Dean didn’t realize how passionately he was talking until he stopped, and the resulting silence dragged on for a minute. Her mouth was slightly open and her cheeks looked a little pink—maybe from the shorts comment.
He probably shouldn’t have said that. Not because it might be construed as sexist—whatever—but because it gave too much away.
He’d been looking.
• • •
Annie shouldn’t be surprised by the captain’s defense of her father and other men like him. She’d heard many of the arguments before—albeit not so plainly and forcefully put. But the possibility that her father might have had a brain injury still had her reeling.
“You certainly don’t mince words, do you?” she said. “Disneyland?” She shook her head. “I’ll remember that. But in defense of ‘liberals,’ we don’t all live in Fantasyland—conservatives just don’t allow for the possibility that they could be wrong. You make it sound too simple, but good and evil aren’t always that black-and-white, and the people making the decisions don’t always know what’s right. Actually, if you look at recent history, they tend to make plenty of mistakes. Toppling Saddam”—she couldn’t resist pronouncing it like the first Bush president—“made room for ISIS to step in. And frankly a lot of political leaders today—on both sides—are not the ones I want making those ‘tough’ decisions.” She paused, taking his silence perhaps as begrudging agreement. “Look, I’m not saying that the military or Special Forces aren’t sometimes necessary. I’m saying that they are being overused for questionable purposes when the cost is so great. There are too many families like mine.”
He didn’t disagree—with that, at least. “If we let everyone make decisions, nothing would ever get done,” he said. “Someone has to be in charge. That’s why we have elections.” He thought for a minute. She liked that about him. He thought before he spoke. And even if that speaking was too blunt, it wasn’t hyperbole and inflammatory statements. “The system doesn’t always work, but it’s the best one we have.”
“Which doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be trying to make it better. And there are other ways to make a difference.”
“You mean like your stunt with the drillship? The only difference that was going to make was alienating anyone who might be inclined to agree with you. Inconveniencing people, interfering with their jobs, and making them angry isn’t the way to persuade anyone. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you get more bees with honey?”
She felt her temper pricking at his sarcasm. “Don’t you think that’s a little ironic coming from you? Did you use a lot of honey when you were in the navy?”
He surprised her with his reply. “Sometimes yes. Despite how the media like to portray us ‘machines’”—her cheeks heated—“combat is usually the last resort. When I was in Afghanistan, we spent a lot of our time making friends with the locals and training them to defend themselves.”
Her heart sank on hearing that he’d been in Afghanistan. What hidden scars did he have?
She forced her mind back to the topic. “But weren’t you just saying something about ISIS and justifying the use of our military because diplomacy is never going to work?”
“You aren’t equating a drillship looking for oil with fighting ISIS?”
“No, I’m just saying that honey isn’t always enough. Of course I didn’t want anyone to be inconvenienced or angry, but sometimes agitation isn’t just effective—it’s also necessary to get people to listen. It’s a method. Not one I’d want to rely on all the time, but peaceful, orderly, sign-holding protests don’t always work. Sometimes you have to do something dramatic—something big—or maybe even something unpleasant to get the job done.”
“Said every terrorist everywhere. That’s exactly the type of argument that the bad guys use to justify their ‘wars.’ I bet that’s how Julien and his friends were justifying what they were planning to do, too.”
Her cheeks heated. “That isn’t fair. There’s a big difference between a sit-in on a ship and blowing it up.”
“Agreed. Just as there is a big difference between what our military is doing to combat threats like ISIS and trying to prevent drilling for oil. Even so, we aren’t doing very much blowing up at all. But as much as I’d personally like to hit the reset button, that isn’t how our government operates.”
“Reset button?” He waited for her to understand. She was incredulous. “You mean wiping them out?”
He shrugged. “These are evil people, Annie, who want to set our civilization back hundreds of years. They aren’t messing around. They’re fighting a war with us, but we’re engaged in some kind of PC bullshit. Our response has turned reactive rather than proactive. George W might have opened the door in Iraq, but it was later administrations that allowed these organizations to flare up again. If we’d taken care of them when we had a chance, we wouldn’t be in this position.”
She didn’t disagree with everything he said, which was surprising. “You might be right, but that is part of the cost of being a civilized nation. We don’t go around hitting the reset button just because we don’t like someone’s beliefs. You conservatives love to hold up the Constitution and wave it around anytime someone mentions guns, but I sometimes wonder whether you’ve actually read it.”
To her surprise he didn’t argue with her; he just laughed. “I’m beginning to feel like I’m on CNN.”
She smiled back at him. “Minus all the yelling and vitriol.”
Which was nice. She liked that they could disagree and still have an intelligent conversation. Maybe they understood each other better now, too.
He was thoughtful, watching her for a moment before speaking. “You really think that climbing on board a drillship in the middle of the ocean is the best way for you—a scientist—to make a difference? You sure that your ‘big and dramatic’ aren’t about something else?”
Maybe he understood more than she wanted. “Like what?”
His gaze was cool and steady. “You tell me.”
She knew what he thought. That this was about her dad—or rather his memory. But he was wrong. She wasn’t trying to prove herself to him or anyone else.
She did want to make a difference, and protesting was a legitimate way to do so. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree about methods. But just because you don’t like my way doesn’t make it wrong.” She eyed him speculatively. “Besides, if you believe in the system so much, what are you doing here hiding?”
From the way his jaw clenched, she could tell he wasn’t happy with the question. Nor did he have an answer for her. “It’s getting dark. I’m going to see about finding some water. You can get started on one of those protein bars if you want.” He gave her a long look. “We should get some sleep. Assuming the storm breaks, I want to leave at first light.”
“What about the boat?”
“I’ll fix it as best I can, but without the waves and the rain, it should get us there.”
Should.
“Where are we going?”
“The closest island is Lewis, but as I don’t want to risk that, it’s North Uist instead. It’s in the same chain, but I don’t think they’ll be looking for us there.”
“And then?”
He held her gaze, giving her nothing. She hadn’t thought he would. He would leave her and go on his way. What else was she expecting?
It was for the best anyway. She’d avoided his type for a reason. Even if he wasn’t in trouble, she couldn’t go there. Conservative, former military, and alpha. The trifecta of not going to happen. No matter how attracted she was to him. And how hot that kiss had been. She’d had enough of wannabe superheroes.
“Get some rest, Annie. I’ll be back.”
When the door closed behind him with a slam, something in her chest seemed to do the same.
• • •
They left the small island not long after da
wn. Dean hadn’t slept well, and he was anxious to be away. The longer he spent with Annie, the greater the risk—and not just from discovery. He knew there was something growing between them, and it had to stop.
He needed it to stop. And not just because he’d spent the better half of the night calling himself a fool for not having her under him. On top of him. In front of . . .
Fuck.
But it wasn’t just a hard dick. He wished it were. No, the reason he wanted to get away from her wasn’t just that he wanted to fuck her—which he did really badly—it was that he liked being with her.
He’d never talked to a woman the way he did with her. With her it was more like talking to the guys on the team, although with them it was usually preaching to the choir. They all had pretty similar politics. Who knew idealistic left-wingers could be so much fun?
She also wasn’t intimidated by his rank and gave it right back to him. And didn’t seem intimidated when he challenged her back.
It was oddly freeing. He could say what he wanted and not worry about how she took it or hurt feelings. Had he unconsciously been holding back in previous relationships? Maybe. Although admittedly the women he met at Hula’s weren’t usually environmental scientists with a PhD.
He might need to change things up when he got back and this was all behind him. Which had better be soon. Dean had never had much patience, but what little he had had been exhausted a long time ago. He couldn’t sit back and wait with his hands tied much longer.
As soon as he landed somewhere safe, he was going to make a call. She was right. He did believe in the system, and going dark like this went against every instinct.
“How much farther?” Annie asked.
She’d been unusually quiet all morning—and contemplative. Other than thanking him for another protein bar and for sharing the small travel-sized soap and toothpaste he carried in his bag to freshen up in the morning, she hadn’t said much. It was almost as if she was as anxious as he to put this all behind them.
He was glad they were on the same wavelength about not getting involved. He might not like her reasons, but it made things easier. He didn’t know whether he’d be able to stop things a second time. Not after a long night of thinking about the first time. He could still taste cherries—from the lip balm he saw her use—and feel the spasms of her body as she came apart, and the firm grip of her hand on his cock.
That most of all.
He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Mickey hadn’t made another appearance.
“Not far,” he answered, forcing the memories away. “Probably another ten miles or so. You can try the radio again. We’ll have a better signal now.”
Dean had turned on the radio this morning to check the weather report before they left. It had stopped raining in the middle of the night, and the skies were clear, but he wasn’t taking any chances—not with the inflatable being held together with duct tape.
In the emergency box on board, he’d found a hand pump that enabled him to do a bit of repair work on the boat before leaving the island. Sometimes inflatables of this size also had acetone and tape or a repair kit on board. He wasn’t that lucky. The acetone would have given him a better seal on the tape. But so far it seemed to be holding.
The signal earlier hadn’t been good enough to hear the full report, but “clearing skies” had sounded promising enough to leave.
The signal was much better this time. They caught the tail end of the weather, but it was what they heard next that changed everything.
Fifteen
Dean’s expression was grim as the broadcaster repeated the warning for all sea craft and seaside communities of the Outer Hebrides to be on the lookout for two suspects—a male approximately six feet three inches tall, fifteen stone, thirty years old, light brown hair, heavy beard, and a female approximately twenty-five, five and a half feet tall, nine stone, long, dark hair, and green eyes, both presumed armed and dangerous.
The descriptions were off a little in the particulars—he was six-four, two twenty—more like sixteen stone—and thirty-three—but close enough to identify them.
“What’s going on?” Annie said. “They are making it sound as if we are the criminals.”
That was exactly what it sounded like, which Dean knew wasn’t good. “Try another channel.”
It took a few tries, but eventually she found a news broadcast from Lewis. The bulletin came a few minutes later. “The big story this morning is the two men found murdered on a local dive boat, and the hunt for the two suspects responsible. The sole survivor of the horrible ordeal at sea, which took place about fifty miles northwest of Lewis, is telling a harrowing account of robbery and murder carried out by the charter captain and his American accomplice. Islanders are warned not to approach on their own, suspects are armed and dangerous, but to report any sightings to the police immediately.”
Dean swore.
Annie looked at him wide-eyed and pale. “Murder? What is he talking about? We didn’t murder anyone.”
Dean slowed the motor to meet her gaze. “No, but it sounds as if someone did.”
She made a sound that was a cry and gasp combined. “Jean Paul?”
He nodded. “That would be my guess.”
“But how is that possible? He was tied up.”
Dean had checked all the ties and made sure their hands had been behind their backs, where they couldn’t get the leverage as he had done to break through them. Jean Paul hadn’t gotten loose that way.
But Dean had made a mistake. In the hurry, he hadn’t patted him down to check for weapons. “He must have had a knife on him. Somewhere that he or one of the others could reach.”
“But what about the explosives? Why didn’t they mention anything about that?”
“I assume they are at the bottom of the ocean right now. Jean Paul probably threw them overboard before the coast guard arrived.”
It finally set in what that meant. “That means Julien . . .” Anguished, tear-filled eyes locked on his. “And Claude.”
“I’m sorry, Annie.”
She shook her head as if she didn’t believe it, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Dean reached out and swept a few away, but that was all the comfort he could give her right now.
He had to focus on other things. Like how the hell they were going to slip through a net cast for a murderer that was getting wider every minute.
• • •
Julien dead? Murdered by his former teacher and the man he admired so much? It couldn’t be true! But the tears pouring down her cheeks told her she knew it was.
As angry as Annie had been with Julien for involving her in this nightmare—and she’d been furious—she hadn’t wanted to see him killed for it. Punished for his crimes certainly, but not like this.
She’d believed him when he said he never intended for anyone to get hurt. Julien had been duped as well.
Oh God, poor Julien. Maybe she’d jumped into a relationship too quickly, but Annie had truly cared for him. She didn’t want to think that he would have gone through with blowing up the ship as Jean Paul had planned.
Was that why Jean Paul had killed him? But that didn’t explain Claude. He’d been in on the full plan. There had been no reason for Jean Paul to kill him. Unless Jean Paul’s only intention had been to turn the scrutiny from himself and put it on them. Had she unwittingly played a hand in Julien’s and Claude’s deaths?
The thought made her ill.
She couldn’t let Jean Paul get away with it. As soon as they reached the island—North Uist—she would find the nearest police station and clear everything up.
The question was whether she could convince Dan to come with her. If he truly wasn’t involved in anything illegal, the seriousness of the charges would have to make him want to clear his name . . . right?
“Jea
n Paul can’t get away with this. You have to come with me to the police station when we reach North Uist.”
Dan was standing at the wheel, looking out over the helm with his returned cap flipped backward against the wind. His gaze shifted to her for only an instant. “We aren’t going there.”
It wasn’t easy to hear over the loud throttle of the engine, but she knew she’d heard him correctly. “What do you mean we aren’t going there? Is there someplace closer? We have to find someone to explain this to right away. They think we are murderers! What if Jean Paul gets away?”
“I’m more worried about us getting away. With the storm over, I’m sure they have all the coast guard in the area out looking for us. Unfortunately there is a Maritime Operation Centre in Stornoway. They only have two helicopters on site, but it won’t take long to call in a few more. The one good thing we have going for us is that not knowing about the leak in the boat, they’ll have assumed that we would be able to travel all night.”
How did he know so much about Scottish Coast Guard operations?
“I don’t want to get away,” Annie said, her voice getting higher as her panic increased. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”
“That’s not how it looks right now, and I don’t have time to sit in jail while they figure it out.”
“That’s crazy. No one is going to put us in jail. As soon as we tell them what happened, they’ll realize Jean Paul is a liar.”
“How will they know that? What proof do you have? It’s his word against ours. And there is no way in hell I can get caught up in a murder investigation.”
“That’s what this is about! Whatever trouble you are in, it can’t be as serious as this. Please,” she begged. “The longer we wait, the worse it will look—and what if they let Jean Paul go?”
Going Dark Page 16
