He took my hand in his and said, “Maybe we could work something out. You know, just so you don’t have to go back to him.”
I laid my head on his shoulder. “You’re kind. But don’t worry. I can take care of myself. Besides, I’m sure your father would never—”
“You let me worry about my father.”
I tilted my head back and he gave me a passionate kiss.
This better be worth it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As we walked down the dirt road, the wind still whipping in my hair, I snuggled against him, stroking his ego, when doubt creeped back unbidden. Maybe he wasn’t what he seemed. Could it be that he and his father were already suspicious? And they were setting a trap for me? Get me on board, then once we were out to sea they’d—I shook the thought from my mind. If I was going to go for it, I was going for it. If something happened once I was on board, I’d deal with it when it happened. I could take care of myself.
When we got to the docks, the sun had already set, even though it was late afternoon. This close to the Arctic Circle the days were getting shorter fast. The sun seemed in a hurry to hide for good. The snow and cold, I could take. But nearly twenty-four hours of darkness. How do they do it?
Ray was in the wheelhouse when Michael brought me on board. Michael gestured for me to wait on deck. “Give me a minute,” he muttered, his eyes on the wheelhouse as though it were a castle turret guarded by a fire-breathing dragon.
“Sure,” I said. Now we’ll see what you’re made of. Are you my knight or not?
He drew in a breath, as if to gather some courage, climbed the stairs to the wheelhouse, and shut the door behind him. He was making a good show of it, anyway.
I could see Ray through the windows, shaking his head, his frown making his caveman brow even more pronounced. As Michael continued to talk, Ray strutted to and fro. I bet his knuckles were dragging on the floor.
C’mon Michael. You’ve got all the pieces to the puzzle. You can convince him.
Ray leaned against the window to look out at me. Something in his eyes—the calculating stare of a stalking tiger, as menacing and fixed with threat—made me want to bolt. His pacing suddenly seemed more like that of a predator trapped in a cage.
I smiled wide, all innocent, my feet planted firmly where I stood.
Ray shook his head again.
Finally, Michael slinked from the wheelhouse and I could tell by his body language that it was over. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I wasn’t getting on the boat. Michael had been my best option and he turned out to be a waste of time. I wanted to slap him for being so spineless. I’d misjudged him all along. I thought we’d been playing a delicate dance, a careful maneuvering, a duet of deception.
“So?” I asked.
“My father says no.”
Maybe he needed a good-old surge of testosterone. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and practically stuck my tongue in his ear. “Did you tell him I don’t eat much? I swear I’ll stay out of the way.”
He shook his head as he put his hands on my waist. “It’s not that. It’s—”
“What? I can work. I need a job anyway. There must be something I could do on board.” I smiled, hopeful. “I can cook.”
“We got Dylan.” He frowned, but his eyes were trained on me, steady, calculating. He was thinking. Or making a show that he was thinking. The wheels were turning. Was he testing me now? “Anything else you can do?”
Was he serious?
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Hey, the storm’s going to pass. I’m sure the ferry will be running again tomorrow.” The edge of his lip slowly curved upward. “I wish you well.”
Dammit! “Thanks. Maybe if things were different, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes revealing nothing.
I scrambled down the ladder on the Sea Mist.
Dalton was at the table amid a tangle of power cords.
“Everything charged and ready?” I asked.
“Yep. Double checked each camera.” He scribbled in a notebook. “All’s ready.”
I nodded and slumped onto the seat. “Great.”
His eyes refocused on me. “What happened?”
“No go.”
“Are you sure?”
“I really worked the vet angle with Michael,” I said. “And he played coy about it. I was sure I had him. Then he went to talk to Ray.” I ran my finger across my throat.
Dalton nodded, thinking.
“Maybe I could stowaway. Then, once we are out to sea, I get them to agree to let me stay aboard. Technically, that’d do it, right? Then I could plant the camera.”
“I’’m not sure that—”
“But, I don’t know, Michael’s too…”
“Too what?”
I let my head flop back, examined the ceiling for inspiration. “He’s too clever.” I sat back up and looked Dalton in the eye. “But there’s got to be a way. I’m telling you. I have him on the hook.”
“No doubt. I mean,”—he flashed me that grin of his—“you had me at hello.”
I grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.
Footsteps clomped onto the deck.“‘ey! Poppy, ye down dare? ‘ey!”
I leapt from my chair and climbed the ladder.
Dylan was in the cockpit. “Dare yer are. I’ve been lookin’ everywhere,” he said, out of breath.
“What? Why?”
“’tis Ray. Our Captain. 'e’s 'urt.”
“What do you mean? What’s happened?”
“Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “Michael sent me ter git yer.”
“Sure, sure. Let’s go,” I said with a sideways glance to Dalton.
We raced down the dock to the Forseti. I followed Dylan up the stairs and into the wheelhouse. Ray lay on his belly on the bench, his face contorted with ornery discomfort.
Michael greeted me. “Thanks for coming.”
“What’s happened?”
“He had an accident.”
Ray had his hand shoved down his pants, clamped onto his left butt cheek.
“What kind of accident?”
“Dylan, thanks. You can go,” said Michael. When the door clicked shut, he turned to me. “You said you’re a vet. That’s a doctor, right?”
“Well, I…” Crap. “What kind of injury is it, exactly?”
Ray grimaced.
“Right. Why don’t I just take a look.” Yeah, that’s it. Show me your bare ass.
I peeled back his waistband and tugged his pants down, trying to keep a straight face. Ray reluctantly let me pull his hand away. Blood gushed from a gouge down the side of his butt cheek. Eeeew! My throat constricted and I turned my head to hide a gag. I grabbed his hand and placed it back over the wound. “Hold it tight,” I said, swallowed hard, and turned to Michael. “What happened?”
Ray scowled. “It doesn’t matter. Just fix it.”
Sure. Right. Was this a test? No way. He wouldn’t actually injure himself to see if I was lying, would he? “We need to get you to a hospital. You need stitches.”
“No hospital,” Ray said.
“Sir, I don’t think you’re—”
Michael stepped between us, his arms crossed. “You do it.”
“Me?” Crap. Double crap.
“You’re a doctor ain’t ya?”
“Well, yes, but”—Oh. My. God.—“I don’t have any instruments, any supplies.” I gestured around the room. “Nothing’s sterile. Besides, it’s Norway. No worries on the cost. Let’s just take him to the hospital.”
Michael shook his head. “He stays on the boat.” His eyes turned cold. “And you’re going to fix him up.” It wasn’t a request.
“All right. All right,” I said, stalling, trying to act like that was a perfectly normal demand. “Well, do you have a first-aid kit on board?”
Michael reached for a box and shoved it at me. “Here.”
My mom’s the doctor. Not me. This was a serious wound. And, well, I hate blood a
nd guts and bodily fluids. Sure, I had field triage training. But that was ketchup. This was real…blood.
Why me? I could get a desk job. Shuffle papers. Yeah, that’d be good. I could be happy.
I set the box down and rummaged through the kit. Ray needed stitches, that was clear. But I probably needed to stop the bleeding to be able to stitch him up. And what about infection? Wait a minute. Did I care if Ray got an infection? I suppose if I was a real doctor and not a quack. Ha, ha. Oh my god, I’m losing it.
No, you can do this. Straight face.
One thing about doctors: in a crisis, they take charge. My mom always did. To Michael I said, “Get something to prop up his legs. I want the wound higher than his heart.” That’s what my mom would say.
Michael didn’t question. He just did as I said, grabbing a blanket and pillow from Bjørn’s cubby.
“I’m also going to need water to flush the wound. Preferably pressurized. Squirt bottle, hose. Something.”
He nodded and pushed through the door.
“You might have a risk of infection,” I said to Ray. “Depends on what you were cut with. Do you want to tell me how this happened?”
“Just stitch it up,” he grumbled.
Stitches. I had no idea how to do medical stitches. Bitches! When I was young, and my mom was going through one of her phases, she tried to teach me how to needlepoint, but I didn’t have the patience, nor the desire. All my stitches were misaligned and sloppy. Rip it out and do it right, she’d harp. I could hear her voice now, nice, tight stitches, pay attention. Take pride in your work. Egads. It was a damn pillow for the cat. I knew he couldn’t care less about perfect stitches.
I pushed her out of my head. Triage—that’s what this was. Backcountry first-aid. “Good old duct tape will do the trick,” I said. “Got any?”
He shook his head. “How do I know?”
Michael came through the door with more pillows and a water bottle. “This do?”
“Yep. Got any duct tape?”
He stopped short. “What?”
“You know, duct tape? Gray, comes on a roll.”
“I know what duct tape is. What do you want that for?”
“Well, he needs stitches, and like I said, I don’t have the proper supplies. Duct tape is actually a strong, secure option.” Man, I’m blowing some serious smoke.
“Okay. I’ll find some,” he said and pushed back out the door again.
I propped Ray’s ass up with the pillows, then piled a handful of gauze pads on the wound and had him hold them. I was tempted to snap a quick picture with my cell phone to text to the guys back at Headquarters. They were never going to believe this.
Michael returned with a roll of duct tape in hand.
“Start ripping it off in lengths, about five or six inches. Then I want you to cut them into tiny strips.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Yes, ma’am? Pshaw!
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to wash out the wound, then dry it and contain the bleeding. I want those strips ready so I can get them applied quickly.” If I don’t throw up.
Michael went to work. I put the hand to Ray’s forehead, faking like I was taking his temperature. Then everything was ready. I drew in a breath.
Here goes nothing.
I removed the bloodied gauze. Bloody gunk stuck to his ass and oozed. I coughed and a little throw-up lodged in the back of my throat. I squeezed the water bottle, flushing the wound, trying not to actually look at it, then tamped it dry with another gob of clean gauze. I pushed a splurt of triple-biotic ointment onto it, then holding his skin tight with one hand—oh, for the love of God!—I placed strips of duct tape crosswise, all along the gash. Then I ripped off a big piece of tape, and laid it down across the strips. “There, that ought to do the trick,” I said, my doctor face on. “Keep it clean, try not to rip it open again, and”—I handed the tube of ointment to Michael—“put this on it every day.”
His eyes traveled from me to his father’s bloody, duct-taped ass cheek. “I don’t think so.”
“He can do it then,” I said, holding back a smirk.
Michael nodded. “That it?”
“Unless you’ve changed your mind and would like to go to the hospital.”
He shook his head. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” I stood there for a moment, wondering what I could do to convince him to let me go with them. “Okay, then. Take care.” I headed for the door.
Michael called after me. “Maybe you should come with us, you know, in case he needs you again.”
“You mean, on the boat? Out to sea?”
Ray shook his head as if reluctant. “Yeah, on the boat,” he grumbled.
You bet your bloody ass! “Are you sure? I don’t want to be in the way and—”
“Go get your bag,” Ray said, as though resigned to it. “We leave before daybreak.”
Michael winked at me.
“Yes, sir.”
Dalton was nodding but he didn’t look happy. He was tense, his jaw tight.
“What?” I said. “It’s going to work. I told you. Michael likes me.”
“I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.” His voice sounded like he’d just swallowed a dry piece of meat.
“What are you saying?”
“Just that this guy is going to have—” he clenched and unclenched his jaw “—expectations.”
“Actually, he’s pretty sweet,” I said. “Besides, I can handle myself.” I was getting irritated and I wasn’t sure why. I headed for my bunk to grab my bag.
Dalton followed me. “Like you did with that Noah guy in Costa Rica?”
I spun around to face him. “That was different and you know it.”
“Yeah, well, fine, but with this guy, what are you gonna do?”
“What am I gonna do about what?”
He stared at me, stone-faced.
“I’ll handle it.” Somehow.
He was blocking the door. “Yeah, but what if—”
“Dalton!” I shoved him in the stomach. “You’re really starting to piss me off.”
“All I’m sayin’ is you don’t have to do this. We’re not even supposed to be here. We could head home right now. Get a new assignment.”
“What happened to I got all beat up for you, don’t blow it?”
He blinked one eye. The swollen one. “Something’s not right. It was too easy. We should take a step back. There’ll be another shot at him. We should go back to Headquarters and—”
“Like hell. I’m not leaving. Not while that man is out capturing killer whales. Not if there’s anything I can do about it.”
“But these aren’t cub scouts we’re talking about, Poppy,” he said, failing to contain his mounting frustration. “What are you going to do once you’re on board anyway? How will you possibly get the video we need without putting your life at risk? Have you really thought this through?”
“Have I thought—” I looked Dalton up and down, my molars clenched together so hard I thought they might crack. He was looking back at me with those eyes. Neither of us moved, stuck in this emotional standoff.
Finally, into the silence, his voice shaky, he said, “You could get hurt. Or worse. You can’t just expect me to—” He released the pent up air from his lungs and closed his eyes.
All my anger fluttered out of me like air from a balloon. “You’re worried about me.”
“Poppy, you are so—” He looked away.
“Admit it. It’s because you don’t trust me.”
He crossed his arms, which made his biceps look huge. “You’re a trained agent. Like you said, you can take care of yourself. But you’re my partner and partners are supposed to work together, not—” He covered his face with both hands, then ran his fingers through his hair, and looked right at me with exasperation. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be your partner?”
“Well, I…”
His anger was gone. He seemed defeated, exhaust
ed.
“Poppy. You’re smart, you’re clever, you’re…more than capable of handling yourself. But…” He looked away, thinking, then his eyes came back to mine. “My god, you’re this red-headed whirlwind. It’s like you’re on this mission to save the world. By tomorrow. And nothing better get in your way. Nothing and no one. Including me.” He shook his head. “It’s like you think I’m the enemy here, the one who’s blocking your way. You want to do everything on your terms, your way. But there’s a reason we have procedures, a reason we plan, and strategize, and, and,” he threw his hands up, “and not fly by the seat of our pants. It puts everyone in danger.”
Suddenly, the extent of my own myopia astonished me. He was right. I hadn’t stopped to think. I hadn’t considered for a moment what position I’d put him in, whether he was willing to risk what I was.
“You might be willing to die for these animals, but I’m not. Not like this. I care about them, sure. I care a lot. But what you’re doing, it’s reckless.”
“I’m—”
“Now, listen to me.” He paused, as though gathering courage before going on. “I know there’s nothing I could say to change your mind. You can’t say I haven’t tried.” He gave me a half grin. “I’m your partner and I’m going to back you up, but—”
“Oh, Dalton.” I wrapped my arms around him, pinning his arms against his chest, and smacked him with a kiss on the cheek. He tried to untangle his arms and hug me back, but I quickly pulled away. What had I been thinking? I suddenly felt the need to press the wrinkles from my shirt.
“But,” he said, “you need to listen to me right now. Once you’re on that boat, you keep your head down. Just stick to your story. Only take the chance to place the camera if you’re absolutely sure you won’t get caught.” He made sure I was looking at him. “Do you hear me? Absolutely sure. Then you keep your cover until you’re off that boat. Do you understand? Don’t do anything, and I mean anything, that will make him suspicious. Promise me.”
“Helll-oooooo!” came a voice from the dock.
Dalton sighed, then turned and strode up the ladder. After a moment, he poked his head back down. “It’s April.” He said her name in a tone of familiarity.
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 30