

  He couldn’t quite see what she was doing, but thought when her head turned that she was taking a last scan to be sure everything was securely stowed. Then she crawled in, too, and let the flaps fall closed.

  “You never zip those,” he commented.

  “Huh? Oh. I like to be able to see what’s coming without fumbling for the zipper.”

  There was a thought.

  He’d taken some more of the hard-hitting painkillers in hopes they’d give him both a good night’s sleep and a boost in healing. They hadn’t quite taken effect yet, though, so he groaned and swore a couple of times while inserting himself in the
sleeping bag.

  He closed his eyes as she stripped off most of her clothes, although he heard the rustles and sighs just fine. Pain or not, his body was responding to the images that filled his head.

  “Let me feel your forehead,” she said softly. A moment later, her palm settled on his brow. “No fever.” She sounded as if she was talking to herself.

  He lay tense, wishing he could think of a good excuse to ask her to join him.

  “I suppose I should, um, sleep in my own bag tonight. In Mike’s actually, since you’re in mine, but—” Sounding flustered, she broke off.

  “Either way is fine.” He made sure she could tell he was okay either way. “But I liked sleeping with you.”

  After a very long pause, she said, “I liked sleeping with you, too. It was...comforting.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Why not?” she decided, and a moment later she squirmed her way in with him, tugged up the zipper, shook out the second sleeping bag into a cozy layer and unerringly found the hollow below his shoulder to pillow her head.

  He tugged her closer, wrapped his arm around her and smiled up at the peaked roof of the tent. Now he was too relaxed to waste the energy thinking about morning, and the risky run from danger.

  * * *

  CLAIRE FLOATED TEN or fifteen feet off to Adam’s left, looking as if she and the kayak were one. He felt as awkward as a big man perched in a first grader’s chair, pretending he was comfortable. His knees weren’t quite up to his nose, but that was only because they were trapped beneath the deck of the kayak.

  Didn’t help that he was humiliatingly aware that he required frequent critiquing.

  “You’re trying to do it all with your arms,” she said just then. “Use your torso.” She demonstrated a stroke that had her upper body twisting side to side as she paddled. Her kayak shot ahead as if a flick of a fishtail propelled it.

  He tried what she suggested and found she was right—this was easier and put slightly less strain on his painful right upper quadrant. Which wasn’t saying much.

  The sky had still been pearly when they left their campsite, having to carry the kayaks over the long, narrow stretch of smooth, slimy cobblestones bared after the tide went out, but once afloat they emerged from between the wave-sculpted cliffs to find themselves alone. Or so it seemed. With the multitude of islands and rocky islets topped by wind-twisted trees, another boat could be hiding just out of sight, as Claire had been when her partner was shot. She’d been right that the air was still, the morning utterly quiet. Eerie wisps of fog hovered, not quite touching the water nor reaching as high as the trees. From time to time, she’d become oddly indistinct, until he reached the same band of fog and then glided through it.