Hooked (A Romance on the Edge Novel)

by Tiffinie Helmer

  Apparently, she’d made her point because it seemed as though Garrett couldn’t think clearly now. His eyes were shut tight, lines bracketing his mouth, and sweat beaded his forehead. Having him in such obvious sexual torment shouldn’t make her want to smile. But it did.

  “Happy now?” She couldn’t help goading.

  He speared her with a gaze so hot she wished the wall wasn’t at her backside so she could step back from the heat.

  “Not even close, Sonya.”

  “Garrett—”

  “Give me a damn minute.” Garrett’s tone was soft and dangerous. He turned and paced the length of the building.

  She was quiet and gave him his space. It didn’t seem so much fun to torment him when there were still sparks snapping in her own body. In fact, those sparks were better off refueling her anger. What the hell had Garrett been thinking, kissing her like that, pressing his rock-solid body against hers, and then saying they shouldn’t be doing this? He’d been the one to torment her. With all that she had on her plate, an oversexed fish cop was too damn much.

  “You started that,” she pointed out.

  He glared at her from across the room. “I’m not getting into an argument with you again.”

  “So you admit it.”

  “Sonya,” he said through clenched teeth. “I understand that you are scared over the criminal mischief you’ve experienced. Picking a fight with me isn’t going to help you.”

  There was that “criminal mischief” phrase again. It didn’t matter if Peter said it or Garrett, it caused a shudder to run through her. Garrett was right. She wanted to fight someone and he was convenient. If she couldn’t have sex with him, picking a fight was the second best thing she could think of.

  She decided it was best to keep quiet. The only problem was that without the simulation of desire or anger, her exhausted body turned on her. She slid down the wall and sat on the floor. Her hat laid there where Garrett had dropped it when he’d grabbed her. She didn’t even have the energy to reach for it. She rested her arms on her raised knees and lowered her head.

  She was asleep before she shut her eyes.

  Garrett paced the confines of the old cannery, keeping his distance from Sonya. He swore he could smell her all the way over here. He’d never been attracted to a woman to where he couldn’t think around her.

  How did she do that? Turn him into a walking hormone. He’d had more control in high school than he did around her.

  “What time do you figure we’ll be able to reach the skiff?” He waited for Sonya’s response, and when it didn’t come, he turned toward her. Her head was pillowed on her arms as she sat hunched over on the floor, fast asleep. All his pent up passion reduced to a simmer. She was lovely, with her mouth partly open, dark lashes fanning her cheeks. She seemed done in. How long had she been burning the candle at both ends? How long did she think she could get away with it before she collapsed?

  The sooner he could get to the bottom of this the better for all of them. Lord knew he couldn’t take more moments in her company like the last few.

  He walked over and lightly shook her shoulder. On a snort, she jerked awake. He couldn’t contain the smile. She was adorable.

  “What?” She blinked and straightened like she hadn’t just been caught sleeping.

  His smile widened. “Let’s get down to the beach and see if we can reach your skiff.”

  She scrambled to her feet. He went to help her and then thought better of it. If he touched her again, he didn’t know if he could keep himself off her. Instead, he reached for her forgotten ball cap and handed it to her.

  She took it and flipped her pony tail through the opening as she put it on. Then she pointed at him, her finger going up and down. “Uniform.” The yawn that surprised her completely ruined her demand.

  “Not going to change. Deal with it.”

  She narrowed her eyes and then seemed to realize that she didn’t have much of a choice. Make that any choice.

  “Fine.”

  She made for the exit, but his next words brought her up short. “I’ll drive.”

  “The uniform is bad enough. I’m not going anywhere in the same vehicle as you.”

  “Sonya, be reasonable. You’re too tired to drive.”

  “I just had a power nap. I’m good to go.” She gave him a steady stare that clearly said, don’t mess with me.

  He let the subject pass since he’d be driving right behind her on the way to the Savonskis’ camp in the Jeep. “Let’s go then.”

  “I’ll go first. You wait five minutes, then follow.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Not going to happen. I’m leaving with you and following right behind.” He raised a brow when she opened her mouth to argue. “Say another word and I’m carrying you out of here and driving you to camp in my big brown trooper Jeep for all to see.”

  She snapped her mouth shut and turned on her heel. He tried not to enjoy his short victory or the view of her sweet backside as she swaggered out of the cannery to her 4-wheeler. That was one stubborn woman he was attracted to.

  Why couldn’t he go for an easy-going homemaker type?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “The skiff would have to go dry in the mud,” Sonya muttered as she stared at the mudflat the receding tide had revealed. It seemed unassuming, solid even.

  The mud was anything but ordinary. It could be deadly.

  “Don’t worry, Sonya. We won’t let the mud take you,” Gramps said as he sidled up next to her and Garrett. “Will we, Peter?” Gramps had already greeted Garrett with a hearty handshake. It didn’t seem to bother him that a fish cop was on the premises.

  Peter, on the other hand, seemed to be in the same mind-frame she was. Until he took in Garrett’s sidearm, and perked up.

  “Naw, we won’t let the mud take you, Sonya.” Peter winked. “We need you for fishing.”

  It was a standing joke that the mud was out to get Sonya. The only problem was everyone thought it was funny except Sonya.

  The mud was out to get her.

  Alaska had many hazardous areas where mudflats thrived. Bristol Bay wasn’t immune. The region was blighted with them. They showed themselves at low tide and were made up of fine silt particles, the result of glaciers milling away the surrounding mountains. The mud made a treacherous quicksand—called quicksilt—that sucked at your feet and made it precarious to walk across its deceiving surface. If that wasn’t a big enough problem, the mud also contained hidden sink holes. Many an unsuspecting person had been killed when caught in a hole that seemed to have no bottom.

  One of those deadly sink holes had almost taken Sonya when she’d been sixteen. The summer after losing Sasha and her parents, she’d fallen prey to one. The mud had grabbed onto her with no intention of letting go. She’d fought for her life, while the incoming tide stealthily crept forward to drown her as Gramps, with the help of the Hartes, had worked frantically to free her from the mud’s fatal clutches. Since then, she never ventured into the mud unless she absolutely had to. What really pissed her off was that Wes, Peter, and Gramps never had a problem with the mud.

  Unfortunately, the situation with the skiff was one of those absolutes. Another thing to lay at the vandal’s feet when they caught him.

  Peter had already hooked the trailer up to the 4-wheeler so that they could bring the outboard engine back with them, in a wasted attempt to try and save it. Spending the afternoon drowned in salt water wasn’t going to do the aging outboard any good.

  The four of them were outfitted in chest waders and ready to face the mud. Well, three of them were ready. Sonya was never equipped to face the mud. Turned out, Garrett was one of those prepared cops who had a pair of waders in his Jeep. Had she really thought he wouldn’t be primed for any situation? He’d probably had a handy condom in his pocket when they were at the old Diamond O Cannery, too, just in case.

  Wes currently kept watch aboard the Double Dippin’. Sonya wasn’t taking any chances leaving the d
rift boat unattended with all that had happened.

  “You ready, Sonya?” Gramps asked.

  “As I’ll ever be,” she muttered, wishing she could be doing anything else at the moment. She’d rather have a Brazilian wax than traipse through the mud.

  Garrett laid a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  The heat from his palm cupping her shoulder made her want to rub against him, much the way a cat would. She stepped forward to break the contact before she did just that. “I’m fine. I just have a healthy respect for the mud.”

  “You can wait here while we take a look and get the engine,” Gramps said, mounting the 4-wheeler behind Peter.

  “No.” She was running the fishing operation now, and she’d be involved in every aspect of it, whether she liked it—feared it—or not. She turned to the remaining 4-wheeler and climbed aboard, sweat already breaking out over her body.

  “Do you want me to drive?” Garrett asked.

  “No, I can do it.” She could, damn it. If she had to confront the mud, she was definitely driving. She’d be the first to admit she had control issues and wasn’t about to put her fate in the hands of anyone else, no matter how capable Garrett’s hands seemed to be.

  Garrett swung a leg over, and nuzzled up behind her on the seat that hadn’t seemed that small a few seconds ago.

  “Do you have to sit so close?” She tried to ignore the heat infusing her body with him plastered against her.

  “Yes.” His breath caressed her ear as his rock-hard chest pressed against her back. “I do.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Probably more than I should. Besides, you wanted to drive.”

  Right, but who was really doing the driving?

  She started the 4-wheeler and followed the trail Peter had forged through the mud. She tried to keep her speed steady and stay in Peter’s tire tracks, praying that this time she wouldn’t get stuck.

  Garrett’s hands snaked around her waist.

  She jerked, which made the handlebars do the same, and the mud grabbed at the tires. “What are you doing?”

  “Hanging on.”

  She gave the ATV a bit more gas and breathed a silent sigh of relief when the heavily treaded tires climbed through the muck. “I’m not going that fast. If you need to hang on to something, there’s the rack behind you.”

  Damn it, she needed to concentrate. This was hazardous stuff she was driving through. Sonya wrinkled her nose as the acrid smell of burning mud, splattering on the muffler, suffused the air.

  “The rack’s not nearly as nice to hang onto as you,” Garrett said, bringing her attention back to him and the incredibly sexy way he nuzzled her neck.

  “Garrett,” she growled his name and tightened her hold on the handle bars. Her neck tingled where his five o’clock shadow lightly scraped against her skin. It didn’t take long for that tingle to ignite others farther south in her body.

  “Have I told you that when you get upset, it’s sexier than hell?”

  “Will you shut up so I can pay attention?” The mud grabbed at her wheels again and this time she had to let up on the gas so the tires didn’t dig in. She stood, straddled over the seat, and rocked the ATV, keeping steady on the throttle, until it worked free.

  After she regained her seat, Garrett’s hands stroked up her sides, flirting with the undersides of her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat. “Garrett,” she warned.

  “Drive, Sonya. Don’t worry about what I’m doing.”

  She sucked in a much needed breath. “All I can think about is what you are doing.”

  “You’re too wound up. A good massage would do wonders for you.”

  “Are you volunteering to give me one?” Now why did she go and ask that? Didn’t she have enough problems at the moment?

  “Anytime.”

  She slowed the 4-wheeler as they reached the skiff and parked it behind Peter’s. She sat there stunned. “We actually made it without getting stuck.” It was a first for her.

  Garrett leaned in and stole a kiss alongside her neck as he got off the 4-wheeler. “You handled the mud like a pro, Sonya.”

  Who was the pro, she wondered. “You irritated me on purpose,” she accused.

  He crooked a smile, his icy-blue eyes full of fun and fire. “Be honest, babe, the last thing you were feeling was irritated.” Then he sauntered through the mud as though it was packed sand toward the skiff.

  For the first time that day, she felt like laughing. Irritated was the last emotion she felt in regard to Garrett.

  Hot and bothered came to mind.

  Sonya tucked her scattered feelings away and dismounted the 4-wheeler, holding onto her machine, and then Peter’s until she made it to the skiff. She wasn’t taking any chances of putting her full weight on the mud.

  Garrett had jumped into the skiff, having already told Gramps and Peter he needed to be the first to board the boat. Gramps and Peter waited, looking over the side. She joined them, after transferring her hold from the ATVs to the edge of the skiff.

  “Got an extra plug?” Garrett asked, investigating the stern. “Looks like whoever did this, helped themselves to yours,”

  “Yeah, I brought one.” Gramps pulled the plug out of his pocket and handed it to Garrett who screwed it into the bottom of the boat. “Figured if I wanted to sink a skiff, that’s how I’d do it.”

  Sonya mentally kicked herself. She should have been the one who remembered to bring a plug. She probably would have if Garrett weren’t occupying so much of her thoughts.

  Garrett investigated the rest of the boat. “Whatever evidence the guy left behind, the ocean took care of it.” He still scrutinized every inch of the skiff, taking his time to examine the dry holds. Then he removed the top cover of the engine. “Someone’s had fun with duct tape here.” He fingered one of the many tape-wrapped parts.

  “That’d be me,” Gramps said. “That engine’s lasted us a long time.”

  “Time to bury it,” Sonya muttered.

  At least something good might come of the boat sinking. They could finally replace the relic with a new, more dependable model.

  Gramps arched his brows in a challenge. “Just you watch, young lady. I’ll get that engine up and running again.”

  Crap. She was afraid of that. Gramps would try to get milk from a bull if he was challenged enough.

  The men unbolted the outboard from the stern and strong-armed it into the trailer. Peter double-checked the painter line’s knot tied to the running line and they all bailed out the leftover water. Then they returned to the 4-wheelers.

  Sonya followed, glad there wasn’t any damage to the skiff other than the engine. They did lose two brailer bags and a few fish picks, but the skiff seemed in good shape. It could have been worse.

  “Looks like whoever is doing this just wants to cause you problems.” Garrett’s thoughts must have been running along the same vein as hers. “They could have damaged the skiff to where you couldn’t use it for the rest of the season.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” Peter asked, mounting the 4-wheeler. Gramps climbed on behind him.

  “Other than writing up a damage report and being vigilant, there isn’t much to go on.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Sonya gave Peter and Gramps a pointed look that clearly said they hadn’t needed to call in a fish cop.

  “It was still smart to contact me.” Garrett eyed Sonya with his trooper stare. “If anything else happens, we need a paper trail to prosecute.”

  “Paper trail,” Peter repeated with a smirk at Sonya. “What’d I tell you?”

  She decided it was best to ignore everyone and concentrate on getting back to the 4-wheeler without being sucked down into the mud.

  Too late.

  She knew it. Every damn time.

  She worked her foot back and forth, trying to free it from the sucking sludge. She breathed a sigh of relief as she freed one foot and took a step, coming up fast when the mud refuse
d to release her other. She tried not to panic as the mud seized her farther into its grip.

  “You really do have a problem with this mud.” Garrett walked over to her and took hold of her arm.

  “I’ve said it before, the mud’s out to reclaim me.” Leaning on Garrett, she pulled her back foot free only to find the front one had settled in the mud enough to anchor it.

  “It’s all in your head, Sonya,” Peter said. “Mind over matter. You think you’re going to get stuck, therefore you do.”

  “Shut up, will you.” Frustration ate at her. She hated feeling at the mercy of anything, let alone mud that everyone in her family, even Garrett, seemed to conquer.

  “Just saying.”

  “Well, say it where I don’t have to hear it.”

  “Sonya.” Garrett grabbed her attention. “Place your boot into the mud heel first, and then kind of slide, like you’re wearing snow shoes.”

  Pulling on Garrett, she freed another foot and tried what he suggested. She made a few feet of progress, until she heard another 4-wheeler join the party.

  Aidan stood astride his ATV heading their way.

  This was going to top off her shitty day, Sonya thought, as the mud reached up and gripped her feet tight again.

  Aidan cut the engine to his 4-wheeler, and leaned forward to rest his arms on the handle bars. “Having trouble?” He eyed Garrett as though he was the actual trouble. Garrett met Aidan’s stare with his glacial blue gaze. It was icy enough to give her chills.

  Great, Sonya thought.

  “Someone removed the plug from the skiff,” Garrett said.

  Aidan looked at Sonya and then Peter and Gramps. His confusion seemed genuine, but was it?

  “You can’t mean intentionally removed the plug?” He straightened as he glanced back to Peter. “Are you sure someone didn’t forget to put it back in after cleaning out the fish slime?”

  “Hey!” Peter stood while straddled over the ATV’s seat. “I did not forget to screw in the plug. I made sure it was in place when I finished draining the skiff after I tendered. That’s a rookie mistake. I am no rookie.”