“What does he think he’s doing in the center of the shipping channel?” Honor muttered, adjusting course.
“Fishing. And he’s not in the center. He’s at the crotch of the Y where two shipping channels merge.”
“What about the freighter and the ferry?”
“They’ll miss each other. And unless the shrimper is nuts, he won’t push the right-of-way issue. Just like we won’t. We’re in the ferry’s danger quarter, but we’ll give way to him instead of vice versa. Man-made rules are one thing. The natural laws of mass and momentum are another thing entirely. There’s something known as being dead right.”
Cold rain made the windows start to steam up. Jake reached past Honor and turned the defrosters on low. She flinched and jerked back when his arm brushed against her. He ignored it, adjusted the radar to reach out into the rain for miles in all directions, and studied the new display. No new boats showed up along the Tomorrow’s course.
“All right,” he said. “Imagine an old-fashioned clock. We’re at the center. Straight ahead of us is twelve o’clock, straight back is six o’clock—”
“Three o’clock is ninety degrees to the right,” she interrupted impatiently, “and nine o’clock is ninety degrees to the left. Now what?”
“Head halfway between one and two o’clock,” Jake said.
Honor glanced uneasily at the closing gap between the freighter and the ferry. That was where Jake’s directions would take the SeaSport.
“Do it,” he said flatly. “The longer you hesitate, the worse it will be.”
While she changed course, he brought the radar back in to sweeping only the nearby water. The rain was letting up, but not the clouds. They were coming right down to sit on the ocean. Though the resulting condition wasn’t the same as fog, it had a bad effect on visibility.
“Jake, I can’t see the—”
“Look at the radar,” he interrupted, pointing to the screen. “That’s the ferry. That’s the freighter. That’s the shrimper. That’s the sailboat. That’s the Grand Banks cruiser. That’s the idiot in the skiff. You’re going here. Bring your speed up.”
“What about the boats behind us? One of them is veering toward shore.”
“Conroy. His Zodiac has a really shallow draft. The tide is low, but he’ll be able to scoot along the shoreline out of traffic. The rest of them can drop back or take their chances.”
“What about us?”
“At high tide we could get away with what Conroy is doing. But there are rocks that come within two feet of the surface at low tide. We need more water than that. The freighter and the ferry need a hell of a lot more. They’ll stay well inside the channel markers. We’ll stay just outside them. Watch for logs. Two currents come together right around here, which means debris collects. Remember what I told you about a log if you can’t avoid it?”
“Steer into it, not away from it. Jake, that freighter—”
“I see it,” he interrupted.
What he saw was that the freighter wasn’t holding the expected course. It was staying in the Tomorrow’s danger quarter, which meant there would be a collision unless one of them changed speed or course.
Quickly Jake checked the radar. Instinct ran cold fingernails over his spine. Normally he would have cut back on the throttle and waited for the traffic to clear. It was the sensible thing for a small craft to do when playing with seagoing elephants.
But if the Tomorrow slowed down now, they would be swamped by the oncoming ferry. The ferry’s captain would get a reprimand and an early retirement for not suspending natural laws by giving way to the SeaSport in the ferry’s danger quarter. Jake and Honor would get an early grave.
“I’ll take over,” he said.
If she had any objections, she didn’t get a chance to voice them. He pulled her out of the helm seat and dumped her in the pilot seat before she could open her mouth.
“Hang on,” he said as he reached for the throttle.
The second set of carburetor jets kicked in with a throaty growl of delight. Jake’s fingers danced over the controls as he set a new course, adjusted the trim, turned the defrosters onto high, and settled in for a short, rugged run through the narrowing window of safety.
The Tomorrow raced across the water. There were moments when it was more like riding a skipping stone than a boat, but it worked. The freighter began shifting out of dead center in their danger quarter.
Even so, it was going to be close. Very close.
The freighter gave three short blasts of its horn.
“Stiff-necked bastard,” Jake muttered. “He’s got better radar coverage than we do. He could change course without endangering or even inconveniencing himself.”
Obviously the freighter wasn’t going to do that. In fact, if it had changed course at all, the result was to bring the huge ship closer to rather than farther away from a collision with the SeaSport.
Honor gripped the dashboard with one hand and the fixed armrest with the other. Even so, the force of the boat hurtling through the choppy water lifted her off the seat and slammed her back down with spine-rattling force. In tight silence she watched the freighter loom closer and closer on the radar.
She could tell by the position of the throttle that the Tomorrow had more speed available, yet Jake didn’t use it. Before she could ask why, he spun the helm, sending the boat hard to the left. Something slammed against the hull. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a dark shape sliding away in a boil of foam. A log.
Jake spun the wheel back onto the old heading and gave the radar a flicking glance. Where there should have been one image, he saw two. The second one was much smaller, but still many times bigger than the Tomorrow.
And it was heading straight at them.
“Hang on,” he said grimly.
“I am!”
He slammed the throttle forward. The SeaSport’s bow exploded wave tops into wild sheets of spray.
The radio crackled. Most of the words were drowned out by the noise of going too fast over choppy water.
“ . . . Conroy. Do you read me, Jake? There’s a ship in the radar shadow of the freighter. Change course to . . .” The noise of the Tomorrow slamming into a bigger wave drowned out whatever Conroy was saying.
Though Jake appreciated the warning, he didn’t have a spare hand for the radio right now. It was taking all of his skill to keep the Tomorrow right side up. Even the most seaworthy boat had its limits, especially at speed. He knew he was crowding the SeaSport’s.
Sheets of spray drenched the windshield. Salt water overpowered the wipers for seconds at a time. It didn’t matter to Jake. He was running on radar, skill, nerve, and necessity.
Honor didn’t bother screaming or pointing out the new blip on the radar screen. Obviously Jake had already seen it. There was no other reason he would have the SeaSport going flat out over choppy water. With unnatural calm she watched the radar screen. The gap they were racing toward closed in little jerks with each new sweep of the radar.
The freighter leaned on its horn again. She looked out the window and saw an immense shape looming. Her breath locked in her chest. She couldn’t have screamed if she had wanted to.
The Tomorrow flew over the chop and across the freighter’s bow with seconds to spare.
No sooner had they cleared the freighter than a new threat leaped out. Jake had an instant to recognize the outline of a big Alaska seiner before he brought the bow around hard. The SeaSport skidded, jerked, and bit into the water again.
They shot past the second boat. They were so close Honor could count the rust streaks streaming from the anchor chain. She knew she would be counting them in her nightmares.
The seiner’s wake hit them like a fist, but Jake was prepared. He had already chopped back speed and angled the bow to minimize the impact. Even so, the boat lifted and dropped sickeningly, slamming into the surface of the sea as though it were concrete rather than salt water.
Honor stared at the radar like a b
ird at a snake, waiting for the next piece of bad news.
The screen was clear of everything but a small boat racing toward them from the solid mass of the island ahead. Even as she spotted the Coast Guard Zodiac, it must have spotted them. The radio crackled to life.
Jake switched channels and picked up the microphone to answer Conroy’s query.
“Tomorrow here. No damage.”
“Nice bit of driving,” Conroy responded. “Vasi’s seiner couldn’t see you.”
“Didn’t the freighter warn him?”
“From what I gathered while you were outrunning them, the freighter’s radar has been ‘spotty’ and no one on board the seiner spoke enough English in any case. Or was it Russian they didn’t speak and the seiner’s radar that was spotty?”
Conroy’s sarcastic tone said plainly that he wasn’t impressed by the explanations he had heard.
“No harm, no foul,” Jake said.
“That was too close.”
“No argument here.”
“Maybe you should stay off the water for a while.”
“Officially?”
“Since when has common sense been official?” Conroy shot back.
Jake laughed and signed off the air. Before he could hang up the microphone, another call came in on the hailing frequency. He listened to the request, switched channels, and looked at Honor before he turned on the microphone.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You’re sure?”
“A few bruises on my rear end. No big deal.”
He smiled slowly, relief and something more, something hotter.
“Anything that happens to your rear end is a big deal as far as I’m concerned,” he said. “You fit like you were made just for me.”
“Stop talking about—”
A burst from the radio cut across her words. “Jake, it is Petyr. Profound apologies, my friend. Are you me listening? Ah, excuse please. Excitement too much. Are you hearing me?”
Jake looked at the microphone as though it had just bitten him. Of all the bad news he had heard since Kyle disappeared, Petyr Resnikov could easily be the worst.
“I’m hearing you,” Jake said into the microphone. “Which boat are you aboard?”
“The freighter. The captain is quite angry, but you know how silly seafaring peasants are. He insists it was your fault even though his radar is, shall I say, inconsistent?”
“So I was told. What are you doing in this half of the world?” Jake asked bluntly.
Laughter came out of the speaker. “Ah, Jacob. You have not changed.”
“Have you?”
“Cheerfully, not a whittle. If you will come on board as soon as we dock, you and I may toast one another with some of Russia’s best vodka.”
Jake had no intention of getting aboard anything with Petyr Resnikov until he knew who was paying the Russian.
“Not this time,” Jake said easily. “I’m doing something else this afternoon.”
“But of course. Bring the beautiful, artistic Miss Donovan with you. If she is as charming as the brother Kyle, she will be a glowing companion.”
Jake glanced toward Honor. At the moment she looked more rattled than charming.
“Some other time,” he said into the radio.
Like never. He had no intention of letting Honor within a hundred yards of the elegant, rapierlike Russian.
“Ah, Jacob, you sadden me,” Resnikov said calmly. “May I insist? For—how do you say it?—reason of older times?”
The gentle tones didn’t mislead Jake. He had just been given an invitation he shouldn’t refuse.
“Meet me at the Chowder Keg in two hours,” Jake said.
15
SILENTLY JAKE TURNED off the ignition of his truck. He looked at Honor. She had changed into fitted black jeans, a bronze turtleneck sweater, and a black linen jacket. She wore a hand-wrought gold necklace. Its pendant was a stylized, rock crystal and jet spiral in the ancient yin and yang design. He knew without asking that she had designed it.
He looked across the sidewalk at the weathered, windowless front door that belonged to the Chowder Keg and wished he had chosen one of the town’s more upscale diners. It had been years since he had braved the smoke and sour smell of grease in order to eat what was arguably the best clam chowder in the Pacific Northwest. He had forgotten just how disreputable the place looked. And was.
Honor reached for the door handle on her side. Jake’s long arm shot across her and held the door closed. She yanked her hand out from under his as though she had been burned.
“Look,” he said. “This isn’t your kind of place. Too many guys from the fish boats.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know what kind of place is or isn’t my kind.”
His hand tightened over hers. He gave her a look that said he was remembering everything about last night.
“Honey, I know you from your forehead to the soles of your feet and all the sweet places in between. The Chowder Keg is hard, dirty, ratty, and rough. You aren’t.”
Honor knew she was probably blushing. She hoped the color would be written off as anger.
“You’re wasting time,” she said, refusing to look at Jake. “I’m going inside with you.”
“Why?”
“Guess,” she said through her teeth.
“You don’t trust me.”
“Aren’t you a clever boy. But we already knew that, didn’t we?”
For a few moments there were no sounds but those Jake made controlling his breathing.
“You’re going to push me until I lose my temper, aren’t you?” he asked evenly. “Then you’re going to tell me what a nasty, overbearing, untrustworthy son of a bitch I am.”
“Why would I tell you something you already know?”
“Do you want to find your brother or do you want to keep baiting me?”
Honor looked at the powerful arm barred across her body. Jake wasn’t touching her—but if she took a deep breath she would be touching him.
“Don’t bother to loom over me,” she said. “You need me too much to threaten me physically.”
“You need me just as much. Remember that and bridle your tongue.”
For an instant Honor saw nothing except the hot rush of her own blood darkening the world.
“Look who’s talking about pushing,” she said when she could trust her voice. “If you’re trying to make me lose my temper and rush off in a snit, forget it. Kyle means too much to me.”
“You love him.”
“Of course I do.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?” she retorted.
“You sure do fall out of love easily,” he said in a soft, cold voice.
Honor flinched. Until that moment she had actually hoped Jake hadn’t heard her foolish, whispered declaration of love.
“Easy come, easy go,” she said with a tight shrug. “Move your arm.”
“Look at me.”
She didn’t turn her head one bit.
“Stop acting like a spoiled child,” he said. “Petyr Resnikov is a shrewd, handsome womanizer who supposedly no longer works for the KGB. I don’t believe it. You shouldn’t. At best we might be able to use Pete to find the amber. At worst he’ll use us. If you don’t stop acting like I’m a bad smell, I can guarantee that we’ll be the ones who get used.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked tightly.
Jake looked at Honor’s stiff posture and was tempted to shock her by telling her exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it, and how he wanted it. But that wouldn’t improve the situation one bit.
“An act,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to act like I’m an all-day sucker and you can’t wait to lick me. I’ll do the same with you.”
“I’m not that good an actress.”
“You were before Archer called the second time.”
She started to retort tha
t it hadn’t been an act then. Just in time she saw the trap and bit off the protest. “I’ll do what I can.”
“You can start by looking at me.”
Honor clenched her hands. Then she deliberately relaxed her fingers and turned to look at Jake. Not his eyes, though. She really didn’t want to see the male contempt in them for a silly, easy female conquest.
“Anything else?” she asked through pale lips.
“Pete will want to know what our relationship is.”
“I hired you to handle my brother’s boat.”
“And?”
“That’s what you’re doing.”
“Then why are we sleeping together?”
“We aren’t.”
“Wrong answer. If you think I’m going to lie awake in the boat wondering when some other mafiya hopeful will prowl through the cottage, you’re nuts.”
“No. I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Whether you sleep or not is your problem. Mine is making sure I’m the only one in your bed.”
“No.”
“All right. We’ll do it your way.”
At first Honor didn’t think she had heard correctly. Before she could ask Jake to repeat it, he was talking again.
“I’ll arrange your ticket to Tahiti and some husky types to handle your luggage.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Wrong again. You have two choices—me as your roommate while we look for Kyle, or Tahiti and bodyguards. Take your pick, Ms. Donovan.”
“You can’t force me to—”
“I can damn well make sure that you’re taken out of the game,” he interrupted savagely. “If you don’t believe me, keep pushing. The only way you’ll find out about Kyle will be in the newspapers.”
This time Honor looked at Jake, really looked at him. There was nothing smug or superior about him. He was as coldly furious as she was. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was the one who had been betrayed rather than her.
“Where do you get off being angry?” she demanded. “I’m the one who got screwed!”
“So that’s it,” he said. “Forget all the huffing and puffing about truth. My crime was teaching you how good sex can be.” His voice softened. “Don’t be mad, honey. I learned the same thing. Or is it just that I didn’t say I love you right on cue?”
Amber Beach Page 22
