Dead in the Water

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  More vocalization. He heard sounds coming from in front of the tent and off to the side.

  Claire leaned so close her lips tickled his ear. Her voice was almost soundless. “I think that’s a mom and cubs.”

  Cubs that might have been wrestling and rolled against the tent wall. Hell. Mom had to know he and Claire were right here. Didn’t bears have poor vision and rely instead on a powerful sense of smell?

  Claire still leaned on him, her fingertips biting into his forearm. Okay by him. His heart slammed against his rib cage. This form of danger was way out of Adam’s frame of reference. Maybe they should start shouting and make a racket to try to scare the bears away, but he trusted Claire’s knowledge of local wildlife. The decision was hers.

  More snuffles, grunts and something that was almost a squeak. Mother bear giving orders that were being protested?

  He and Claire remained absolutely still. If she was breathing, he couldn’t hear it. Adam had done plenty of stakeouts, but he didn’t remember ever staying so rigid for such a length of time.

  A branch cracked under pressure. Others swished back and forth. Eventually, there was silence. Even then he didn’t move, straining for the slightest sound.

  “Oh, my God.” Claire let go of him and collapsed back onto her mat.

  Adam groaned. He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d opened his eyes, but he was betting it had been fifteen minutes or more.

  “That was scary,” Claire suggested.

  He looked down at her, tracking her voice, because he sure couldn’t see her.

  “Damn right.”

  Suddenly, she was giggling.

  He couldn’t help himself. He bent over her, succeeded despite the darkness in finding her mouth. He had to kiss her. His tension had built for days, and now that band had snapped. Rebounded.

  He wasn’t as gentle as he should have been. When her lips parted, he dove in, his tongue plunging into the soft depths of her mouth. His hands clamped to each side of her head before one slid beneath her neck to squeeze the muscles. Incoherent sounds broke from her, and she’d grabbed hold of him, too, a hand squeezing his upper arm, the other finding the muscle that ran from his neck to his shoulder.

  He’d have given damn near anything to be able to see her, but they grappled in complete darkness. He rolled to his shoulder and took her with him. She said his name before stinging his lip with her teeth. When he shoved down her sleeping bag and found her breast, she moaned and arched her back to press into his touch.

  Adam was on fire, desperate to escape the confines of his sleeping bag, to bring her feminine body into contact with his. He finally had to pull back to fumble with the zipper and wrench it down.

  On hearing the sound, Claire froze against him.

  “What are we doing?”

  Hearing the cry of panic, he made himself go still, too. “Claire?”

  “I can’t!” Her hands fell from his body and she tried to scramble away as much as her sleeping bag would allow.

  “Stop.” He’d never been in such an agony of desire, but he managed to sound almost calm. “You said no. I heard you. Please don’t be afraid of me.”

  He waited until she said, very softly, “I’m not afraid of you. More...of myself.”

  His eyes closed as he battled himself. “We kissed, Claire. That’s all.”

  “We...”

  Came so close to making love, his body throbbed. But he could stop. She’d made her feelings plain earlier. He hadn’t meant for this to happen.

  “Let’s...try to go back to sleep,” he said after a minute. And then, “I don’t hear any rain.”

  “No.” She moved, but he couldn’t tell if she’d shrugged, hunched, what. “Okay.” After a pause, she added, “I’m—”

  He interrupted, “Don’t even think about saying you’re sorry.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was still dark when Claire woke up, and she guessed immediately that Adam had moved, or his breathing had changed, or something. With her head resting on his shoulder, her forehead pressed to the side of his neck, she was in a position to know. The rest of her... Yep, she’d managed to squirm partway on top of him, only the bulk of two sleeping bags thwarting her.

  She tried to ease herself back, but discovered his arm wrapped her and his hand spanned her waist. When he felt her resistance, he lowered the arm. He must have been cold, having much of his chest, shoulder and arm outside the sleeping bag, but it appeared she hadn’t given him much choice.

  “Let me check the time,” he murmured. “Close your eyes.”

  She did as he asked, but she still saw stars when he turned on the flashlight.

  “Three forty-five. Up and at ’em.” His satisfaction was plain. Apparently, he could set an internal alarm.

  Too bad she felt no enthusiasm at all for shedding the sleeping bag and getting dressed, never mind launching in the near dark. But he was right—even an hour lead on their pursuers might allow them to reach the narrow channel unseen, especially if they could be well on their way before full sunrise just after five o’clock.

  “Ugh,” she mumbled, and got herself into action.

  The rain had definitely stopped, and when they pushed their way to the shore and Adam shone the flashlight toward the water, it appeared less choppy than yesterday.

  Neither said another word until they sat hunched over their bowls of oatmeal. Then she asked, “How’s your shoulder today?”

  As if it hadn’t occurred to him to wonder, he rotated his arm. “Good,” he said, sounding surprised. “A lot better.”

  She only nodded. Being that the sky hadn’t begun even to subtly lighten, he probably didn’t see her.

  “Last night,” Adam said abruptly. “I want you to know I didn’t plan that. You don’t have to be afraid.”

  “Apparently I’m not,” she said dryly. “I practically climbed on top of you to get comfy.”

  “I noticed.” A smile could be heard in his voice.

  “Anyway.” Claire was determined to be fair. “It’s not like I wasn’t...participating.”

  “I noticed that, too.”

  “I’m not sure I’d have thought of birth control, and I’m not on any, so it’s a good thing we stopped.”

  “I have condoms,” he said.

  “What? How could you?” He hadn’t even had a wallet when she rescued him!

  Adam interrupted, “Kyle. I found them in his toiletry bag.”

  Her mouth opened and closed a few times as if she were a fish. Had Adam had her in mind when he decided to hold on to the condoms? Or was it just a waste-not, want-not thing?

  She knew better than that, but wasn’t prepared to think about it right now. So she said briskly, “Let’s just put what happened behind us. Are you done eating? I’ll wash up the dishes if you’ll roll the sleeping bags and mats.”

  Without comment, Adam rose.

  Did he have the condoms in his pocket right now?

  No, no. Not thinking about it.

  The packing up went so smoothly, she was forced to realize how adept he’d become at everything but the kind of maneuvers in the kayak and strokes she hoped he wouldn’t be called on to perform.

  Let this work.

  The hardest part was carrying the kayaks and gear across the wet, slimy slabs of rock to the water. No waiting for daylight and the turn of the tide for them. Even with each using a flashlight to allow them to see where to put their feet, they both skidded a few times, and once Adam swore.

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Stepped in a damn tide pool.”

  “Oh. I hope you didn’t—” Claire cut herself off before she could make him feel guilty if he’d smashed a sea urchin or star or... She rolled her eyes and ordered herself to get her priorities straight.

  It didn’t take them long to loa
d their kayaks. They’d used enough drinking water that both would be a little lighter.

  After lowering herself into the cockpit and snapping the spray skirt into place, she used the paddle to nudge herself forward and into a long glide. Moments later, Adam joined her.

  Only a few minutes later, he said, “The tide is still coming in, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Slack was best, when the tide was hesitating before changing direction. “Since we can’t wait, this morning we’ll be paddling against it for a couple of hours unless we want it to carry us back down the channel.”

  “I’d like us to hug this side of the island for a little ways before we start across,” he said. “We might spot their camp.”

  Alarm leaped in her as if he’d stamped down on a gas pedal. “The idea is to avoid them.”

  “I’d be happier to sabotage their boat.”

  Adam sounded so reasonable, as if his suggestion was matter-of-fact. As it probably was for him. If he’d been the healthy one and an expert kayaker, he wouldn’t have hesitated to leave her and strike out on his own. She had the appalling realization that what to her was extraordinary or terrifying was his normal.

  “I hate that idea.”

  “If we do see their boat, I don’t expect you to come with me. In fact, all you should do is loiter somewhere you can hide if worse comes to worst—”

  If he was killed.

  “Or join me when I appear again.”

  “May I remind you that it’s still dark and we need to stay well off the shore so we don’t split open the hull of one of our kayaks on a big rock?”

  “Let’s just stay close enough to spot a kerosene lantern or a flashlight. Or an obvious inlet or beach.”

  Claire swallowed further arguments. She’d expressed her feelings about this stupid idea, but wasn’t entirely sure he’d follow her if she ignored him and struck out directly east.

  As she turned to go northeast along the coastline, her stomach churned. If she’d known what he had in mind, she wouldn’t have eaten the oatmeal that now felt like a load of sand in her stomach.

  * * *

  THIS WAS STUPID. Claire was right, damn it. They needed to use the darkness to run, not go on the attack.

  Adam recognized his problem. He craved the feeling of control. Needed to take action, not to continue as a passive victim.

  A flicker of light caught his eye.

  He pointed to it with his paddle, hoping Claire would see.

  She’d quit paddling. Oh, yeah, she saw.

  Adam edged his kayak to come up beside hers. “I want to take a closer look. I won’t go ashore. You’re right—it’s too risky. But we could get really lucky and find this is some other kayakers who could call for help.”

  “Oh! Yes.”

  He led this time, trying to ensure his paddle slipped quietly in and out of the water without a splash. The campsite, if that’s what this was, came closer with startling speed.

  The tide going in, the pull carrying them toward the shore. He had to watch it.

  At that thought, he quit paddling and reached for the binoculars he’d hung around his neck. Through them, he saw the light brighten. Someone was turning up a lantern. In that flare, he spotted a bulky shape between the light and the water.

  Adam swore under his breath. “It’s them. We need to get out of here.”

  This time, she took the lead, taking a rounded turn. Sometime in the next hour, they’d see the sun rise directly in front of them.

  They hadn’t been underway ten minutes when he heard a motor coming from the north. Circling the island, maybe? Strange, this early in the morning. Then he heard it cough, unlike the smooth running of the newer outboard motor on the inflatable. Was this the aluminum skiff, joining up Boyden and Gibbons? Say, to plan a pincer scheme intended to crack him and Claire like a walnut in a nutcracker? Or maybe only to split up with the idea of blocking more options they might have for escape?

  Didn’t matter.

  Adam cursed himself for delaying their crossing even by the fifteen minutes or so they’d lost.

  Thank God they’d left so early.

  He fixed his eyes on the darker-on-dark shape of Claire and her kayak, and paddled for all he was worth.

  * * *

  CLAIRE WORRIED THE entire way across. The tug of the current trying to pull them south kept them working hard, but that wasn’t all. Out toward the middle of the channel, choppy waves got rougher, then became whitecaps and even minor swells. She was terrified of losing sight of Adam, but he did well sticking close to her stern.

  At one point she was sure she heard an outboard motor again, although it was impossible to pinpoint from which direction. How much experience did their pursuers have in rough conditions, or boating at all? She’d paddled in more dangerous conditions—the day she and Mike had followed the ocean coast of Calvert Island was one—but just because these guys knew how to start a motor and maybe had trawled for fish on a lake a few times didn’t mean they wouldn’t be scared out here. The swells made it a lot harder for anyone to spot kayakers, too, given their low profile.

  As the light grew brighter to the east, Claire almost wished for rain. It would be miserable, but would also make visibility so bad, one of those boats could pass thirty feet from her and Adam without seeing them.

  No such luck, she saw, as a pale gray sky revealed itself.

  Go, go, go.

  She kept an eye on her compass, and felt confident that they were heading directly toward the opening into Spitfire Channel. Unfortunately, that opening was wide enough that they wouldn’t immediately vanish from sight, as she wished they could.

  The chart had showed an hourglass-shaped inlet on her port side close to the opening, but the marks indicated it was usually choked with kelp. It would be a trap, anyway, with no outlet but back into the channel. A deeper inlet lay farther along; she felt sure that, even a few weeks from now, other boats would be anchored in it. At the moment? She had no idea.

  As her mind circled desperately, she cursed herself for not having made a different choice early on. Truthfully, this channel slicing between myriad islands wouldn’t let them out that close to where they’d started, but if she hadn’t been so afraid of crossing the deep anchorage east of their first two campsites, they could have been hidden in the islands in the Kittyhawk group until they saw a boat to approach.

  Too late.

  Keep paddling. Her arms and shoulders ached. She was pushing harder than she had at any time on this trip. After all, she and Mike hadn’t been in any particular hurry. Every time she stole a look over her shoulder, though, there was the red-and-orange kayak, Adam paddling as hard as she was. What glimpses she saw of his face showed him to be grimly focused. He wasn’t giving away how much pain he had to feel.

  The blackish-green hump of Spitfire Island grew ahead and to her right, as did what she knew to be the much larger Hunter Island that formed the northern shore of the Spitfire Channel. Neither looked...hospitable. All she saw was rock and the deep green of impenetrable forest.

  The paddling became briefly easier despite the wind-ruffled water and ocean swells. Then, it abruptly became way harder. The tide had turned, and was rushing out of Spitfire Channel.

  Their timing couldn’t have been worse.

  They could try ducking into the kelp-choked inlet.

  No. Trap, remember?

  A jutting finger of Hunter Island suddenly reared to her left, which meant they were entering the narrower channel. She expected the first half of it to be easy to traverse—except, of course, for the battle against the outgoing tide. If only they could reach the neck where it was almost choked off, and only a fathom deep. Tricky for most boats, but both the inflatable and the aluminum skiff would have a shallow draft.

  Now, that, it occurred to her, would be a good place to set up an ambush—although
only if she and Adam could beach the kayaks and be able to set foot on land.

  If they could find a place to stop at any time, the two boats hunting them might go right on by.

  Yes, but wouldn’t it be worse to know the enemy was ahead of them, and could be lying in wait anywhere? Say, setting up an ambush at the narrowest place in the channel?

  Keep paddling.

  * * *

  SOMEBODY WAS DRIVING a stake through his shoulder again, and damn, his muscles were screaming. Adam discovered that he’d kidded himself that his workouts kept him in prime condition. He’d barely glanced at rowing machines in his usual gym, and was now thinking twice about that.

  He’d studied the charts that Claire had laid out, and hoped like hell she would find a place to stop. He wasn’t a quitter, but he didn’t think he’d make it all the way through to Kildidt Sound.

  This was the toughest paddling yet, with the tide one hundred percent against them. Still, they kept on, and on. He fixed his eyes on Claire and fell into a mind—but not muscle or nerve—numbing rhythm.

  The land to each side seemed forbidding. In different circumstances, beautiful, but he wasn’t in a mindset to appreciate it.

  His relief was huge when they passed the opening for yet another channel, this one going straight south and separating Spitfire Island from Hurricane Island. Claire ignored it, looked over her shoulder at him and passed the wide mouth of what he thought was a dead-end lagoon to their left.

  A little later, it looked like Spitfire Channel itself turned directly south. Ahead...he couldn’t tell.

  This time, Claire turned to follow the densely forested shore. Did she know where she was going?

  This coastline wandered. They reached an end, where he was able to lay his paddle across the deck, bend forward and groan.

  Claire deftly maneuvered her kayak beside his. He lifted his head to find her looking anxiously at him.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Beat,” he admitted, “but I can go on.”

  “You may have to. I thought we might find a place to put into shore in this lagoon, even if it’s only for a break. Otherwise, we’ll be going through that narrow bottleneck, and I’d like to do that at slack tide if we can.”