“Well, it’s hard to make dinner with an ice pack on your face.” Her joviality was forced.
“I’ve done it before,” he uttered.
“Scientists must have a hazardous occupation then.”
It was meant to be a joke, but the fact that this man’s uncle had possibly fallen under foul play made it fall flat.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
A twisting grin toyed with his full lips. “I’m sure lobstering is equally as hazardous.”
At that, she snorted. “Oh indeed it is. I’m standing here about to serve pork chops to a man of questionable intent.”
Jack stepped back−but not far. Just far enough to cross his arms and study her with those stormy eyes.
“My intent−” he began, “is to see you safely through the night. Tomorrow we’ll decide the next step. Now−” he stooped down to retrieve a skillet tossed under the desk. “Can I use this pan?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jack sat on the couch, his arm resting on the folded pile of sheets Olivia had left for him. Light penetrated the gap in the drapes, its source a snook lamp mounted at the entrance to the pier. This diluted radiance cast an abstract outline of a wooden fisherman against the wall. Jack glanced uneasily from the hunched figurine to its shadow.
Haunted?
No, he wasn’t afraid that the place was haunted. The wraiths that circled this bungalow were very much alive and much more threatening than any ghost.
After researching the demise of the Eclipse container ship, the ambiguous facts left him certain that the vessel had gone down at the hands of a force more malevolent than nature. All sources claimed that the ship was an innocent victim of Hurricane Beatrice. It was a logical conclusion. The container vessel was directly in the trajectory of the deadly storm’s path−its last position nearly fifty miles off the coast of York. But why? Why was it there?
This had not been the type of storm to sneak up on you. The hurricane’s path was tracked the second it assaulted the Bahamian islands and lumbered its way up the coast. Predictions of destruction along the coasts of Massachusetts, Maine, and Nova Scotia were issued well in advance. There was plenty of time for the Eclipse Pembrook to either return to its port of origin, or reach its destination, Halifax.
So what then? Scuttling? Had they sank the vessel for the insurance money? That seemed unlikely. The Eclipse Line was a sound one.
Jack rose and entered the foyer on bare feet. This was his sixth patrol through the quiet house. And for the sixth time he paused before the closed door to Olivia’s bedroom.
His glance dropped to the doorknob.
An image from earlier flashed in his mind. Olivia was jabbing her fork at the laptop monitor, so engrossed that she forgot to chew the slice of tomato she had just slid into her mouth.
“Waww awr way dowwin oww there?”
“Excuse me?”
A hasty swallow and the obstruction was gone. She jabbed her fork again−this time at an AP photo of search vessels off the coast of Massachusetts.
“What were they doing out there? I remember that storm. I’m still paying repair bills from it.”
Those blue eyes sucker-punched him.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“You need help,” she reminded. “I will help.”
Raising his eyebrow did little to intimidate her. Her free hand flowed over the keyboard while the fork dove for another batch of salad.
For as desperate as the situation that placed him in this stranger’s house was, the evening was a comfortable one. Olivia truly did want to help. He would let her do so for now, as long as it meant she was protected.
Staring down at the doorknob, Jack recalled his lame squabble to have her keep the bedroom door open.
“I want to be able to hear if you’re in trouble,” he argued. “What if someone climbs through your window?”
Her lips curved. In the dim light that smile tempted him. Too much.
“You looked out the window in my bedroom before. If you recall, it’s oval-shaped with perhaps a 10-inch maximum circumference. A small child would barely be able to wriggle through−if they could even reach it from the outside.”
Frowning, he countered. “The one-inch muzzle of a gun would fit fine.”
Immediately he wished he could retract the words. The beautiful smile was gone and the eyes grew stark.
“I will feel safer locked in my room,” she whispered hoarsely.
There was no refuting that. He nodded. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Olivia’s gaze fell to his chest. After a second’s deliberation, she started to slide the door shut.
“Olivia−”
Restless eyes lifted to his.
“−I’m sorry.”
A ghost of a grin dusted across her lips.
“I know,” she murmured and then shut the door.
Now, as Jack stared down at that doorknob he felt despondency smother him. He tried to toss it aside. He had resources. He had skills. He would find his uncle. He would find those responsible for his disappearance. And he would avenge the attack on this innocent woman.
When the bout of adrenaline subsided, he sat down on the living room couch. Knowing the hour in London, he once again attempted redial on the call he received earlier. Another BLUE-LINK voice mail. Any search about the company and the woman, Amanda Newton, validated her role. But no internet search would explain why she had called. With his eyes fixed on that gap in the drapes, he fell into a restless slumber.
***
Footsteps.
Jack sat up straight. The dim light of daybreak filtered through the drapes.
Olivia must have woken.
As he stood and took a step towards the foyer he noticed that her door was still closed. Again, a footfall sounded on the other side of the wall, near the front door.
He clenched his hands, hoping they would prove enough of an ally. Cautiously, he paralleled the wall on bare feet.
Another sound in the foyer. Jack’s muscles grew taut. The element of surprise and some well-executed maneuvers could disarm an armed man he reminded himself.
“Livvy?” A voice called out. “Are you up?”
Livvy?
“Be right out, Georgie. It was a long night. I’m running behind.”
Jack caught a glimpse of the grandfather clock. 6:47am.
She had guests before 7am?
The kind that could let themselves in?
The kind that called her Livvy?
A burly man stepped past the arched entrance to the living room. He was not tall by any means, but he was beefy. Beneath a red vinyl jacket, a polo shirt strained against an ample girth. A cap of pure black hair glistened from an early morning mist. The man was certainly not what Jack would picture a woman like Olivia with, but who was he to speculate on a woman’s preferences?
“Where’d that silver Cherokee come from?” The man yelled as he rifled through a fistful of envelopes. “I thought−”
Tucking the envelopes under his arm, he looked up. Walrus-sized eyes flared at the site of Jack standing in the living room. A hefty second chin dropped when the man’s mouth gaped open.
Jack realized the image he must portray. At some point during the night he fell asleep below an air vent that spewed dry heat. The rest of the bungalow kept its chill, but that spot on the couch was like pitching a lawn chair on the equator. He had tossed aside the blanket and unbuttoned his shirt.
Olivia picked that moment to open her door. A balmy scent of coconut wafted through the hall.
“Oh−” Her hand flew to her mouth.
But it was her eyes dropping to his chest that warmed Jack. Every inch they covered scorched his skin. Something primal churned in his stomach when their eyes locked. Swallowing it, he began to hitch the buttons to his shirt.
“Livvy, who is−” The burly man turned to her, “−oh my God, what happened to your face?”
Immediately, the walrus eyes swe
rved and narrowed into a threat. Jack raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders.
“No, Georgie. He didn’t do it.” Olivia swept her hair back and sighed. “Coffee. Damn, I need coffee.” As she started into the kitchen, she tossed back over her shoulder, “George, meet Jack. Jack, meet George.”
In a silent face-off, the two men stood rooted in the hall. Jack felt remarkably calm. Olivia was safe, and this man appeared to pose no threat to her. It seemed he needed to convince this Georgie that he posed no threat as well.
“Jack Morell.” He extended his hand.
In one assessing glance, George took in the discarded bedding on the couch and the untucked shirt. Thick black eyebrows drew together into a suspicious frown.
“George Pagonis,” he stated, returning the shake with added force. “Are you a−friend of Livvy’s?”
It might have been comical were it not for the desperate situation. Some of the humor was also doused by his irrational bout of jealousy. So what if Olivia−err−Livvy had a boyfriend? In fact, this cleared up everything. Now he could leave here feeling assured that she would be in someone else’s care.
But why didn’t she confess to the boyfriend last night when he had pointedly asked?
“No. I just met her yesterday.” That probably sounded lame considering it was obvious he had spent the night.
“Coffee’s ready!” Olivia hollered from the kitchen.
George lingered, still locked in an ocular duel.
“Georgie, get in here. I have a list.”
Meaty shoulders sagged as George muttered, “She always has a list.”
For a moment, Jack eyed the front door. Olivia had company now. She had protection. Georgie might be slightly out of shape, but he was a sizeable man. He would keep an eye on her. It was time to start focusing on the next step−the next means of locating Warren.
“Jack,” Olivia called. “Come in here.”
Tempted by the front door, he nonetheless turned towards the kitchen. She deserved far more than a sneaky departure.
***
Livvy forced composure before she turned around. It didn’t help. Her breath still caught. Jack stood with his shoulder hitched against the kitchen doorframe. Maybe he was trying to appear relaxed, but she could see the outline of every taut muscle beneath his cotton shirt. Thank God he had buttoned it. The recollection of that wide chest and the alluring ladder of muscles beneath it was seared in her mind to be replayed tonight when she was alone with her fantasies.
The sound of a chair scraping against linoleum nearly made her drop her mug. George looked up at her from her desk chair. She recognized that expression. He took the big brother role to heart. If she divulged the events of the past twenty-four hours he would have a coronary and try to force her to sell this house as he had done so many times before.
“Are you going to just stand there gawking, or are you going to tell me why you look like an extra from a Rocky movie?”
Here it goes−
“Would you believe I walked into the doorframe?”
George tapped the butcher-block surface with his thumb. “Normally−yes.” His derisive grin subsided as he crossed his arms and glared at Jack. “But things aren’t normal this morning.”
Okay, perhaps it had been a long time since George had seen her out on a date. She had known George Pagonis since she was six years old. He was her brother’s best friend. When the accident occurred, George stepped in and became her older brother. Well−older brother, mother, and father all on one life-altering day. She was twenty at the time, and since then George had probably only seen her with a few guys.
Now, at twenty-nine she had reached the conclusion that there was too much work to be done, and men only got in the way of that. Georgie was a rock. He helped her run this business. But it was her business. And it consumed her. Many male clients had tried to flirt out on the boats, some even renting just for an opportunity to charm the young captain. She wasn’t worried. She had a harpoon on board. A harpoon that she hadn’t reached yesterday.
Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough.
“Hello, Livvy. Are you home?”
Which was worse, facing George’s disapproving stare, or meeting the solemn gray eyes that studied her from across the room? Definitely the latter. But she was drawn towards them−compelled to do so. Unreadable shadows lurked in those eyes. Here was a man so intense and full of such angst. A man who claimed to be a scientist, and yet harbored the raw edginess and skill of someone with a more disciplined background.
All she had to do was tell George what had happened−to give the slightest hint that she feared this stranger, and it would be all over. George would see to it that Jack left, and the whole debacle would be behind her.
Or would it?
Jack’s warning made her fear otherwise.
Apprehension over the brooding stranger was tempered by the memories of his touch against her cheek, and the warm and desperate look in his eyes as he held that ice so gently against her wound. There was also the inane conversation they had as they cleaned dishes afterwards. She had sought to lighten the mood and asked, “So what is a Ben−benth−ben-theck creature?”
Jack reached to take the dripping plate from her sudsy hands and began drying it. A faint smile dusted his lips, but she could see his gaze dart to the window, sharply assessing the night before he returned his attention to her.
“The Benthic zone is the lowest level of the ocean where crustacean creatures, or benthos live. These are creatures that have adapted to dwell on the bottom under dense water pressure. They come in many varieties, but none are what you would consider, endearing.”
Not seeing anything in the dark, just her own reflection staring back at her, she asked, “So you really are a geek?”
“You seem to feel otherwise,” he mentioned quietly.
Both of her hands were in the water. She used her shoulder to scratch her itchy nose. “You carry yourself like a cop, or the military.”
Silence at her side prompted her to slice a quick glimpse. He was staring out into the night−and definitely not with the eyes of a nerdy scientist. No, he looked like a lethal weapon.
He held up a ceramic cow decanter. “Which cabinet?”
Okay, maybe not a lethal weapon. But cow decanter or not, he did not seem tame.
Now, the morning after−that untamed creature studied her, awaiting her next move. If only there was some guidance in that unreadable expression. Do I share what happened here yesterday? Do I share what we found in the trunk? Do I share that your uncle is missing?
Nothing. Barely a blink from the hurricane-colored eyes.
“Georgie, for Christ’s sake−I’m allowed to have a man over. I haven’t been a kid in a long time.”
Livvy felt bad for the flush that spread across George’s plump cheeks. Perhaps the rationale behind her impulsive response wasn’t so much to protect Jack as it was to liberate herself from always being a child in George’s eyes.
George’s heavy boot scuffed the floor. Clearing his throat, he reached for the coffee mug and took a hearty swallow. He seemed reluctant to look at Jack. Jack on the other hand was sporting a smirk that she found ridiculously sexy. If only her tale had been true. If only this man was here because he wanted to make crazy passionate love to her all night.
Humph. No wonder George was incredulous.
“Listen, Livvy. Of course you can have a man over.” Just saying it seemed to pain her friend. “It’s just that I’m wondering where you got that shiner. We both know you could find your way around this place blindfolded. You don’t walk into walls.”
Her cheeks burned. “I had a few glasses of wine,” she explained. “As a matter of fact, I was−I was−walking back into the kitchen for a refill. The lights were out. I stumbled.”
In the background, the grandfather clock ticked, Fool. Fool. Fool.
George’s lips tangled coyly. “Well, that does make some sense.”
It does?
“I
t would explain the broken glass on the floor behind the stepstool.” He pitched his head at the step ladder folded beneath a cupboard.
Livvy shot Jack a look. His shoulder budged slightly in defense. They had spent the greater part of the evening trying to correct the melee left by the invader. Jack was adamant about restoring every inch to its original luster. His guilt was in overdrive at the time.
“Yes, yes it would,” she stuttered.
“But−”
“But?”
George folded his thick arms. “It looks to me more like there was some sort of altercation. Broken glass. Those scrapes on the wall over there−.” A knot formed between bushy black eyebrows. “Mind you, none of this is anywhere near where the wine is stored. And−”
Busily cursing the slashes on the wall that must have come from one of the tossed kitchen chairs in the burglar’s chaotic path, Livvy realized that George had paused. He was now studying Jack with a limited rein on his anger.
“And,” he continued. “The fact that this character here was undoubtedly sleeping on the couch when I came in is a clear indication that he had been kicked out of the bedroom after the argument.”
This entire situation had turned surreal.
“May I inject something?”
Livvy’s head jerked at the sound of Jack’s voice. He offered a subtle dip of his chin, conveying with his eyes that everything was going to be alright.
George lolled his head to the side in anticipation.
A muffled chime reverberated around the kitchen. As it repeated, each jingle suspended her heartbeat.
Jack reached into his back pocket for his cell phone. Frowning at the panel, he hoisted it to his ear without any salutation. Livvy watched the shadowed planes of his face sharpen. Despite being unshaven, the stubble could not conceal the sudden paleness. She feared he had received grave news about his uncle. Impulsive as it may be, she wanted to cross that kitchen floor and hug him−to offer some form of solace. Words−words were useless. They could not heal. George had tried words. His wife, Hannah had tried words. She loved them both for their selflessness−but their words couldn’t erase the pain.
Mist Page 5
