"Perhaps I should give him the benefit of the doubt. But I don't want to get hurt again."
"None of us do, but life is never straightforward. I'm sure he'll call as soon as he can, and when he does, you can forget we ever had this conversation. I'll call you tonight."
"All right. I'll talk to you later."
Skye replaced the phone and leaned back into the cushions. Debbie was right. She was being over-anxious and expected too much of Walker. But was she was trapped by her memories and the emotion they stirred within her. Even now one year later, she could remember every detail of that fateful Thursday and the appalling events that followed.
As the memory retreated Skye fought equal waves of fear and nausea. She ran to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. Her hands shook. When the worst of the gut wrenching spasms passed, she raised her head and looked in the mirror above the basin. The face she saw there was hardly recognizable as her own. Deathly pale and drawn, her normally bright blue eyes were dark with fear. She tore herself away from the mirror with a choking cry. Blackness enveloped her and her body crumpled to the floor.
When she came too she was lying on the bathroom floor shuddering. She pulled herself upright, and rested her back against the bath. She bent her head and sobbed. God knows, she'd tried hard to move on, to forget that terrible day and get her life back on an even keel. But when her memory played tricks, it took all her strength to walk down the street without looking over her shoulder. With the exception of John and Debbie, and a few long established friends, she still found it difficult to trust people.
Why, why couldn't she just forget, instead of living her life in fear and pain?
After more than a year, she was no nearer to answering the question. It had taken all her willpower to make this trip in an attempt to put those weeks behind her. But it now seemed as though her efforts had been wasted, as the past had resolutely followed her and was bent on destroying her carefully constructed cocoon.
She heard the phone ring but made no effort to answer it. Whoever it was could wait. She wasn't ready to speak to them and that included Walker too. In fact he was the last person she wanted to hear from right now. Agonizing over what Debbie would think when she finally revealed the truth, Skye yielded to the compulsive sobs that racked her body. And what of John? What would he think of his business partner when he discovered that she'd allowed herself to be manipulated by someone as shallow and callous as Michael?
Misery hung like a steel weight around her neck. Such was her despair that for a nanosecond she considered ending her life. It would be so easy to walk to the end of the dock and jump into the sea. It wasn't as if she would be missed. For John and Debbie life would go on. They would be upset, but would understand how desperate and miserable she was. In time they'd forgive her. And with more time they would probably forget her. But then Michael would have won and no matter how humiliating telling Debbie would be, there was no way Skye could to allow him to do that.
Exhaustion overcame her as her sobs slowly subsided. She finally fell asleep curled up on the cold bathroom floor.
Chapter Fourteen
Debbie phoned the cabin and failed to get an answer. She wasn't unduly worried. After her conversation with Skye that afternoon and her somewhat unexpected news, she wasn't surprised that Skye needed some space. She found it hard to believe what Skye had told her—that she had been on a date with Walker, and more amazingly, had welcomed him into her bed. What a turnaround! He must be one smooth operator to have gained Skye's trust so completely and so fast.
Debbie knew that ever since her encounter with Michael, Skye had avoided going on a date with a guy. What made Walker different? Debbie searched her brief memory of the man. He hadn't argued with Skye the night they'd all met, neither had he openly pursued Skye in Debbie's presence. He didn't come over as a ladies' man either, and he certainly wasn't someone who would always try to impress.
Besides, there was something mysterious about him. For one thing, he was always asking questions, but rarely divulged any information about himself, and in that respect, he was rather like Skye. Walker appeared to have a sixth sense were her friend was concerned, for he had an uncanny habit of turning up when least expected which Skye found infuriating. They say opposites attract, but Debbie knew those who are alike spark much greater fire.
What if she had stepped in and given fate a helping hand to bring them together? It had worked, hadn't it? Walker was just what Skye needed to finally get over Michael and move on.
Debbie smiled as she remembered the look on Skye's face when she realized she’d been out manoeuvered yet again. She’d had never seen Skye so mad, but knew she wouldn't stay angry forever. It wasn't in her nature. No, her instincts were right all along, and now that Skye and Walker had put their antagonism towards each other to one side, sparks must have positively flown for them to connect in such a primitive way.
But Michael was different. The mere thought of mentioning him and Walker in the same breath, made Debbie shudder. She'd never met the man, and was glad she never would. During the time he and Skye corresponded, Michael sent Skye numerous photographs of himself from exotic locations in far-flung corners of the world. Skye in turn had forwarded them to her. Debbie could tell Michael had an international love affair with the camera, and there was something about his fake cold smile that made her stomach tighten and skin crawl.
Despite her warnings, Michael had wormed his way into her friend’s affections with his overtly romantic letters and Skye had fallen for the sickly sweet bait. Debbie doubted that Skye was the first woman Michael had succeeded in seducing with his smooth ways and glib tongue.
While she couldn't begin to imagine what Michael had done to Skye during her visit last May, she could never forgive him for transforming her friend from a happy, self-assured young woman into someone who jumped at the slightest noise. The man was a grade ‘A’ son-of-a-bitch, and if she ever set eyes on him, she'd do him some major harm.
Disgusted by her thoughts, Debbie glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time that evening. She pressed redial. But there was still no answer from the cabin. She looked at the photo of her and Skye on her desk, and felt worried.
She fleetingly wondered whether to buzz John, but dismissed it as a bad idea. After all, what could he do from six thousand miles away? No more than her, that was certain. She'd try once more before going to bed. If there were still no answer, she would assume that Walker had turned up unexpectedly and whisked Skye off for a romantic dinner, and in that case would ring in the morning.
***
Skye stretched her cramped body, and winced with pain as the blood flowed into her stiff limbs. Shivering violently from lying on the cold bathroom floor, she rubbed life back into her cramped leg muscles. She placed a hand on the washbasin to steady herself, and slowly got to her feet. God, she felt awful. Her head ached abominably. She felt physically sick and her teeth chattered from the cold. Every movement was an effort, and if she turned her head too quickly the room spun alarmingly.
Instinct told her she needed to get warm. Reaching over the tub, she turned the faucet on and ran a hot bath. Her fingers were so numb, that she found it almost impossible to undo the buttons of her shirt. When impatience got the better of her, she yanked it off over her head. She peeled off her jeans and underwear, and stepped into the deep steaming tub. Submerging herself in the hot water as far as her chin, she closed her eyes and tried to relax as the warmth slowly seeped back into her chilled body. The shuddering slowed, and then ceased.
Some twenty minutes later, wrapped in her bathrobe, she padded into the kitchen to make a hot drink. Although she felt warmer, less seismic, and reasonably human, her head still throbbed horribly. But the feeling of nausea had passed. It was dark outside and in her confused state she assumed it was early evening, but when she glanced at the digital clock hanging on the wall over the sink, she was astonished to see that it was three-twenty a.m. She'd been out cold for the best part of twel
ve hours.
Skye leaned against the worktop and sipped her scalding tea, realizing she had done this before. It had been the night she'd finally managed to get away from Michael. On that occasion she had found a nondescript hotel in downtown Seattle, somewhere she was sure he wouldn't look for her. She remembered closing and bolting the dismal door and collapsing onto the bed, at which point her body had closed down, sinking her into a sleep so deep, that she didn't wake from until two days later.
But what had caused it to happen again?
Skye rubbed her aching temples, but still couldn't remember. Her mind was a total blank and the more she tried to force the memory, the more frustrated she became. What she needed now, was sleep. Perhaps when her headache had gone, her memory would return.
On her way to the bedroom, she passed the phone. She had a vague recollection of talking to Debbie, but the details of their conversation remained out of reach on the edge of her mind. She remembered Walker being called away on business and waiting for him to call, but nothing else until she'd come to on the bathroom floor.
Turning off the lights as she went, Skye stumbled towards the bedroom. She was completely drained and exhausted but took two painkillers anyway before slipping under the soft quilt. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
***
Over on the mainland, Walker felt under mounting pressure. The simultaneous break-ins resulted in immense problems. His reputation as a hard hitter in the world of environmental issues was fast going down the toilet. Until he arranged for the damaged equipment to be replaced, Walker Environmental Research was effectively out of business. He also needed to track down whoever was out to ruin him. The former had been relatively easy to rectify with a mere phone call, but the latter was proving almost impossible. The police's lack of progress in arresting anyone only frustrated and angered him further.
When he wasn't at his desk fending off phone calls from prospective clients, he was over at the labs trying to sort out the chaos. The daily commute across the city didn't do anything to help his temper either.
But the break-ins weren't the only thing on Walker's mind. He felt guilty for not keeping his word to Skye. He hadn't called her once since leaving the island two days earlier and the only excuse he could offer was that he just hadn't had time. It sounded feeble even to him. But until his business problems were resolved he had no choice other than to put his personal life on hold. Ironically, there was nothing new in that. In the past it wouldn't have bothered him, as his date would accept his sudden departure and be waiting with open arms for his return, or would have moved on. Either way, he wouldn't have been too concerned. He surely wouldn't have felt guilty. This time he did.
No matter what he did, he just couldn't get Skye out of his mind. He could have—should have—explained. Instead he'd acted like a jerk and walked out the door without so much as a word or a backward glance. Now wasn't the time to fully analyse his feelings, but he admitted that he'd been wrong to walk away as if he didn't care. He did, and right now he'd settle for seeing her smiling face and holding her in his arms again.
Whatever happened, he had to return to Friday Harbor before Skye's vacation ended. He couldn't let her fly out of the country and out of his life without so much as a simple ‘goodbye.’ But first he had to find a way to apologize for his sudden departure. But how? And, more importantly, would Skye be as understanding as she'd implied? It would serve him right if she slammed the door in his face. He deserved it for being a complete and total fool.
In a rare moment of solitude, Walker considered his options. He didn't think Skye was the type to accept expensive jewellry as a peace offering and dismissed the idea of having something couriered to her. Flowers? Anyone could give flowers. Skye deserved something better. In that case, he'd make a reservation at the Duck Soup Inn. Skye would surely enjoy its old world charm. Or maybe he'd surprise her and fly her over to Seattle and drive her up to one of the lodges at Snoqualmie Falls in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. The scenery would be spectacular at this time of year. Yeah, that's what he'd do. He'd book them into the best suite the Salish Lodge had to offer, and hope that dramatic mountain scenery, stunning waterfall, and the romantic and elegant lodge would get their relationship back on track.
His decision made, he turned his attention back to his problems. He knew he should be grateful that no one was hurt in the robberies and there were no more reports of fish washing up on the island beaches or in Puget Sound. But, he wasn't. The laboratories were in such a mess that it was hard to tell what was missing and what wasn't. Yesterday he'd assigned two members of staff to catalogue all the undamaged slides, a task that would take them the best part of a week. By then he would know for sure if any of the evidence he'd collected over the last few months had been stolen. His gut instinct told him it would be missing, confirming his suspicions of a link between the break-ins and the illegal dumping of chemical waste.
He'd almost given up of hearing anything positive from the cops, when they called with confirmation that the break-ins had been carried out by someone wearing gloves.
Not content with breaking-in, the thieves had accessed the main computer. They had trawled through the system, opening and closing files until they'd located the information they wanted. But rather than deleting every file, the thieves had infected the system with a malicious virus, which slowly ate its way through the tattered network.
He set up a meeting with one of the University of Washington's top IT experts hoping to salvage something—anything—from the hard drives. Half an hour into the meeting, he knew he'd wasted his time. Cyber crime, the bespectacled geek informed him, was a huge problem, targeting not only conventional businesses, but also the newer E-commerce or dot.com businesses too. By the time Walker had listened to a detailed explanation of the issues involved he knew that finding a solution wasn't going to be as easy. When terms such as ‘viruses,’ ‘worms’ and ‘Trojan horses’ were mentioned Walker frowned. As far as he was concerned a virus was something he caught and worms lived in soil.
The expert knew he’d lost his audience and tried to simplify his explanation. Before any software could be developed to eradicate a virus it first had to be identified, then an understanding of how it spread from one program to another or from file-to-file had to be gained. When the geek started discussing ‘exploits,’ ‘script kiddies’, and ‘spoofs’, Walker's eyes rolled back in his head. One thing he did understand all too clearly was that the Internet was a perfect hiding place for anyone with malicious intent. When it came to developing anti-virus software and tracking the hacker, not only was it exceptionally complicated, but also incredibly time consuming. In other words there was no quick fix.
As he reached the door, Walker turned and asked one last question. "I know it's a long shot, but by any chance have you of heard of a Dr. Ridge. I don’t know his first name. But if you have, would you know how I could contact him?"
"The name is familiar; let me think." The computer expert adjusted his glasses, and then tapped his temple. "I remember now, I attended a seminar last year. The guest speaker was James or John Ridge. Arrogant and outspoken… that's him. He made all sorts of claims about his abilities and the software he was developing. Whether he can back them up, remains to be seen. Sounded like a load of hogwash to me."
Walker felt as if all his Christmases had come at once. He'd found someone who had not only heard of, but had actually seen Ridge.
"That's great. Do you know how I can contact him?"
"Sorry, no. These software developers are all the same, they tend to keep very much to themselves. He's English on top of it all, and they're against sharing information at the best of times—no team spirit. I suppose you could try the organizer of the seminar, but I don't recall who that was, I'm afraid."
His hopes dashed yet again, Walker began to think this Ridge character was a figment of everyone's imagination. If he was going to stand any chance of stopping this or
any future cyber crime against his company then he needed someone who developed software that identified individual machines and users by their IP addresses, whatever that meant. And according to McCabe's contact, and now this expert, the only person who fit this particular bill was the elusive Dr Ridge. But where the on the planet was he?
Frustrated, Walker felt as if everyone was conspiring against him. Other than the out of date article in the magazine, no one could tell him how to contact Ridge. What was it with the guy? Why couldn't he be listed in the phone book like normal people? But then, if he was in Ridge's shoes and about to make millions of dollars from writing software that could potentially put an end to computer crime, he wouldn’t want to be listed in the phone book either. Come to think of it, he'd probably hire a bodyguard because if Ridge’s name weren't on a hit list already it sure would be when the software became available.
Back in his apartment, Walker paced the floor. At least he had one less worry now that the damaged equipment had been replaced and security increased. Walker Environmental Research would re-open for business in the morning, and about time too. Three days down time had not only cost him financially, but it had also affected his company's reputation. It would entail a major PR campaign and a lot of effort on his part to restore faith in his abilities.
Three Weeks Last Spring Page 13