Mist

by Miller, Maureen A.

  “So they took it upon themselves to run this test. I have to imagine that didn’t go over well with whoever is in charge.”

  “No,” Hawkins hesitated. “But the truth was that we had proved it would work. I became involved because I’m the clean-up man. Because of that unplanned test, the heads of this project basically had the marketing material they needed to present to buyers. They had the schematics and could rebuild it at will. They couldn’t chance that someone had seen the experiment being conducted. When they learned that the crew would not be changing in New York, they sent out instruction to the engineers aboard to repeat the test. The engineers warned that it could be dangerous for them−that the experiment worked better than they expected. They were reprimanded for having screwed up already, and told to carry on with the trial, or else…

  “And, as far as the captain and the crew of the Eclipse ship were concerned, they were far ahead of the hurricane. They had no idea that the storm would be manipulated.”

  Wet drops clung to the window, but outside the snowfall was steady, beginning to dust the ground. Damn, she had wanted to throw tarps down on the boats before the weather kicked in.

  Livvy glanced at the gun pointed at her, and the disturbing eyes of the man holding it.

  No tarps would be thrown down today.

  ***

  Jack pulled into the circular drive and noticed the thin coat of snow on Livvy’s windshield. The driveway was void of tracks−human or automobile. Around the corner of the house, the soft glow of a lamp poured from the kitchen window onto the pale blanket of earth.

  She’s still home. She’s safe.

  The assurances fell flat.

  Why hadn’t she answered his call? Why hadn’t she warned she’d be late?

  Overly cautious, he opted to circle the bungalow rather than walk up to the front door. Maybe something had happened to Olivia down at the docks. Maybe she was hurt. Hers was a rugged business−anything could arise.

  A shadow passed by the kitchen light, stretching long and distorted across the snow. Jack moved in tight against the wood tiling until he reached the edge of the window. Voices could be heard inside.

  Voices. Plural.

  George. It had to be George.

  But his truck was not here.

  The back of the house was elevated atop a cement foundation placing the kitchen window even with the top of his head. Jack leveled a hand against the cold façade for balance and hefted onto his toes to peer inside. Snow was caked to the bottom of the frame, marring his view, but he clearly detected the silhouette of a man seated sideways at the table. He could not see Olivia.

  The man rose suddenly and Jack’s hand curled into a fist.

  No!

  He reached behind his back to extract the Glock he had grabbed as a last-minute consideration.

  Peering up again he now glimpsed Olivia. Her face was wan, her eyes wide−focused on the gun aimed at her. Rage at that sight caused his hands to tremble.

  Jack wanted to reach for his cellphone. He needed to call in for support, but dared not risk being detected. Besides, it appeared they were on the move.

  The screen door opened, the keening wind catching it and slamming it shut. Once more the door cracked open and this time it was secured in the hand of a man Jack recognized all too well.

  With Hawkins possessing a gun, Jack couldn’t charge him and risk Olivia getting hurt. He saw her hunched figure being hauled out into the snow. Hawkins’ hand was cupped around her arm, the other swinging the gun for balance as he slid on the icy grass.

  Olivia tugged against his restraint, but the muzzle reclaimed its target and forced her into compliance.

  Anger spiked Jack’s core. He no longer felt the cold. The snow pelted his face but he was oblivious. His sole focus was to reach Hawkins and disable him without Olivia being harmed. Hanging back enough of a distance that the weather would obscure him, he followed their awkward tandem down to the dock.

  Olivia’s protests drifted across the wind−verbal darts of motivation. It helped him to gauge their progress, which was hampered by her resistance.

  As they made their way down the wooden steps to the pier, Olivia stumbled, setting Hawkins off-balance.

  Jack made his move.

  Traction on the slick surface was difficult, but he managed a sprint from their blind side and leapt to the bottom of the stairs, catching Hawkins shoulder just as the man righted himself.

  “Olivia, run!” Jack shouted, wanting her out of range.

  “Jack!”

  Hawkins stumbled under Jack’s weight. In the process of catching himself he latched onto Jack’s jacket and they both skidded across the slick wooden boards, landing on their knees inches from the frigid gray swells that lashed the pylons.

  Dropping to his hands, Jack hastened upright as he saw Hawkins raise his gun. Executing a hasty side kick, Jack’s boot connected with the man’s arm, but Hawkins retained his grip on the weapon as he grappled to aim it. The delay afforded Jack enough time to gain his footing and his target.

  “Drop it.”

  Crouched like a savage animal, Hawkins snarled but did not raise his hands in submission.

  “You don’t want to test me,” Jack warned.

  He dared not turn his head to see where Olivia was. That split second could prove his demise. Each rushed breath brought a deluge of snow and brine to his lungs. He stepped in closer, aiming his Glock at the cleft between Hawkins’ thin eyebrows. The man grinned up at him.

  “Do it and your girlfriend is dead.”

  Jack launched to block the shot, and realized too late that Olivia wasn’t nearby. Hawkins’ ploy paid off as the sharp clap of gunfire clashed with the wind and the surf.

  “Jack!” The call echoed from behind the curtain of snow.

  Blood pumped in his ears. Pain lanced his shoulder. Out of the melee a shadow emerged. Olivia−holding aloft a fishing net. The webbed blanket launched through the bleary sky as the crack of a gun filled the air.

  Jack struggled to lift his weapon. There was no strength in his limb. No sensation. The shot was not from him.

  Hawkins lashed his arm out at the net that landed squarely on top of him. Again his gun fired as Jack reflexively crouched.

  “Olivia, get out of here,” he cried, not even sure where she was now.

  Had the last round struck her?

  God, no.

  Rage empowered him. Pain blinded him.

  Struggling to focus, he glimpsed Hawkins trying to shrug off the tangle of net. As he did so the man wildly fired off another round. The sound that ricocheted off the dock was nothing more than a dull echo over the throbbing in Jack’s ears.

  Each one of those reflexive shots could find a mark on Olivia, though. Jack had to stop him. Unable to raise his arm enough to fire the Glock, he instead dropped the gun and launched at the man.

  Growling out vengeance, Jack charged and struck the cluster of limbs and netting. The impetus sent them both tumbling forward as his feet left the ground with a sickening sense of weightlessness.

  Frigid water engulfed him. It clasped his breath in its icy fist. Booted feet felt like cement blocks as he struggled to kick. Clawing at the surf, he broke the surface and gulped in brackish air. Salt stung his eyes as he tried to tread water with one arm.

  “Jack!”

  Not Olivia. It was a male voice.

  Blindly paddling, he felt a tug at the back of his collar. He tried to whirl and strike out, but his right arm was useless.

  “Easy, son. We’ve got you.”

  More hands were on him as he felt himself being lifted, hauled from the rolling breakers that sought to retain their clutch. From this odd lofted perspective he could see Hawkins still snared by the net as a wave crashed over his head. The crest of the man’s skull broke free. A pale hand lifted out of the sea, the fingers snared by rope. Another wave claimed the crown of Hawkins head and then Jack saw no more. He was on his back staring up at anxious faces—one so beautiful it st
ole his breath. He locked onto those eyes. In them the ocean was blue and warm, and he swam freely with his face up to the sun.

  EPILOGUE

  “Good morning, Sunshine.”

  Jack blinked. Sunshine. That’s what he saw. A casement window with sun pouring through it.

  “Yo, big guy. Over here.”

  Jack pivoted his head on the pillow and felt the room tilt. He opened his eyes and saw her.

  "You look beautiful."

  "Whoa," Olivia chuckled. "Those are some pretty strong drugs they gave you."

  Sunlight infused golden strands in her dark blond hair. A red scarf hung unfurled around her neck over a navy wool sweater. Her cheeks were blushed and her lips glossy and pink. She looked so healthy. So goddamn beautiful and healthy. No one had hurt her. She was safe, and she was bowing over him, smiling.

  “I want to kiss you,” Jack declared hoarsely.

  Olivia leaned in and he breathed in a waft of coconut. His eyes dropped closed as he waited for the blissful brush of her lips against his.

  They were there—soft, moist—a beguiling taste he would never tire of. And then they were gone—

  “As much as I’d love to kiss you all afternoon,” she whispered against his ear, “I have to cut it short. You have visitors.”

  Olivia stood up straight and Jack started. He could now make out two men standing behind her, tolerant grins on their faces.

  A hasty glance at the pale almond walls and he suddenly realized that he wasn’t in Olivia’s bungalow. Instead of white spruce trees outside her oval window, he was looking at a digital tree with a sack of liquid hanging from it. The tug of a line in his arm could be traced back to that translucent bag. Railings fenced him in place and the doorway revealed a bustling kiosk surrounded by chatty nurses.

  “Jack-o.”

  Every muscle in his body had cemented at the glimpse of the hospital room, but seeing his uncle grinning and healthy allayed that tension.

  “You look good for a man who has been swimming with the fishes.”

  Warren removed his baseball cap and clutched it in both hands. He reached up and swiped at his mussed gray hair.

  “You’re one to talk,” Jack countered. “You decided to take a swan dive yourself.”

  It all came back to him then. Maybe Olivia had been right. Maybe he’d been given some good drugs, but now clarity returned and he recalled the sting of the frigid water—and the image of Hawkins’ hand reaching—reaching—

  Instinctively he groped at his bare chest, curious fingers locating the layer of bandages. Anxious, he searched Olivia’s eyes.

  “You’ll live, hero.” She winked.

  Agent Cowler stepped up to his bedside. Normally clean-shaven, it looked like he hadn’t touched a razor in days. Also, the routine uniform of crisp white shirt and striped tie was now replaced with an open-collared flannel shirt and a tan canvas jacket.

  “You were fortunate,” he explained. “One of those classic one inch to the right tales. Hawkins shot you just below the shoulder and just above the heart. Between you and your uncle I’ve had enough of hospitals lately.”

  Jack pushed himself up higher and felt the jab of pain he hadn’t detected before.

  “Hawkins?” he asked.

  Cowler shook his head. “No. He didn’t make it. But we’ll use what we know of him, combined with your pictures, and the recounts that you, Olivia, and Warren have provided to try and locate the operation Hawkins worked for. We have some working theories. After all analysis teams have reviewed them, Amanda Newton’s lawyers will receive copies of your pictures and our official notes. Miss Newton’s law suit will be dropped.” Cowler gave a sideward glimpse and smirked. “And also, Warren has already volunteered to go out with one of our ships to oversee our search operation.”

  Warren stuffed the baseball hat back on his head and managed a sheepish grin. “I’ll sneak in some Deep Weather filming while on board. You know,” he winked at Jack, “use their boat while I deal with the insurance company.”

  Cowler cleared his throat. “Of course I did not hear that.”

  The chuckle caused Jack to wince, but Olivia’s steady touch on his arm kept the pain at bay. His eyes dropped closed…

  When they opened again the window glowed in pale pink hues. Activity could be heard out in the hallway. Nurses answering intercoms. A doctor’s timbre voice talking to a patient’s family.

  Jack thought he was alone until he felt something stir at his side. The bedside rail was down and Olivia’s head rested on crossed arms atop the mattress beside him. She was snoring.

  Jack rested his head back against the pillow and smiled. His fingers curled into her silky hair, loving the feel of it. She stirred and turned onto her cheek, still resting atop her folded arms. Dark lashes fluttered and azure eyes opened. Her face glowed with peace.

  “You sleep a lot, Morell,” she whispered groggily.

  “How would you know, McKay? You’re out cold yourself.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  Propping himself up as best he could, he regarded her face for so long she became antsy and sat upright.

  “What?” Fussing with her hair, she tried to straighten the wayward strands.

  “So that’s what you look like,” he murmured.

  “Huh?” Self-conscious, she glanced at the window looking for her reflection in the lights from the corridor.

  “I realize that I started falling for you without ever having seen your face. For as long as I’ve known you, half of your face has either been blue, purple, or yellow. Now I see that you have the healthiest, most beautiful pink cheeks.”

  Olivia laughed quietly. “You already saw those.”

  “That I did,” he whispered.

  Cupping her chin in his palm, he felt his throat constrict. “Olivia, I want to kiss you.”

  Serenity softened her features. She hefted up on her elbows and leaned over him, that glossy hair tickling his chest and shoulders. Velvety lips brushed his with a tentative sweep. His fingers combed up behind her head, holding her steady as he corralled that temptation. Every brush of his mouth to hers demanded more until a nurse cleared her throat at the foot of the bed.

  Olivia snapped back into her seat and Jack flashed a complacent grin. Even as he offered his arm up to the business-like RN, his eyes were still locked to Olivia’s. As soon as the nurse was gone he reached for her hand.

  “I’m not going to push you, Livvy McKay, but I want you in my life. I’m just letting you know that.”

  Her throat flexed. Moist lips parted and then clamped shut. She looked towards the window−it seemed for an eternity. Finally her eyes slid back to his and there was a glint of mischief in them.

  “I often smell like rotten fish.”

  “I noticed that when I met you.”

  “You won’t try to keep me off the ocean or anything? You won’t try to suffocate me, like Georgie does?”

  Jack’s head shook slowly. “No,” he vowed in a soft voice. “I won’t do that. In fact, I have a business proposition for you.”

  “Oh?” Her chin lifted, and her shoulders pinned back. “What?”

  “Well, I’m not sure how receptive you’ll be to this−but I was wondering if I could lease out your yacht for a while−I mean until the new research vessel arrives at PMSC. This would just be for the winter−your down-time, and of course,” he touched her hand resting on the mattress beside him. “Of course, I’d only let you command it. Your boat. You’re in control.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant. The gesture hurt, but he wouldn’t reveal that.

  Olivia cocked her head, dark blonde strands sliding down her shoulder.

  “I’m the captain,” she declared. It was not a question.

  “Correct.”

  Moist lips pursed in consideration. “I’d only be available until March. Then I have to focus back on McKAY CHARTERS.”

  Jack nodded. “We should have our replacement ship by then.”


  “Would you show me some benth−benthic animals?”

  His nod was slow. Cautious. “Of course.”

  Olivia rose and stepped across cables running along the floor. She inched closer to the head of the bed and leaned over, brushing her lips over his ear. “You have a deal, Mr. Morell.”

  Jack leaned back so that he could kiss her mouth soundly. “You are a difficult negotiator, Miss McKay.”

  “Oh, I’m not done,” she murmured against his lips. “I haven’t even started in on how we’re going to work on my lighthouse together.”

  Together.

  “Demanding, you are, but I will probably concede.” He caressed her lips and tugged his arm against the resistance of the IV.

  The temptation to rip that barrier out of his arm was overwhelming. He didn’t want a tepid hug. He wanted to reach out and haul her onto this hospital bed with him.

  “So tell me,” she drew back enough to gaze into his eyes. “Do you think I’m a crazy lady with ghosts in my house?”

  That deserved consideration. It wasn’t a joke, despite her delivering it as one. That was evident as she chewed her lip, awaiting his answer.

  “You are my Wonder Woman,” he declared soberly. “You can do anything you set your mind to, and I am constantly in awe of your skills.” He gripped her upper arms. “They dubbed you as crazy because you chose to stay out on that peninsula all alone.” He kissed her. “You won’t be alone anymore.”

  COMING SOON

  Coming soon is DUSK, the final book in the BLUE-LINK trilogy. Enjoy the romance and danger that pit Amanda Newton, the enigmatic leader of BLUE-LINK, with her security contractor, Ray Gordon.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  USA TODAY bestselling author, Maureen A. Miller's first novel, WIDOW'S TALE earned her a Golden Heart nomination in Romantic Suspense. A great fan of the romantic suspense genre, Maureen decided to take an adventure in space with her bestselling BEYOND series.

  You can learn more about Maureen on her website at www.maureenamiller.com