She started coughing. Relief surged through him, and even though he was one-hundred-percent focused on the Doc, he knew he was shaking like a baby. He turned her onto her side and watched her cough the water out of her lungs. Christ. He brushed the thick mat of hair off her forehead, her skin cold and bloodless. As bloodless as Sylvie’s had been after her throat had been slashed.
“How are you feeling?” Fears of brain damage rushed through his mind as she supported herself on her elbow.
“Peachy,” she said and threw up again.
He felt sick with relief and couldn’t make sense of the riot of emotions raging inside him. Near misses with the hereafter were laughed at, ignored, forgotten in the world in which he’d once lived. They didn’t count. The only thing that warranted the inner turmoil that was currently battering his heart and making his stomach roil was actual irrevocable death.
But she wasn’t dead.
“What the hell happened?” He was shouting. Tommy cowered behind Tooly’s back.
“I accidentally pushed her in when we were dodging the bear,” Tommy admitted.
“It was my fault,” Vikki spoke up. “I panicked when she shot off the banger.”
“Well, you’re bloody lucky she’s not dead,” he snarled. He breathed through his nose and concentrated on the rush of the waterfall in an effort to calm his reaction. After a moment, he checked Cam’s pulse, his own skipping in his ears.
The Doc blinked sea-green eyes at him and struggled to sit up, but he stopped her with a hand on her chest. “Just give it a minute, okay?” And then they stared at each other, long enough for him to be the one to turn away.
What would he have done if he’d lost her? Why did her survival matter so much more than anybody else he’d met over the past two years?
Vikki started pulling her clothes back on and Daniel registered that he was cold, so the Doc must be freezing.
“Tommy, grab my survival bag from under the backseat of the chopper.” He had a set of spare clothes there. He walked over to the spot where he’d thrown his knife and retrieved it.
“Don’t cut them…” Cam’s voice sounded as though she’d gargled petrol.
He balanced the weight of his knife in his palm and frowned. “What?”
“My waders.” She grinned, causing his heart to slam in his chest even though she looked pale as milk and as wet as a weekend in Scotland. “Don’t cut my waders. They’re the only pair I’ve got.”
Jesus, she was making a joke. As he released his breath, a giant constricting weight lifted off his chest. She’d have died if he hadn’t arrived when he had, and that thought scared the crap out of him because her smile was worth a million breakneck flights and a lifetime of one-night stands.
He hid his emotions beneath a scowl. “Then let’s get them off you and get you dry.”
Vikki tried to pull the rubber down Cam’s torso.
“Let me stand up.” Cam pushed her away.
Daniel grabbed her hand and put an arm around her waist to support her weight as Vikki inched the waders down to her knees. It reminded him of that first day. When she’d clung so tightly to him after she’d found Sylvie’s body, and he’d held her close just to connect with another human being.
His first mistake.
There was an ancient Chinese legend that said if you saved a man from drowning, you were responsible for him for life.
He stared hard at the top of the Doc’s head. Somehow, it had become not just important, but vital he keep her safe. Maybe she was his symbol of survival and redemption. But considering she was one of the most disaster-prone individuals he’d ever met, he had his work cut out for him.
“Sit down,” he said, his tone brusque. He was trying not to recall the vision of her lifeless body at the bottom of that ten-meter pool.
Cam dropped onto her bottom and Vikki struggled to yank the boots off her feet.
He squatted by her side. “You’re a bloody liability, you know that?”
Her lips stretched into a pale grin. “Just keeping you on your toes.”
He caught Tooly’s gaze. “What happened?”
“Big adlak I followed yesterday walked straight up the river valley.” Tooly nodded to where the stream split into braided sections. “He was hungry, and lazy. I think he’d decided to eat me rather than bother catching fish.” The old man’s smile showed a mouth full of crooked, blackened teeth. “They should have let him take my leg rather than push the woman into the pool.” Lines of distress cut deep around his mouth.
Tommy arrived with Daniel’s duffel. His eyes were huge. Daniel gave a slight shake of his head. There was no need to tell anyone he carried a sawn-off shotgun under his seat, although he doubted it would remain secret for much longer.
“Here.” Daniel thrust a T-shirt and sweats at the Doc and pulled thick woolen socks over her toes.
“What are you going to wear?” Her voice was croaky. Her eyes swept up and down his body and he registered he was only a pair of briefs short of naked.
“I’ve got clothes around here somewhere…”
“So you stopped to undress before you saved me?” Her eyes were teasing, but he wasn’t ready to joke about it. Instead he went looking for his trousers while Vikki and Katie helped the Doc get dried and dressed.
When they were all ready, he gathered up his kit bag. “Let’s get you to the clinic—”
“Nuh-uh.” Cam was on her feet, a little unsteady, but apart from the damp hair plastered to her skull, she looked good. Excellent skin color. Eyes bright and alert. Too bloody good. “I’m fine. And I haven’t even thanked you for saving my—”
“Forget it.” He clamped down on the urge to grab her and hug her and tell her it was a pleasure. It wasn’t a freaking pleasure. It was a disaster. It had reminded him of everything he stood to lose should he rejoin the human race. No thanks. “You don’t want to go to the clinic, fine. Your decision.” His voice was sharp and she flinched and pressed her lips together.
He’d touched those lips with his own.
That awareness slammed into him like a cannon. She’d been unconscious, but within hours of making a vow to give up women, he’d frickin’ kissed her and now he knew how she tasted.
He wanted to spit out the knowledge and erase the memory, because it didn’t matter why he’d kissed her. It just mattered that he wanted to do it again, plus a whole lot more. Where was his self-control? Where was the discipline that had gotten him through the grueling Selection process and years of battle? He picked up a rock and lobbed it into the bush. He couldn’t even drown his sorrows in a beer. Fuck. He had the discipline of a toddler with ADHD.
Cam swayed as the others started loading equipment into the bird. Even though he wanted to, he didn’t reach out to help her. In fact, he turned his back and strode back to the helicopter alone. Because he was within an inch of carrying her in his arms, and if he did that, he was screwed.
Chapter Ten
Semper Fidelis Always Faithful U.S. Marine Corps
Breathing hard, Dwight pulled up short and braced a hand against a tree. Up ahead, Arnie and Stan stopped, waiting for him.
“You go on ahead.” He waved them on, toeing off his boot and emptying a stone that had been digging into his big toe. They were almost back to the camp at Frenchmans Bight. They’d decided to walk back from a drill rig rather than wait for a chopper. He was pissed. He knew Fox drank aboard ship because Eddie the bartender had told him all about it. But the sonofabitch had passed the on-the-spot alcohol check because that dumb bitch of a nurse had let him off with a borderline result.
Dwight tasted dust and spat it out on the trail. He should be happy. Things were looking good. The cores they’d taken today looked better than those drilled in Voisey Bay over a decade earlier, and that had been the find of the century.
By Christ, he could do with a beer. He took off his bandana and wiped the grime from his face and neck. The Mounties were taking their sweet time processing the crime scene, and the bar w
as still closed. Miserable bastards. They’d gone over every speck of snot and grit, bagged, tagged and shipped it off to examine under their microscopes. It would take them months to sort through that shit. And even after they’d worked out who’d screwed Sylvie, the chances of narrowing it down to who’d slit her throat was as likely as winning the lottery two weeks in a row.
He knelt to do up his laces, the bones in his knee joint sending a twinge of pain through his leg. He sighed. Slowly, he tied the laces and clambered to his feet, ignoring the grind of cartilage and the inconvenience of old age. Sylvie’s murder inquiry was slowing down their operation, and so were those fish biologists. His boss didn’t tolerate excuses for delays, and who the hell really gave a damn about a few fucking fish? No one. No one gave a shit. Sure, DFO and the Department of Natural Resources could be bastards when crossed, but federal government wanted this mine. And they wanted it now. No way was Dwight letting some tits and ass get in the way of his retirement plans.
Something metal glinted in the bush and captured his attention. He walked toward it. He swept back the branches and stared at the discovery. Then he grinned.
***
Daniel woke suddenly, but for once it wasn’t from a nightmare. He’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d gotten back to his cabin—backlash from the adrenaline dump of rescuing the Doc. He hadn’t bothered to eat and now he was starving. He squinted and rubbed his eyes to make out the time on the digital display. Ten o’clock. The sun was almost down. Waves washed against the side of the boat. A storm far out to sea.
He heard a noise in the corridor—probably what had woken him—rolled to his feet and yanked open the door. Vikki stood there, black tank top revealing the frilly edge of a pretty black bra, tight jeans over endless legs, a quart of Vodka in one hand and the kind of smile that had gotten Adam kicked out of the Garden of Eden.
He swallowed. Here were all his temptations in one.
He’d decided to go celibate and sober—what? fourteen hours ago?—and now he was obsessing?
Apart from this afternoon by the falls, she’d barely spoken to him since that first awful night. He’d figured she wouldn’t come back. So why was she here now?
She reached out and ran a finger down his chest, her tongue glancing over her painted lips. He knew exactly what she could do with that mouth and he knew it offered oblivion. Part of him, the animal part with no morals or ethics, the part with no conscience or thought of consequences, wanted to pull her into the cabin just to block out the raging hole of nothingness that filled his life. But sex was a drug and he’d made a promise to himself. He eyed her bottle of vodka. A promise that was proving much harder to keep than he’d anticipated.
“What do you want?” he asked, not letting her touch affect him because, hell, he was male and had blood in his veins.
“Now, lover, I think you already know I’m pretty much up for anything.” She stepped forward but he blocked her path.
“Even though I kicked you out last time?”
She pouted at him, almost eye to eye in her heels. “Maybe I want to make you beg for forgiveness?”
“I don’t beg.” Playing the bastard was more difficult than usual. He cleared his throat. “And I’m not interested.”
She stroked a hand all the way to his groin and he wasn’t soft anymore. Shit. He wasn’t interested, but his dick was.
“Now we both know that isn’t true.” She smiled with goddess confidence, him nothing but a flesh-and-blood mortal at her mercy. But there was something else in the depths of her perfect blue eyes.
Uncertainty? Fear? Insecurity?
Then he got it. What he saw in her eyes was fear. Fear of rejection. She wasn’t here because she wanted him. She was here because he didn’t want her. Rejection did not happen to women who looked like Vikki Salinger. He knew because rejection did not happen to him either. And it made them both extra-vulnerable when life slapped them in the face with a big fat R.
He ignored her wandering hand. “Why do you do it, Vikki? Screw around?”
Her eyes smoldered, blond hair slightly wet from a recent shower. She squeezed her hand over him and her mouth moved into an erotic pout that made him lightheaded. “I like sex. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
No. No, there isn’t. He bloody loved sex. The best invention since the HKMP5. But he used it to run from memories. What was she running from? He grabbed her wrist as she went for his zipper and she snatched her hand away from him.
“We don’t have to fool around. We can talk.” He swept his arm to invite her inside. Not that he thought she’d take him up on his offer.
She planted her hand on her hip and glared. “If I wanted to talk, I’d go find Cam.”
“What’s she up to?”
Vikki’s eyes sharpened and her red lips curled in a way that wasn’t pretty. “Ah. So that’s it. Done the blonde, move on to the brunette.”
Daniel stopped himself from reacting. She’d struck a nerve.
“I guess I should have told you, Cam never, hmm…dates anyone I’ve slept with.” Her smile was pure spite.
“Is that why you do it?” Daniel laughed because he knew it would piss her off. “Shag everything in sight because you’re jealous of the Doc?”
Her teeth bared, she lashed out at him, but he caught her wrist before her hand connected with his face.
“I am not jealous of Cameran. I love Cameran.” Her blue eyes burned with loathing for him.
Footsteps approached down the corridor and he let her go. “I suggest you hide that—” he indicated the vodka, “—before the captain catches you and sends you back home where you belong. Spoiled bitches don’t do well in the real world.”
She smiled, stuffed the vodka into Daniel’s hands and he had a split-second to shove it behind his back as the ship’s captain rounded the corner. Shit. If he got fired because of Vikki Salinger’s booze, he was going to raise pure bloody hell.
“Evening, Captain.” She smiled, looking as trustworthy as a cobra in a frying pan.
Captain Joseph Crane stared first at Vikki and then at Daniel, his moustache bristling over a sneer. The captain had never liked him, but Daniel didn’t think it was personal. The old bugger didn’t seem to like anyone. Daniel held his stare, holding the bottle behind his back absolutely still so as not to make a giveaway tinkle.
“There’s nothing worse than a damned drunk,” the captain intoned as he pushed his lips in and out. The man was a reformed alcoholic and treated everyone like would-be AA recruits. “Except for maybe a damned killer.”
Daniel stood straight, head and shoulders taller than the other man, looking down his nose because his temper was starting to stir. Did being a killer in the military count? Did society need a new name for murder, because from where Daniel stood it was a pretty gray area, and he wasn’t even thinking about his own debacle. His old team was full of stone killers, who coached their kids’ soccer teams when they were home. They didn’t deserve derision for doing a job that was distasteful to most, but necessary for civilians to be able to live their nice safe boring little lives.
“The RCMP called with questions about you, boyo. They don’t trust you.” The captain’s voice held an edge of suspicion.
Daniel hid his emotions and accepted the information with a slight inclination of his head.
“And even though you passed that spot-check this morning, I don’t trust you either, laddie.” The captain’s eyes peered out from beneath heavy brows, and a scar at the side of his mouth whitened.
“I know,” Daniel said.
Vikki pushed away from the wall and sauntered toward the captain. The man’s face changed as Vikki smiled at him. Now there was a relationship that would lead to wreck and ruin.
“Vikki…” Daniel warned.
“I was just telling Mr. Fox that Dr. Young specifically requested he be our pilot for tracking studies. But he refused.”
Shit stirring.
“I doubt the Doc said anything of the sort—�
�� Daniel tried to interrupt, but it was too late.
“He’s at her disposal for the duration.” Captain Crane nodded and backed away a step, but Vikki followed. She’d set her sights on more worthy prey than a lowly pilot.
It wasn’t his problem if Vikki sent Captain Joseph Crane spiraling back into depression and alcoholism. Maybe getting his rocks off would improve the guy’s disposition, but it sure hadn’t helped Daniel. He closed the door and waited for them to move on. And then he realized he was alone in his room, separated from a bottle of vodka by nothing more substantial than a silent vow.
Cam sat in the dark beside the open hangar door, listening to the wind whip the ship’s flags like cat o’ nine tails. She’d been going through the field equipment boxes, making sure they were ready for tomorrow, when it had struck her. She’d almost died today, and the realization kept hitting her like an emotional two-by-four. She felt battered but numb. Her throat ached from coughing up her lungs earlier.
Drowning. Some people said it was a good way to go, but she figured they weren’t the ones with lungs full of water or a body blacking out from lack of oxygen.
It had been surreal. She’d always thought diabetes was her biggest enemy but accidents happened to anyone. The experience had sucked all the energy out of her. She was so grateful to Daniel she could have hugged him for hours. But after that brief glimpse of humanity at the falls, he’d retreated back behind his private shell.
Needing to reconnect with loved ones, she’d called home and foolishly told her mother what had happened. Her mother had lost it. Even though she was a determined, independent rocket scientist herself, she didn’t understand that this study was something Cam needed to do for her career and for her self-esteem. The phone call had ended in sharp words on both sides and a bucket load of guilt for Cam.
The wind howled, the cracks and snaps, creaks and groans of the ship getting more intense. The slight jostling motion of the waves made her tummy stumble even in this quiet, sheltered bay. She sipped her steaming mug of peppermint tea, and tried to steady her shaking hands. A dark figure came out of nowhere and she caught her breath. He stood on the edge of the deck and threw something out into the bay.
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