Dead in the Water

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  “Are you sure that’s what it was?”

  Seeing the look on his face, she was immediately sorry she’d pushed.

  “He never called again.”

  Struck by the way he’d said, his wife, Claire wondered what kind of relationship Adam had with her. Not much of one, if she had to guess.

  “So you went to the DEA.”

  “Yeah. It seemed like a good fit.”

  Chemistry and criminology. Of course it was.

  “You’ve never been married?”

  Deepened furrows on his forehead made her wonder what he was thinking. But then he said, “With my history, I’ve...had a hard time imagining it. Never met the right woman, anyway, which was probably just as well considering what I do for a living.”

  She couldn’t be surprised by his attitude. Saddened, maybe. She couldn’t tell him that in so few days, he was responsible for her being able to dismiss even the smallest regret about Devin.

  Adam’s profession didn’t overshadow all the qualities she’d seen in him: determination, reliability, kindness, patience, a sense of humor. Would he ever recognize how much he had to offer a woman?

  Probably not.

  A secret part of her remembered how desperate he’d been yesterday for her to escape, even if those creeps caught up to him.

  Because she could carry his message to the proper authorities?

  Yes, but he’d seemed curious about her, too, and hadn’t been anything but kind and thoughtful. Even...tender, although that had to be her imagination.

  Wow, there were a lot more important things for her to be thinking about than this ridiculous attraction to him. Even if they were spending the day in close proximity, and she’d have no choice but to sleep pressed up against him.

  She went back to listening for any sounds that didn’t belong and pretending she didn’t notice the thoughtful way he was now watching her. Finally, Claire picked up her book and did her absolute best to be gripped by adventures that paled by comparison with everything that had happened to her in the past few days.

  Chapter Twelve

  If they’d been exploring the islands for fun, the day might have been relaxing. Say, if this were Claire and her buddy. They’d obviously been good enough friends, with enough history, to enjoy hanging out and talking. Under the circumstances, would she have slept cuddled up to her partner Mike instead of to Adam?

  Adam was immediately ashamed of himself, considering that her friend was dead, his body adrift. Murdered because he’d inadvertently stepped into the middle of Adam’s investigation.

  He frowned. That wasn’t quite true. If the DEA had never succeeded in inserting an agent on that boat, Dwayne would have shot the poor guy anyway.

  Unless he was on edge more than usual because he’d begun to suspect I wasn’t what I appeared.

  Adam told himself to knock it off. The nature of his job was that anything could happen, and he couldn’t take responsibility for all of it. He mixed with suspicious, volatile, violent people who lacked any semblance of empathy.

  Unfortunately, his thoughts circled back to how much he wanted Claire. You can’t have her. Live with it.

  Several times during the night, he’d surfaced to find himself holding her, her breath tickling his neck, and he’d been thrown back to remembering the nights when they’d shared a sleeping bag and he’d been aware of all her curves pressed against him. When he could so easily have—

  He slammed that door shut. No, he couldn’t have, not given what bad shape he was in then, not given his awareness that this woman had saved his life at great peril to herself. Even more important, she was grieving for her friend, and had to be a lot more scared than she let him see.

  This was not the time and place for what he’d been thinking.

  The way she looked at him sometimes, though...

  He shook his head, then hoped she hadn’t noticed. If he could just go for a long walk. Have a hard workout. Anything to take his mind off her, give his restlessness an outlet. Instead, they were trapped in a space that wasn’t more than ten square feet that encompassed bedroom, kitchen and sitting room. They were almost always close enough to each other to touch, if they chose.

  If she asked him what he was thinking right now, he didn’t know what he’d do. Kiss her, he was afraid, and not gently.

  They read again that afternoon. If anything, the rain had picked up, although the tide did recede so their home-away-from-home wasn’t quite so alarmingly waterfront.

  Bored with his book, he asked if she carried any games.

  “I’m afraid not,” she said regretfully. “That might have been smart. My other trips with Mike were shorter, and usually it was all we could do to set up camp, have a meal and get to bed early enough to set out at the crack of dawn the next day. If Mike had cell phone coverage, he’d call his wife. The two of us are—” she choked on that “—we were both big readers, so...” Claire let that trail off.

  “Just a thought. You know his wife pretty well?”

  “Yes. I met Mike in a kayaking class, and once he introduced me to Shelby, we hit it off. We’re...really good friends. I’m so dreading—” She didn’t want to finish that sentence, either.

  “She must know by now that something is wrong,” he said quietly.

  Claire’s mouth twisted. “Maybe. His SPOT is being pulled around by the tide and currents, you know. Either...with his body, or not. The signal might be moving weirdly, or showing up out in the ocean farther from land than we should be, but she knows we intended to take our time and wander. She could still be telling herself that he’s out of cell phone range. That happens.”

  “We are out of cell phone range.” Adam had seen her check her phone twice today. He hadn’t had to tell her that the weather probably wasn’t helping.

  “What’s Shelby like?” he asked, not sure why he wanted to know. Except he did know; if Claire had been his wife, he wouldn’t have been okay with her heading off for a couple of weeks’ trip to the back of beyond with another man.

  “She’s wonderful.” Claire visibly relaxed. “Dramatic, funny, smart. Gorgeous, too. The first time I met her, I felt squat and plain in comparison, but Shelby isn’t constantly aware of herself the way I might expect someone with her beauty to be. She’s a redhead with masses of wild, curly hair and an hourglass figure. And not a single freckle.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Because she stays out of the sun?”

  “Probably. She’s not the outdoorsy type, that’s for sure. Well, that isn’t true. Last winter, she and Mike went to Barbados for two weeks and sounded like they had a fabulous time. Somehow, she came home without more than a hint of a tan and still with no freckles.”

  Adam laughed. “Don’t like your own freckles much?”

  She crinkled her nose. “I’m resigned. You can probably tell I don’t tan at all—I just burn no matter how much suntan lotion I plaster on. Which also doesn’t keep me from getting freckles.”

  He grinned at her. “I can barely see them through the sunburn. When you peel, do the freckles go, too?”

  “Nope.” She laughed at herself. “I don’t actually care if I have them or not. I don’t love slathering myself with suntan lotion and then aloe vera, so I’m greasy all the time, and still knowing I’ll go through that awful peeling and itching phase. Plus...” She hesitated.

  “You need to start thinking about skin cancer.”

  He hadn’t meant to sound so stern, earning a startled look from her.

  After a minute, she said, “I don’t know if sea kayaking will ever give me the same joy again. Although, I do love being in the middle of nature instead of concrete. You know?”

  He’d never thought about it before, but this experience seemed to be altering his perspective. If he and Claire were lovers, paddling between the islands for fun, marveling at sights like the pod of orcas, sharing li
fe stories and the small touches that would lead well into nighttime passion... Yeah, he thought he could be happy.

  He couldn’t offhand remember the last time he had been.

  “You’ll remember the good times,” he said, as if he were spouting the pat lines from a greeting card, “and let go of the grief.”

  She snorted. “You mean, seeing what a bullet does to a man’s head? I don’t think so.”

  “I’m sorry you got caught up in this.”

  The filtered green light here under the trees altered the vivid blue of her eyes. The eyes that held his. “That, I don’t regret. If I hadn’t been here, you’d be dead, too.”

  Staggered, he didn’t move. She almost sounded as if his death would have hit her as hard as her friend’s. Harder.

  She wouldn’t have known me, he reminded himself.

  Adam had a little trouble remembering how he’d felt before he met her.

  On a scrabble of panic, he picked up his book again, opened it and stared sightlessly at the page.

  So much for relaxation.

  * * *

  AS FAR AS Claire was concerned, the day had been interminable. She was grateful for the distraction of preparing dinner and cleaning up afterward. She and Adam returned to the rocky shore, only to find an angry tide devouring the rocks, but the rainfall seeming lighter.

  “Maybe there’s hope,” Adam growled, and left her standing there.

  His mood had been up and down all day; he’d go from friendly to withdrawn within seconds. It had to be intense frustration and impatience, nothing to do with her, but she didn’t like it. She wished she thought she could sneak away in the morning, but knew better.

  She also seriously considered finding a softer piece of ground where she could spread out her mat and sleeping bag, rain or no rain, but remembering the visitor last night cured her of that foolishness. A curious bear was liable to wander by again to see what these strange creatures were up to. And then there were the bugs.

  With a sigh, she turned to follow Adam.

  He had the wristwatch in his hands. She didn’t want to ask, but couldn’t help herself.

  “What time is it?”

  “Eight. If we’re going to get up at—what?—four in the morning, we should probably hit the sack.”

  She’d almost gotten used to going to bed in bright daylight. The tent was a big help, dimming the light enough to fool her circadian rhythms. Most nights on a trip like this, she was exhausted by a long day on the water and the work of setting up camp. She hadn’t just sat all day.

  “I’ll keep the watch close along with the flashlight,” Adam said. “I wish I could set an alarm, but I’m usually pretty good at setting an internal one. Last night...wasn’t like me. If there’s any chance it quits raining, we can get that early start.”

  “Fine.” If that sounded snippy, so be it.

  She set about heating water, and carried the pan and a washcloth, soap and towel behind the tent, where she could take what Mike had called a sponge bath. A hasty one, given the insect life. When she came back, Adam said, “Good idea.”

  He took the saucepan from her hand, filled it with water and pulled out his own bathing supplies.

  He wasn’t really out of sight behind the tent, but he didn’t strip down any more than she had. While he scrubbed his underarms, Claire brushed her teeth and hung the dry bag with her toiletries from a high branch. Not that she thought bears would like the smell of soap—a bar that was citrus scented—or toothpaste, but they could be nosy and she didn’t want her possessions scattered. Or a claw through her toothpaste tube.

  Maybe if she hustled, she could move her sleeping bag onto his mat and vice versa, and be sound asleep before he decided to go to bed.

  Or pretend to be.

  But she had no doubt he’d be right on her heels, so instead she stayed on her hands and knees and tried to find a corner in the tent where she might be able to wedge herself to sleep.

  “You know,” he said right behind her, “if we shared a sleeping bag again, we could put both mats and the extra sleeping bag beneath us. We might actually be comfortable.”

  “No.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  Of course not. But that was then, this was now.

  “The stress is getting to me.” His voice was a note lower, a quiet rumble. “I know I’ve snapped at you a few times today.”

  Claire swiveled and plopped her butt down so she could see him. Adam was crouched just inside the tent opening, his elbows braced on his thighs. The position stretched the fabric of his cargo pants taut over long muscles and made her very aware of his hands dangling between his thighs.

  “I don’t mind the snapping,” she said honestly. “I don’t like doors slammed in my face.”

  He didn’t so much as blink for a minute. “I...didn’t realize I was doing that.”

  “It’s not like I can take my toys and go home.”

  Furrows deepened on his forehead. “I’d hate it if you did that. I’m...grateful for your company even if I wish all this hadn’t put you at risk, too.”

  She sighed. “We shouldn’t share a sleeping bag.”

  He let his head drop forward. “I want you.”

  Electrified by a zing of shock, she stared at him. He’d come right out and said what she’d guessed even as she doubted herself. “This...isn’t good timing,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  When he lifted his head, his eyes burned into hers. “I know that. Believe me. I wouldn’t push you. I won’t.” One side of his mouth tipped up in an almost smile. “Whichever one of us was on the bottom would probably end up with a few broken vertebrae anyway.”

  She frowned at him to cover the continuing shock and startling arousal. “I thought your mat was laid out on flat ground.”

  A flash of humor made her heart clench.

  “Are you kidding? I’m just used to...shutting out discomfort.” He shrugged.

  Claire laughed despite everything. “Gee, your suggestion that I sleep with you is even more irresistible.”

  “You could sleep on top of me,” he said roughly.

  She almost whimpered. “I sort of did last night,” she admitted.

  “I know.”

  That gritty admission sent her into a meltdown she absolutely could not afford. She didn’t really know this man. Even if he was all he professed to be, that meant he was a loner, damaged by a childhood lacking in love and security, a guy with a dangerous job that would have him gone for weeks or months at a time, and that was assuming he worked out of Seattle and not... She didn’t know. Anchorage? San Francisco? Miami?

  And, okay, she had some vanity issues. Despite what she could do with a washcloth, she needed a hot shower or bath to shave her legs and underarms. Not how she’d want him to see—or feel—her the first time.

  “I think I’d better stay in my own sleeping bag,” she said, her voice huskier than usual.

  The heat in his eyes didn’t diminish, but after a moment he nodded. “I’ll give you a few minutes of privacy.”

  “Thanks.”

  He backed out, leaving her alone.

  * * *

  ADAM DETERMINED TO keep the bear spray close that night. Turned out, he didn’t have to look for either; Claire had placed both in easy reach for either of them.

  And no, she couldn’t be asleep, but she stayed absolutely still as he slipped into his sleeping bag beside her. He lay there wondering if the spray was any more useful than pepper spray that was known to just enrage a human assailant. Not that he and Claire had any other weapons or deterrents to chase a bear away. From what he’d read, not even a handgun was an answer. Grizzlies, at least, were hard to bring down. Bullets from a pistol might be the equivalent of a few bee stings.

  He forced himself to think about tomorrow. His shoulder had ached less than he’d expe
cted from yesterday’s exertions. Of course, they hadn’t been on the water long at all, but he’d sure as hell tried to hurry, forgetting any of the technique that Claire had tried to drum into him.

  He told himself he shouldn’t have any trouble paddling across the channel to the island on the other side and finding a campsite. He’d like to think it would be that easy, but Boyden and Gibbons had popped up every time he and Claire made a move. If they’d camped versus returning to the freighter, they couldn’t be that far away. Adam would give a lot to know where they were.

  He and Claire at least had the advantage that the kayaks were silent and low enough in the water to make spotting them more difficult. Too bad they couldn’t summon the pod of orcas again.

  It took a while, but he finally thought he could sleep. He hoped so; he’d been trying not to move around despite the ridges digging into his back, butt and even calves. Claire remained so damn still, he knew she wasn’t asleep, either. Adam had hoped she would drop off so he could relax, but maybe it had to work in reverse. His wounded body probably required more sleep than usual to heal, too.

  When his eyes snapped open, full night had fallen. He’d heard something...

  It almost sounded like a voice, deep throated and demanding. Hell. He started to sit up, reaching automatically for the weapon that should be under his pillow, but Claire’s hand gripped his arm.

  “Bear,” she whispered.

  The sounds continued. Then she said something a lot more alarming. “Bears.”

  Plural.

  Scrabbling sounds followed. Claws digging into bark?

  Adam seized the spray bottle. It was like facing off with a guy carrying a semiautomatic when all you had was a starter’s pistol. Feeling completely vulnerable did not sit well with him.

  Scuffling, the shaking of vegetation, and something crashed into the side of the tent, pushing it inward. Low, not high like a full-grown bear’s rump bumping the fabric wall. It wasn’t trying to dig them out, was it?