What in the world? he wondered.
Ti, who stood at the base of the mainmast, called out a question about the rigging to Jackie. She shook her head as if to clear it and relayed an order in a stumbling, unsteady voice, completely at odds with her normal assurance. She looked as unsteady now as she'd been the day they'd run into Carl Ryder.
He remembered what she'd told him about her father's murder and the media frenzy surrounding the trial. As the ship neared the pier, he saw Rory in the Southern belle costume she wore for special occasions at the inn. She waved cheerfully when she spotted him.
Oh hell. This was the surprise his sister had arranged. She must have sent out a press release to every news station in Houston to get this many cameras out. Knowing Rory the way he did, he should have anticipated something like this. If only he'd explained that widespread press could be potentially dangerous, this never would have happened.
But Jackie had asked him not to tell them about her past and he'd honored her request.
Damn.
He looked over to gauge her reaction as all around the ship sailors scurried to follow orders. She pressed a hand to her forehead, as if willing herself to concentrate. He ached to go to her and take her into his arms, but knew he'd only make matters worse. Instead, he stayed out of her way as a tender boat was launched to help tow them to the pier. All the while, cameras rolled and passengers waved.
Good Lord, he thought. Is that CNN? His stunned gaze took in a van with Good Morning America splashed on the side. His sister hadn't just sent press releases to Houston, she'd sent them to all the major networks! This had to be Jackie's worst nightmare.
The moment the ship was secure, he headed toward her. She had her back to the cameras, and one hand shielding her face. "Jackie, it'll be okay."
"It will not!" she shouted back, then lowered her voice. "What if one of the people I helped con recognizes my face and comes after me? The last thing I need is a lawsuit right now."
"It's your father who conned them, and he's dead."
"I helped."
"You were a minor, and none of that happened in the U.S."
"So?"
He glanced around to be sure no one could hear them over the general noise on deck. "Have you ever been arrested or charged with a crime?"
"No."
"Then stop acting like a whipped dog."
"What would you have me do?" she asked between clenched teeth. "Smile for the camera?"
Ti joined them, clearly agitated. "Ya need to get below," he told Jackie.
Ignoring her first mate, she kept her eyes fixed on Adrian. "How could you do this without warning me?"
"I didn't know, I swear. Rory arranged this on her own." He saw the gangway being lowered into place, and knew the news crews would have access to the ship any second. He didn't think Buddy Taylor's old victims could come after Jackie, but her fear tore at him. "Ti, get Jackie below and stay with her. I'll handle this."
With one last order to Mr. Jamison, Jackie and Ti headed down the steps and disappeared through the aft hatch. Fortunately, the cameras seemed focused on the waving passengers.
Okay, he could handle this. Piece of cake, he told himself as he crossed to the top of the stairs. A few of the passengers were already disembarking, so he waited for the gangway to clear before he started down. Rory was greeting passengers and telling them to go on up to the inn where Alli would serve afternoon tea on the veranda.
As he reached the bottom of the steps, he moved past a female reporter talking into a camera with the ship behind her. Rory turned to him, her face alight with excitement. "Isn't this great! We're going to be on Good Morning America!"
"I see that." He didn't know whether to kill her or kiss her.
"Are you the brother?" A harried woman in a rumpled black suit approached him, checking notes on a clipboard. "Adrian St. Claire, the inn's chef, right?"
"That's me."
"I'm pleased to meet you." The woman looked up from her notes and froze with her hand extended halfway toward him. Her pale blue eyes blinked behind trendy glasses, then sharpened. "H-hi. I'm Eva. Phillips. One of the producers with Good Morning America. I've heard wonderful things about the food here at the inn."
"I'm glad," he said as he shook her hand and pegged her for a barracuda.
She stepped closer, smiling. "Our segment will focus mostly on the upcoming efforts to excavate the sunken ship, but I'd love to get some shots of you in the kitchen for background color. Would that be all right?"
Standing behind the woman, Rory wiggled her brows, bursting with pride over her accomplishment: a mention of their inn and the quality of the food on Good Morning America, for crying out loud! Under other circumstances, he'd share her enthusiasm, but all he could think about was getting the cameras and reporters as far away from Jackie as possible.
When he didn't answer right away, Eva Phillips frowned. "You're not camera shy, are you?"
He laughed at that. "Not in the least. I need to get started fairly soon, though, so why don't we head on up that way now?" He turned to the reporters and raised his voice. "Everyone's welcome for a cooking demonstration in the kitchen. Samples of tonight's dinner included."
As he led the way up the hill, he cast one last look at the ship, picturing Jackie in her cabin. He longed to tell her everything would be all right, but knew she wouldn't believe him.
~ ~ ~
Jackie thought about what Adrian had said as she paced her cabin, and realized he was right. Some of her fears probably were unfounded. As far as her being a whipped dog, though, she assured herself he was dead wrong. She'd tell him that, too ---just as soon as all those camera crews took off.
The last thought jarred her as she realized she was hiding. Good grief, she really was a cringing coward. Even worse, she'd lost her temper with Adrian again. Some friend she was.
She berated herself as the evening wore on, knowing she'd never sleep until she thanked him for his understanding and support even in the face of her accusations. Unfortunately, she couldn't go to the inn to do that, because the Good Morning America crew was still there. She tried calling, but got the inn's answering machine. Then she remembered the little house behind the inn where Rory and Chance lived. If she couldn't thank Adrian in person, maybe she could ask his sister to relay a message.
Leaving the ship, she walked across the beach to the trail that circled the island. A tangle of trees obscured the moonlight, but she found her way up the hill to the quaint little house. She'd discovered it only by accident during her last stay since a stand of trees shielded it from the inn. The natural wood siding and green tin roof further camouflaged it even in bright daylight. In the dark, she never would have found it if not for the single light shining by the front door. All the windows, though, were pitch-black.
Disappointed, she stepped onto the porch debating what to do. She'd hoped to find Rory or Chance at home by now since the Valentine's dinner had ended an hour ago. Surely they weren't already in bed. It wasn't that late. Glancing back the way she'd come, she listened to the light rock music drifting through the balcony doors on the third floor of the inn. The party would go on until two in the morning, but hopefully Rory and Chance would return home well before that. They had a baby to think about, after all.
Deciding to wait, she ventured around the corner of the L-shaped porch to a dark area that faced the cove. In the shadows, she made out rocking chairs and a porch swing. She passed up the chairs and sat on a porch rail with her back to a post as she gazed through the trees at the cove. The white lights strung about her ship made it look like something out of Never-Never Land. The music from the inn turned soft and dreamy as a cool breeze kissed her cheek.
The scuff of a boot and creak of a porch-board sounded near the front door. Relieved to have her wait over so soon, she hopped down and rounded the corner, then stopped when she saw Adrian. He stood at the door in a dark T-shirt and jeans, a white chef's jacket slung over one shoulder.
He looked u
p and squinted in her direction. "Is someone there?"
"It's me." She stepped forward, into the light. "I was waiting for your sister. I wanted to give her a message for you. What are you doing here?"
"I live here. We traded places back in January."
"Oh." She looked around. "It's nice here. I like it."
"Me, too." He smiled, a good sign that he wasn't too put out with her for how she'd acted. "So, what were you going to have Rory tell me?"
She moved closer. "Among other things, I wanted her to tell you thanks for what you did today, you know, leading the press away. I hadn't quite worked out how to give her the message without explaining everything, but now I can tell you in person. Thank you."
"You're welcome." He nodded solemnly. "As for telling Rory and the others the whole story, I promise you they'll understand. You should tell them and be done with it. Or let me."
"Sorry, I know better than you how people react when they find out." He started to object and she held up her hand. "I'll think about it, though. Okay?"
"It's a start."
"Are the cameras gone?"
"They are."
"Finally." She sighed. "I didn't think they'd ever leave."
"Me, either." He chuckled. "Although it's my own fault. I got a little carried away by diverting their attention away from the ship, and put on quite a show." He flashed a playful grin that brought out his dimples. "I'm talking juggling fruit, twirling knives, flaming sauces. They ate it up."
An emotion that went beyond gratitude filled her with a warm, glowing softness. I love you, her heart sighed and she jolted. Good God, had she really just thought that? Her chest pounded with the terrifying knowledge that the words might actually be true. "Yes, well ..." She glanced around for her fastest escape route. "You're probably exhausted, so I'll go. I just wanted to say thanks."
"Not a problem. I enjoyed it. But hey, look, I'm a little keyed up and couldn't possibly go straight to bed. You want to come inside and have a nightcap?"
"I ..." Don't you dare say yes.
"I have some Mexican Kahlúa. Perfect for a night like this."
"I suppose I could stay for one drink." What are you doing? Do you want to get your heart broken?
"Great." He opened the door. She followed him inside, her nerves jumping. Moving ahead of her into the darkness, he clicked on a floor lamp, revealing a casual and inviting living room with a small eating area tucked in the far corner.
"You want cream with yours?" he asked as he headed around a breakfast bar into the kitchen.
"Yes, please." She looked around while he fixed the drinks. Books filled shelves along every wall and sat in haphazard stacks on the floor, making her think of a wizard's cottage in the woods. The leather-covered sofa and overstuffed chair invited a person to settle in and read, or take an afternoon nap. The end table, coffee table, and other accent pieces were all antiques; none of them matched, yet all of them added to the room's welcoming feel.
She could easily see why Adrian had wanted to swap with Rory and Chance. This place was smaller, but cozy and private, while the apartment at the inn was a constant hub of activity. She'd always felt a bit uncomfortable there, but could almost picture herself living in a place like this.
The thought sent another wave of panic along her nerves.
"Here you go."
"Oh!" She whirled to find Adrian right behind her. "You snuck up on me."
"Sorry." He held out a glass.
"Thanks."
"You want to sit in here, or outside?"
"Outside," she said quickly, hoping to escape in the dangerous longing trying to wiggle its way inside her. She followed him out on the porch and took a seat in one of the rocking chairs. A light breeze rustled through the trees.
He lit a candle on the table between the chairs, then sat with his feet propped on the rail, his ankles crossed. Candlelight played across his face.
"Are you trying to get romantic on me?" She nodded at the candle, trying to keep things light.
"Well, it is Valentine's Day," he teased back.
"That it is." She frowned, since she'd actually forgotten. "You should be spending it with one of those women who try to talk you into staying all night."
"You'll do." He smiled into his glass, but looked so exhausted, she wondered if he'd lied about the need to unwind. If so, she should finish her drink and go.
She glanced toward the cove. "I saw the work platform has arrived, but I haven't seen any sign of Carl. I take it he's here, though."
"He is. Allison checked him into one of the larger bungalows, which will serve as his team's headquarters as well as a place for him to live for the next few months. Apparently, he's not too keen on large crowds watching him work. He put up with the camera crews for a while, then disappeared into his bungalow and hasn't been seen since."
"Did they start today, then?"
"Just some preliminary dives to 'establish a grid' or some other technical-sounding term. I think he plans to start in earnest tomorrow." He studied his drink. "Speaking of Carl, I've been wondering about something."
"Oh?" Something in his voice put her on mild alert.
"If I'm being too nosy, you can tell me to butt out."
She steeled herself for anything. "What's your question?"
"That day at the Visitors' Center, Carl's animosity toward your father seemed to go beyond an archeologist's natural dislike for treasure hunters. I was wondering if there's some personal issue involved."
She wasn't sure whether to tell him, but reminded herself they were friends, and friends shared things. "He and my father used to be close. In fact, they both worked as scuba instructors at the resort where my parents met. I don't know exactly what happened, though. Dad never talked about Carl other than to cuss about what an uptight prig he was."
"Definitely sounds like there's a story there."
"Probably." She sipped her drink. "I guess I'll never know now. Dad's gone, and Carl doesn't seem inclined to become buddies with me."
"I noticed." He looked at her with such empathy, her chest grew tight. "I wish we could hire someone else, but he was the Historical Society's first choice, and since they hold the purse strings, they call the shots. I'm sorry, though."
"Don't be. He's good at his job. One of the best, I'm told. The project is more important than my personal comfort level."
"This is going to be hard for you, though, isn't it?"
"Only because I worry about how having me involved will affect you and your family."
"Jackie ..." he said in a warning tone.
"No, let me finish." Her hand tightened around the cold glass. "You've all been very kind to me. I appreciate it, and I hope you never have cause to regret including me."
"We won't" He sighed heavily. "For one thing, we couldn't have done it at all without you."
"I doubt that. Scott's research was pretty tight. You could have managed, and been better off in the long run."
He studied her. "You really believe that don't you?"
"I know it."
He shook his head. "I take it back. You aren't a whipped dog, you're one of those brave, stoic martyr types."
"Excuse me?" She frowned at him.
"Jackie." His voice gentled as he let his feet drop to the floor and shifted toward her. "You don't have to be tough all the time. In fact, if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I have two guaranteed not to melt on contact with tears."
A strained laugh escaped her. "I appreciate the offer, but I learned a long time ago that crying to others accomplishes nothing."
"So, you do your crying alone?"
"I didn't say I cried at all. It's a stupid waste of energy." When he gave her a knowing look, she relented. "Well, maybe sometimes in private."
"Like I said, you don't have to be strong all the time." He reached over and took her free hand. "Even though I do admire you for your strength at times."
"Adrian, don't." Her throat closed, making her voice thin. "I've had a re
ally tough day, and it wouldn't take much to make me lose it, so back off, okay?"
"No, it's not okay. I know you're uncomfortable with kindness, because you don't know how to deal with it, but when I think of all you've been through, I wish I could turn back the clock and be there for you all the times you felt frightened and alone."
"Stop. Please." Her shoulder jerked and she set her drink down to cover her face with her hand.
"I'm here for you now, though. I want you to know that."
To her horror, a sob slipped past her control, and then another.
"Come here." He tugged on her hand, pulling her from her chair onto his lap. She went more willingly than she should have, and curled into a ball with her face buried in the crook of his neck. He wrapped his arms around her, making her feel safe as he rocked back and forth.
"I'm sorry." The words barely made it past her tight throat. "I'm just tired."
"It's okay." He kissed her forehead, which made her cry harder. "Tell me why you're tired."
Lord, what a question! "I'm tired of living in a minefield. Every time I do anything, I hold my breath waiting to see if my world will explode. And I'm angry at my father for putting me in the middle of this." Bitterness rose up, scalding her throat. "God forgive me, I'm so angry at him!"
"You have a right to be."
"No I don't." She lifted her head to stare at him. "He did the best he could. I loved him in spite of his being a big, irresponsible kid, and I miss him so much. But sometimes, sometimes" ---her hand tightened into a fist ---"way down inside me there's a tiny bit of me that hates him and is almost glad he's gone. Oh God!" Another sob escaped and she hid her face against his chest.
"It's okay," he murmured, rubbing her back.
"I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I never wished him dead."
"I know how you meant it, and it's all right to be angry. He put you in some awful situations, and you're still suffering because of him. But listen to me." Taking her by the shoulders, he straightened her so he could see her face. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. Everything is going to be okay."
Don't Tempt Me Page 16
