“But that’s mutiny,” Willow said, quickly scrambling behind her so she wouldn’t miss any of the fun.
Mickey was obviously in total agreement, and reached the deck of the schooner before them, growling wolf curses at Jason as the unsuspecting crewman stood at the wheel. Jane stepped onto the deck and Willow poked her head into the bright sunlight just as the seventy-foot ship took another dive. The schooner rolled starboard, carrying a large wave over the rail that hit Jane with enough force to send her flying toward Jason.
Grinning like a pirate, Jason reached out, swept Jane into his arms, and stood her between himself and the wheel before she could finish screaming. “Am I going to have to tie you to the mast, Einstein?” he asked. “Or do I just save us the trouble and throw you overboard now?”
“You should be keelhauled, you moron,” Jane shouted back, trying to wiggle out of his steel embrace. “It’s not near as rough as you’re making it. You want thrills, go to Disney World.”
One minute Willow was standing on the ladder, grinning like an idiot, and the next thing she knew, hard hands had picked her up and she was flying through the air. Her scream of surprise was answered by deep male laughter as Duncan carried her to the schooner’s doghouse, sat down, and held her securely on his lap.
“Now, doesn’t this beat sitting in a stuffy office all day?” he asked, brushing the hair from her face so she could see his smile. “Ya should do this more often, counselor, to recharge your batteries.”
“Are those the Pilot Islands behind us?” she asked, lifting a brow. “Did you…ah, not see them?”
His grin broadened. “Jason and I haven’t been sailing together in ages, so we thought we’d give the Seven-to-Two-Odds a run into the Gulf before we bring her to anchor. We have two or three hours of sunlight left.” His arms tightened when another wave washed over the rail and splashed at their legs. “Tell me ya don’t love this, Willow.”
Willow sighed and snuggled against him, mesmerized by the cresting whitecaps breaking in the stiff breeze ahead of them. “Of course I love this,” she said, tilting her head up to look at him. “So much that I’m tempted to just keep sailing until we run out of ocean.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “You have no idea how tempted I am, lass. Tell me what ya found with that bill of lading.”
“It’s a warning insert,” Willow told him, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder so she could keep looking up at him. “And it is a pesticide, but Jane said the quarry and lobster will be okay, if it’s all been removed. But I’m still going to have our state divers give it another check next week, and take several water tests before the kids get out of school and start coming around.”
“Did the insert say where the pesticide originated?”
“Nope. The lot number was washed away.”
“So what’s your next step, counselor? Like ya said, a few broken boards, some drag marks, and a slip of paper aren’t exactly evidence.”
“Now I call in the Coast Guard and Marine Resources and have them search for any unusual boat traffic. And I call in my investigators and the Department of Environmental Protection, and they can start checking every waste site in this state. We go over every record, every bill of lading, and see what’s arrived as of three days ago. Those crates had to be taken somewhere.”
“Maybe out to sea,” Duncan said softly, cupping her cheek to hold her hair out of her face. “They may have just dumped the entire mess overboard.”
“I’ve thought of that.”
“So how can I help ya, Willow? What’s your next step?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, patted his hand back in place over her cheek, and grinned up at him. “I go public. I let it leak out that I’m closing in on them, that I’ve found evidence left behind in the quarry, and that I’m already building my case.”
“No.”
“People do really dumb things when they feel someone breathing down their necks,” she continued, ignoring his glare. “They’ll slip up, maybe go after another dump site on some other island. And every law enforcement official at my disposal will be watching, and we’ll catch them.”
“No.”
She reached up and patted his hand on her face again. “I’ll live with a whole platoon of state police officers until this case is solved, Duncan. I won’t be in any danger, because I’m going to sit at my desk and follow a paper trail right to their doorstep.” She shot him a feral grin. “I do intend to be the one to knock on their door and read them their rights, though. But I’ll have that army of officers standing behind me. And you can come, too, but if you punch out the guy who ran me off the road, I am not posting your bail.”
“I agree with your plan right up to the point of your going public,” he growled, his hand on her cheek moving to encircle her neck. “You are not setting yourself up as bait.”
“Not me personally,” she explained. “My office. They’re not going to risk open warfare with the AG’s office, Duncan.”
“No.”
Willow straightened on his lap and looked him directly in the eye. “Then come up with a better plan.”
“I agree with your original plan, only without leaking word that you know who they are. Find your paper trail, but do it quietly.”
“But I can’t. I have to involve all the departments. Too many people will know, so a leak is inevitable.”
“Then misdirect the leak. Come up with another reason for your investigation.”
Willow had to think about that. She turned in his arms and stared out at the sea again, only absently aware of Duncan’s heat engulfing her and his lips brushing over the top of her hair. Another rogue wave washed over the bow, and she would have been drenched if Duncan hadn’t twisted just in time to catch the brunt of it himself. She laughed and slid her arms around his soaked back, and turned see Jane and Jason, both at the wheel, both laughing as Jane tried to wrestle for control of the wheel.
“What’s for supper?” Willow asked, turning to look up at Duncan.
“I left the menu up to Jason,” he told her, his eyes dancing in the sunlight and his hair blowing around his tanned face as he looked over at Jane and Jason and then back at Willow. “So I suspect we’re having lobster.”
They did, indeed, have boiled lobsters for dinner, and salad and some very fine wine. Jason had completely forgotten about dessert, but had found an old bag of Mikaela’s gummy bears in the cupboard. He’d arranged them on a plate and drizzled them with chocolate syrup—also found in the cupboard, and only God knew how old it was.
So the four of them sat down at the tiny table, moored in a calm cove in the shadow of the second Pilot Island, and ate lobster with their fingers and gummy bears with their forks. The men, complaining of having put in a hard day diving, went to bed around ten, each to opposite ends of the ship. Mickey also went to sleep up on the deck, supposedly as lookout.
“Ah, where do I sleep?” Jane whispered as she emptied the last of the wine into her glass.
“Anywhere you want to,” Willow told her after sipping from her can of soda, not yet inclined to drink anything alcoholic since her accident. “Pick a bunk.” She wiggled her eyebrows at her slightly drunk friend. “Occupied or empty, it’s your choice. Except that one,” she clarified, pointing toward the port bow. “I’ve already called dibs on Duncan.”
Jane snorted and stood up, downed the rest of her wine, and headed toward the stern of the boat. Willow smiled, not at all surprised when her friend climbed into the berth on the opposite side of the boat from where Jason was sleeping. Jane might adore tall, gorgeous, and wonderfully physical men, but she had never been accused of being easy. Willow suspected it was the thrill of the hunt Jane enjoyed the most—that titillating, I-think-you’re-cute-but-can-you-handle-me phase of courtship.
Willow sat listening to the silence of the evening that was broken only by the gentle lapping of the sea against the hull and the muted creaks of the wooden schooner as it recovered from its brisk run through the
Gulf of Maine. She imagined the talk in town right about now, from the fishermen who’d passed them today during their sail. They were likely spreading the rumor that Duncan Ross had Willow Foster trapped with him at sea, and by morning, when everyone realized the Seven-to-Two Odds hadn’t returned, the betting pool was likely going to swing in Duncan’s favor.
Willow worried she might have placed her own bet on the wrong side. Because even though she might be running for her life, there truly wasn’t any place for her to hide.
Not from Duncan.
Not from love.
With a sigh that ended in a rather deep yawn, Willow got up and padded through the narrow center of the ship toward the front berth. She would take her cue from Duncan, she decided, and deal with one thing at a time. First she would solve the mystery of the sick lobster and bring the culprits to justice. And only then would she be free to confront her personal demons once and for all—and either break through that final, seemingly impenetrable barrier, or turn tail and run so deep into the darkness that even Duncan wouldn’t be able to find her.
Duncan woke up but didn’t move when Willow quietly crawled into bed beside him. He did notice she was naked, though, and that she felt soft and warm and smelled nice.
He was so damned thankful she hadn’t been killed or even badly hurt in the accident, and so damned grateful she hadn’t shut him out of the case she was working on, that he didn’t care if Willow fought him tooth and nail for the next fifty years. He loved her. He had her in his bed. And when she was with him, the rest of the world didn’t exist—for either of them.
The trick was in getting her to stay with him.
Not that she needed encouraging now. Duncan captured her roaming hand, pulled it away from his groin, and tucked it over his chest and held it there.
She kissed his nipple and squirmed closer. “What’s the matter, Dunky?” she whispered. “Too much sun today? Have a headache? Or are you worn out from this morning?” she asked with a note of feminine pride.
Fine beads of sweat broke out on Duncan’s forehead. “We’re not alone, lass. It was your idea we bring Jason and Jane along, so behave yourself and go to sleep.”
She popped her head up and stared at him in the faint moonlight shining through the overhead deck prism. “They’re way down at the other end of the boat.” He could just make out the slash of her smile and teasing eyes. “I promise not to scream or moan, no matter how wild you make me,” she huskily added, curling her fingers into his chest hairs.
Since holding her hand wasn’t working, Duncan rolled over to trap her in his embrace. “Go to sleep,” he growled, throwing a leg over hers to stop her from rubbing intimately against him. “We’re only cuddling tonight. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before inviting an audience to our affair.”
“You’re serious,” she muttered into his chest. She wiggled her head free and looked into his eyes, her own eyes wide with dawning awareness. “That’s why you didn’t come to bed last night, or why you didn’t make love to me the night before. Not because your innocent baby sister was there, but because we weren’t alone in the house.” She leaned even farther away, her eyes shining in the diffused moonlight. “You can’t…ah, do it when other people are around?” she whispered in awe.
Duncan tucked her back against him. “Aye,” he said with a deep sigh. “It’s been a bit of a problem most of my life.”
She tilted her head just enough to see him. “So you’ve never even made out with a girl in the backseat of a car when you double-dated?”
He shook his head. “Go to sleep, Willow.”
“Now? After learning your little secret?” she squeaked, squirming until he let her go enough that she could prop her head on her hand. “I am wide awake, Duncan, and probably won’t feel the least bit sleepy until I know why you can’t make love within earshot of anyone. Come on, tell me, and I promise,” she said, crossing her hand over her heart, “that I’ll take your secret to my grave.”
Duncan watched her through narrowed eyes. “You’re not going to let this go, are ya?” When she shook her head at him, he turned and propped his own head up on his hand, realizing she was in her lawyer mood, and that neither of them would get any sleep until he came clean.
“When I was about eight, my family rented a cottage on the Isle of Skye for the summer,” he told her. “There were just the four of us—my parents and me and Camden—because Molly wasn’t born yet. Hell, she wasn’t even conceived yet.” He shook his head. “But she certainly existed by the time we returned home that September.”
Duncan turned onto his back, folded his hands behind his head again, and stared up at the deck prism as he continued. “It was a small cottage, and Camden and I slept in the loft, directly over my parents’ bedroom.”
He turned his head just enough to watch Willow’s reaction. “I heard them,” he said softly. “Nearly every night for three months, I could hear them making love. At first, I hadn’t a clue what was going on down there. I got worried and tried sneaking in, but their bedroom door was locked.”
“Are you saying that ever since you heard your parents…ah, doing it…you haven’t been able to…to…” She reached out and touched his chest with one delicate finger. “Duncan, they obviously loved each other and wanted another baby.”
“I was eight,” he softly snapped. “And eight-year-old boys do not want to know that their parents do it. Making love is private. Intimate. It damn well isn’t a spectator sport.”
She smiled crookedly. “So what about all those children you want? Once the first baby is born, you won’t be able to make another one because it might hear you.”
“We’ll wait until it’s in school. Then we’ll work on a second kid.”
Her smile suddenly outshone the moon as she leaned forward and gave him a quick, quiet kiss on the mouth. “Poor baby,” she crooned just inches from him, her eyes locked on his. “You’ve been scarred for life by the most natural act in the world.”
“Are you saying ya never heard your own parents, or if you did that it didn’t affect you at all?” he asked.
“Of course I heard them,” she said, mimicking his pose by lying back and folding her hands behind her head, her elbow overlapping his on the narrow bunk. “I don’t ever remember not hearing them.” She turned her head toward him. “So I think it was a natural thing for me. I did feel kind of funny, though, when Dad used to take Mom in his arms and carry her upstairs.” She snorted. “I was thirteen and Rachel was sixteen, and Daddy was still telling us they were just going upstairs to have a little afternoon nap.”
Duncan turned toward her, laying his hand on her stomach just below her very lovely breasts. “So did ya ever make out in the backseat of a car on a double date?” he asked.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Is this one of those trick questions, like when a woman asks a guy if her pants make her hips look fat? If I say yes, you’ll get all huffy to think I made out in the backseats of cars with guys. And if I say no, you’ll think that I’m lying because I don’t trust you.”
“I’m not asking ya to kiss and tell, counselor. I’m only trying to picture you as a teenager.”
“I was a brat.”
“Ya still are.”
“But that’s what you love about me.”
“Aye,” he said, leaning over and kissing the soft peak of her breast. Keeping his head down, but turning to look at her, he smiled. “So ya’re thinking I should get rid of this trauma I’ve been carrying all these years? And that you might be able to help me do it?”
She glided her fingers through his hair, nodding as she smiled back at him. “This is the perfect place to start. There’s no bedsprings to squeak, and we’ll both practice being really, really quiet,” she whispered.
Duncan rolled onto his back, taking Willow with him so that she was sitting straddling his waist. “I firmly believe that one is never too old ta learn new things,” he said, folding his hands behind his head again with a deep sigh. “Teach me, counselo
r.”
He should have known better than to give Willow such an open-ended invitation, because teach him she did, until Duncan thought he’d die of delight. She worked him into such a frenzy, he was certain they’d hear his shout all the way to the mainland. And the wonder of it was, as he lost himself in her magic, he couldn’t seem to care.
It was a very long and rather enchanting night, and by morning Duncan decided that if Willow’s stubbornness not to love him didn’t kill him, having an affair with her certainly would.
Chapter Fifteen
The men seemed to think it was important they take the Seven-to-Two Odds for another run out on the gulf before settling down to their day’s work. Apparently, Jason had decided—likely sometime during the long night alone in his bed—that he would fair better by buttering Jane up, since riling her didn’t seem to be working for him. He began by trying to impress her, not with his skill as a sailor, but with his willingness to let her think she was in charge.
Jane certainly wasn’t shy about taking command, keeping both Duncan and Jason running to hoist sails and then scrambling to reset them whenever she changed tack. Poor Ahab would likely have had a cursing fit if he had seen his beloved schooner being put through her paces. Either that, or he’d have asked Jane to marry him.
It was noon before they moored off Thunder Island again and went ashore to study the tarp and wood and plastic they’d found in the quarry and had stowed on the island last night. But they weren’t there twenty minutes when Ray Cobb and Frank Porter came walking through the pine trees toward them.
Jane was the first to react, throwing herself into Ray’s arms and giving him a big, noisy kiss on the cheek. Willow leaned over and informed Jason that Ray Cobb was Jane’s old high school flame. Jason’s reaction was to saunter over and glare at Ray so hard it was a wonder the lobsterman didn’t turn to stone.
Frank Porter came up to Willow, looked her straight in the eye for several heartbeats, then pulled her into his aging but still powerful embrace. “Sweet Jesus, girl,” he growled. “You ain’t changed a bit.” He leaned away and smiled down at her, his hazel eyes shining with delight. “You still got that look of mischief about you. I can only thank God you’re plaguing them bandits in Augusta now instead of us.”
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