Instinctively Lowell thrust out his arm to shield her. The motor boat swerved sharply to the right, its wake showering them with icy spray as it disappeared behind a narrow projection of land.
His face blanched. “Fools!” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Don't they know that a ship under sail always has the right-of-way?”
“That was a close one,” she agreed, wiping the spray from her cheeks and forehead with the back of her hand. She reigned in her racing thoughts. For a second she was sure she'd caught a glimpse of Lawrence at the driver's seat. Clinton had given him the entire holiday weekend off. Hadn't she overheard Lawrence telling her uncle he was a novice at boating? Or had his near miss with Lowell's sailboat been somehow intentional?
A chill coursed through her as the familiar warning again echoed. Lowell's a cop. He lives with constant danger. What if someone was out--not to harm Clinton nor herself--but Lowell?
Swallowing the fear building in her throat, she forced aside the thought and concentrated on the scenery before her. They were drifting effortlessly now, past one cluster of islands after another. It seemed they were sailing so closely she could reach out and touch them.
As they approached Sturgis Island, a small, remotely populated stretch of land, a rocky beach came into view. A weathered dock, an old warehouse and several ram shackled houseboats soon appeared out of the haze that still clung to the shoreline.
“That used to be an old fish processing plant,” Vanessa said, pointing towards the dock. “I think it's called Sea-farer's Cove. Several years ago after my parents added on the restaurant to the lodge, they worked out an agreement with the owners--Hank and Mary Anne Whitcomb--to purchase fresh seafood.”
“I remember,” Lowell said. “Hank and Mary Anne had a thriving operation. I'm not sure why their business went belly-up. Now that entire shoreline's nothing but a ghost town.”
Unexpectedly an image of her father intruded on her thoughts and once again, guilt threatened to overcome her. I should be looking for him right now--not sailing off to Iffleman Island, she chided herself.
Yet tomorrow she'd have her chance for atonement. Tomorrow would make the difference. If the Fish and Wildlife agent knew something about her father, she would be right there to ask her own questions--and not rely solely on Lowell.
They sailed on, island after island. At last they approached the west shore of Iffleman Island and set anchor in a quiet cove nestled between two jutting promontories. A sparsely wooded tract stretched up behind the rocky beach, and through a yawning gap in the forest, Vanessa spotted the main lodge of the old Boy Scout camp, surrounded by a ring of cabins.
“I hear the state has purchased the property with plans of turning it into a public campgrounds,” Lowell commented, following her gaze. “And on the other side of the island, there's more new resorts and B&Bs than you could shake a stick at.”
“I suppose change is good,” she acknowledged, though not fully convinced. “It seems ages since my folks brought you and Andy here for the Eagle Scout weekend camp-out. Of course, I got to ride along too.”
“You mean the time you nearly trashed my sleeping bag by emptying three cans of shaving cream inside?” One corner of his mouth turned up and his eyes sparkled mischievously, holding hers.
“You probably had it coming for one reason or another.”
He chuckled. “Yep, I suppose so.” He looked at his watch. “Hungry?”
“I'm ravenous.”
“Good! Then let's go inside.”
He opened the door that led into the cabin, gestured towards the booth in the galley and said, “Sit down. And close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Don't ask questions. Just do it.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, cupping them with her hands. From across the galley, she could hear him opening a door--probably the refrigerator--and whistling an off-key tune. Then rustling. And more rustling. Next the door slammed shut, and a cupboard snapped open. Then came the sound of him popping a bottle cap.
“Okay, open!”
As she did, her hands flew to her mouth in amazement. There right before her was an opened picnic wicker basket, lined in a red and white checkered cloth. It was brimming with pocket bread sandwiches, succulent chunks of smoked salmon, an assortment of cheese and crackers, a tantalizing array of chilled tropical fruits, completed by petite fours decorated in a variety of pastel icings.
“I don't believe this! You got all this together in only one hour?” She blinked in amazement as he handed her a chilled long-stemmed glass filled with sparkling white wine.
“No, not exactly one hour,” he answered, sending her a lop-sided grin. “I'm very organized. I plan well ahead.”
Deep inside new feelings stirred within her. It was apparent he'd gone to a great deal of effort putting together this feast. “This is wonderful, Lowell,” she said, her voice softening. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome.” An awkward silence hung between them. “Actually, I made good use of that new little deli in town,” he finally went on, his tone turning business-like. “I doubt you've even had a chance to stop there since you've been back. But for now...what are we waiting for? Dig in!”
As they sat at the table eating, sunshine slanted through the porthole, catching a dust mote. The boat rocked gently. Somewhere off in the distance, the resonant blare of a tug boat horn wafted across the water. Between bites of pocket bread and sips of wine, they passed the next hour in quiet conversation, pausing to laugh at more shared remembrances or an occasional comment about Ruby and Clinton's endearing antics.
“When do you think their wedding will be?” Lowell asked, wiping his chin with an oversized paper napkin. “Or will they simply spare everyone the fuss by running off to elope?” He wadded up the napkin, tossed it alongside his empty plate and clasped his hands behind his neck.
“Whoa,” Vanessa said. “Don't be so presumptuous.” She'd nearly forgotten how direct Lowell could sometimes be. “I'm sure they'll need more time before either of them speaks of marriage,” she added cautiously. “At least, I know my uncle will. He still thinks he's a confirmed bachelor...even when he does admit his interest in Ruby.”
After rinsing their dishes together in the tiny sink in the galley, they untied the dingy and rowed out to the beach. Then dragging the dingy onto the shore, they kicked off their shoes and started walking arm-in-arm. Farther out, white-tipped waves caught glimmers of sunlight. The gentle roar of the incoming tide mingled with the rhythm of their foot fall. Vanessa sighed. Peace. Peace everywhere. Yes, perhaps Lowell was right. She'd needed this reprieve. Just for a few hours.
“Nessie...” The sound of his voice sliced through her musing.
“Yes, Lowell?”
He stopped walking and turned to her. “Let's build a sandcastle again.”
“What?” His words caught her off-guard, and she couldn't help giving a quick laugh. Was this Lowell talking? A tough, jaded cop suggesting they play in the sand?
“I know it may sound ludicrous, but it could be kind of fun,” he went on. “The sand's moist enough and there are still several hours before high tide.”
Something inside prodded her. Why not? Why not roll back the years and pretend they were kids again? Just like they'd been the last time they'd walked this beach--a happier time when Mom and Andy had been well and alive.
“All right. But what shall we use for sculpting tools? We didn't exactly come prepared for this, you know.”
“There are always clam shells to use as scoopers. And look, I think I see an old discarded bucket up behind that log. It'll work perfect for the turrets.”
For the remainder of the afternoon, they lost all track of time. Talking and laughing, they mounded and molded and carved away at the cool, damp sand. By sunset they'd finished. Their sand castle stood broad and tall with its carefully crafted peaks and turrets and a wide encompassing mote.
In minutes the sea edged closer, first filling the mote, then claiming their ca
stle as well. They watched transfixed, silhouetted against the mauve streaked sky, once again arm-in-arm.
Vanessa blinked back a tear. This was what life was all about, wasn't it? The rhythm of nature, playing out a ritual as old as time itself. Maybe good-byes didn't have to remain painful--at least, not forever. Perhaps there could be beauty and meaning to it all, no matter how bittersweet the parting.
She looked up at Lowell, her heart overflowing with love. Love not only for those in her life to whom she'd bidden good-bye, but a new love as well. Love for this boy-turned-man standing silently beside her.
And as he pulled her closer, his lips meeting hers in an urgent kiss, her heart could no longer close the door.
* * *
“Dr. Paris! Where were you yesterday? I tried and tried to reach you!” Carmen's desperate voice came through on the other end of the office phone.
A bolt of fear shot through Vanessa. “What's wrong?” she asked. “Why didn't you leave a message with Ruby? I would've phoned you back the minute I got word!”
“I...I...oh, I don't know. I don't know anything right now. I just need to talk to you.”
“Listen, Carmen.” Vanessa struggled to keep her voice calm. “Hang up and let me call you. I'll pick up the long distance charges.”
“No, no! I...I don't care about the money.” It was clear now that the girl was sobbing, nearly hysterical. “P...please. When are you coming back?”
“Uh...well. Soon. In a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks! But...but I need you right now. I'll absolutely d...die if I have to wait that long!” Carmen's voice rose to a reedy pitch. “Everything's wrong! I'm bummed out! I don't know how I can go on. Oh, Dr. Paris...it's simply awful. Much too awful to talk about over the phone.”
Vanessa's heart sank. What was she going to do? All morning, as she'd prepared to leave with Lowell for the mainland, her anticipation was sky rocketing. A thousand times over, she'd pictured herself, sitting next to him while the wildlife agent informed them he had hopeful news. But Carmen was impulsive--perhaps even suicidal. Vanessa couldn't afford to put her off. No, not even for an extra hour.
She inhaled slowly before answering. “All right, Carmen. You hang tight.”
“You mean you'll come? You'll come right away?”
“Yes. I...I was planning a quick trip to Seattle this morning anyway. I should be there no later than nine. Meet me at the community resource counseling center on campus.”
“A...all right, Dr. Paris. But just hurry. Please!”
“I will. I promise. See you at nine.”
Less than twenty minutes later, Vanessa and Lowell were on their way. Now as they stood on the white washed deck of the ferry, Vanessa's mind churned.
Carmen. She couldn't have called at a worse time. But no one else on the counseling staff had managed to establish the rapport with Carmen that Vanessa had. She simply couldn't stand by and do nothing.
As Lowell pulled her close, they peered across the Sound. The shoreline of Tawanya Island was still encased in the shroud of cool mist that had formed earlier as the sun warmed the tide-washed beach. In no time, the boat sounded its horn. The dock, small shops, and beach grew smaller, then inched out of sight.
“Thinking about Carmen?” he murmured.
“Uh-huh.” On the way to the ferry landing, she'd told Lowell about the teenager's desperate call. “The poor girl's got a heap of problems,” Vanessa reiterated with a sigh.
“Hmm, too bad.”
“It's tragic, really. And unfortunately, Carmen's not alone. There are far too many kids standing in her shoes.” As she leaned into him, she was acutely aware of his corded chest muscles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Swallowing hard, she tried to ignore the sweep of emotions washing over her. If he sensed how much she loved him, he might only retreat into himself further.
“Yes, good kids with bad problems,” he said. “I see it every day myself. Sometimes in its rawest form.”
She nodded wordlessly. Like an old refrain, the reminder marched through her mind. She could go about her work, shielded within the brick and ivy ambience of the sprawling university, plus the comfortable office where she conducted her counseling sessions. But Lowell's job cut to the very core of perhaps humanity's darkest side--the ghettos, the gangs, the inner city violence. Even death.
Maybe she should regard Carmen's unexpected call as a timely reminder to get her sights back on track and forget all about him. Until yesterday, her life had no room for the entanglements of love, but her romantic interlude with him on Iffleman Island had somehow changed that.
Yes, there was no denying, she wanted him for all time. Yet what good was a one-sided romance? And what kind of a future could she share with a man who continued to allow iron walls of silence to stand between them?
About an hour later, after arriving at the Fish and Wildlife headquarters, they went their separate ways. Lowell had insisted that Vanessa take his pickup to the university, a short distance away, while he met with the agent. “No point in hassling with bus connections when my truck’s available,” he’d told her, and gratefully she accepted.
At the counseling center, she was relieved to find Carmen sitting on a bench next to the courtyard that fronted the building. Leading the girl inside, unlocking the door to her office and offering her a chair, she listened attentively while Carmen cried and talked, then cried some more.
“So you see, Dr. Paris, it all boils down to this,” she said, swiping at a tear with the sleeve of her t-shirt. “I...I finally gave Joey, my boyfriend, an ultimatum. Either he quit taking drugs once and for all...and...and agree to get help, or we were through.”
“Good for you, Carmen. So what was his answer?”
“He...he said he wasn't sure what was more important in his life. His drug habit...or me.”
After nearly another hour, Carmen finally admitted she was beginning to feel braver about her decision, thanking Vanessa for coming. “Maybe--regardless of whether Joey and I stay together or not--,” she added, “I'll at least manage to talk him into joining our support group when you get back for good. Oh, please, Dr. Paris. Hurry back. You'll never know how much me and the kids miss you.”
At the girl's words, Vanessa bit her lip. Her work was waiting for her--and Carmen was living testimony to that. But how could she return once again if she were still living in this dreadful limbo? Searching and waiting and not knowing. Squaring her shoulders, she attempted a smile. “I will, Carmen. I will be back soon.”
Shortly before noon, as she approached of the Fish and Wildlife headquarters, she spied Lowell pacing outside the front entrance. Every nerve in her body tensed as she swung into a parking space and braced herself for what he might say.
“How'd it go?” they exclaimed in unison after he'd climbed into the passenger side of the pickup. Their ensuing laughter eased the tension that was growing more palpable with each passing moment.
Still parked, allowing the engine to idle, she was the first to speak next. “All right. You first.” She shifted beneath his gaze, her heart racing like a herd of thundering elephants.
“The agent I spoke with is Ralph Morrison.” Lowell's tone was guarded. “Good thing the sheriff put me onto him, because I think he's the right man to help us.”
“Oh?”
“That's right. Morrison told me there's been illegal killing and trafficking of wildlife in the islands these past several months.”
“What kind of killing?”
“Sea otters. Apparently the poachers are catching them farther out in the ocean, near Neah Bay, them hauling them back to the islands and stashing the carcasses in some unknown place. Morrison's been working undercover, trying to get to the bottom of it.”
“But...but I don't understand,” Vanessa stammered. “What does this have to do with my father?” She continued to allow the motor to idle, her hands fixed stiffly on the steering wheel while she gave no thought to driving away.
Morrison has evidence
that Eldon may have gotten mixed up in this...but he couldn't tell me everything. Part of what he knows is protected information.”
No! That's ludicrous!” Her face flamed with disbelief and indignation. “Dad would never get involved in anything illegal--especially destroying the wildlife he loves!”
“It doesn't make sense to me either, Nessie. But I respect Morrison's input. Normally, I hear, he doesn't miss a beat. Right now he's organizing a 50-man task force to get to the bottom of this. They're hoping to pull off a bust as soon as possible.”
“So what now?” she asked, nearly choking on her words. “Is there any more either of us can do?” She squeezed her hands together till her knuckles turned white.
“You must stick close to the lodge--you and Clinton both. As for me, I'm going to get involved in some undercover work myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Morrison says the poachers are posing as fishing guides. I plan to conduct my surveillance by signing up for as many excursions as possible.”
“No, Lowell! Don't! Please!” Vanessa's voice broke as tears blurred her vision. “Wildlife busts can be as lethal as drug busts! I've heard and read all about it. Some agents have been shot, even strangled!”
He tossed her an impatient look, his eyes dark. “Nessie. Listen up. Don't get female on me--not at a time like this.”
“I'm not! Just because I asked you to help me look for Dad doesn't mean I wanted you to put your safety in jeopardy. I never dreamed things would get this complicated.
“That's life.” He lifted one shoulder. “Sometimes life is complicated.”
“But you just said there's a fifty man task force. Let them do it.” She locked her gaze with his. “Why you, Lowell? Why must you get involved too?”
Chapter Eight
In the week that followed, Vanessa moved methodically through each day, her thoughts frozen in terror. Terror for Lowell, who'd refused to listen to her pleas. Terror for her father, who'd been missing for nearly three weeks. Regardless of what Ralph Morrison had said, she adamantly refused to believe Eldon had been linked with the sea otter killings.
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