Dangerous Ground (Fiona Carver)

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Dangerous Ground (Fiona Carver) Page 5

by Rachel Grant


  “Doesn’t look good for a bird sighting this time of night,” Fiona said, clearly reading his reason for scanning the buildings and sky.

  “I knew it was a long shot. Frankly, I just needed some fresh air.”

  “Me too. But I’m curious why you’re anxious?”

  He studied her face, so utterly tempted to tell her so he could get some straight answers, but he’d gotten this far. He wouldn’t blow it now. “No particular reason. Just new employer concerns.”

  “Are you hoping the contract will turn into something more permanent?”

  “Yeah. Benefits would be nice.”

  “At least it gives you a chance to test the water with Pollux.”

  “What do you think of the company?”

  “Oh, no. No way. As a federal employee, my lips are sealed.”

  There was a light in her eyes that surprised him. She’d warmed up to him over dinner.

  He raised his camera and snapped a photo of her without looking through the viewfinder. “What, are you afraid I’m recording this or something?”

  She laughed. “I knew you were Sylvia’s spy from the moment you stepped on the plane.”

  “She’d have to pay me more if she wanted a mole. I’m not getting nearly enough for this job.”

  She crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. “Not my fault. We go with government rates for all professionals.”

  This time he couldn’t resist and raised the viewfinder to his eye. He took a step back and adjusted the focus. She was beautiful in the starlight, all deep blues and grays with a gray sea behind her. Her freckle was lost in the darkness, but tomorrow he’d remedy that and photograph her in daylight with green hills. If he could get her to lose the cap for a few photos, he’d be able to capture her perfect golden-brown hair. In the sun, the reddish hues would glow.

  Once again, she didn’t pose for his camera. Instead, she shook her head. “So that line on the plane . . . it wasn’t really a line? You’re a photographer?”

  “I dabble in photography, yes. I’ve even won a few awards.” That was true.

  “For photographing birds?”

  “And other wildlife.” Best to stick close to the truth.

  “I’ll have to look you up. Do you have a website?”

  Thankfully, Bill Lowell’s website didn’t include his own headshot, and he hadn’t updated it in three years. Even more important, internet service on Adak was spotty, but even better, on Chiksook there would be enough coverage only for sending and receiving emails. “Feel free to google me.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Her smile kicked his heart rate up a notch. It was natural and . . . flirty. He knew that look. He’d seen it dozens of times through the camera lens, watched it come to life when he developed film in the darkroom.

  For this trip, he’d brought only digital cameras, but suddenly he wished he had his favorite film camera. He wanted the surprise of watching one of her many expressions come to life in the darkroom, a mystery revealed.

  There was something about Fiona. She had this calm about her, even though he knew she was anxious about the archaeological site. It was like she had an unshakable center, and it was so appealing.

  He could understand Dylan’s attraction, even felt a tug of it himself, and that never happened with the women Dylan dated. Not even in high school, when they were the Slater twins, athletic and academic rulers of the school. Dylan had dominated on the football field and track, while Dean had been king of the baseball diamond and swimming pool.

  Dylan had been named homecoming king, and Dean had nabbed the prom crown, but it had never been a competition between brothers. Their classmates had simply taken turns in the voting, giving the honors to the sport of the season. And true to form, Dylan had dated one girl his entire senior year, while Dean had enjoyed the freedom of being both popular and single.

  It wasn’t until Dean’s junior year in college that he’d finally had a real relationship that lasted. And Violet was nothing like any of the women Dylan fell for with frightening regularity. But then, there was and would never be anyone like Violet.

  A hand strayed to his chest and rubbed the violet tattoo, as he always did when she came to mind. Violet had given him so much, including the career he had now. A career he loved almost as much as he’d loved her.

  But there was much to love about his line of work. The hunt. The agonizing patience. He even loved the misery of a 110-degree desert heat while waiting for the perfect shot as much as he loved twenty-below in an Alaskan wasteland while waiting for a polar bear and her cubs to make an appearance.

  He loved windy nights on remote Aleutian Islands, strolling in the dark with a beautiful woman while waiting for a bird to make an appearance. He loved taking beautiful women to bed after the exhilaration of an intense shoot.

  In the distance, he heard the soft what . . . what . . . what call of a short-eared owl, and he smiled. He really was living his best life.

  He lowered the camera and searched with unenhanced vision, spotting a small shape on the roof of one of the dilapidated structures as the moon rose behind it. He raised the viewfinder to his eye and zoomed in. Sure enough, it was a short-eared owl.

  They weren’t common for this island, but not unheard of either. He snapped several pictures. These would be keepers, as the moonrise and the crumbling structure combined with the owl’s fixed, knowing gaze gave the image an eerie feel. He could sell these shots. A good price could pay his bail if he ended up getting arrested.

  “What is it?” Fiona asked.

  “Short-eared owl. Third building over. On the roofline.” She didn’t have binoculars, so he offered her his camera. “Want to see?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She stepped beside him, and he draped the sturdy strap of his camera around her neck—no one was allowed to touch this baby without wearing the strap—then pointed the lens toward the round-headed raptor.

  She let out a soft gasp. “Oh! He’s beautiful. I mean, if it’s a he.”

  “It’s hard to tell with short-eared owls. The females are slightly larger than the males and maybe darker. But that’s difficult to gauge in this light and without both present.”

  “Well, it’s beautiful, whatever it is.”

  He looked down at the woman holding his favorite camera, as she gazed with rapture at the tiny bird thirty meters away. The rising moon gave her skin an ethereal glow.

  When was the last time he’d shared this kind of moment with another person? Again, Violet came to mind, and he brushed that thought away. No. He’d never feel that way again. This didn’t compare.

  Usually, in moments like this, he was the one holding the camera. Or the moment of discovery was planned, expected even, as part of the expedition. Tonight was random; that’s why it felt . . . special.

  “Take a few pictures if you want,” he said. “I’ve got more than enough memory cards for the next two weeks.” He bought them in bulk, like they were Costco bags of Halloween candy.

  “I don’t know where to begin. I’ve never used anything more complex than a point-and-shoot.”

  “I’ve already set the shutter speed and adjusted the light meter for these conditions and that depth of field. You’re good to go.” He moved her finger to the shutter release button. “Fire away.”

  She did, and after she took a few, she lowered the camera to look at the screen, which showed the last image taken. “I took that?”

  He smiled at her obvious joy. “You did.”

  “Well, I kind of cheated, but still, it might be the prettiest photo I’ve ever taken.”

  “I’ll email it to you.”

  “I’ll have it mounted and framed and tell everyone who will listen that I was the photographer. I think we need to name him. The owl, I mean.”

  His grin deepened. He liked this side of her. “And what would you name him—or her?”

  “Well, the way the moon is just peeking above the ruins . . . Luna?”

  “We’ll
just have to consider Luna as gender neutral.”

  “We should probably give him a Unangax̂ name. Next chance I get, I’ll find out the Unangam Tunuu word for moon. Until then, his name is Luna.”

  “I like it,” he said. And he did, no pretense. He stood way too close to her but had no desire to retreat. “If you want, I can give you photography lessons when we’re on Chiksook.”

  “Really?” Her face lit with excitement. “That would be amazing. Learning how to use a real camera is one of those things I’ve always wanted to do but have never had time for.”

  “First weather day, you’ll get a lesson.” And he’d enjoy every moment like this one. Standing close. Teaching her . . .

  She chuckled. “Don’t think that means you’ll get out of it. Weather days happen way too often out here.”

  The light in her eyes combined with the soft ripple of her laugh was downright enchanting in the moonlight. “I’m counting on it.” On instinct, he dipped his head down, making a move without thought. This was as natural as breathing, as ingrained as scratching an itch.

  Fiona leaned in, lips ever so slightly parted, but then she dropped back. “Bill, don’t. Don’t ruin this. I don’t do field flings. Ever.”

  All at once, he was zapped back into the moment. His name was Bill. She was Fiona. His brother’s girlfriend.

  And he’d almost kissed her.

  Even worse, she hadn’t said a word about Dylan as her excuse for refusing his advance. She didn’t do field flings. So what did that mean when it came to Dylan? How serious had she been about him?

  FOUR

  He’d been so damn close to kissing her, and she’d almost let him. She didn’t even know how she’d had the brainpower to back away; the pull had been that strong. She’d been a rocket defying gravity. Or at least, that was what she told herself, but deep down she knew it wasn’t gravity-defying strength that had granted her the ability to resist. It had been fear.

  She didn’t know Bill Lowell. He could be a liar. Married. A predator. Or even all three. She didn’t take chances like that. Not anymore. Let Cara take the risks. Fiona didn’t need to live on that edge.

  But still, even though she’d managed to put a stop to Bill’s kiss, that didn’t mean she hadn’t spent the rest of the night imagining his mouth on hers.

  She’d managed to sleep, but only fitfully, as she alternated between dreams of Bill Lowell in the moonlight and the weird questions around Dylan Slater’s abrupt departure.

  But why should one man make her think of the other? Did the attempted kiss make her think of Sylvia Jessup and the advances she’d made toward Dylan?

  At last it was dawn, and she had an excuse to get out of bed. She’d go for a run. It would get her adrenaline pumping and clear her head. She quickly pulled on waterproof running pants and a rain shell over the thermal underwear she’d slept in, donned her running shoes, and then was out the door.

  It was cloudy, and she guessed rain would begin to fall shortly, but it didn’t look like it would be a nasty storm. She forced herself to stretch, even though she wanted to set out before the rain started.

  As she warmed up, the door to the duplex next door opened, and a man stepped out. He must be Victor, the new geologist. And her heart sank as she realized he was dressed for a morning run too.

  She’d really wanted a quiet solo run, but it would be rude to take off when she hadn’t met him yet. It was never a good idea to start on the wrong footing with a guy you were going to be stranded with on a remote island for two weeks.

  “Hey there. You must be Victor the geologist,” she said, without interrupting her stretching.

  “And you must be Fiona the archaeologist.” He began his own stretching routine.

  “How did Pollux get you here so fast?”

  “I’m from the Anchorage office.”

  It was odd that he’d arrived yesterday, instead of taking the military flight from Anchorage tomorrow, but as long as Pollux stayed within their budget, their travel decisions were none of her business.

  “You must be new, then.” Pollux Engineering’s Anchorage office wasn’t large, and she’d worked with everyone there at one point or another since this project began.

  He nodded. “Just hired this week.”

  “So what happened with Trevor? Why was he yanked from the flight?”

  He shrugged and continued stretching. “Don’t know, and Pollux isn’t talking.”

  Not surprising but still strange. Trevor had been the one to tell Fiona about Sylvia’s allegations against Dylan. Did his being plucked from the jet have something to do with that?

  She’d finished stretching but had paused to talk. Now, before she could set out, Victor asked, “Mind if I join you?”

  There was really no way to say no and not look like a jerk. Nights in the cook tent could get awkward, and that was the last thing she needed after a long day of fieldwork.

  “No problem. But fair warning—I’m slow. Running isn’t really my thing. I only do it when there aren’t any other exercise options.”

  He smiled, and she noticed Victor was handsome in an unconventional way. His features were uneven, and he had acne scars that, like Edward James Olmos, only added to his appeal.

  Thoughts of the actor made her think of binge-watching Battlestar Galactica with her siblings during the good times, and her heart squeezed. Her brother and sister were both lost to her, but in different ways. The grief was similar, though.

  She needed to learn how to hold on to the good memories of her brother, without feeling the stab of pain. Much as she could think of her mother and feel the loss of the woman she’d been while knowing it was not yet time to grieve.

  She shoved the thoughts aside. She was in an incredible place that few got to visit, and she needed to focus on the moment. “Ready?” she asked Victor.

  He nodded, and they set out, following the same route she and Bill had walked the night before, running along the road that paralleled the beach. They passed the end of the quiet runway and continued on, jogging in front of the military housing ruins where she’d photographed the owl.

  Again, that almost-kiss flashed through her mind. She’d wanted it, which wasn’t like her. What was it about Bill Lowell that made her forget all her rules? She didn’t even know the guy, yet she felt twittery just being around him.

  And she never felt twittery. Not even with any of the three men she’d had long-term relationships with. But Bill wasn’t anything like the men she’d dated and thought she might someday love, so what was his allure?

  Aside from the fact that he was hot, that is. She wasn’t usually swayed by pretty faces. In fact, she generally preferred men like Victor, whose imperfect faces held their own beauty. Given her own less-than-perfect features, she always appreciated less obvious beauty.

  Bill Lowell’s beauty was more than obvious. It was in-your-face perfection, with those Newman-blue eyes and rugged lines.

  Victor kept pace beside her, and he didn’t even do that thing where he tried to subtly increase her pace by slowly picking up speed. “How long have you been working for the navy?” he asked, his voice not even winded.

  “Eight years,” she said, showing no such ease with the workout. “Got the job when I was fresh out of grad school.” She would have let the conversation end there—talking and running wasn’t her thing at all—but it was rude to not show interest in return. “How long have you been doing NEPA work?”

  NEPA—the National Environmental Policy Act—was the primary driver for his work on this project, but most geologists she knew worked for the United States Geological Survey. It was always interesting to meet a geologist in the private sector doing environmental work.

  “Five years,” he said. “Like you, I started working right after grad school.”

  He looked to be a few years older than her thirty-five years, which meant he’d gone to grad school later.

  “Have you done a lot of work in Alaska?”

  “No. Mostly down
in California. Studying tsunami activity for USGS.”

  “Oh. You must know my friend Dr. Michal Addison, then.” Addison was one of the world’s foremost experts on tsunamis and was a fixture in the Bay Area, giving Chicken Little–type lectures on the end of the world, which predicted that the Big One wouldn’t be devastating for its shake; the real problem would be the tsunami that followed.

  “Oh yeah. Michal. Great guy.”

  Fiona stumbled. Michal Addison was a woman.

  Should she correct Victor? That would be embarrassing. But then, how could he not know? Michal Addison was legendary for her work studying tsunamis. Clearly, Victor wasn’t as experienced in his field as he’d claimed.

  How well did Pollux vet their hires? Bill didn’t know the basic list of laws that fell under the NEPA umbrella, and Victor didn’t know Michal Addison’s gender.

  She supposed it was possible Victor had only read Addison’s reports. If he’d never gone to one of her many talks, he might not know.

  But then, why pretend he knew Addison by calling her “great”?

  Geology was like archaeology—everyone knew everyone, either in person or by reputation. There was no way a man who’d worked in California as a geologist wouldn’t know Michal Addison was a woman.

  “Yes,” she said, keeping her eyes on the rocky ground. “Great guy.”

  When he didn’t say anything in response, she knew she hadn’t imagined his error. He didn’t know Michal.

  Unease filtered through her. Before she left for Chiksook this morning, she would reach out to her boss and ask about Pollux’s vetting process. Not knowing NHPA was one thing, but not knowing one of the foremost experts in your field? That made no sense.

  The boat pitched to starboard as it went over the top of the wave and dipped into the trough. Dean gripped the handrail mounted to the cabin exterior as water sloshed over the high gunwale and splashed his face and raincoat. It was time to head inside the cabin, as the sea had taken a dramatic, rough turn on their two-hour crossing from Adak to Chiksook.

  In the distance, the southeastern edge of Chiksook was taking shape as a dark spot visible through the light fog. He snapped a photo with a small but high-quality waterproof camera. It didn’t feel right to be out here without a camera in his hand, but he wouldn’t risk his favorite one in this rough water.

 

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