They went to work raising the tent. As irritating as the swarming insects were, Adam was about ready to crawl into it, however cramped the quarters, zip the flap closed and huddle there until morning.
This task was another one he had to leave mostly to Claire, exacerbating his mood. As little as he’d paddled, he was developing some blisters. Probably gripping the paddle too tightly, a mistake that could have several unpleasant consequences. They had yet to camp anywhere Claire could drive stakes; instead, the tent had to be secured by lines tied to nearby tree limbs. Given the lack of mobility in his right arm and the blisters, he was lousy at dealing with the thin cord.
Yeah, he could have done it, but would have taken twice as long. One more source of frustration.
Given their relative sizes, he gave up and let her crawl inside and lay out the pads and sleeping bags, too. She didn’t suggest they head right to bed, though, only crawled back out.
Apparently, she wasn’t any readier to drop into peaceful slumber than he was, and didn’t favor squatting in the tent until she was.
Net masking his face, Adam sat down on that too-low-to-the-ground chair and resumed brooding.
“What are you thinking?” Claire asked at last.
“Wishing we could have holed up at either of our previous campsites,” he said honestly. “Someone would have come along eventually. And yeah, I know that wasn’t possible.”
They’d come too close once to being discovered at the first campsite. If the boat had circled closer, one of the men would have seen the break in the rock guarding the island. No matter what, the diminishing supply of drinking water would have forced them to move on.
He slapped a mosquito that had settled on a strip of skin between his cuff and glove.
Lingering at the inlet where they found Sheppard’s body would have been too risky, too. It would have been logical for Adam’s former shipmates to revisit it. Adam wasn’t crazy about tonight’s, either, even if they were hidden in the woods. What they weren’t was in a good position to put a kayak in the water fast to intercept a passing boat they could be sure had no connection to the freighter or the yacht.
What ate at him was how many days had gone by. Had the yacht slunk back to finish taking on the remaining cargo? Or was he wrong, and it had already loaded the important and dangerous part?
“Damn, I wish we knew if they’d set up camp,” he said aloud. “The flare gun isn’t much use, but I could slash that damn boat with a knife and make sure they couldn’t ever launch it again.”
She turned her head to stare at him, alarm in her eyes. “Just tiptoe up and start poking holes?”
“Something like that.”
“You don’t think the air rushing out wouldn’t make noise? Sort of like the orcas exhaling?”
He unclenched his teeth. “It might. Wouldn’t take me long, though.”
“I wish I thought you were just dreaming.”
“I have trouble believing they’re going back to the freighter every night. The smaller boat coming and going might draw unwelcome attention. A rusty old tub like that is in danger of catching the eye of the coast guard as it is. If they see it twice...why is it just sitting there?”
“Good reason for them to be moving around, except they almost have to be staying out in deeper waters most of the time.” She sounded thoughtful. “They might have anchored in Fulton Passage, but if they’re really following us north, they’d have had to follow the western shore of Spider Island.”
“The two guys we’ve seen—” he told her their names, not sure he had before “—must have radio contact with the freighter, but they might be afraid to go back in person and admit to Dwayne that they can’t seem to find us. Or, now, that they did, but let us get away.”
“Because a bunch of orcas got in the way.”
Adam grinned, knowing the expression wasn’t a nice one. “Dwayne wouldn’t have much patience if they make up stories like that.”
“It was sort of surreal.”
“Yeah. That’s the word I was trying to think of. Between the fog and the gunshots following us, their appearance seemed...” He hesitated.
Claire supplied a word. “Magical.”
Adam couldn’t argue with her, although that wasn’t a word that had ever crossed his lips.
“Well, right now, you have no idea where those guys are camped for the night,” she said briskly. “So you can put out of your mind any fantasies of slashing their boat to ribbons. I’m not volunteering to head back out on the water to look for them.”
“I wouldn’t take you if you did.”
He didn’t have to see her to know she was glaring at him. His very silence let her know she’d won this argument. No, he wasn’t stupid enough to set out as dark gathered hoping to see the light of a campfire or kerosene lantern.
That didn’t mean he put the idea out of his head.
* * *
CLAIRE CRAWLED INTO her sleeping bag, lay still for about ten seconds, then squirmed in search of a more comfortable position. The loamy soil had seemed to pad the spot where she’d positioned the tent, but she should have realized how many tree roots reached and tangled beneath the surface. She might as well be stretched out on crisscrossing iron bars. This was like an ancient sleeper sofa with about a two-inch thick mattress, except she couldn’t seem to find anywhere to settle her butt and shoulder simultaneously between roots.
“You okay?” Adam’s gritty voice came out of the darkness.
“Sure. Just... There’s a tree root right under me.” Or two or three—or ten. She shifted to her left, then tried to scrunch herself up against the back wall of the tent.
“Scoot over closer to me,” he suggested.
She wanted to, so much she knew it wasn’t a good idea. But she wouldn’t be sleeping at all if she didn’t get more comfortable. So she rolled once, sleeping bag and all, until she came up against a hard body. Claire held still for a long moment.
“Better?”
“I think so. I’m afraid to move.”
His low chuckle might be the sexiest sound she’d ever heard.
“Here.” After some rustling, a long arm wrapped around her and pulled her even closer. She could rest her head on his shoulder, and would have been able to lay an arm across his chest and a leg over his, if the bulk of two sleeping bags hadn’t separated them. She suddenly regretted that barrier.
“Warm enough?” His breath tickled her hair.
“Uh-huh.” Too warm, which was his fault.
“Sleep tight, sweetheart.”
She froze, and thought he’d gone completely still, too. She’d swear he had quit breathing. Had that just slipped out?
If so, he’d surprised himself, and not in a good way.
But he didn’t say anything, and she didn’t move. Eventually she did drop off to sleep, although she felt like it wasn’t that long before she woke up again. Apparently she’d moved enough to find a new lump. She had to squirm some, waking him, although all he did was mumble, “Wha’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just...” Turning over? No, she couldn’t do that. She wriggled a little, fell back asleep. Woke up again, tried rolling away from Adam, but had to go back where she’d started from.
The next time she woke up, it was because she heard rustling accompanied by heavy breathing outside the tent. Even in the dark, she saw the side push in as something leaned against it.
Claire became aware that Adam’s entire body was rigid. “What the...?” he murmured.
“Bear,” she whispered in his ear. “I think.”
Snuffling noises and a grunt confirmed her fear. She grabbed the can of bear spray, but once she had it in hand, she continued to lie still, glad Adam did the same.
Neither of them had spilled any food, had they? Was the smell of their dinner lingering in the air? It had been vegetarian, thank goodness, no
thing that should have attracted any particular attention. They’d set the food vaults a fair distance away.
Another grunt, more rustling...and silence. Claire listened for all she was worth, but couldn’t hear anything except...
“Is that rain?” Adam asked quietly.
“I think so.” It was a little hard to tell for sure, because they were protected by such dense forest. Instead of pattering onto the tent—or hammering—they were getting the drips filtered through multiple layers of tree branches. “Oh, joy.”
“Good thing we set up the tent,” Adam commented. “For more than one reason.”
He was right; she definitely wouldn’t have wanted to wake up to a curious bear snuffling in her face.
Even thinking about water falling from the sky caused her bladder to suggest that she make a trip outside, but she’d have had to be a lot more desperate to obey. As Adam said, for more than one reason.
Somehow, she fell asleep again, and he must have, too, because she was half lying on top of him when she opened her eyes again to gray light and a strong neck and throat.
Dark stubble was becoming a beard. Would it be wiry or soft? She was suddenly breathing a little faster. If she lifted her head from his shoulder the tiniest bit, she could press her lips to his neck...
She’d either shocked herself, or come completely awake, because her next, more coherent thought was, so much for that early departure.
And now she really needed to put some clothes on and get out of the tent so she could pee.
He protested when she rolled off him and started squirming into the garments she’d kept in the sleeping bag with her so they wouldn’t be miserably cold this morning.
“Gotta get up,” she told him, pulling a fleece top over her shirt.
He groaned. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”
As she scooted out of the tent, she heard him scrambling into clothes behind her.
Ugh. Straightening in the clearing, she felt as if she were breathing water. Yes, it was still raining, and every branch and fern frond dripped. She heard movement up above, too: the wind that had been absent for most of the past week.
Claire pushed her way through the soggy vegetation to find a spot to crouch, then made her way back. No Adam, so she stepped out of the trees to find choppy waves not far from her feet. This had not been an ideal place to stop and set up camp.
Looking out at the channel, she knew there was no way they could set out today. On her own, she’d have hesitated. For an inexperienced kayaker, it was impossible.
Her first awareness that Adam had joined her was his growled profanity, followed by, “We’re stuck.”
“We’ve been lucky with the weather so far,” she pointed out.
“What if this lasts for days?”
Droplets clung to his dark hair and dampened his face. Muscles flexed in his jaw as he stared out at the choppy waters.
“What do you think? We sit here. We have enough food and drinking water, and could catch some rain if need be.”
Boredom and this unwanted sexual attraction would be the biggest threats, she thought.
Still glowering at the channel, he said, “Damn!”
“We have a couple of tarps we can tie over the campsite so at least we don’t get any wetter than we already are,” she offered.
He growled, “That’ll be cozy.”
Finally getting mad, Claire punched his upper arm and snapped, “Suck it up.”
* * *
ADAM FOLLOWED HER to the kayaks and delved into the hatches on his own kayak while she did the same on hers. He should be grateful that he still had plenty of dry garments, he told himself. A day resting up wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Immediately, he wished he’d chosen a better way to phrase the thought. No, the uranium being smuggled wasn’t enough to end the world, but it could blast a significant part of it. A military base? A city? He’d give a lot to know the target of the terrorists who could, even now, be assembling their bomb.
He had to remind himself that, even if he knew more, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. What they’d needed was some early intelligence so they could have prevented the freighter ever leaving the harbor.
All he could do now was dial down his disagreeable mood, however justified it was, and accept that he was no superhero. Nature had given him a slap to remind him of her supremacy.
He wondered how stormy the seas were out in the open ocean. The picture of the freighter rising and sliding down twenty-foot-high swells gave him some pleasure. Everyone on board violently seasick. Anything on deck washed overboard.
Except maybe for the uranium. He wasn’t sure what would happen with it sitting on the ocean floor. It might be an environmental disaster.
He and Claire hung the three big tarps they’d located over the tent and the rest of the campsite, using cords and even a towline through grommets to tie the corners to branches.
Neither of them said much while she cooked up a pan of their usual oatmeal, adding dried cranberries to it this morning instead of the usual raisins or nuts. Only when she handed him a mug of coffee did he say, “I’m sorry for the whining.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Is that what it was?” Then she relented. “I understand your sense of urgency.”
“You know any prayers for good weather? Or what about a dance?”
Her chuckle brightened her face and his mood both. “Nothing I’ve ever tried has worked. Sorry.” She chewed on her lower lip for a minute, watching him without quite meeting his eyes. “You know, I’ve gotten caught out on more turbulent water than this and lived to tell about it. I could make a run for it while you—”
“Not a chance,” he interrupted. Coffee splashed onto his hand as he glowered at her. “Do you seriously think I’ll let you lay your life on the line while I hunker down here...doing what? Catching up on my reading?”
“But every day counts,” she said quietly.
She was right. He remembered thinking that he could end up having to sacrifice her to save the hundreds to thousands of people that damn bomb would kill. Collateral damage, a concept he’d had to consider before while working undercover. What might have been thinkable on day one had become a hell, no.
“It would take you longer to get results,” he said, still looming over her. “If I’m there, things will move faster.”
“A whole day faster?”
No, but he felt sick at the idea of seeing her paddling away, the frail kayak tossing on waves capable of flipping it. Her disappearing in the rain; him not knowing whether she’d made it. Given the weather, what were the odds she’d meet up with other boaters? Even large cabin cruisers or fishing boats would surely stay anchored in sheltered inlets. Struggling on her own, how long would it take her to pop out in Kildidt Sound, somehow signal as big a boat as possible to stop in the gray, slanting rain and wait for a representative of the Canadian Coast Guard or Navy?
Or she could go north and strike boldly out into Queens Sound. Where, lacking any electronic devices, she’d have only flares for signaling for help. If the pilot of a large ship miscalculated the origin of the flare, that ship could just as well run right over the top of her—especially if the ocean and sky were both still gray, swells sometimes hiding her kayak.
No.
* * *
CLAIRE WASN’T ABOUT to tell him how grateful she was that he’d nixed her suggestion. So, okay, she was scared, but she still thought splitting up might be the smart thing to do. Even if the two men from the freighter came upon her, why would they do anything but exchange the time of day with her and ask if she’d seen a guy in a red kayak?
Unless they saw her yesterday paddling hard not that far ahead of Adam.
Yes, but would they go out in such miserable weather? A lot of people, even sailors, got seasick when such a small boat was tossed around.<
br />
Adam obviously considered the argument over. He dug in one of the dry bags and produced the short stack of books. He didn’t seem excited by any of them, but finally started reading. Claire followed suit, although it was hard to concentrate on her last unread book, a British procedural mystery. So what if she wasn’t in the mood for it?
Thanks to the addition of poor Kyle Sheppard’s stash, they had meals aplenty, enough that she heated a vegetarian chili for lunch instead of the cold alternatives.
Adam accepted a bowl from her and inhaled the spicy scent. “This isn’t an invitation to last night’s visitor?”
“No meat. I doubt chili pepper and cumin smell appealing to a black bear.”
“That was a bear.”
“Yes. There might be wolves on the island, but they don’t snuffle and grunt.”
“Think it’ll be back?”
She waggled a hand. “I imagine it stumbled on us, but it didn’t find anything appealing.”
He grimaced.
For some reason, Claire smiled at his expression. “I take it you’re not into nature?”
“No. City all the way.”
The mood changed as he haltingly told her more about his background. Claire learned that he’d grown up in Dallas, which admittedly felt like a world away from this wild, rainy edge of North America. His voice sounded rusty as he talked about his childhood and eventually how he’d ended up in law enforcement. He gazed more at the stove, as if it was a crackling blaze, than he did at her.
He admitted to half a dozen foster homes. With the last, he got lucky. The foster father was a Texas marshal.
“Not...fatherly, but he pushed me toward college. Helped me find scholarships. I don’t know if he saw something in me. I wanted to think so. I tried some classes in criminology. Took enough for a minor.” He flicked a glance at her. “Majored in chemistry.”
He’d mentioned starting as a chemist.
“Did you stay in touch with your foster dad?” she asked gently.
“First year.” There was a long pause. “Then he started sounding impatient. He and his wife were fostering a brother and sister they’d taken in after I was out of the house.” He shrugged. “I took the hint.”
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