Amber Beach

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “For this I got up way before sunrise,” she said under her breath. “For this I should have my brain scanned.”

  With a feeling of doom, she stepped onto the dew-laden boat and opened the cabin door. The aroma of hot coffee curled around her like a caress. Jake was seated at the helm, holding a mug in his big hand.

  “I forgive you,” Honor said instantly, reaching for the mug.

  “For what?” he asked, startled.

  “Anything. Just hand over your coffee.”

  “Actually, it’s yours. Both sugar and cream.”

  “Heaven in a chipped mug. Gimme.”

  He gave her the coffee. She drank cautiously, persistently, then shuddered with the first, ecstatic wave of hot coffee lighting up her throat all the way to her belly.

  “Other than the alarm, how did you sleep?” he asked.

  “How do I look like I slept?”

  “Badly.”

  “Ouch. I thought all fishermen lied.”

  “Only about things that matter.”

  “Like fish?”

  “Yeah. Any more calls?”

  She shook her head, sipped again, then drank greedily despite the heat. “God, you make good coffee. How come some smart woman hasn’t married you, taken off your shoes and socks, and chained you to the kitchen stove?”

  “Because I can’t get pregnant.”

  “Ah, well, nothing is perfect. Except this coffee.” She finished the last drop in the mug and smiled winningly at him. “Do we really have to go fishing?”

  “We really do. But nice try. I especially liked the bit about taking off my shoes and socks before you chained me up.”

  Honor laughed and let the last of her grouchiness slide away. Dawn with Jake wasn’t all that bad.

  “Truce?” he asked dryly.

  She shrugged. “Yeah. I’m awake, now.”

  “So am I,” he said, turning back to the chart plotter he had been working over when Honor appeared. “Sorry for that crack about staring.”

  “Sorry for staring,” she muttered. “I’m not used to mostly naked men in the morning.”

  “Whatever happened to women’s liberation?”

  “AIDS, among other things,” she said, reaching for the coffeepot on the stove. “Celibacy is back.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  “So is sex.” She yawned. “You want some?”

  Jake’s head snapped up. He saw her pouring coffee into her mug and told himself he was relieved rather than disappointed that she was offering him coffee, not sex.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  She creamed the coffee and handed it to him.

  “You do that like you’re used to fixing coffee for . . . someone,” Jake said.

  “Faith. She likes loads of cream and sugar. Actually, cinnamon lattes are her favorite.” Honor shuddered delicately. “What a breakfast.”

  “That reminds me. Did you eat something before you left the cottage?”

  “My alarm clock.”

  Jake’s head snapped around toward her.

  She burst out laughing. “You should see the look on your face.”

  “I’d like to. I’m trying to imagine how you’ll sound at dawn tomorrow morning.”

  “We aren’t going to be up then.”

  “Of course we are. Would you like an omelet to go with your alarm clock?”

  Honor gave him a look of wide-eyed awe. “Can you actually cook?”

  “Do I look like I’m starving?”

  “There are restaurants.”

  “Local restaurants are the number one reason I learned how to cook.”

  She wanted to ask if he had ever been married but couldn’t think of a subtle way to do it. “Have you ever been married?”

  “Yeah. Have you?”

  “Nope. I never found a man brave enough to take on the Donovan clan. How long were you married?”

  “What makes you think I’m not married now?”

  It was Honor’s turn to be caught with her jaw hanging open.

  “It was twelve years ago and it lasted less than a year,” he said, smiling slowly. “I was in the navy and she was a party girl who didn’t like being alone. No kids and no regrets. Any other questions?”

  Honor winced. “Sorry. I was just curious and it’s too early in the morning to be clever about asking.”

  He tugged lightly on a flyaway piece of her hair. “I’m the direct sort myself. No kids for you either?”

  “I told you I wasn’t married.”

  “Honey, if you think it takes marriage to get a woman pregnant, you should watch daytime television.” Shaking his head, he turned away from her. “Can you cook?”

  “Sure. Do you want me to peel the eggs for the omelet?”

  His head turned swiftly toward her before he realized that he had been suckered again. Smiling, he turned toward the stove. Kyle had been like that—quick-minded, quick to tease, quick to laugh at himself. Good company.

  “What would you do if I said yes to peeling the eggs?” Jake asked.

  “Make a mess.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  He started cracking eggs into a bowl. While he made an omelet, Honor looked at the computer screens.

  “What’s on the screen?” she asked.

  “I found a batch of stored routes.”

  “Where do they lead?”

  “Out in the islands.”

  “Fishing holes?”

  “Seem to be.”

  She made an impatient gesture. “The fishing can wait. I want to learn how to run the boat.”

  “You can do both at once.”

  Honor grimaced. “Whatever. Let’s get to it.”

  “Eat breakfast first. You learn better when your stomach isn’t empty.”

  What Jake didn’t say was that he wanted to be certain that the elusive fourth boat, the Olympic, had time to get into the predawn parade. He would really like to get a look at whoever was aboard. It made him edgy not to know the names of all the players.

  He poured the egg mixture into a hot pan. As the eggs set, he started adding ingredients.

  “Did Kyle ever say anything to you about diving?” Jake asked casually, watching the eggs.

  “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not really. He dove off of Australia some years back, when Archer was investigating Broome’s potential as a pearl supplier.”

  “But Kyle never talked about diving here?”

  “Only in the negative. As diving goes, I gather the San Juan Islands aren’t much.”

  “Compared to the tropics, they aren’t. Diving here is hard, cold work. The currents are always tricky and often “Do you dive?”

  He shrugged. “Some. Is Kyle’s diving gear stored up at the cottage?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I turned that place upside down looking for his twenty-two pistol. I didn’t find any diving gear.”

  “What about the pistol?”

  “It’s missing, too.” Then she added quickly, “But the guy who washed up on the beach wasn’t shot, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “All I’m thinking of is not burning the eggs.” He swirled the mixture around and tested the edges. Not ready to fold yet. “Did you see anything like this when you were searching?” he asked, turning toward the galley table.

  Honor looked at the small electronic gizmo he picked up off the table.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “GPS receiver.”

  “Hello?”

  “Global Positioning System. A receiver tells you where you are within a few yards or a few hundred feet, depending on how the government has dicked with the signal.”

  Eyebrows raised, she glanced at the modest-looking bit of electronics again. “I didn’t see anything like it.”

  He wasn’t surprised. He suspected that Kyle had the GPS unit with him. For whatever reason, Kyle had chosen to leave the SeaSport behind and use the Zodiac instead. Locating
things at sea was dicey. A GPS made it almost easy. Almost, but not quite.

  “Where else might Kyle keep dive gear?” Jake asked.

  “Not in his car. I checked it first thing.”

  Jake focused on the omelet. He didn’t want to be too obvious about finding out where Honor’s brother might store things he didn’t keep on the premises, but subtlety wasn’t getting the job done.

  “Does Kyle have one of those U-rent storage lockers in that place on the edge of town?” Jake asked finally, folding the omelet with a flip of the spatula.

  “If he does, I didn’t see anything about it in his checkbook. That omelet smells heavenly. What’s in it?”

  “Cilantro, sweet onions, jack cheese,” he said absently. He was digesting the information that Honor had been through Kyle’s check register in search of anything that might lead to her brother. For all her talk of nonlinear information sources, she didn’t overlook the linear kind. “Any unusual deposits or withdrawals?”

  “No big ones, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “The only sort of unusual check was to a wine seller in California. And for Kyle, that’s not really unusual. He likes decent wines, but not the kind it’s high drama to drink.”

  “High drama?” Jake asked, looking at her.

  “You know. The kind you have to open with a sterling silver corkscrew, pour into Baccarat crystal, and roll around on your tongue while someone whispers in your ear about all the fine points of the vintage that you, slobby peasant that you are, would overlook in quest of good old alcohol.”

  Smiling, Jake lifted a corner of the omelet and decided it could wait for a few more moments. “What about his post office box?”

  “Junk mail. Household bills. More junk mail.”

  “Telephone bill?”

  The last traces of humor left Honor’s expression. “That too.”

  He waited, hoping he wouldn’t have to drag information out of her like a cop on cross-examination. He was walking a very fine line between making her suspicious by asking too many questions about Kyle and wasting time by not asking questions.

  “There haven’t been any long-distance calls charged on this number since Kyle went to Kaliningrad,” Honor said finally. “At least, none that have been billed yet.”

  Jake didn’t point out that dead men don’t make phone calls. Neither did men who were on the run with a fortune in stolen amber and didn’t want to be traced.

  He slid the omelet onto a plate and put it in front of her. “Eat while I cast off. The tide isn’t patient.”

  “What about you?”

  “Under the right circumstances I can be very patient.”

  She watched his slow smile and wondered if it had been registered as a lethal weapon. “Um, I meant the omelet. Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?”

  “I already did.”

  Jake shut the cabin door behind him as he left, keeping out the chilly wind that was rising with the distant dawn. The Tomorrow’s navigation lights burned colorfully against the slowly fading night. He cast off the bow and stern lines, stepped aboard, and took the aft controls. As soon as the boat was headed in the right direction, he ducked back into the cabin and took the helm seat.

  “Any company?” Honor asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Do you suppose Captain Conroy is going to show up and board us again?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “I don’t think much would.”

  Jake gave her a swift glance, wondering what she meant. She was licking the tines of her plastic fork. Not a scrap of omelet remained after her tongue passed over. He looked away, but not quickly enough. His pants were getting tight. He concentrated on the water and cursed his body’s quick response to Honor’s agile little tongue.

  “Wonderful,” she said.

  He grunted.

  “No, I mean it,” she said. “That was a great omelet.”

  “It’s the cilantro. Gives it just enough edge to be interesting.”

  “You’re sure you’re not married?”

  “Positive. It’s not the kind of thing a man would forget.”

  “Good grief. Talk about people who should spend a week watching daytime television . . .”

  She licked the fork again and sighed.

  “It’s a fork, not a sucker,” Jake muttered.

  “What?”

  “Did you bring binoculars?” he asked clearly.

  “Yes.” She stuck her hand into the leather backpack she had brought aboard and pulled out a small pair of glasses. “Right here.”

  He glanced at the dainty glasses. “Use mine. They’ll do a better job in low light. Check out the boat coming up on our right.”

  “Port,” she said promptly. “See? I learned something nautical yesterday.”

  “You learned it wrong. Port means left. Same number of letters in each word.”

  “What about right and starboard?” she asked, smiling slyly.

  “What about it?”

  “Never mind. You aren’t up to my speed yet.”

  For an instant Jake thought of telling her to put a hand in his pants and check out just how up he was. Then he saw lights approaching from another quarter.

  “Use the binoculars on those boats,” he said, pointing.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Names, registration numbers, model of boat, anything you can see.”

  “Let me drive while you look,” she said. “You know what you’re looking for.”

  Jake noticed that Honor didn’t say it as an accusation or even ask him why a fishing guide was curious about the other boats. Probably because she wanted to know who was in those boats for the same reason he did—Kyle and missing amber.

  “Right now I’m looking for logs,” he said.

  Honor’s eyes widened. She stared at the darkly shimmering water. “Is that why we’re creeping along at eight knots?”

  “Only a fool or someone with a life at stake races around the San Juans in the dark in a small boat.”

  “Right. You look at logs. I’ll look at boats.” She took Jake’s binoculars from the rack just above the table and fiddled with the focus until she found the first boat. “I can’t be positive, but it looks like the name is Bay Timer.”

  “Bayliner. It’s a name brand, like Ford or Honda. How many people aboard?”

  “Can’t tell.”

  “Try the starboard boat.”

  “That’s the one on our right, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  She smiled. “It looks a little smaller than the first boat. That’s about all I can tell right now.”

  “Probably the other Bayliner.”

  “What?”

  “There were two of them yesterday. Any other boats?”

  “I’m looking.”

  Slowly Jake brought up the speed, pushing the limits of visibility. Dawn was coming on hard now, a silent explosion of color and light sweeping across the arch of the sky.

  “A bright spot of orange just popped up,” Honor said. “Must be Conroy.”

  “Probably. Anyone else?”

  “I can’t be sure, but I think there’s a fourth boat way off to the left—port.”

  He looked in that direction. “I don’t see any lights.”

  “Neither do I. But there’s something out there against the dawn and it’s shaped like a boat.”

  “Keep an eye on it.”

  Jake killed the Tomorrow’s spotlight and navigation lights. Then he shifted course and headed for the mysterious boat.

  “Let me know when we’re close enough to make out the features of the folks on board,” he said.

  “Won’t they see us first?”

  “Look behind us.”

  She did. It looked a lot darker in that direction. “Clever.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are we looking for anyone in particular?”

  “Snake Eyes.”

  Honor li
fted the binoculars and began looking. After a few minutes she made a soft sound, leaned forward, and stared through the binoculars.

  “What is it?” Jake asked.

  “It’s gone. The boat. I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “Get up here in the pilot seat.”

  Without a word she jumped to her feet and shifted seats. Only then did she look at Jake in reluctant admiration. “What a tone. Were you a drill sergeant in the navy?”

  “They don’t have them. Hang on. This won’t be a smooth ride.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Get close enough for a look.”

  8

  THE SOUND OF the SeaSport’s engine deepened and expanded like the dawn as Jake brought up the throttle. The boat rose up on plane, speeding across the indigo sea. A combination of wind and tide chopped up the surface of the water. Every few seconds, sheets of spray lifted on either side of the bow.

  “You see him yet?” Jake asked.

  “No.”

  “You see any wakes?”

  “We’re splashing so much ourselves, I can’t be sure.”

  He nudged up the throttle some more.

  “What about those logs you mentioned?” Honor asked through clenched teeth.

  “It’s a big ocean.”

  As the Tomorrow shot over the top of a small wind wave, he chopped back on the throttle just enough to soften the landing. Honor made a startled sound and braced herself against the dashboard when he brought the speed up again. Spray burst over the bow. He flicked on the three wipers long enough to clear the windows and trimmed the bow down. The ride became less rough.

  When they came out of the lee of an island, the water turned more choppy. The ride went from occasionally bouncy to rough. He kept the revs high and readjusted the trim so that the chine met the waves at a better angle.

  “The rest of the parade is falling behind,” Honor said.

  “Their problem, not mine. Can you see the fourth boat yet?”

  “No.”