beneath. Lifting the mattress completely out of the bunk, she felt
around the edges with inquisitive fingers until she found a line of
three small holes sanded smooth at one end. Her fingers slid in and she
lifted. In the shallow hollow between engine compartment and mattress
bottom, tucked between a clutch of plastic mending needles and a damp,
disintegrating cardboard box full of rusting nuts, bolts and nails, she
found two sets of walrus tusks with skulls. Forgetting, she whistled,
long and low. The sound hurt her ears. One of the sets was trophy-size,
with tusks thirty inches long and perfectly matched.
Dizzy, aching, sick as she was, the arrogance of it amazed her. To leave
a set of ivory tusks worth a minimum of $3,000 on the black market in
the cubby beneath the bunk, to leave half a dozen black bear gall
bladders worth anywhere from $600 to $1,000 apiece in Hong
Kong practically out in plain sight in the locker above that bunk;- and
all behind a door Lisa hadn't bothered to lock-a wave of nausea engulfed
her. Kate held her
head on with both hands and staggered out to retch over the side.
Rinsing out her mouth in the sink she' searched further without result,
which did surprise her. By this time Jack Morgan could have accused Lisa
Getty of selling military secrets to Moammar Qaddafi and Kate would have
believed him without question. She replaced plywood and mattress and
climbed shakily out of the cabin, carrying the paper bag and the tusks.
Looking over the side at the eight-foot drop to the ground, she swore
weakly. She tossed the bag over, let the tusks down more gently and
somehow managed to maneuver herself to the edge and over, landing on
legs that promptly collapsed. Mutt
jumped down next to her and touched a cold nose to her
cheek.
Kate raised a feeble hand and shoved at her. "I'm all ht, girl, just
give me a minute."
One minute passed, another, and still Kate lay there, her head pounding,
her vision swimming, until Mutt set her teeth in Kate's collar and began
to tug.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, all right already," Kate said. wearily. With a
tremendous effort she made it. to her knees and had to pause there,
retching emptily between trembling arms braced wide apart. She wobbled
to her feet, leaning up against the bowpicker's hull. When she";` remembered
how to walk, she picked up the bag and the tusks, which now seemed to
weigh one hundred pounds each, and staggered out from between the boats
and up the bank to her snow machine.
She never remembered getting the seat locker on the Jag open. She never
remembered whether she went through the village or around it. She never
remembered the two-mile trip over the rough, rutted, icy track that led
to Bobby's house. If she'd been a fanciful woman she
would have thought that Mutt drove the snow machine, or at least steered
it. She did have a clear, painful memory of falling, hard, as if dropped
from a great height, on the ramp just two steps shy of Bobby's front
door, but those two steps took on the width of the Atlantic Ocean and
Kate had gone as far as she could. She was dimly aware of a rough, wet
tongue washing her face, of a dog whining anxiously somewhere, of a
far-off wish that she could respond, of the bitter knowledge that she
could not. Only the smell of blood was clear and definite and wholly
undeniable, clinging tenaciously to her nostrils, so strong it was
almost a salt taste on her tongue. The sun had set by now, and she began
to shiver. She made a tremendous effort and stretched one hand toward
the door, managing to move it perhaps six inches before the effort
proved too much. In a part of her mind wholly detached from her dilemma,
she wondered if she was going to die of exposure, there on Bobby's front
porch.
But Bobby heard them, and forever after Kate remembered the sudden shaft
of light streaming from his front door to illuminate what felt like her
final resting place, the reassuring roar of his deep voice. "Kate!
Goddammit, Mutt, move your ass out of the way! Woman, what the fuck have
you done to yourself now?"
And then, mercifully, oblivion.
seven
HER eyes opened the next morning promptly at six. She stared up at the
steeply pitched roof of a cedar A-frame that after some thought she
recognized as Bobby's. Her head ached, but at a distance, as if the
pain, was happening to someone else. Her arms and legs felt heavy, and
when she brought up one hand to push the covers down it was like she was
pushing her way through very deep water.
The sheets on the bed felt soft on her bare skin. Someone had undressed
her. Shifting against the pillow, she felt something bulky on the right
side of her head. Reaching up, she discovered a bandage taped to her
temple. It throbbed when she touched it, and she dropped her hand. She
became aware of a solid warmth lying next to her. Cautiously, she
investigated. It was a body, not her own. She turned her head and met
Bobby's eyes, and managed to summon up what felt like a very weak smile.
"Some guys'll do anything to get laid."
He waggled his bushy black eyebrows. "If the woman is you, it's worth
the effort."
"I bet you say that to all the girls." Her head gave a vicious throb,
and she winced, her face paling.
His smile faded. He raised one hand and smoothed her hair back from her
face. "How you feeling, woman? Head hurt?"
She closed her eyes and thought. "Not much more than if a guy was
whanging away at the inside of my skull with a sledgehammer."
"Oh well, then you're definitely recovering." "What happened?"
"You don't remember?"
She started to shake her head and thought better of it. "I don't even
remember how I got here."
Bobby rose up on one elbow. "I don't know how you got here, either.
About six last night I heard this thump out on the porch, which was you
falling on your face, and I heard Mutt bark. When I opened the door, I
thought you were dead. I think Mutt thought so, too; she didn't want to
let me touch you. You were a mess, woman, blood all over your face and
in your hair and down the front of your jacket and shirt. Looked like
you'd been the whole month at Hue, and you smelled that way, too."
"What happened then?"
"I managed to get the goddam wolf quieted down and hauled you inside. I
stripped you and washed you off you tie that bandanna around your head?"
Kate's brow puckered. After a moment she gave a slow, careful nod. "On
the boat. When I woke up. I think."
"You must have done it after it stopped bleeding. It didn't stick when I
took it off, and it was a lot less bloody than the rest of you."
Kate frowned. "I remember now. Mutt was licking me when I woke up."
"Oh. Good for her. Anyway, I got you cleaned up and into bed. I kept
waking you up every hour or so, talking to you, feeding you sweet tea.
At first all you could get down was a sip or two, you were cold and
clammy, I was an inch away from calling for a medivac. Then, finally,
> you started to warm up, and I could let you sleep." He looked at her.
"I'd like to say right now, you have not been a fun date. Let's not do
this again anytime soon."
She gave a ghost of a laugh. "Sorry. I'll try to do better in the future."
His mock severe expression faded. "See you do, woman." He paused and
then said, as if the words were forced out of him, "Jesus, but you had
me scared." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. His lips were warm
and firm, the hand cupping her face strong and steady, and with a rush
of relief and gladness Kate remembered that she was alive and whole and
all her parts in working order. Giving an inarticulate murmur of
pleasure, she responded, and what might have happened then was anyone's
guess, but Mutt, hearing their voices, jumped on the bed and poked her
cold, wet nose between them, her yellow eyes wide and expectant, her
tail wagging eagerly.
"Goddam, woman," Bobby roared, "can't you teach that goddam wolf some
goddam etiquette!"
Someone beat on the door with a large, determined fist and it flew open,
banging back against the wall. Kate shut her eyes, wincing. Jack Morgan,
looking twice his already extra-large size in parka and bunny boots,
stood in the doorway with a hard, anxious look on his face. His gaze
found Kate and Bobby instantly.
He looked from Bobby, leaning on one elbow and obviously nude beneath
the sheets, to Kate, next to him with the sheets clutched to her breast,
also obviously nude. The anxious look faded. Through clenched teeth he
enunciated clearly, "Mind telling me just what the hell is going on
here?" The effect of icy rage was spoiled somewhat when Mutt bounced
over with a joyous bark and reared up, a paw on each shoulder, to lavish
his face with a wet and welcoming tongue.
Bobby sat up and waved a magnanimous hand. "Just stealing your woman,
Jack old buddy." He tried a leer, but it wasn't up to his usual
standard. "And if you'd waited fifteen minutes longer, I might have done
it, too."
Through a mouthful of French toast, Bobby said thickly, "I called him
last night after I got you cleaned up."
"I wish you hadn't," Kate muttered.
"Oh no, why should he?" Jack said, sitting very erect and plying his
knife and fork with surgical precision. She and Bobby were seated at
opposite ends of the table, and Jack was sitting between them, a
position he had maintained since Kate had risen, in spite of Mutt's
insistence on remaining immediately next to Kate at all times. Kate felt
as if she were breathing for three. Bobby, spurred on by who knew what
demon of mischief, took every opportunity to touch her, brushing her
fingers as he poured her coffee, leaning one hand on her shoulder as he
served her breakfast, in passing reaching over to adjust the collar of
her newly laundered shirt, all the while with a face like St. Thomas
Aquinas, minus the halo.
Jack watched through narrowed eyes but made no comment. Kate, feeling
like a particularly tasty bone between two, no, make that three
salivating dogs, might have enjoyed herself if she'd been fifteen years
younger. At thirty-one, she felt irritated with both men and hoped to
get through breakfast without any more blood, in particular hers, being
shed than absolutely necessary.
Jack dissected another slice of French toast. "I told you to keep your
investigation quiet, but noo-ooo, the first thing you do is tell all to
the Blabber of the Bush. What, did he put it out on that pirate radio
show of his: `Hey, everybody, somebody killed Lisa Getty, and it wasn't
McAniff!' "
"Hey," Bobby said in a hurt voice, pretending wounded feelings he didn't
have in hopes of getting another rise out of Jack. He knew perfectly
well Jack was spoiling for a fight and would say whatever hurtful thing
he could lay tongue to in the process. He also knew that Jack didn't
mean a word of it, that he would apologize for it later, and that he
would owe Bobby big-time for putting
up with his fouled mood. Bobby smiled to himself and
tucked into his breakfast with relish.
"You said you wanted me to handle this," Kate said.
"Yes, I did."
"On the evidence, not one of your better ideas," Bobby
observed, and Jack damned him with a single glare.
"Then let me handle it," Kate interjected before Jack
could start in on Bobby.
"Oh right, you're handling it so well," he
second day in you almost get yourself killed."
She shook her head and regretted it. "No, I didn't."
He paused, fork suspended in midair, to give her an
incredulous stare. "Of course," he said, very polite. "How
silly of me. You weren't shot yesterday. You weren't
Unconscious for hours on Lisa Getty's boat. You didn't
have to crawl on your hands and knees to your snow machine; you didn't
fall down unconscious and damn
near dead on Bobby's front porch; you don't have
bandage on your head now. In fact, this is all a product
of my overactive imagination and I'm going to wake
up in Anchorage any minute. Feel free to mix in here
anytime," he told Bobby.
"Why should I?" Bobby said, mopping up the last of
his syrup. "You're doing fine."
"Look, Kate," Jack said, taking a deep breath and
making an obvious grab for some shred of composure,
"take it easy today, get your strength back up. Drink
lot, eat a lot, that kind of thing. From what Bobby says,
you've lost a lot of blood. I'll take the Jag into Niniltna and nose
around, talk to a few people, maybe go up on
the
"No, you won't," Bobby said.
Jack stared at him. "Mind telling me why not?"
"I'm going into town this afternoon. Ekaterina's throwing a potlatch at
the gym."
Kate, forgetting her injury, sat up straight. "A potlatch?
What for?"
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "To say good-bye to those killed week before
last, or so Billy Mike told me when he stopped by. Ekaterina wants
everyone to turn out, so he says, and I am not one to spit in the eye of
a royal command. So you," he said to Jack, "need to stay and look after
Kate."
"Oh," Jack said, adding reluctantly, "okay. I'll stay." "No," Kate said.
"Why not?"
"For one thing, Nurses Clark and Morgan, I feel fine.
For another, I've got an errand to run in Niniltna myself this morning." .
Forks clattered to plates. "What? Like hell! You-" "Woman!" Bobby's roar
was back in full force.
"You're not going anywhere anytime soon! You just got shot in the goddam
head! Not that there was that much there to hit in the first place, but
it must've shaken loose what few brains you used to have! You ain't
getting on no goddam snow machine and driving anywhere!"
She bit down on her last piece of bacon. It crunched satisfyingly
between her teeth and almost melted on her tongue, and she closed her
eyes reverently.
When she opened her eyes her two men were still yelling at her, with a
steady increase in volume. Mutt ha
d risen to her feet and was adding to
the general hoopla with short, excited barks. Kate drained her mug,
smiledingratiatingly at Bobby and pitched her voice to cut through the
hubbub. "Could I have a refill?"
Bobby dithered and spluttered and finally snapped, "If you're in good
enough shape to get on a snow machine, you're in good enough shape to
get your own goddam coffee!" He glared at her.
She rose carefully to her feet, pleased to find her legs working, and
walked over the stove to refill her cup. Turning, she found both men
watching her with varying degrees of frustration. She smiled, a dazzling
smile that was two parts mischief to one part seduction and which
she divided impartially between them. Bobby cursed
and sailed his fork across the room. After a long, frustrated stare and
Stabenow, Dana - Shugak 02 - A Fatal Thaw Page 14