***
“I know you have the trunk in your possession.”
Jack strained to identify any accent. It certainly wasn’t British−nor was the brief glimpse of the phone number an international one.
“I don’t know what you found inside it, but the fact that you spent the night watching over that woman indicates it was something worth protecting.”
Northeast, Jack thought, but not New England. Not Maine. The man said, over, not ovah.
“What else did you discover?” The voice asked as a rush of static filled the connection. In a moment the line was clear again. It sounded like he was making a call on a windy street−or on the deck of a ship. “I’ll share what I found.”
Not looking up, Jack could feel Olivia’s eyes on him. Soulful. They had grown darker as the evening progressed last night. For a man who had spent a considerable amount of his life on the ocean, her tales of the sea fascinated him. She was young. Maybe thirty. But she spoke like a seasoned captain, and she reminded him of Quint from JAWS−albeit, a hell of a lot sexier than the dodgy old drunk from the movie.
She had lied to the behemoth Greek man sitting at the kitchen table. Why? And what a lie−implying that they had more-or-less been getting it on. Damn, he had felt the effects of that fib deep in his groin. This morning he was still reeling from how close he had come to kissing her when he held that icepack to her face.
But now this faceless voice erased those effects. Now this nameless threat prevented him from meeting her gaze. Now this anonymous menace was about to divulge what it found…
“I found a cowering old man,” the voice hissed.
Jack’s blood ran cold. He gripped the thin phone tight enough to splinter it. Knowing that he had two people staring at him, he choked down the condemnation that ached to spill from his lips. He held a single finger up, hoping it didn’t shake as badly as it felt. With that simple gesture, he moved briskly from the kitchen to haul open the front door. His long stride managed to eat up some of the driveway before he cried out, “Goddamn, you son of a bitch. If he is dead I will hunt you down.”
Jack whirled in the gravel to see if the front door had opened, but he was alone on the far side of the circular drive. Blood pounded in his ears.
“How did you get this number?” he challenged, ready to chastise someone at PMSC for being so liberal with his contact information.
“We know all about you, John Morell. We have researched all ties to Warren Pennington, but only you are on that shore searching for the same thing we are. Only you operate as ‘security’ for the Pennington Center.”
“You started this,” Jack goaded. “You called me. There is something you want. Something you need.”
“I believe we’ve already established that.” The man replied coolly.
“If you tell me that my uncle is alive, then perhaps we will continue this conversation.”
A banshee cry of static filled the connection. It tapered only for Jack to hear the words, “I can’t tell you that.”
Jack disconnected.
Ignoring the vibration of another call, he started towards the house and drew to a halt when he saw Olivia watching him from the porch. When had she come out?
Inside his pocket, the cell phone drilled on.
Olivia stood rooted at the top of the stairs with her hand wrapped around the wooden railing.
With feral aggression, he hauled the phone back up to his ear. “What?”
“You have something I need.” The voice stated blandly.
A fucking broken chair?
“If my uncle is dead, then you have no bargaining tools.”
Angry that no new dialogue had been injected, Jack lifted his thumb to disconnect.
“Is the woman’s life not a bargaining tool?”
His gaze wrenched back up to Olivia standing stoically on the porch. She watched him, but he could tell by the pale-tipped fingers gripping the rail that she wanted to push off and join him. He had divulged too much last night, and now she had the misguided impression that they were allies.
Yanking away from that probing gaze, he hunched over for privacy. Wind nipped at his exposed ear. The other burned against the phone.
“I don’t even know her,” he hissed. “Like you, I showed up here yesterday looking for that goddamn footlocker. And guess what−I have it. All you need is me.”
“If you don’t know her, then why did you spend the night? Was it to protect her?”
Son of a bitch.
“She’s going to need more protection, I’m afraid,” the voice droned on. “That is unless you give me what I’m looking for.”
“I’ll give you the goddamn trunk,” Jack yelled, and then tossed a quick glimpse over his shoulder to see if she had moved.
“That will be a good start, but if it doesn’t contain what I’m interested in, then we have a problem.”
We have many problems.
“Listen to me,” Jack’s tone was lethal. “I’ve run out of patience. I am taking the woman and the trunk to the police. I’ve already reported my uncle missing. The Coast Guard is out there searching, and I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before they stumble across you, or whatever it is you are hiding,” he paused. “There will be nothing left for you to come after…except for me. So go ahead, big man. Come get me.”
Even with the fine peal of the ocean breeze curling into his ear he could hear the man’s drawn breath.
“You have no idea who or what you are dealing with.”
“You’re right. But so far I’m not impressed.”
“We’re aware that you are a snag we must address, but this woman has seen too much as well. She has become a liability to us. If you take her to the police, she will talk−and we can’t have that. Don’t underestimate the scope of what you’re dealing with here. Maybe she’s innocent, but that’s too bad for her. And it’s too damn bad for you that your uncle couldn’t ignore what he discovered on the ocean floor. Stay where you are and let us collect what we need. Perhaps−”
“All I hear are words,” Jack’s voice lost some conviction. “There is no proof of the fate of my uncle.”
The man’s voice grew faint. He was on the move. “Ask Olivia McKay if the fist to her eye felt like words.”
Pressing the cell phone tight to his ear, Jack realized that the connection was severed. He searched the bay expecting to see the flash from a pair of binoculars reflecting back at him. A small skiff plodded towards the mouth of the inlet, its rear end weighted down by a motor and a man in a baseball hat. The man was looking ahead, concentrating on the path before him, one hand guiding the motor.
A touch of morning fog still clung to the surface of the water, and the air was brisk enough to dissuade the casual boater. Only hardcore fishermen were heading out at this early hour.
He sensed her approach, but didn’t turn his head. She was inculpable in a scheme he had yet to comprehend. Part of him wanted to gamble that the voice on the phone was just a flake, and that indeed Olivia would be safe with the authorities. Still, his mind replayed that gunfire echoing in the background as his uncle warned, trust no one, Jack.
Surprised that Olivia remained silent, he finally turned to look at her. She was standing at his side, her arms crossed to fend off the morning chill. Wind chased shiny amber strands across her shoulders. Her cheeks blossomed under the assault. She was staring out to sea with an intoxicating combination of sadness and wonder.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“Sorry? For what?”
Her head tilted up at him and her eyes were troubled. “I’m sorry about the phone call. I know what those are like.”
Stumped into silence, Jack finally asked, “How do you know what the phone call was about?”
She squeezed the spot at the top of her nose, but then lifted her head and gazed out at the receding mist. “I don’t. But, your expression was a sad one. It was also indignant. I know that recipe. You’ve received news of your uncle,” she hes
itated and he swore there were tears in her eyes. “And judging by that expression, it was devastating. I am so sorry.”
A pair of seagulls crisscrossed in the air, their raucous search for food fading away as they glided down the coast.
“Did you lose someone recently?” It was an invasive question, but she looked so forlorn.
“Mmmm.” Her head bobbed. “A few.”
Before he could even analyze that statement the front door opened and the Greek man stepped onto the porch. Jack glanced from him to Olivia’s windblown cameo.
“Can he take you away from here?”
Her head tipped back in frustration. “We had this conversation last night. No.”
“Is he a relative?” The fact that he wanted to come right out and ask if the guy was her boyfriend frustrated him.
“Sort of,” Olivia hedged. “I will not put him in any jeopardy.”
“Is everything alright out here?” George called before starting down the porch steps with the enthusiasm of a landscaper entering an alligator-infested swamp.
“We’re fine Georgie.”
“Listen to me,” Jack whispered roughly. “You have five seconds to make a decision. The phone call I received was a blatant threat−to me−and to you. I know that is not fair, and that you have nothing to do with me or my uncle, but unfortunately you’ve been tangled up in this mess. Your choices are either to leave here with Georgie−or you get in my Jeep and I will figure out how to get you to safety.” With the big man only a few steps away, Jack added, “−but if you care about this man. Send him away from here. Keep him away at all costs, Olivia. Do you understand?”
There was no time for her to respond. George Pagonis stood before them, his head tipped in curiosity, the wind puffing up his black hair like the crown of a crow.
“Georgie, I’m shutting the place down for the day.”
Shock caused a dip in the black unibrow. “Say what?”
“I’m taking a day off, which means that you get the day off as well. Why don’t you fix up those mustard pork chops or whatever for Hannah. Surprise her.”
George tucked his hands into his jean pockets and studied Jack edgily. “The only surprise going on today is you.” His glance slid back to Olivia. “You never take a day off. Never.”
Seeing her mouth open, he cut her off. “Yeah, you’ve maybe had a sick day or two over the past nine years, but I handled the boats. We never closed.”
Out in the harbor a skiff crept by, the sun glinting off its narrow windshield. Was it his imagination or had the craft slowed down?
“Olivia,” Jack urged huskily.
To his surprise he felt her arm loop through his.
“George. I want a day off.”
Warmth infused the left side of Jack’s body. What was he supposed to do? Should he put his arm around her to support her ruse? That was impossible when her unexpected touch had paralyzed him.
“I get that, Livvy. I get it.” George swiped a hand over his face and clutched his chin. “I have no problem with you leaving with this−this−”
“Jack,” Jack offered.
“This Jack here. But I’ll stay in case any business shows.”
Even through his jacket, Jack could feel the tension around his arm as her body grew taught.
“Nobody came yesterday. We’ll be lucky if someone shows up this weekend. I’ll leave a sign up on the front door. Just take the day off, Georgie.”
Dark eyes measured her before landing on Jack with obvious mistrust.
“It’s your business,” he yielded. “I can’t tell you what to do.”
“It’s your business too, George.” Olivia quickly rushed.
Taking a step backwards, his hands still in his pockets, George shook his head. “No, it’s not.” He pulled out his car keys, staring down at them. “Have a good time today. I’ll call later to check in.” At the door to his pickup, he added, “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”
Jack’s bicep clenched in a silent message.
“Well, don’t call the land line,” she directed. “Call the cell.” Answering the man’s raised eyebrow, she offered, “The landline has been having problems.”
Opening the door of the Dodge Ram, George measured her over its rim. “Is everything alright, Livvy? I mean it.”
Olivia chuckled, but it sounded like a motor running underwater. “Stop worrying so much. Everything is perfect!” For confirmation, she hugged Jack’s arm and even rested her head against his shoulder.
Dubious, George stooped into the cab, and called out. “Then you both have fun. I will check up on you later.”
It sounded more like a threat.
Olivia released the death grip on Jack’s arm so that she could wave enthusiastically at George as his pickup ambled down the driveway. As soon as it rounded the trees on its way to Gull Harbor she edged away from Jack completely.
CHAPTER FIVE
Livvy stooped over with her hands on her knees and sucked in brackish air. Trembling, she quickly righted herself and raked a hand through her hair.
“That−” she pointed down the road, “−will come back to haunt me.”
Jack followed her finger and it allowed her a moment to study his profile. Under the early morning sun, a few strands of gray were visible in his dark hair. He was older than her, but not by much. The powerful way he planted his legs and pinned back his shoulders attested to that. It was absurd that she found him attractive. For as much as he looked dangerous, and represented menace…she still found his profile striking.
The power skiff made a tight U-turn in the inlet, its pilot an indistinct exclamation point atop the low-lying boat. This craft did not belong to any of the locals. She would have recognized it. It was also the source of Jack’s foreboding expression.
“How quickly can you put an overnight bag together?” he asked quietly.
“I’m coming back here tonight. This is temporary.”
“How long?” he repeated without hesitation.
The urgency in his tone was infectious. She could argue later. “Three minutes,” she rushed out as she started towards the front steps.
It didn’t take long because there had been no opportunity to re-sort her closet last night. Most of her clothes were in hastily folded piles in the corner of her bedroom. Not allowing the magnitude of the situation to crush her, she stole a moment to sit on the corner of the bed and contemplate the notion of driving away with a stranger. Was she really unsafe here as he implied, or was this some elaborate kidnapping scheme? Still, if the situation was as dire as it appeared, she couldn’t chance staying with George and putting him and his wife in peril. It was better to jeopardize a stranger.
“Olivia?”
Jack’s husky call came from the hall.
Livvy lunged across the bed, stretching to reach her nightstand drawer. Last night she had tossed the can of Mace back into it. The canister probably wasn’t even potent anymore. George had given it to her almost five years ago when he and Hannah had left for a trip to the Bahamas. Tossing it into the duffle bag, she yanked the zipper closed and vaulted to her door, smacking directly into a rock-hard chest.
“Ohmmphf!” Her mouth plunged into his collarbone.
Strong hands gripped her biceps, steadying her and holding her against his chest before gently settling her back. “You would make a great running back.”
Flustered by that moment locked against solid muscles, Livvy cleared her throat. “You said to hurry.”
Whatever had passed for a smile abandoned his face. “You’re right. Are you ready? Is everything locked up?”
Distracted, she glanced around his shoulder and through the kitchen to the back door. She knew it was still secured from last night. Inches away from it sat her laptop. As there was a six-foot barrier before her, she stared up at him expectantly. Raising his eyebrows, he stepped out of the way.
Darting towards the laptop, she grabbed it and threw another hasty glimpse around her kitchen trying to convince he
rself that she would be back here in a few hours−just as soon as everything was cleared up.
“Ready,” she proclaimed.
Outside, she turned to lock the front door and felt the cocoon of Jack’s body around her. His frame cast a shadow. It felt reassuring to have him so close, but she sensed the proximity was intended to shield her. Even crossing the driveway he kept a light touch on her elbow, accompanying her to the passenger door rather than splitting up for haste.
No, these were not chivalrous gestures. These were the calculating tactics of someone familiar with all avenues of violence.
As they pulled away, Livvy swiveled to look out the back window at the receding lighthouse. It looked so forlorn. It was like her personal puppy dog, staring at her with that forsaken, when are you coming back expression.
Arresting her attention was the view of the inlet as they rounded the bend. The power skiff was gone.
A rumble in Jack’s pants jarred her. Her eyes latched onto his thigh and she gulped. With one hand on the steering wheel he hefted his hips and extracted his cell phone, lifting it to his ear.
There was no acknowledgment. He did not speak. His lips clamped together and the hand around the steering wheel fisted like a manacle. A muscle pumped along his dark-stubbled jaw. His was a feral countenance and it chilled her. And just like that he chucked the cell phone on the console between them.
Livvy stared at it like it was a flesh-eating beetle.
“What?” she yelped.
Jack fisted both hands around the steering wheel and cocked his head to survey the rearview mirror.
“They saw us leave,” he hissed.
“Oh my God−I knew it was that skiff.” She twisted in her seat. “But there’s no one following us. This is Gull Harbor−they can’t exactly hide behind us. There are no cars out yet.”
Jack’s fist pounded the steering wheel. He stretched his fingers out and took a deep breath, which did little to ease his tension. It wormed around him like a sheath of nails.
Again he peered at the mirror.
“I want to take you to the police−”
“But−”
“But, they’re anticipating that.”
Mist Page 6
