“Why?” Rachel repeated. “It’s the ocean. With waves,” she emphasized. “She could get swept into the water.”
“She won’t stay in it long,” Duncan said, shuddering. “It’s damn cold.”
“Mickey’s with her,” Luke added. “He’s better than a life vest. If she falls in, he’ll just pull her out.”
“She’s five years old!” Rachel growled, pivoting toward the beach. Dammit, if they weren’t going to watch Mikaela, then she would.
Kee caught up with her just as she reached the edge of the lawn. He sat down on a driftwood log next to the giraffe his daughter had set there, pulling Rachel down beside him and putting his arm around her shoulders to hold her in place.
“She’s grown up on the ocean,” he told her. “She’s as safe playing on your beach as she is sitting in your house.”
Rachel watched the little girl run the length of the wide beach, Mickey trotting beside her and barking excitedly whenever Mikaela stopped to pick up a rock.
“She needs to run,” Kee continued, smiling at his daughter. “She’s been cooped up on the Six-to-One Odds for over a week.”
“Does she wear a life vest on the boat?”
He looked down and hugged her against him reassuringly. “It’s not a conventional vest because they’re too cumbersome to live in all day,” he told her. “She wears a tube that sits around her neck and runs down to her waist, where it’s strapped on tightly. It has a CO2 canister and a sensor, so that if she falls overboard, it pops open and inflates.”
“Oh, I’ve seen those,” Rachel said, relaxing against him. “Some of the fishermen wear them.”
He kissed the top of her head. “But thank you for caring enough to give us hell,” he said softly, lifting her chin to look at him. “How are you this morning?”
“I…I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry about Mary Alder. But more than I’m sorry, I’m worried. She was murdered, Rachel.”
He turned on the log to face her more squarely and cupped her face between his large hands, forcing her to look at him. “And that’s why I’m giving you two choices this morning. You either give me your promise you’ll stay completely out of this, or you and Mikaela go aboard the Six-to-One Odds for a nice little sail until this is over.”
Taken completely off-guard, she tried to pull back, but he only tightened his hold. “This is not negotiable, Rachel. You’ll promise to stop asking questions, or you’ll be out to sea before you can call good old Larry to come save you.”
His thumbs caressed the sides of her face. “You have five minutes to decide. And Rachel?”
“Y-yes?”
“Trust is no longer an option but a fact, for both of us. I trust you to keep your word, and you trust me to keep your secret safe.”
She did trust him. She trusted all the men.
It was the circumstances she didn’t trust.
“I really don’t know what’s going on,” she told him. “But my father left me a letter,” she began, slowly telling Kee the whole story. But she stopped short of mentioning the room in her own house, because she and Willow had agreed they would find out what was inside it first.
She did tell him about Thadd’s secret room, so he could be on guard. And she told him about Raoul Vegas—that she thought he was back here trying to find Thadd’s treasure and that he might have been the one who shot Mary. She even told him about her father’s role in designing the smuggling boats, that there were three of them that she knew of, and that two of them were now burned.
“You don’t know the name of the third boat?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I think Dad was trying to tell me their names when he was shot. He named the Norway Night and the Sea Dancer, but he grew too weak. His last words to me were ‘Find her.’ I didn’t know what he was talking about until Wendell brought me the letter.”
“ ‘Find her’ is what Mary said just before she died,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, staring off at the horizon, his face unreadable.
He finally looked back at her, taking hold of her face again and kissing her tenderly on the forehead. “Thank you,” he said softly. “A lot of it makes sense now. I can see why you were trying to get yourself out of this mess quietly. It very well could turn into a scandal that would ruin Willow’s future.”
“I’m sorry I set you up to take the fall for the stolen items,” she told him. “But I didn’t know what else to do.”
He smiled. “I probably would have done the same thing. If you just could have gotten in and out of Sub Rosa and replaced the emeralds and other items, you would have been home free.”
“That’s what I thought. But then the boat burnings started, and that meant we could still get dragged into this, if the designs were found with Dad’s name on them.”
“And you didn’t find them in Mark’s files?”
“No. But Mark said Mary had been at the boatyard last week, and I think she took them.”
Kee was silent again, watching Mikaela and Mickey before turning back to Rachel. “You really have no idea where that secret room is in Sub Rosa?”
She shook her head. “I’ve gone over all the blueprints, including the ones I have here. Daddy built it the summer I went to Paris with Mom and Willow. It could be anywhere.”
“What would it take for you to find it?”
That question surprised her. “I would have to spend time at Sub Rosa, measuring rooms against the blueprints and checking out every one of the tunnels.”
He shook his head. “That’s out of the question, at least for now.” He took hold of her chin, his deep, dark Atlantic-blue eyes looking directly into hers. “Do I have your promise to let me handle things from here on out?”
“You don’t think we should call the police now?” Rachel asked. “Because of Mary?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. Let me find out what’s really going on, so I can figure out how to keep you and Willow out of it before we call them.”
Rachel nodded. “Okay. I promise.”
His smile made her insides melt. He wrapped both his arms around her and lifted her onto his lap, squeezing her so tightly she squeaked. Mikaela came running up, slid to a stop in front of them, and put her hands on her hips and stared.
“What?” Kee asked her.
“Is Rachel your girlfriend now? What happened to Joan?”
“Joan decided Europe was more interesting than I am,” Kee told her. “And yes, Rachel’s my girlfriend.”
Rachel quit breathing.
“So I gotta be nice to her and not scare her off?” Mikaela wanted to know, her expression fierce.
Rachel finally found her breath and her voice. “I don’t scare easy,” she told the five-year-old, reaching out and tugging on the hem of her shirt. “I survived growing up with Willow. I think I can survive anything you dish out.”
Mikaela’s eyes narrowed. “I like Willow,” she said, her stance defensive. “She reads good, and makes faces and voices that match the story.”
“I like Willow, too,” Rachel quickly assured her. “And just so you know, I’m the one who taught her to read like that.”
Mikaela’s posture relaxed slightly as she looked from Rachel to her father. “Luke said Ahab’s waiting for me on the Six-to-One Odds and that he’s got a whole mess of polishing rags,” she said, her lower lip sticking out far enough to hang a hat on. “Can Rachel help me polish the brass?”
“Rachel didn’t break the compass,” Kee told her.
Mikaela turned her calculated look on Rachel. “Can you bake? Cookies and cakes and stuff?”
“Nope. I can’t even boil water.”
Rachel didn’t know who was more surprised, Kee or Mikaela.
“You can’t cook?” he asked, leaning to the side to look her in the eye.
“But I can run a skill saw,” she told him, turning her smile on Mikaela. “And I can show you how to build beautiful birdhouses.”
“That’s not women’s stuff,” Kee said
, drawing her attention again. “You’re supposed to show her women’s stuff.”
“I’m a pretty good shopper,” Rachel offered, turning back to Mikaela. “We can go to Ellsworth and buy you some pretty new clothes.”
Mikaela scrunched up her face. “I don’t like ruffles.”
“No ruffles,” Rachel agreed. “How about barrettes?” she asked, touching one of Mikaela’s perfectly braided braids. “I know an artist in Blue Hill who crafts beautiful hair clips.”
The little girl eyed Rachel’s own long braid hanging over her shoulder. She reached out and touched the clip on the end of it. “I like barrettes,” she whispered, looking up at Rachel. “Does the guy make earrings? I would like some earrings.”
“You would?” Kee asked, lifting a brow in surprise. “You’ve never mentioned wanting earrings before.”
Mikaela lifted her chin. “Dangly ones,” she said. “With pretty stones in them.”
Kee rolled his eyes. “What is it with females and jewelry? Is it genetic or something?”
Rachel nodded, trying very hard not to smile. Kee was looking at Mikaela again, his expression confounded, as if seeing her for the first time—or just realizing that he’d fathered a female.
Rachel looked at Mikaela’s tiny earlobes. “You would need to get your ears pierced,” she warned her.
Kee answered for Mikaela, quickly and with quiet finality. “No,” he said, setting Rachel back on the log and then standing up. “No one is poking holes in my daughter.”
Rachel fingered her own earlobe. “I’ll get my ears pierced, too,” she told Mikaela, ignoring the warning growl that came from Kee’s chest. “I’d like some dangly earrings, too.”
“No,” he repeated, this time with more desperation than authority.
Mikaela grabbed her giraffe off the log and looked up at her father with a smug smile. “I want a vote,” she told him.
Confused, Rachel watched as Kee suddenly relaxed. “Okay, we’ll vote. But it’s going to be six-to-one for ‘No.’ ”
And she knew then where Kee’s schooner had gotten its name. For the last five years it had been six men constantly finding themselves at odds with one little girl.
“Do I get a vote?” Rachel asked, standing up.
“No.”
“She can vote, Daddy. She’s your girlfriend. And I want Willow to vote, too.”
“What am I voting for?” Willow asked, walking up to them, Duncan one step behind her.
“I’m getting my ears pierced,” Mikaela said, running up and throwing herself against Duncan.
He lifted her up until her face was even with his. “No,” he said succinctly.
Mikaela nodded. “We’re going to vote.”
Duncan sighed hard enough to move wisps of her hair. “Now, why would ya want someone to poke holes in your head?” he asked.
“So I can wear dangly earrings.” She tucked her giraffe between herself and Duncan’s chest, then grabbed hold of Duncan’s face with her two little hands, making him look her straight in the eye. “I want earrings and a dress and girl shoes.”
She leaned in closer, her nose almost touching his. “ ’Cause I’m a girl, Dunky,” she whispered softly.
Duncan looked as if he was going to burst into tears.
Mikaela Oakes wasn’t a tyrant, or a hellion, or any more a manipulator than any other five-year-old child. She was a little girl with six daddies who were scared to death. They knew—they just knew—she was going to grow up into a beautiful woman and fall in love with a man, and break their collective hearts.
“Dunky?” Willow said, obviously reaching the same conclusion as Rachel and trying to lighten the mood.
“Dunky?” she repeated, only louder, canting her head and shooting Duncan a diabolical smile. “Well, Dunky, if we don’t get started for Augusta soon, you’ll be unloading the truck in the dark.”
“What happened to Larry?” Rachel asked.
“He called and said he got pulled back on duty because of…because of last night,” Willow told her.
“But he just worked a double shift.”
“They gave him a few hours to get some sleep, but he’s back on as of two o’clock. Larry said they needed the manpower to canvas the town for anyone who might have seen something.”
Still looking quite rattled, Duncan gave Mikaela—and her giraffe—a long and emotional bear hug and then set her on the ground. Mikaela immediately went over to her daddy and silently looked up at him. And just as silently, Kee picked her up and cradled her and her giraffe in his arms, and walked toward the house.
Chapter Eighteen
Rachel sat on her couch, staring across the room at nothing, and realized it was the first time in more than a week that she was alone in her house. Jason was driving Larry’s truck to Augusta, and with a stop in Ellsworth to buy a booster seat, Willow and Duncan and Mikaela were leading the way in Willow’s car.
Rachel was surprised Kee had let his daughter go to Augusta, and had asked him about it. With a heart-stopping smile and his arresting blue eyes all but igniting her on the spot, he had said Mikaela made a very good chaperone, but that he’d rather Mikaela chaperone Duncan and Willow instead of the two of them.
Rachel had wholeheartedly agreed, and even though they had the house to themselves, she’d finally given Kee a tour of her camper.
Kee in turn had given her a rather memorable tour of his beautiful body, which had ended with her cuddled up in his arms for a two-hour nap.
The nap had ended more than an hour ago, and Kee was out mowing her lawn—which Rachel thought was a very domestic thing for him to do.
She sighed, hugging a couch pillow to her chest. Being Keenan Oakes’s girlfriend had some great advantages. It came with certain implied privileges, such as having access to all that muscle and heat and caveman charm, and the freedom to indulge her own passionate nature with abandon.
But it also came with responsibilities, such as putting up with his proprietary dictates, dealing with his overwhelming presence—her proximity problem had somehow expanded to when he wasn’t even with her now—and conceding to his powerful drive to solve the mystery of Sub Rosa’s missing art while keeping her safe.
But the greatest responsibility appeared to be Kee’s need for her to trust him.
Frank Foster had been the only man Rachel had ever trusted, and that trust had ended with unspeakable tragedy, a house full of stolen art, and the realization that her father was not only a murderer, but also a thief.
And no matter how she looked at it, passion had been the ruling force—and ultimate destruction—of Frank Foster.
So how was she supposed to control her own passion and keep it from destroying her life? By bottling it up and pretending it didn’t exist?
That hadn’t worked. Her passion had exploded the moment Sub Rosa’s heir had walked into his library.
So could she at least control it? Maybe indulge it just enough without giving herself over to it completely?
Nope. Too late.
She was in love with Keenan Oakes.
Rachel had realized it was love the moment she’d given Kee her trust that morning. And she had felt it again that afternoon in the camper. For all of her abandon, their lovemaking had been different. She had known, as he had entered her body with such consuming desire, that she’d fight to the death for his love.
So the Neanderthal had better watch out. This was one girlfriend who would not walk away—or be walked away from. If she had to paddle her kayak after him, she’d hunt him down and make him sorry he ever left her in the first place.
He wondered what life with her would be like? It would damn well be a never-ending affair! She was in love with him, and he was stuck with her, whether he liked it or not!
“Sweet Jesus, who are you wanting to kill?”
Rachel looked up with a start and found Kee standing in the doorway of her living room, watching her.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, getting off the couc
h and facing him squarely.
“I walk in here and find you looking like you want to murder someone,” he told her. “And I was just wondering who.”
“You.”
“Excuse me?” he said softly.
“I was just thinking about you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and relaxed back on his hips. “Mind telling me what you were thinking?”
“That you’re going to break my heart.”
He straightened, his hands falling to his sides, his eyes widening in shock. “What!”
Rachel balled her own hands into fists and lifted her chin. “But I’m not going to let you,” she growled, taking a step toward him. “I am not Joan the shrew. I’m not walking away, and I won’t let you walk away, either.”
He slowly started toward her, his dark blue eyes pinning her in place, his entire body suddenly coiled with portentous energy. He stopped three feet in front of her, looking so provoked that Rachel took a step back.
“That possibility ceased to exist,” he said softly, “the first time you exploded in my arms.”
He closed the final distance between them, and though he didn’t touch her, the heat of his body wrapped around her like fingers of fire. “As God as my witness, neither of us is ever walking away,” he declared rawly, sweeping her into his embrace and claiming her mouth with indisputable possession.
Rachel’s heart swelled to double its size. She felt light-headed, dizzy with happiness, and so free she could soar through the sky without wings. She wrapped her arms around his neck when he picked her up, and curled her legs around his waist as he walked up the stairs.
“Say the words,” he demanded gruffly, carrying her into her bedroom.
She remained silent as he set her on the bed and stretched out beside her, still saying nothing as he started caressing her cheek with knuckles that trembled with need.
“I love you,” she finally whispered. “Forever.”
He kissed her again, this time with such tender care, Rachel quietly started to sob.
“Ssshhh,” he crooned, feathering his thumb over her cheek. “You don’t tell a man you love him and start crying, sweetheart,” he whispered, nuzzling her chin. “It might dent his ego.”
The Seductive Impostor Page 24