Chapter 13
Mac watched her walk down the pier, her hips swaying as she headed for the boat. Even now, angry and frustrated with her, pissed off as all hell, his cock stirred at the sight. She crouched to get into the boat, and he remembered the way her ass filled his hands. Remembered her smooth skin. The way her muscles clenched as she bowed over him.
God damn hormones.
It had been a long time since someone had gotten the jump on him.
He knew why Lizzy had succeeded. For the past several months, ever since the first time he'd seen her, he'd done most of his thinking with his dick.
"At least leave my wallet," he called. "So I can get on a plane."
She turned around, stared at him for a long moment, then dug in the backpack again. She crouched, set in on the pier beneath a pile of rope so it wouldn't get washed away, then turned her back on him.
She'd found the pouch. Which meant she still had his gun and his phone.
Lizzy lifted the dog into the boat, climbed in after her, untied the boat and pushed away from the pier. She looked at him one more time, and if he used his imagination, he saw regret in her gaze.
The boat motor started with a roar. Lizzy stood at the wheel, turned the boat and took off. He watched her get smaller and smaller until she disappeared around the curve of the island. He prayed she'd change her mind and turn around, but he knew it wouldn't happen. She'd run more than two thousand miles to hide from the FBI.
She wasn't coming back. So he'd have to catch up with her.
The sheriff's office at the end of the pier was twenty yards away. "Hey," he shouted. "I need some help out here."
Nothing. The wind screamed in the trees and waves rattled the metal pier every few seconds. He scowled and yelled again. The sheriff was going to find an FBI agent fastened to the pier with his own handcuffs. The local cops would eat this up.
Ten minutes had passed, and he could barely hear himself over the wind. No one in that office was going to hear him.
He got to his feet, although he couldn't stand straight. The cuffs kept him bent at the waist. He tried jumping, but was only able to get a few inches off the ground. Not enough noise to attract attention.
He tried stomping one foot, then the other. The impact on the metal pier reverberated through his near-frozen foot, shooting pain up his leg. Didn't matter. He had to get the attention of someone in that building.
He'd bet money Lizzy was heading for the ferry. If she got on that boat before he reached her, she'd disappear again. He'd be back to square one.
Except he knew someone from the office was involved. That was a hell of a lot more than he'd known before.
She hadn't trusted him to protect her. That's why she'd cuffed him to the pier and taken off.
He needed her. God, he needed her.
To catch Kelly's killer, he added hastily. That's why he needed her.
She could identify the guy with the coffee.
Who could be anyone.
Stomping his feet methodically, he probed his memories of that night. But all he remembered was Lizzy walking into the office. Lizzy in the box. Lizzy walking out, her hips swaying. God. He'd seen that walk in his dreams ever since.
He couldn't pull up a single other detail of that night. They'd worked around the clock for the next week, and everything about that time was a blur in his mind.
Except for Lizzy. And Rhodes' interrogation of her. He remembered that.
Rhodes. Lizzy had said 'he'. So it hadn't been Rhodes. Or any of the other women agents.
Wasn't a huge help. Even if the killer hadn't been a woman, one or more of them could be involved.
"Hey! What's going on?" someone shouted.
He looked up and saw a man in a rain jacket hurrying down the pier toward him.
The guy stared as he took in Mac's hand, cuffed to the anchor chain. "Who the hell are you and why are you handcuffed to my pier?"
"Are you the sheriff?"
"I am. And you are...?"
"Special Agent Cormac Donovan. FBI. Chicago office." He handed the sheriff the wallet containing his badge. "My wallet is under that pile of rope." He nodded further down the pier.
The sheriff opened the wallet and stared at his badge and ID card. Then he retrieved Mac's wallet and studied his driver's license. "Want to tell me how an FBI agent came to be handcuffed to my pier?"
"Happy to fill you in. But do you think you could unlock these things first?"
A tiny smile flickered over the sheriff's face as he pulled a key out of his pocket. "Looking forward to this story."
***
Mac finished his coffee as he said, "Then she got in the boat and disappeared around the island." Setting the mug on the desk, he said, "I'm guessing she's headed for the ferry. So what are the chances of getting to Orcas in time to catch the next one?"
Sheriff Robert Ellison, a fit middle-aged guy with short graying hair who'd told Mac to call him Bob, said, "Ferry isn't running yet. Got word from Anacortes that they'll start up as soon as the Sound settles down some. Promised he'd call when the first one left the dock."
Thank God. Mac didn't want to lose Lizzy again.
"Can you get me over to Orcas, then? I'll catch up with her on the ferry."
"She have a car?"
"Probably. She bought a black Toyota Tercel before she left Chicago, and I'd guess she has it stashed on Orcas somewhere."
"The camp owns a house near the ferry dock. She might have left it there. If she did and she's parked in the ferry boarding line, she'll be easy to find. You want one of the deputies on Orcas to take a look and hold her?"
That would be the smart thing to do. He wouldn't have to worry that she'd slip away from him again. All he'd have to do was pick her up when he got to Orcas.
The deputy would handcuff her. Put her in the back of his car, like she was a felon. She'd be pissed as hell. Not inclined to be cooperative.
That wasn't what he wanted.
His reluctance to accept the sheriff's offer had nothing to do with how being arrested would make Lizzy feel about Mac.
"No, thanks. I'd rather keep this low key. If she wants off of Orcas, the ferry is the only option, right?"
"Unless she hires a boat. Or a float plane. Neither of which is going to be available today. Too windy."
"Okay. Good. Then if you can get me to Orcas, I'll take it from there."
"Your call." His mouth curled up in a smile again. "My deputies would be happy to help, though. They're going to get a kick out of this story."
Yeah, he'd be the punch line of jokes for months. He didn't care, as long as he caught up with Lizzy.
As they were untying the Sheriff's Department boat, Bob got a call saying the ferry had left Anacortes for Orcas. "It should be at the dock there in forty minutes or so," he said to Mac as they climbed into the boat. "Plenty of time to find her and get her under control."
Mac wasn't sure anyone could control Lizzy. He didn't necessarily see that as a negative.
As long as he was the one not-controlling her.
As his thoughts drifted back to Skipjack Island and visions of Lizzy twined around him, the boat roared to life. It felt as if the boat gathered itself and leapt forward, and he stumbled into the railing. As he grabbed it and steadied himself, the vessel sped away from the pier.
This boat made Lizzy's look like a toy. It handled the waves a hell of a lot better. He didn't feel the teeth-rattling jolt of slamming into the water as they hit one wave after another. And there was a plastic canopy over the wheel area. Mac and the sheriff huddled beneath it, protected from the freezing cold spray.
As they rounded the curve of the island, he saw a much bigger island in the distance. "That's Orcas," Bob shouted over the howl of the wind and the roar of the boat. "Shaw sits between it and Skipjack. Take us ten minutes to get there."
"I appreciate the lift, Bob."
The sheriff flicked him a smile. "Always glad to help the feds."
After the s
heriff let him off near the ferry dock, Mac found the guy who'd rented him the boat, explained what had happened and offered to pay for it. The man waved off his offer, telling him the boat was insured. Then he'd told Mac he was damn lucky.
"I know," he said. He wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for Lizzy.
And he was going to haul her back to Chicago against her will.
He squashed the niggle of guilt. They needed her help. It was important. It was his job to deliver her.
He drove to the ferry boarding line, took his place behind a pick-up truck and cut the engine, his heart racing. There was a black Toyota Tercel several cars ahead of him in line. Had to be Lizzy. What were the chances of two black, thirteen-year-old Tercels on the same island?
He didn't want to spook her into running before the ferry arrived, so he didn't approach her car. But he got out and crouched by his front tire, pretending to check the tread. If he leaned around the pickup, he could see the Tercel.
There wasn't anyone in it.
He waited for a long moment, trying to be sure she wasn't just bent over, searching for something on the floor. But when she didn't appear, he stood up and approached the vehicle.
It was Lizzy's car. The number on the Illinois license plate confirmed it. But it was empty. No Lizzy, no Franny. No backpack.
Would she have gotten out and abandoned her car in the ferry line?
He glanced at the other cars in line, and several of them were empty, as well. So maybe the owners had gone for coffee. Or something to eat.
He tapped on the window of the pickup, and a man with long, tangled dark hair, a beard and a red do-rag rolled it down. "Hey," the guy said.
"Hi. Do you know...is there a place around here to get a cup of coffee?"
"Yeah, there's a coffee shop across the street from the ferry dock." The guy jerked his head toward the cars in front of him. "Follow the cars to the street. About a block up, on the right-hand side."
"Thanks. Appreciate it."
"No problem."
His footsteps slowing as he spotted the first car, Mac walked to the front of the line. He didn't want coffee. Didn't want Lizzy to spot him. As he hesitated, he saw the ferry a few hundred feet away from the dock.
He turned and headed back to his car, telling the guy in the pick-up, "Ferry's almost here. Don't want to miss it."
"You've got time, man. They have to unload all the cars before anyone can board."
"Don't want to chance it." Mac rolled his shoulders. "I'm already two days late for work."
"Bummer. But they have coffee on the ferry."
"Good to know. Thanks."
Mac slipped back into his car, then slid onto the passenger seat where he could see around the pickup. His gut was churning. He hadn't noticed the coffee shop. Did it have a view of the water? What if Lizzy had seen the Sheriff's boat approaching Orcas? She'd know he was on it.
What would she do?
She would have taken off. She'd want to get away as fast as possible.
He tapped his fingers on the edge of the door as he watched people begin to return to their cars. Doors slammed as people got into their vehicles, and engines started. No sign of Lizzy.
The vehicle six or seven cars ahead of Lizzy's Toyota edged forward, and Mac took a deep breath. Maybe she'd run. Abandoned her car.
Finally he spotted her hurrying toward her car, Franny trotting alongside her. Lizzy glanced over her shoulder as she reached her car, opened the door for Franny, then slid into the driver's seat. Just as the car ahead of hers began to move, she slammed the door and started her engine.
Mac got back in the driver's seat and started his own engine, then followed the pick-up as it began to move. In less than five minutes his car was on the ferry, lined up four across in the belly of the boat. Lizzy was ahead of him in the Tercel.
Would she stay in the car for the whole trip? Or would she go to one of the upper decks? He slid lower in his seat, watching her.
The ferry engine rumbled, and it was only a few minutes before it pulled away from the dock. His shoulders relaxed a little. She couldn't get off the boat now.
Unless the ferry stopped at other islands. The one he'd taken on the way to Orcas had stopped three or four times. If she knew he was on the boat, she might take off.
As he watched, Lizzy got out of the car and looked around, studying every car. Mac slid lower in the seat, barely able to see over the steering wheel. Finally, she snapped her fingers for Franny and headed for the door to the stairs.
Chapter 14
Lizzy glanced behind her as she climbed the stairs to the upper deck. No one was following her.
She'd seen the killer disembark from the ferry as she was walking back to her car. The nondescript silver sedan shouldn't have caught her eye, but there had been something familiar about the shape of the driver's head. As he got closer, she'd realized why. It had been him. The guy from her nightmares.
She'd frozen. Literally been unable to move. Thank God he'd turned left instead of right as he drove off the ferry.
If he'd gone right, he would have been looking directly at her.
Her heart thumped harder and her palms began to sweat as the scenario scrolled through her head. His car slowing. Him jumping out and grabbing her. Knocking her out and driving into Moran State Park.
Orcas was full of remote wilderness areas. Places where a body wouldn't be found for months. If ever.
Instead of turning toward her, he'd headed in the direction of the boat rental companies. She'd bet all the money in her bag that the guy would shortly be heading toward Skipjack.
How the hell had he known she was here?
Mac. He was the only one who'd known. Had he somehow sent the guy an email or called him right after they'd made...had sex?
She glanced over her shoulder again, listening for the echo of footsteps below her on the metal stairs. Silence.
Maybe she shouldn't have cuffed Mac to the dock on Shaw. Maybe she should have stayed with him.
No. She'd made the only possible choice. Especially now that the killer was on Orcas. If Mac had spotted him, would he listen to his fellow agent? Or would he believe her?
She'd only known Mac for twenty-four hours. He'd probably known his fellow agent for years.
It wasn't hard to figure the odds.
She put a shaking hand on Franny's head as they stepped onto the outside deck of the ferry. The wind had picked up again, and the force of it made her stagger. Raindrops hit her face like tiny pebbles.
She glanced over the side of the ferry. The waves crashing against the boat were washing over the vehicles in the belly of the ferry and battering the lower level windows. Retreating and coming back harder. As if they wanted to pound the boat into the water.
The storm clouds were a bruised purple–gray, darker than just minutes earlier. The waves gathering farther out in the sound were much higher than they'd been an hour ago. Almost as high as the height of the storm.
Her stomach clenched as the ferry rocked from side to side. In all the times she'd ridden this ferry, it had never swayed like this.
The ferry was too heavy to topple over in the waves, she assured herself. In thirty minutes, she'd be at the ferry terminal in Anacortes. And then she'd be safe. Away from Orcas and the killer.
Away from Mac, too.
She ignored the regret that curled through her. She was exactly where she needed to be.
If she hadn't found Mac's waterproof pouch that morning, hadn't gotten off Skipjack, she'd be a sitting duck. Trapped on a small island with the killer. She'd have no idea he was there. He could wait until dark, walk into her house and kill her while she slept.
Kill Mac, too.
She sucked in a breath. The killer searching for her had already murdered one of his fellow FBI agents. Why would he hesitate to kill another one?
Unless Mac was with him.
No. She didn't believe that. If he'd been sent to kill her, he could have done it anytime over the past twenty
-four hours.
Hell, he wouldn't even have needed to get his hands dirty. He could have locked her in the freezer while she was getting the coffee. Game over.
No, Mac wasn't involved.
When she'd told him one of his fellow agents was the killer, he'd been shocked. Stunned. Hard to fake that kind of reaction.
She shouldn't have left him on Shaw.
"Let's go back inside, Fran," she said, tucking her fingers in her dog's collar as she headed for the closest door. No one else was foolish enough to be outside today. It was too cold and wet, too windy.
She'd needed some air. Not this much, though.
She was nearing the door when it opened in front of her. She stopped dead. Mac.
Her heart stuttered. Fear, she told herself. It was fear. She wasn't glad to see him.
The short strands of his hair were mussed, as if the wind had raked its fingers through it.
Or a woman. She remembered how soft and full his hair had been beneath her hands. She wanted to feel it again.
His face was tight, his gaze hard. But beneath the anger, she saw heat. He was studying her just as hungrily.
"What are you doing here?" She managed to keep her voice steady. Even. As if her stomach wasn't churning and her heart slamming against her chest.
"Catching up with you." His voice was soft. Quiet. It contrasted sharply with the anger burning in his gaze. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I hoped. The sheriff must have found you right away."
His mouth thinned. "Yeah. I was lucky." His gaze traveled down her body, heated as it lingered at her chest. Her hips. Memories of the way he'd caressed her shivered through her. "Unlike you."
He was trying to intimidate her. But as he studied her, heat engulfed her body and her panties dampened. God! Her stupid hormones had to pick a damn FBI agent.
"I think I'm pretty lucky," she managed to say. "I'm still alive. I wouldn't be for long if I hadn't gotten off Skipjack."
His expression shuttered. "You think I was going to kill you?"
Find Me (The Donovan Family Book 3) Page 13