“April? As in Dr. Parker, April?” She was on board and heading down the ladder before it sunk in. “What are you doing here?”
She smiled with genuine surprise. “Didn’t Dalton tell you?”
He was lugging her bag in with a sheepish grin on his face. “Poppy just got back,” he said to her. “Didn’t have a chance yet.”
Was that her suitcase?
“Oh? Well,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and straightening to her full height. Her pants were pressed to a crisp perfection, her blouse tucked in at her tiny waist. How does she look like she just stepped from her dressing room? “After you left Bergen, I decided to come to our research station up here. When you called, well, Dalton and I had a nice chat.” She smiled at him and he grinned back like a schoolboy. Oh geez. “You said you were getting on the Forseti, soooo, I thought maybe he could use my help.”
“Well, I’m sure Special Agent Dalton is—”
“I told her that’d be great,” said Dalton and set down her bag. He leaned on the ladder, his hand on his hip, looking so damn handsome, even with a swollen lip and black eye. “I could use an extra hand on board.”
She nodded as if that settled it. “So it’s worked out perfectly.”
Yeah. Perfectly. Except Dalton could damn well manage this boat on his own. Hadn’t he lectured me about involving civilians? And the way he was staring at her I thought he might need a bib.
“I’m not sure—”
“We’ll be right behind you,” he said. “The moment he makes contact with a killer whale, we’ll have the video rolling, then I’ll call the authorities and coordinate the bust.”
“This is all very exciting,” April said, practically in a giggle. “To be part of a Special Operation and help bring this man to justice.”
Dalton blushed, all humble-like, as if she were some kind of Special Ops groupie.
“Well,” she said, clasping her hands together. “I suppose I should get moved in. But if you don’t mind, I’m quite thirsty.”
“Oh, my gosh. Where are my manners?” said Dalton, heading for the icebox.
Oh my gosh? Seriously?
“What can I get you? Tea, coffee? We have wine.”
“Water’s fine, thank you.” She stiffened slightly, her eyes flicking back and forth from him to me.
She must have thought I’d be gone already and they could play house.
He poured her a glass from a gallon jug, then handed it to her, gazing at her all google-eyed.
Geez. I half expected some violin music to start playing. I gotta get out of here. I grabbed my bag and headed for the ladder. “Okay, then. Gotta go.”
“You be careful,” he said to me.
I nodded. Yeah, yeah, you’re the one who—“Wait. I still need the information about how to care for the whale. I don’t want one hurt while they are trying to get it on board.”
“Right,” said Dr. Parker. She set down her purse, took from it a pamphlet on killer whales, and spread it open on the table. “Here,” she said, pointing to a drawing of an orca, her finger on the underbelly. “Just like us, the belly is soft and vulnerable. You’ll want to make sure the entire belly is supported by a sling if you try to lift one out of the water.” She turned to me, her eyes on fire. “Whatever you do, don’t let him raise one by the fluke.”
“Okay, but I assume he knows that much. What about keeping the whale cool enough? And how do we keep it from flailing around on deck?”
She winced. “He’s likely to bring them up already wrapped in a full body net. Once out of the water, you’ll want to keep a close eye to make sure the body temperature doesn’t go up. It averages the same as ours, about ninety-eight degrees.”
“I doubt they’ll have a thermometer.”
“Just…make sure to constantly bathe the whale in sea water, particularly the flippers, dorsal fin, and fluke, the areas that are thin and highly vascularized.”
“Vascularized? What does that mean?”
“Where the blood vessels are—”
“You know, forget it,” I said. “It won’t come to that.” I had the tiny Go-pro mini remote camera stashed in my bag. The moment I had the footage we needed, I’d give Ray an ultimatum, tell him that if he put the whale back into the water, I’d put in a good word with the judge. There was no way I was going to let him keep a whale.
Dalton’s eyebrows twitched with skepticism.
I grabbed my bag. “I need to get going.” I could tell Dalton was about to pepper me with questions.
“Good luck,” April said.
“Hold on,” Dalton said.
Dammit.
“What did you mean, it won’t come to that?”
I had to throw him a bone. “I mean, it won’t come to, you know, he’s not going to quiz me on big words that he doesn’t even know. I got the concept. That’s what’s important.”
His eyebrows kept twitching.
“What?” I said, all innocent.
He spun around, a full three-sixty, his hands on the top of his head. “Poppy!”
“I’m outta here,” I said and shot up the ladder.
Dalton followed me. He grabbed ahold of my arm, holding me back, controlling his breathing, trying not to explode. “Tell me you heard everything I said.”
“I promised, didn’t I?”
“Knowing you, you had your fingers crossed behind your back.”
We stood in the cockpit in the dark for too long, staring at each other.
Finally, he muttered, “I know you’re not going to—” He puffed out a lung full of air. “Just remember what I said. You know, about Michael. Be careful.”
“Me? What about you?”
“What about me?”
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “You were laying it on a bit thick down there, don’t you think?”
He gave me a look of confusion.
“Don’t act all innocent. You didn’t have to flirt with her. She’s already helping us.”
“Just doing my job. Just like you.”
“Aren’t you the one who lectured me about involving civilians? What happened to that?”
“She’s not a civilian. She’s an expert informant.” He grinned with satisfaction. “Do I need to remind you: we need her for your whole plan to work.”
I averted my eyes, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s just not nice. To lead her on.”
“You’re the one who called her.”
“Yeah, but—” I clamped my mouth shut. “Forget it.”
“Poppy,” he whispered, his gaze intense. “Promise me.”
He looked so serious.
“Oh crap,” he said, his eyes drawn over my shoulder.
I spun around. The Forseti was backing out of its berth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I sprinted down the dock, waving my arms like a damn fool, my pack slung over one shoulder. If the boat came close enough to the dock, I was prepared to launch like some crazy Hollywood stuntman.
The Forseti turned, the engine puttering along, and eased up to the fuel dock. I slowed to catch my breath. They were just fueling up tonight, before the dock staff left for the evening.
As the lines were tossed to the dockhands, I waved. Michael waved back. “I thought you were leaving without me,” I said, trying to look amused rather than distraught. “Request permission to come aboard, sir.”
He stepped to the side and held out his hand to help me.
Ray came pounding down the stairs from the wheelhouse, shouting orders, pointing with a cigarette clamped between two fingers. When he got to the deck, he came to a halt and eyed me up and down.
“Hello, Captain,” I said. “You really should be careful walking around with—”
“Never mind that,” he grumbled in my face. His breath smelled like an ashtray. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and snorked in a nose full of snot.
I suppressed a gag. Disgusting. I straightened up. “Ship’s doctor, reporting for duty, sir.”
“Just stay the hell out of the way.”
I nodded, trying to look sheepish.
“On deck, you do what you’re told.”
“Yessir.” A-hole. What I really wanted to do was wrap a fishline around his neck.
His head slowly bobbed, then he took a long drag on his cigarette, his Neanderthal eyes on me. Then when he exhaled a stream of white smoke, I had the sense he wouldn’t give me another thought. Good.
Michael watched him walk away, waiting for him to get out of earshot, then said, “Don’t mind him. He’ll come around.” He kissed me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” I said.
I glanced around. I wanted to determine as quickly as possible where the best place to stash the remote cam might be so I could plan a midnight walk. “Do I get the grand tour of the boat?”
“Sure,” he said with a shrug, as though the thought of a tour of the fishing vessel was amusing. “Drop your bag. We’ll start up here.” He pointed toward the bow. “Fore—” then pointed toward the back “—and aft. That’s the direction on a boat,”—he winked—“ in case you’re told to move or something. Starboard is the right side, that is, if you’re facing forward. Port is left.” He gestured up the stairs. “That’s the pilothouse. You won’t be allowed up there.” He pointed to the tall pole jutting from the top of the pilothouse like a mast with a bucket-like thing near the top. “That’s the crow’s nest. They climb up in there to watch for whales.”
“Whales?” I said.
“Yeah,” he hesitated. “They show us where the fish are.”
“Oh.” I nodded. That made sense, if he was really fishing anyway.
He walked aft. I followed. Behind the crow’s nest, a large crane-like arm overhung the deck. The end of the fishing nets were attached to a cable that ran to it. “That’s the derrick,” he said. “We use it to haul in the nets.”
And to haul an orca out of the sea, I bet. I looked around for a harness like Dr. Parker had described, but saw nothing.
He gestured toward a large rectangular tub. “That’s the holding tank for fish.” It was a tank, all right, but certainly not large enough to hold a killer whale.
He glanced around. “That’s pretty much it. Ha, ha. The grand tour.”
I smiled. “How do you get up in that crow’s nest? It looks like fun.”
He glanced up at it like it had never occurred to him to wonder. “There are rungs on the pole, I think.”
If I could sneak up there, it would be an ideal place to rig the remote camera for a full, wide-angle view of the entire deck.
“Let’s head in,” he said and flung open the door.
I picked up my bag. He didn’t notice. So much for being a gentleman.
Inside to the right was the galley, about six feet by three feet with a tiny oven and an even tinier refrigerator. To the left, a cracked laminate table sat about eight, I’d say, if they crammed in along the bench. It could have been any fishing boat on the seas for the lack of personal touches, save for an old plastic parrot that hung on a ring in the corner and an ashtray overflowing with crumpled cigarette butts wedged behind the bench and the windowsill.
To the right of the galley was a head, the door labeled with a brass plaque. Beside that, a ladder led down into the hull of the ship. “Bunks are down here.” He spun around and slipped down the ladder.
I handed my bag down to him, then followed.
The berth smelled like dirty socks and wet, rubber boots. Bunks lined the hull, two on either side. The ones on top had a porthole looking out. “Bjørn sleeps in the pilothouse,” Michael said. “So there’s an extra bunk.”
Thank goodness for cramped spaces. It’d be a lot easier to fend him off with Dylan and his father two feet away. I plopped my bag onto the empty bunk.
“Are we headed out yet this evening then?”
“No, we’ll stay tied off here for the night and leave early.”
“Shall we head back to the pub? Get a beer?”
“Can’t.” He shook his head. “My dad wants us all on board for a meeting in the galley in thirty minutes.”
I tried to look disappointed but my mind went into overdrive. What would Ray tell the crew? What would he tell me now that I was on board? What did the others know?
Michael stared at me, expectant.
Then it hit me. We had thirty minutes. Alone in the bunk room. Great. I eased into his arms and let him kiss me. Then I pulled away. “Have I thanked you yet? I mean, this really means a lot to me.” I snickered. “He won’t have any idea where I’ve gone.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, pulling me against him, his hands sliding down my back to my butt.
“I’m just saying.” I grinned. I had to appeal to his gentlemanly side. And fast. “You did turn out to be my white knight.”
“Uh-huh,” he muttered, his lips on me again.
I pulled away again. “I just—”
He shoved me down on the bunk and ran his hand up my thigh. “Enough talk.”
Crap. “My, you’re in a hurry,” I said, trying to sound flattered. “What’s the rush?”
The door to the galley above us slammed and someone was clomping down the ladder toward us.
“Dammit. It’s Dylan,” Michael muttered.
Dylan came to a halt at the bottom rung, his lips pursed into a little O. His eyes flitted from me to Michael then back. “Sorry,” he managed and pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger.
Thank you, Dylan. “Maybe we should make some coffee,” I suggested.
Michael glared at me. “Coffee? Right now?”
I gave him a shy, now-I’m-all-uncomfortable shrug.
His face went blank and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
I gestured toward the galley above. “For the meeting.”
He looked at Dylan with suspicion, as though debating whether he’d purposefully interrupted us. Finally, Michael shrugged and headed for the ladder without looking back.
The old helmsman, Bjørn, stared into his coffee cup, about as interested in Ray’s talk as I imagined he would be in the detailed description of a colonoscopy. Dylan sat at attention. Nice young chap.
Ray sat cock-eyed on the bench, keeping his weight off his wounded ass cheek. He rolled an unlit cigarette between his yellowed fingers as he spoke. “We’ll set out at oh-four-hundred on a south-southeast course, get a good distance covered before daybreak.” He lit the cigarette, then said through the smoke as he shook out the match, “I’ve gotten word the fishing should be good around here”—he ran his fingers along a chart, laying out the path we’d be traveling—“maybe day after tomorrow. I want to get as far south as we can.”
Yep, right where Dr. Parker said the K-pod would be.
Michael added, “Fuel is topped off. Supplies on board. We’re good to go.”
Ray nodded in acknowledgment. “Bjørn, you can sleep in. Dylan and I will take the first shift.”
Dylan’s eyebrows shot up with surprise. Obviously, this was an uncommon occurrence. “But I’m—”
Ray glared at Dylan, who snapped his mouth shut. “Once we’re out of the harbor and have a course set, you can get to work on breakfast.”
“Roi, sir,” Dylan said, forcing his cheer.
“Bjørn and Michael will take the evening shift. We’re not stopping until we find what we’re looking for.”
“And what about me, sir?” I asked.
“What about you?” he said as he ground out the stub of his cigarette without even a glance my way.
“How can I help?”
He reached for another cigarette. “Stay out of the way.”
I looked to Michael, who averted his eyes.
Ray said. “When we launch the nets, I don’t want you out on deck. You stay inside. Got it?”
“Oh?” I said. Crap. “I’m sure I can lend a hand. I’m stronger than I look.”
“It’s for your own safety,” Michael said with a dismissive shrug. “Deep water fishing is
dangerous work.”
I swear I saw Bjørn hide a harrumph. I wasn’t sure if it was on account of the danger of fishing or because he knew there’d be no fishing. He was hard to read.
Ray sat back, a smug grin on his face. “All goes as planned, and Christmas’ll come early this year, boys.”
I smiled—a big, fat naive smile. We’ll see about that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
If Bjørn slept in the wheelhouse, it would be difficult to get up and into the crow’s nest without him hearing me. I needed an excuse. Preferably for a time when no one would be watching and see me mount the camera. But what excuse and when?
I lay in the bunk listening to Ray snore. Every exhalation gave me visions of the roof peeling back like the lid of a sardine can, then rolling back up when he inhaled. How can a man breathe like that, anyway?
Michael was asleep in the bunk opposite his, oblivious.
Dylan, in the bunk next to me, slept with his legs pulled up to his chest, curled up into a ball, blankets swirled into a nest. Like a baby hedgehog. I grinned. I had no clue how to take the temperature of a hedgehog. Good thing Michael hadn’t asked.
I had no idea how to take the temperature of an orca either. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t going to let it get that far. I needed to allow Ray to do what he was going to do, to get one in the sling if I had to, but there was no way he was getting one on board and keeping it. Not if I could help it.
Sure, Dalton might get close enough in the Sea Mist to get the video evidence we needed for a court trial months from now, assuming the Norwegian authorities would do their part and arrest him, at some point, but what if they didn’t? What would happen to the whale? I had to stop him myself. I had to find a way to get the video and sabotage the whole damn operation.
I had to find it fast.
There was no reason I could think of to be in the crow’s nest tonight. It was too risky. Sleep was what I needed. Then tomorrow, I’d figure out what to do.
The engines rumbled to life and I sat up in my bunk. I hadn’t heard Ray leave the cabin. Damn. What the hell kind of agent was I?
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 31