She blinked and widened her eyes. “As long as you don’t bite me, we’re in good shape.”
He grinned, and his spirits lightened when her smile widened. Though he knew she still didn’t trust him fully, it would be an impossible situation to work together for the next few days with tension vibrating between them. Watching the wind toss her hair, though, he wondered if there would be more tension of a different kind between them with their spirits in unity.
“Look.” She pointed to a boat roaring toward them. “The Coast Guard.”
The Coast Guard boat slowed just off their bow and came to a stop. One of the men lifted his hand in greeting, and Simon did the same. The skipper maneuvered the Coast Guard clipper closer until they could converse.
“Something wrong?” Simon shouted over the wind.
“We’d like to board your boat.” The other man’s face was impassive. A dog barked from behind him, and a canine handler moved forward with the animal.
“What?” Simon couldn’t imagine what could be going on. “We’re looking for a sunken vessel.”
“We’ve had a tip this might be a front for smuggling drugs,” the officer said. His hand dropped casually to his gun.
“That’s ridiculous,” Wynne said. “Check out my qualifications and résumé. This is a legitimate venture. We’re not some kind of criminals.”
“You’re not under suspicion, ma’am,” the officer said. He moved forward and boarded the boat. The canine handler handed the dog up to him, and several other men followed.
Simon knew better than to protest. He clamped his lips together and folded his arms across his chest. “Go ahead and look. You won’t find anything.”
The head officer nodded, and the crew began to search Simon’s boat. The dog went sniffing through the entire vessel. Bjorn and Joe exchanged angry glances with Simon, but neither objected when their duffel bags were searched.
It was nearly half an hour later before the Coast Guard was satisfied. Simon resisted the impulse to say, “I told you so,” but he couldn’t keep the smug smile from creeping across his face.
“You’ve delayed our work long enough that it’s not safe to go down today,” Wynne said. “The least you could do is tell us where this so-called tip came from.”
The officer ordered his men back to the Coast Guard boat then paused at the railing. “It was an anonymous phone tip. We take all such calls seriously. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
He didn’t sound sorry. Simon didn’t say anything. What good would it do? The damage to the day was done. The clouds and wind had increased, and they needed to get back to shore. Tomorrow was another day.
Once the Coast Guard departed, Joe started the boat’s engine and began to motor toward the dock. They passed the quadrant Wynne had wanted to search earlier.
“Stop,” Wynne called. Her brow was knit in concentration as she looked at the new computer screen.
Joe turned off the key.
Simon went to join her and Bjorn at the computer screen. “What is it?”
“There.” She stabbed a finger at a smudge on the screen. “Doesn’t that look like a boat? Here, see the cabin and the hull.” She traced the outline on the screen.
“Sure does.” He leaned forward. “It looks about the right size for the Superior Lady, too.” This was no rock formation, he was sure. “But this isn’t even in a likely place for it. It’s more apt to be a fishing boat or something out here. There would have been no reason for Jerry to be in this area.” He chewed his lip. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“See that island?” He pointed to a green smudge on the horizon. “Jerry used to use it for his trysts.”
“You think Jerry and Amanda might have been heading there for a getaway?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I don’t get why the boat went down out here.”
A gust of wind shook the boat, and thunder began to boom overhead. “I’m going down, just for a minute,” Wynne said. She grabbed her equipment and began to put it on.
“Five minutes, that’s all we’ve got,” he warned, snatching up his own equipment. “You realize this is stupid, don’t you?”
“We’ll be fine. The storm will hold off a few more minutes.”
Simon wasn’t as confident as she sounded, but he didn’t want to leave without knowing what was down there, too. Moments later they both entered the waves.
After that initial dive, his fear had left him, and he had Wynne to thank for that. He watched her graceful movements as she moved through the water.
Near the top, the surf buffeted them, but under the waves, things calmed. He took the lead and torpedoed down toward the bottom. Wynne was right behind him.
He was still fifteen feet away when he recognized the shape of the boat. They’d found it. Simon grabbed Wynne’s arm and pointed to the side where his floodlight illuminated the name: Superior Lady. He swam around the boat but didn’t see any obvious reason for its sinking. It would take a more rigorous examination than the cursory look he could give it now.
Wynne pointed topside. He hated to leave, but he knew she was right. From down below, there was no way of telling how fierce the storm was growing. They had to get out of there. He glanced at his watch and realized they’d been down for nearly ten minutes.
They headed for the surface. As his head broke the water, he realized they’d miscalculated how strong this storm was. Waves crashed over their heads, and it took all his strength to make it back to the boat.
Joe grabbed his hand and helped haul him and Wynne to the deck. She was pale and panting by the time they both collapsed on the boat deck.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Simon gasped.
Joe nodded and went to the bridge. The engine fired right away and he headed the boat toward shore.
Simon grabbed blankets and wrapped one around Wynne and one around himself. The wind shrieked around them, and lightning flashed overhead. Simon felt responsible. He should have taken them to shore before diving. The GPS system pinpointed their find, and he could have come back the next day.
He glanced at Wynne beside him in the next seat. Her exultant expression said she was reveling in the storm. “You’re not afraid?”
She shook her head. “I love weather. The power of God never ceases to amaze me. I feel close to Him in this kind of extreme storm.”
“I’d say the thunderbird was mad we found the boat,” he said with a grin. “You think God is mad, too?”
“God is all about truth. I think He led us right to it.”
She had faith in God. He liked that. “I’d say you’re right.”
The wind had torn the band from her braid, and Wynne’s hair lay plastered on her head. She knew she had to look like a drowned puppy. Water ran in rivulets down Simon’s face as he fought with the waves and tried to loop the rope to the dock.
He finally succeeded. “Come on!” He grabbed her hand, and they ran for his truck. He opened her door and got her inside then ran around to the driver’s side. Wynne shivered in the cool of the truck. Her wet clothes stuck to her, and gooseflesh ran down her back.
“I’d like a hot cup of tea about now,” she said, clasping her arms around her.
Simon reached behind the seat and produced a blanket and a thermos. “It’s coffee and not tea, but it’s hot.” He unscrewed the cap and poured it out, then handed it to her.
She wrapped her hands around it and inhaled the aroma. “I’m not much of a coffee drinker, but I’d drink mud about now if it was hot.”
“Some say that’s what my coffee reminds them of.” He grinned, and his dark eyes watched her.
She swiped a lock of wet hair from her cheek. “I must look a sight.”
“Let’s just say you wouldn’t want to run into a reporter right now,” he said.
“At least you’re honest.” She laughed and took another sip of coffee, then grimaced. “How much coffee did you use for this? I’m surprised it doesn’t eat through the cup.”
<
br /> “I work long hours and need the caffeine.”
“You must make it strong enough to eat the spoon.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. He didn’t laugh as she expected.
His brows drew together. “What do you think that Coast Guard thing was all about? Anyone who knows me should know I’d never be a drug smuggler.”
The way he said it made her wonder. “Why do you say that? Money is a powerful motivator for people.”
“My mother was addicted to prescription drugs. I won’t even take antibiotics. I see a natural doctor on the mainland when I’m not feeling well.”
She could tell he was passionate about the subject. “I hadn’t heard that. Maybe it was news to the Coast Guard, too.”
“Who could have called them?”
His question lay between them for several moments. She didn’t like the only answer. “Someone who didn’t want us to find that boat. Did you tell anyone where we’d be looking today?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I talked to several people and mentioned it at the restaurant this morning. It was packed. Anyone could have overheard me.”
“Who would have a motive to kill your cousin?”
“Half the women on the island.” Simon leaned past her and rummaged in the glove box for a napkin. He wiped his still-dripping face with it then wadded it up and tucked it into the pocket on his door.
“Seriously?” She’d thought maybe the things she’d heard about Jerry had been sour grapes from men who felt upstaged.
“I’m dead serious. Jerry has left a trail of broken hearts from here to Rock Harbor. And there have been plenty of disgruntled old boyfriends—and husbands—to add to the carnage.”
“Carnage. Strange choice of words.” She grimaced at the oily taste of the strong coffee. “Was he malicious?”
“Jerry could be pretty brutal when he was done with a woman. More than one has shown up in tears at the boathouse.”
“Why would he treat women like that?” The more she heard about Jerry, the more she disliked him. Could Simon be like that as well? Max and Becca had warned her against getting involved with Simon. They’d called him a heartbreaker, too.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Simon’s gaze searched her face.
“Like what?”
“Your eyes are squinty, and you look ferocious. I’d be scared to be in a dark room with you.”
She couldn’t help herself—a laugh bubbled from her throat. “Good. I think you could be as dangerous as your cousin.” Simon had a way of penetrating her defenses, and she had to find some strategy to keep him at a distance. What that might be, she had no idea.
The lines at the corners of Simon’s eyes deepened as he looked suddenly serious. “Not me, Wynne. I don’t play around with hearts.”
“You’re saying you haven’t broken any hearts—ever?”
He shook his head. “Women like my money, not me.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she blurted.
He gave a faint smile. “But that’s because you’re honest and straightforward. You say what you think and make no bones about where your interests lie. There’s no doublespeak with you.”
She thought it might be the strangest compliment she’d ever received. “Thanks. I think.”
He grinned. “It’s a refreshing change. Now if I bought a boat outrigged like Jacques Cousteau you might suck up to me to get a post on it.”
“You might be right.” She snuggled further into the blanket. “With that atrocious coffee in my stomach and this blanket I’m inclined to be generous and let you buy me some lunch.”
“You don’t want to change first?” He shook his head. “You really are an amazing woman.”
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t borrow your comb.”
He chuckled and rummaged in the glove box again, then produced a comb with half the teeth missing. “It’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll take it.” She took it and began to work the tangles out of her hair. His gaze on her did funny things to her breathing. “Quit staring,” she said.
“Sorry.” He averted his eyes. “You’ve got the most beautiful hair.”
“Yeah right, tell me that when it’s plastered to my head.” She quickly braided it again. “I don’t suppose you have a rubber band or something around here?”
“Let me see.” He sorted through the junk in the bottom of the glove box and produced a hair ribbon. “Will this do?”
She wanted to ask him why he had a hair ribbon in his truck, but she didn’t want to know the answer.
TEN
Wynne glanced around the café and found nearly twenty sets of male eyes all focused on her. She doubted she had a stitch of makeup left, but at least she was wearing a sweatshirt that wouldn’t cling when wet.
“I know I look like the lake’s version of the Windigo, but would you all quit staring?” She smiled to take the sting out of her statement.
Most of the men had the decency to look away. She heard Simon’s deep chuckle. “At least someone finds it funny.” She stuck her tongue out at him, and his hazel eyes crinkled with amusement. As they moved to find a seat, she reminded herself to keep him at arm’s length. It was hard when his good nature was so appealing.
She slid into a seat in the back. The men far outnumbered the women on the island, Becca had told her. Many of the women had moved away to find jobs and a larger pool of possible spouses.
Wynne glanced around the café. The bare planks on the floor had been scrubbed so many times there was only a trace of paint left on them. The sun and numerous washings had faded the red gingham curtains on the windows to a mellow pink. Old signs and banners decorated the walls, which were paneled with barn siding. Plastic red checked tablecloths covered the tables arranged around the room.
It felt homey and comfortable—or it would have if the men hadn’t been staring. Wynne shifted in her chair and wished she’d put her back to the room. “Mind if we trade seats?” she whispered to Simon. “I feel like a guppy in a fishbowl.”
He grinned and stood. “Too many piranha?”
Though he was joking, she could see the sympathy in his gaze. They exchanged seats, and Wynne felt more comfortable without seeing the men.
“They think they can look now that you can’t see them.” Simon chuckled and took his napkin, then laid it over his lap. “I can understand their fascination. You’re pretty cute even with wet hair.”
Her stomach did a slow somersault at the expression on his face. She wanted to look away and couldn’t. “I have to look a mess,” she whispered.
“Prettiest thing this side of the lake.”
“That’s not saying much,” she said, finally breaking their locked gaze. “At least their stares can’t turn my stomach.”
The waitress brought menus. Her name tag read Rhonda. “Coffee?”
Wynne grimaced. “Thanks but no.”
The waitress cocked an eyebrow. “Did you force some of that vile brew you make down her throat?”
“Guilty as charged.” Simon looked unrepentant.
“Honey, I feel for you. No one can drink his coffee. Ours is better, I promise.”
Wynne wondered how the waitress knew that. Rhonda was cute and perky. Had Simon used the famous Lassiter charm on her? Taken her home for a cup of coffee one night? She bit her lip. She needed to quit looking under rocks and take Simon at face value.
She laid down the menu. “Would you happen to have any hot cocoa? There’s none on the menu.”
“It’s not on the menu, but you look like you could use a pick-me-up. We’ll make some special.”
While Rhonda went to get their drinks, Wynne glanced over the menu. She heard an intake of breath from Simon and glanced up. Simon’s gaze was fixed on something behind her. She turned to see a man approaching their table.
“It’s Alan, Amanda’s brother,” Simon muttered.
The navy suit he wore stretched too tightly across his massive shoulders and looked out of place among th
e jean-clad patrons of the café. His face was set and strained.
Wynne glanced back at Simon and saw the resignation in his face. Alan stopped at their table. Simon’s face was closed and tight. Wynne could almost hear a palpable intake of breath from everyone in the room. It might have been her imagination, but she sensed the men lean forward to listen to the oncoming confrontation. From the look on Alan’s face, this wasn’t going to be a pleasant chat.
“I just came from your office,” Alan said.
“Oh?” Simon glanced around. “Maybe we should take this discussion outside.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Alan sneered. “You’d like no one to know what a murdering skunk you are.”
“Simmer down, Alan.” Simon half stood, and Alan shoved him back in his chair.
“I already called the sheriff, so don’t think you can weasel out of this.” Alan’s face worked, and his mouth twisted. “You’re going to pay for what you did to Amanda. And your own cousin as well! What kind of monster are you?”
“I’m just an ordinary man,” Simon said, his voice weary. He rubbed his forehead. “Sit down, Alan, and we can talk.”
“You might poison my coffee.” Alan clenched his massive hands, big as boulders.
“Please, Alan.” Wynne stood and spoke in her softest voice. She’d found lowering her voice when others raised theirs tended to diffuse some anger. The verse in Proverbs about a soft answer turning away wrath was very true. “Sit down.”
“Did you plan this with him?” Alan’s voice lowered a notch.
Wynne reached out and patted his hand. He snatched it away. “Sit down and tell us what you’re angry about.” For a moment she thought he would continue to stand and bellow, then he heaved a sigh and grabbed the back of the chair and jerked it out.
He plopped down and folded his hands over his chest. He directed his gaze at Simon. “Did you think no one would find out?”
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