Deciding she was definitely on for a hot date, Cindy leant forward encouraging Walker's finger to brush her breast. She stared blatantly at his zipper, leaving him in no doubt as to what she expected would be on the menu for desert.
"Okay, sugar. Seeing as you're offerin' to be so generous an' all, I'll tell you. She sails at nine tonight. What time are we gonna meet then?"
Walker suppressed a shudder. He disliked women who openly came on to a man.
"How about eight at the Ship Inn, we'll have a few drinks first."
"Sure, sugar, anything you say."
Walker reclaimed his finger and resisted the temptation to wipe it on the back of his pants. He strode to the door, turned, and grinned. He had no intention of turning up for dinner, and while Cindy would be mad, he somehow doubted that she would be left sitting on her own for very long.
He got back into the car just as quietly as he'd left and filled McCabe in on what he'd learned.
"There's no point us both hanging around. Why don't you go and get some coffee. You can bring me back a cup and a sandwich too. Until someone makes a move to unload the truck or it gets dark there's not much we can do but watch and wait."
McCabe looked sceptical. He knew Walker too well. Chances were once he was out of sight Walker would be sniffing around those barrels like a hound after a rabbit. From the corner of his eye McCabe watched as Walker appeared to settle down for what could be a long wait. He walked back towards the coffee shop he'd seen at the entrance to the wharf, and decided to contact the local cops and advise them of the situation, even though Walker wouldn't like it
Ten minutes later, just as dusk was falling, McCabe slipped back into the car. He handed Walker a Styrofoam cup, then lifted the lid off his own and took a mouthful of the grey liquid. With a nod of his head he indicated the truck where a forklift was now busily removing the barrels and stacking them on the quay.
"It looks as if they're getting ready to put them onboard."
"Yeah, the forklift appeared a few minutes ago. If they load them into the hold, then we're in trouble. I don't fancy having to clamber aboard that ship in the dark. Let's hope they break for coffee soon, otherwise we'll have to think of something to get everyone away long enough for me to take a look." He raised his own cup to his mouth and swallowed. "Christ, what is this stuff?"
"Coffee?" replied McCabe somewhat optimistically.
"Could have fooled me. It looks and tastes more like dishwater."
"Wouldn't know, never tried it. You'd never make a cop."
"Why's that?"
"You'd never survive a stakeout."
Walker laughed. McCabe was right. Apart from preferring his food to be recognizable as such, he hated being cooped up in an office.
"Cheese sandwich," McCabe offered before Walker had chance to ask.
Walker eyed the contents of his sandwich with mild suspicion. "Are you sure of that? It looks more like a strip of cardboard to me."
"For crying out loud, quit complaining and either eat it or trash it. Either way, I don't care."
Before Walker had chance to do either, the stevedores working alongside the truck disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. This was his opportunity to examine the barrels. He swallowed the contents of his beaker, and then got out of the car. He leaned in through the open window, and plucked his jacket off the back seat.
"If I'm not back in twenty minutes call nine-one-one."
Straightening, he pulled his jacket on. He shoved his hands in the pockets and pulled out a pair of heavy leather gloves, thankful he'd had the presence of mind to bring them, along with a couple of glass sample bottles and a length of twine.
After a quick look over his shoulder to make sure there was no one in sight, he walked towards the Rosario Queen. He kept to the shadows and close to the warehouses lining the wharf. For the last twenty yards or so, he'd be in plain sight of anyone who happened to look towards the vessel, but he had no choice other than to go for it. He took one final look around, and sprinted across the wharf to the side of the truck. He skirted the back of the vehicle to where some of the containers were stacked in a cargo net ready for the ship's crane to lift them aboard.
The first few he examined were all tightly sealed, and gave no indication of the contents. Cursing, he checked the remainder, always conscious of the fact that the clock was ticking and the stevedores could return at any moment.
Among a group of three standing a little to one side, he came across one that was leaking. He bent down to get a better look in the half-light, and ran his heavily gloved hand over the seal. It was covered in a thick black liquid. When his glove didn't immediately disintegrate, he let out a sigh of relief; at least it wasn’t acid. If it had been, he would have been looking at serious burns. He raised his glove to his nose and sniffed cautiously. The substance smelt noxious, but he couldn't identify any particular chemical. He managed to loosen the small seal on top of the barrel and remove it. He lowered a sample bottle on a length of twine into the contents.
"Hey, you! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He looked up at the figure running towards him. In his haste to get away, he dropped the cap to the bottle. He bent down to retrieve it and his world went black.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Skye ignored the ‘Do not disturb’ sign hanging on the knob, and rapped firmly on the door. A muttered curse came from within as the occupant struggled with the bolt.
"For God's sake, can't you people read?" The door sprung open. "Skye! What do you want?" John growled. "I'd just fallen asleep for the second time in seventy-two hours. What's the matter? Is the hotel on fire or something?"
"I'm sorry, I know you're tired, John. It's just that…I want to fly home…now, today!"
"Skye, be reasonable. Can't I at least have one night's sleep in a comfortable bed before I spend twelve hours cramped in a metal tube?"
Skye faltered, all her well-rehearsed words vanished. She was tired too, both physically and emotionally, and John's grumpiness was more than she could bear. The tears that had threatened to fall suddenly found their way down her cheeks.
John leant against the doorframe and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.
"Oh, hell, Sweet Pea! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bite your head off, but you know how grumpy I get when I'm suffering from sleep deprivation. I guess whatever it is you have to tell me shouldn’t be discussed in a hotel corridor." He opened the door to let her pass. "You'd better come in."
Skye stepped inside and sat down in the solitary chair. The curtains were drawn and the only light came from a lamp on the bedside table.
John regarded her quizzically. He'd never seen her in such a state before. Sure, she had behaved oddly when she returned from Seattle last year, but on that occasion she'd been devoid of emotion. This was vastly different. Was she suffering from some from of delayed shock? He wondered if all her pent up anger towards Walker had somehow transmuted into anguish and despair. Bloody Americans. Why couldn’t they treat a woman with respect?
"Give me five minutes to shower and dress and then we'll talk,” John said.
Overwhelmed by the events of the past few weeks, Skye yielded to the compulsive sobs that shook her body.
The shower turned off, and John emerged, fully dressed from the bathroom and thrust a box of tissues in her lap.
"Blow your nose and stop crying. Now tell me what this is all about." He pushed aside the quilt and sat down on the end of the bed opposite her. "I had the distinct impression you wanted to stay and finish your vacation. What made you change your mind?"
Skye finally lost control of her emotions and sobbed again. "I just want to go home. Isn't that reason enough?"
"Sure it is, and after the events of the last couple of days, I can understand why you might want to leave. But we have to be practical about this. For one thing, my body clock is so screwed I don't know whether it's night or day. In the last seventy-two hours I've crossed an ocean and a continent, traced
a computer hacker, and all on less than six hours sleep. You're not much better. You stayed up most of last night and God knows how much rest you've had in the past few days, I surely don't. I don't think delaying our departure by a couple of days will make much difference. And in case you had forgotten, your luggage is still at the cabin. You can't just leave it there, you’ll have to go back and pack."
Skye sniffed. "I'll get the realtor to pack for me."
"I suppose they might agree. But you'll only complain that all your clothes have been creased beyond redemption. What if they forget something? It's not as if it's a five-minute car journey to come back and collect anything. I'd never hear the last of it. Then there's your rental car, you can't just leave that at the cabin. It would be far better to go back to the island, pack up your things, return the car, and fly out in a few days’ time, don't you agree?"
"John, I've taken about as much as I can. Everything has become so sickeningly familiar. I can't cope anymore. I just want—"
"Hold it right there. What do you mean 'everything is so familiar'?"
Skye flung her arms out in despair. "I mean this whole situation, the ruined vacation…Walker… everything! It's like history repeating itself," she cried.
"I know I'm tired and not at my sharpest, but you're not making any sense. How can history be repeating itself? You've never stayed on the San Juans before and this was the first time you've met Walker, isn't it?"
"No, yes…but—"
"Then I don't understand what the urgency is, unless something else happened and you've not told me. I think you had better explain exactly what you mean, don't you? But before you do, I'm going to call room service and order some coffee and a sandwich. Want some?"
Skye nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Perhaps something to eat and drink would help calm her down. She bit her bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop her renewed waterfall of tears and realized it was unreasonable to expect John to fly home with her that night. But she was so miserable that to remain in Seattle any longer was wholly unacceptable. Her head was pounding and a couple of painkillers and a night under a duvet was a comforting thought, but she would forego both if it meant getting away as soon as possible.
"Here, drink this." John held out a glass of amber liquid.
Skye looked at him questioningly as she took the glass he offered.
"It's brandy, from the mini bar. Since Walker's paying the bill, I don't see why you shouldn't have some. It might help."
The mere sound of Walker's name was enough to make Skye weep again. She took several deep breaths before she managed to stem the flood long enough to lift the glass to her lips. The brandy was liquid fire coursing through her body. Little by little warmth crept back into her weary limbs.
"Feeling better?"
"Y-yes."
"Now take your time. Start at the beginning and tell me what's made you so desperate to go home that it can't wait forty-eight hours."
A glazed look of despair began to spread over Skye's face. For over a year, she'd kept her own counsel, but now that everything had become too much for her to bear she had no option but to tell him the truth. She felt so ashamed and humiliated. Conscious of his scrutiny, she found it almost impossible to look John in the eye. In a voice that was barely audible she slowly told him why she wanted to leave.
"You assumed I cut my vacation short last year, because Michael had been recalled to his ship."
"I never made that assumption. I knew you were upset. I figured that whatever had happened between you two was best left alone. I thought it unwise to push you too closely on it, and that if you wanted to, you'd tell me in your own good time."
"I came home early, because I found out that Michael wasn't the person I thought he was. At first everything was wonderful. He was attentive, generous and loving, but then things changed. Just small things at first. We'd go out to dinner and he would get called away, leaving me to pay the check. Or he'd suddenly have to rush back to the ship without warning." She paused to catch her breath, and then closed her eyes as she recalled the memory. "One morning, Michael was recalled to his ship. I assumed he’d be gone all day. I caught the ferry to Seattle. It's always busy with commuters and that morning was no different. When I got back to the hotel suite later that afternoon, he was waiting for me. He seemed in a strange mood."
"Don’t tell me he’d been drinking or taking drugs?"
"I don't know for sure. But he seemed, at odds with himself, if you know what I mean."
John shook his head. He didn't know what Skye meant, but he didn't like the sound of it, and he had a feeling that he was going to like what she was about to say even less.
"Before I had chance to say anything he grabbed hold of my arm and asked me how my boyfriend was. At first I didn't know what he was talking about and he accused me of being a liar. Then he said something about the guy I had coffee with, and I remembered that I'd shared a window table with one of the early morning commuters."
"But I thought you said Michael had been recalled to his ship?"
"He had, but it turned out that he'd finished early. The dockyard is near the ferry terminal; he must have gone there and seen me waiting for the ferry. When I asked him why he didn't come over to me, he ignored the question. He followed me and saw me sharing a table and decided that I was two-timing him, which was ridiculous. When I told him he was being unreasonable he became aggressive, and accused me of being out to get what I could from him." She covered her eyes and began to shake as the fearful images built in her mind.
John took her icy hands in his and rubbed them. "He can't hurt you now. Just take your time."
Skye wiped her eyes. Her mouth felt dry. "He wouldn't let go of my arm, he just held it tighter and tighter until his fingers dug into me." She rubbed her arm as if the bruises were still there and she was trying to ease the pain. "I tried to calm the situation down, but he wouldn't believe anything I said. He insisted I was cheating on him and lying. I told him he was the one with the problem not me—that he was being too possessive, and obviously didn't trust me, otherwise why had he followed me? We just went round in circles, until finally I noticed he was holding something in his hand."
Skye clenched her hand until her nails dug into her palm, oblivious of the pain. Although John hadn't said anything, she'd known him long enough to realize he was exercising supreme control over his temper, but how much more could she tell him before it boiled over and he vented it on her. A chill black silence enveloped the room, until she found the courage to go on.
"While I'd been out, he'd been through my luggage and diary—"
"I didn't think you used one. Don't you keep everything on your laptop?"
"Yes, but I carry a small dairy for making notes and keeping odd papers in."
"What did he find?"
Skye gazed at John in despair. "He found the photograph of Laura."
John got off the bed and walked round the room before coming to a stop in front of Skye. He knelt down, took her in his arms, and hugged her. He rocked her gently back and forth.
"Shush, it's okay. Come on now, stop crying."
Skye buried her burning face against John's shoulder as she succumbed to gut-wrenching sobs.
"I never told him about Laura, you see? And after he found the photo, he wouldn't believe a word I said. I suppose I've only myself to blame for what happened next. But I never meant to deceive him."
"So he threw you out?"
"I offered to leave, but he wouldn't hear of it. Instead he forced me…he forced me to—"
"Christ almighty Skye, the bastard didn't rape you?"
Skye swallowed the sob that rose in her throat. "No. He found another way to punish me instead."
John swore heartily, he couldn't hide his disgust or anger any longer. "Go on."
"He blackmailed me. He said that if I didn't do this thing for him, he'd make sure that no one, Government or company, would employ us. He'd make sure that they knew we couldn't deliver, that our work
was third rate, and… and until I agreed, he’d keep me locked up in the hotel room."
"How much did you give him?"
"He didn't only want money. Don't you see? I had no choice but to do as he asked. We were bidding for that big contract and I was so frightened. I thought if I didn't do what he wanted our company would be bankrupt. You do understand that, don't you?"
The only outward sign of John's irritation was the tightening of his jaw muscles. The guy was a psycho—and he’d thought Walker was sick. If only she'd told him this a year ago he would have made damn sure the little shit was kicked out of the navy. No wonder she'd been afraid of her own shadow for the past year.
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