“Aidan can take care of himself.” He’d more than proved that this morning when he’d shot at Kendrick. No doubt Kendrick deserved it, and Sonya wouldn’t mind seeing the last of him, but she didn’t approve of Aidan’s methods.
Peter frowned. “That’s not very neighborly. What happened between the two of you, anyway?”
“Nothing. We just didn’t suit.”
“So, because you don’t ‘suit’ we can’t lend him a hand?”
Sounded good to her. “Fine, when we get this net picked, we’ll run over and see what we can do.” Sonya had a feeling what Peter really wanted was to talk with Lana. Sonya glanced back at the Harte’s sites. Lana was fishing with Aidan instead of Crafty. She couldn’t imagine how tough Lana’s life had been with Cranky and Crafty as relatives. For that matter, how had Aidan handled it all his life?
They finished up and headed over to see what they could do for Aidan. Neighborly or not, Sonya didn’t want to spend time with Aidan. She didn’t want to encourage him. There was no chance of a reconciliation between them, but she had a feeling Aidan didn’t see it that way.
“Hey, Lana,” Peter greeted with a smile as they came alongside her and Aidan in their skiff.
“Peter.” Lana nodded, her face pale, her eyes wide as though she was trying her best to keep it together. She didn’t return Peter’s engaging smile.
Sonya’s heart immediately went out to the girl. She glanced around to see where Cranky and Crafty were and saw them down the beach, picking the other Harte net. Good, wrangling with Aidan was enough. She didn’t want to pretend to be “neighborly” with the old rednecks.
“Having trouble?” Sonya asked Aidan. His actions, as he picked fish, were jerky and hasty. He didn’t take care with the net, ripping through the knotted diamond pattern when freeing the fish. This was the side of him that she hadn’t wanted to see again.
Angry. Cruel.
“Nope. No trouble now,” he returned, tearing the gills off a salmon as he yanked it from the net. Blood trailed down the silver scales as he threw the salmon into a brailer bag.
Sonya glanced at Peter, hoping they’d been neighborly enough. She wanted away from here. Peter was talking quietly with Lana, coaxing a small smile from her. She’d give him a few more minutes to brighten the girl’s day and then they were history.
“Was it necessary to shoot at Kendrick?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth Sonya could have kicked herself. She knew better than to pour gasoline on a raging fire.
Aidan dropped the net, threw his fish pick down, and straightened to his full height of six two. His hard gaze met hers. Sonya braced herself for his biting comeback. His lips tightened, hands fisted, and then he glanced away. The muscles in his jaw flexed and then smoothed. He turned back to her. “I shouldn’t have shot at Kendrick. I’m sorry if my actions concerned you.”
Whoa, so not what she’d expected.
Aidan took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Thanks for coming over and checking on us.” He indicated Lana with the movement of his head, letting Sonya know that he was more concerned over how Lana was taking today’s mishaps than how his actions reflected on him. “Do you think Peter could invite her over later?” Aidan gestured behind him at Cranky and Crafty. “She could use a breather.”
Did he know that caring more for his cousin than himself would lessen Sonya’s concerns? Sonya didn’t know what to think. Maybe Aidan had changed.
“Why don’t the both of you come over for dinner after we pull the nets?” Sonya surprised herself by offering. “Grams will be cooking salmon.”
Aidan’s face finally softened, and he smiled. “Isn’t she always?”
Sonya shared his smile. “It’s what’s readily available. In fact, you can supply it tonight. That is, if you catch anything.”
“Oh, I’ll catch plenty with enough to spare for feeding you and yours.” The gleam in his eyes raised a warning, reminding Sonya that flirting with Aidan wasn’t a good idea.
“Yo, guys. We’ve got company.” Peter pointed to the RHIB with the two uniformed troopers fast approaching.
Sonya’s heart did a quick jump until she realized that neither one of the troopers were Garrett. Good, she told herself. She didn’t need another run-in with that particular fish cop. Hell, what was she thinking, she didn’t need a run-in with any fish cop.
The trooper cut his engine and drifted over, their wake rolling under them, rocking Sonya’s and Aidan’s skiffs.
“We had reports that shots had been fired in this area. Any of you know anything about that?” asked the big burly trooper not piloting the RHIB.
Sonya glanced at Aidan. Aidan waited for her to give him up to the cops. “Nope. Haven’t heard anything. Just fishing here.”
“Uh, yeah,” Peter interjected, following Sonya’s lead, though she wished he’d keep his mouth shut. “Maybe someone shot at a bear. You know how sound is distorted over water.”
The burly trooper stared at each of them individually and then seemed to come to a decision. “Well, since we’re here, we might as well check your permits and fishing licenses.”
Sonya reached for the sealed bag with the requested materials, kept secure and close to hand in the Velcro pocket of her chest waders.
Damn fish cops never missed an opportunity.
Garrett stood on the deck of the Calypso and let the night wash over him. It had been another day full of craziness. Fishermen were a breed apart, most of them gifted with more than their share of deviousness. He should be sleeping, gearing up for another day of insanity, but instead he was on deck face turned into the wind.
Did he hear music? The wind was making a racket as it blew its heart out, but…music?
He strained to catch the notes as they waltzed on the wind.
Sonya. She had to be playing her violin.
“What is that?” Judd asked, joining him.
Struggling to hear the music, Garrett hadn’t heard Judd’s approach. His SEAL sense must be taking the night off. It had been a long time since someone had snuck up behind him. Not since elementary school when he’d had to keep a watch out for Jimmy the lunch-stealing terror of the fourth grade. Back then, he’d been scrawny for his age. He’d compensated by being silent and sneaky. “I believe Sonya Savonski is playing her violin.”
“That rip-off-your-balls woman plays the violin?”
“Yeah. Now shut up.” Garrett leaned his arms on the rail of the boat and settled in to listen.
“Damn, she’s not half bad,” Judd said.
Garrett slid a warning glance his direction.
“Right. Shutting up.”
They stood in silence until Skip lumbered on deck from the cabin. Garrett didn’t have any trouble hearing him. The man had lost his stealth with the extra pounds he carried. The half-eaten candy bar in his hand wasn’t helping either. “Isn’t that Un Giorno Per Noi from Romeo and Juliet?”
Garrett had no clue what Sonya was playing other than he liked it.
“Beautiful,” Skip said, looking as though the music had the power to pull him away from his candy bar.
“Better keep it down,” Judd said, “or SEAL-man there’s gonna tell you to—”
“Hush,” Skip said.
“Well, yeah,” Judd whispered, “but you said it a lot nicer.”
Skip copied Garrett’s pose with his arms leaning on the rail.
Suddenly, the music stopped and the wind went silent. Seconds ticked by, then minutes, and then nothing.
“You don’t think she’s done do you?” Skip asked, his tone sounding despondent over the prospect. “If we radio her, do you think she’d take requests?”
“Get her to play something happy this time,” Judd said. They both looked at Garrett.
“Why the hell you asking me?” Garrett scowled at the men. “How would I know?”
Skip and Judd shared a look. Then Skip asked, “What does her skin smell like?”
“Honeysuckle,” he answered without thinking. The
scent had been haunting him for days, keeping him up nights.
They smiled.
“You know what she smells like but nothing else about her?” Skip asked. “Women are more than sexual objects.”
“Since when?” Judd asked.
Skip elbowed him in the gut. “We don’t all think with our little brain.” Skip looked at Garrett. “Well, at least I don’t. And since I’m the smart one, I’m headed to catch a few winks before we have to baby-sit tomorrow.”
“I’m coming too.” Judd paused. “What about you?” He glanced at Garrett.
“Yeah, in a bit.” He turned back to the many boats anchored up for the night and wondered which one was the Double Dippin’.
Then he wondered why he was wondering.
CHAPTER NINE
“Red Fox, this is the Double Dippin’. Got your ears on?” Sonya radioed camp on the VHF. She and Wes had finished tendering last night’s drift catch to the Time Bandit after sending Gramps and Peter back to camp to get some rest.
They’d fished solid most of the week. Each tide was either a drift opening or set netting. Sonya didn’t even know what day of the week it was anymore. Their fish poundage was adding up fast. Now, if the price per pound exceeded last year’s she’d have no problem with Peter’s tuition and paying her mounting debts getting into drifting had set her back.
Wes was currently below catching a few winks. The plan was to get a hot meal, let the drift boat go dry in front of camp, and then sleep until the tide came back in. According to the Fish and Game’s latest announcement, they were set netting the next tide, which only gave them maybe five hours of rest.
“Red Fox, come in,” Sonya radioed again.
“Morning, Sonya,” Grams greeted. “Breakfast is about to be served.”
“I was hoping that was the case. Wes and I are floating right out front of the cabin.” Sonya looked at the running line to where two skiffs were supposed to be tied up. She pressed the button on the side of the mic. “Do we have a crewman absent for breakfast?”
“No. Everyone’s accounted for.” Grams’s concerned voice registered clearly over the radio.
Shit. “We’re down a skiff. Please tell me someone took it for a joy ride and left it somewhere safe.” Sonya waited for a reply. She got one. Gramps and Peter scrambled down the trail to the beach, donning their raingear as they hurried.
“Negative on the joy ride,” Grams replied. “The boys are on their way.”
“Thanks, Red Fox. By the way,” she shouldn’t ask, “what was for breakfast?” The only food she had on the boat was a jar of peanut butter and a box of stale pilot bread.
“French toast, eggs, bacon, and my homemade cranberry muffins. I’ll try and keep it warm.”
She’d told herself not to ask. “Roger that, Red Fox. Double Dippin’ out.” Sonya hung up the mic on the clip above her head and hollered for Wes.
He stuck his head up through the hold and yawned. “We at camp already?”
Sonya navigated the drift boat closer to shore. “We’ve got a runaway skiff to hunt down.”
“Huh?” He shook his head as though trying to empty the sleep from it and climbed up the ladder. “Did you say we’ve got a skiff missing?” He looked at the running line. “Bummer.”
“Yep.” The surf was calm this morning and she could risk getting right into the shallows. She swung the boat around so Gramps and Peter could wade out into the ocean and climb up the ladder welded to the stern. Gramps was first aboard, leaving Peter to give the boat a push out into the ocean before he climbed aboard.
“I didn’t need all three of you,” Sonya said as they entered the pilot house, the room getting considerably smaller with their muscled bodies taking up the space. “Wes, Peter, and I can handle this.”
“Every pair of eyes helps.” Gramps grabbed the binoculars and began scanning the area.
Sonya powered up the jet engine and headed west. She’d just come from the river and would have noticed their skiff adrift with no one aboard. “With the tide going out, we don’t have a lot of time. Wes, you concentrate along the shore; Gramps, look out to the bay.” Her gaze shot to Peter. “Who tied up the skiff when you returned last night?”
Her brother’s mouth tightened. “Why ask when you already know it was me?”
He had a point. “Are you sure you tied it up tight?” She couldn’t bring herself to let it rest. She was tired and hungry. The last thing she wanted to do was chase down a skiff that should have been secured.
“I know how to tie up a skiff, Sonya.”
“You weren’t in a hurry? Distracted?” Had Lana been around and caught his attention? The boy only had half a brain when a girl was around.
“No.” He scowled and folded his arms across his chest.
“Let’s focus on finding the skiff,” Gramps interjected.
Placing blame wasn’t helping the situation. There’d be time for that later. Sonya concentrated on piloting the boat while looking for the gray aluminum skiff among an ocean of gray waves. The tide was headed out fast to a minus two. If they didn’t locate the skiff soon, it would probably be on its way to Japan. They’d be down to one skiff for the season. That wouldn’t do. Not to mention the cost to replace it would eat up all their profits and then some.
“I’m heading on deck.” Wes covered another yawn as he left the pilot house and positioned himself at the bow.
“So am I.” Peter followed Wes, and Sonya knew he would be dissing her to him.
“You were a bit hard on the boy,” Gramps said, still searching through the binoculars.
“Fishing’s a hard business. He’s got to learn to pay attention to every detail.”
“Sonya, we all understand the seriousness of losing the skiff. Don’t let the pressure of this season cloud your reasoning. People make mistakes.” He lowered the binoculars and met her eyes. “The measure of a good captain is how she deals with those mistakes.”
He was right. She shouldn’t have automatically assumed Peter was being lax in his job. There were many reasons the skiff could have come loose. The painter’s line might have broken or worked its way free in the tossing surf. Things like that happened. Not often, but they did happen.
“Thanks, Gramps.”
He raised the binoculars. “Just trying to help.”
Wes pointed southwest and Sonya quickly made the corrections. There it was, bobbing in the waves without a care in the world. She felt, rather than heard, her crew sigh with relief.
She brought the boat alongside the skiff, sliding the engine into neutral, while Wes hooked the skiff with the long boat hook and Peter jumped into it. Wes threw him a rope to tie the skiff to the Double Dippin’. Peter’s movements were fast and sure as he secured the bow first and then the stern.
Sonya cut the engine and joined Gramps and Wes on deck.
The sun broke through the clouds and she lowered her ball cap over her eyes as the aluminum boats reflected the bright light. “How’s she look?” From this distance, Sonya couldn’t see any damage.
Peter went to the bow and fished the painter’s line, where it hung off the side into the water, and held it up for everyone to see.
The line had been cut.
CHAPTER TEN
“That’s two acts of criminal mischief,” Peter said, sliding his empty plate forward and planting his elbows on the table. “First the hydraulic lines and now the skiff.”
They’d just finished the warmed-up breakfast Grams had kept for them and were sitting around the table trying to come up with a game plan.
“‘Criminal mischief?’” Sonya parroted. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows.”
“What would you call it, Sonya?” Peter nailed her with his idealistic stare. Peter never saw gray. Everything fell neatly into black and white slots for him. “Be in denial all you want, but we have a problem.”
She frowned. “I’m not in denial.”
“Yeah, you’d just like to lay the blame on me.”
“That’s not fair. I apologized for thinking you’d been lax.”
“All right, enough,” Gramps said, bringing the bickering to a stop. Peter sat back and folded his arms. “Arguing isn’t getting us anywhere. It’s obvious that we’ve made some enemies—”
“I wonder how we did that.” Peter looked at Sonya. It was clear he laid blame for this situation right at Sonya’s door. She considered it her due as she’d been so quick to accuse Peter for the runaway skiff. “Corking off Kendrick might not have been the best of moves, in hindsight. Ya think?”
“Not helping, Peter.” Grams settled her hand on his shoulder. Peter instantly seemed to calm. Sonya wished she had that ability. She’d raised Peter from the age of two and yet Grams was the mothering force.
“The way I see it, we’re going to have to be extra vigilant,” Wes added, his level tone soothing the ruffled feathers in the room. “If this continues, and I don’t see why it won’t, we should take turns keeping watch.”
Sonya added, “Someone will need to stay on the Double Dippin’ at all times. Since I’m her captain, that will fall to me.”
“We’ll take turns when you get stir-crazy.” Gramps nodded. “I agree that we need to keep watch, but we don’t need to be paranoid.” He narrowed his look on Peter. “No need to be armed or camping out at the sites.”
Peter held up his hand. “I want it on record that I voted for arms.”
“We got it.” Sonya rubbed at the headache brewing in her temples. She needed some sleep and a half dozen Tylenols.
“There’s one other thing I suggest we do.” Everyone turned to Wes and he continued, “We should contact Garrett and inform him of what’s going on.”
“I don’t think we need to go that far,” Sonya was quick to interject. The last confrontation she’d had with Garrett had almost landed the two of them horizontal. She didn’t trust herself enough to guarantee their next meeting wouldn’t actually end up that way.
“We’ll need a paper trail if this continues,” Wes said. “It’s the smart thing and the right thing.”
Hooked (A Romance on the Edge Novel) Page 8
