Jack stepped up to a security panel containing an intercom and camera. He pressed the button and caught a glimpse of Olivia in the reflection of the glass door. In the navy fleece jacket, her shoulders trembled, but her head was tilted, anxiously peering inside the lobby.
“Greetings. Welcome to the Pennington Marine Science Center. How may I be of assistance today?” a deep voice sounded through the tinny receiver.
Jack snorted. “Flinn, just open the door.”
“As you wish−”
A compartment slid open in the panel to reveal a small touchpad. Jack pressed his thumb to it and then stooped to direct his gaze into the camera. “Now,” he emphasized.
A buzz sounded and he quickly hauled open the glass door, urging Olivia inside.
Without the wind, the silence inside this reflective cocoon was dramatic. Each scrape of their shoes against the marble floor resonated in the vaulted foyer. They approached the single elevator on the far wall. Only two potted trees offered any relief to the fusion of glass and marble. No benches. No signs. Just an elevator.
Reaching into his back pocket, Jack extracted a card, which he slipped through the reader affixed to the wall. A computer generated voice asked, “Name please.”
“John Morell.”
“Password please.”
“Nemo1916,” he stated.
The elevator door slid open with a soft hiss. As it closed behind them, Jack finally began to relax. They were safe now. One more access obstacle would take them to a floor that could only be reached with the proper code. Disregarding the huge 3-2-1 buttons on the panel, he pressed a sequence into the manual keypad and the chamber rumbled into motion.
“Nemo?” Olivia cocked an eyebrow. “The fish?”
His lips quirked for a second. “No, the captain.”
“Why so much security?” she asked, eying the panel.
“Well−” the elevator stopped, and the door slid open, “−mostly because I am the Chief Security Officer.”
***
“But−”
Livvy’s thoughts were curtailed by the view. Stepping out of the elevator to face a bank of glass walls she gasped at the panorama. A pristine stretch of the bay was marred only by what appeared to be the roof of another level beneath them. Crimson-leaved maples gleamed under the sun on the far shoreline. To her right, the inlet narrowed into an active harbor with white coils of smoke piping above two oncoming fishing boats. In the opposite direction the channel opened up, and though she could not see it past a stockade of pine trees, she knew the bay beckoned not far away.
“But−” she refocused, “−I thought you were a scientist−err−oceanographer.”
Jack stood beside her with his arms crossed. “I am. I wear a few hats around here.” He reached out and she felt his fingers dust against her elbow. “Let’s call the feds and then we can talk.”
Livvy nodded absently, but stood rooted by the view. Further down the hill in a gap between the trees a lengthy pier jutted out into the bay. “Is that your trawler out there? It says PENNINGTON on it.”
“Yeah, the Odyssey. It’s an old commercial trawler that we gutted and converted into a research vessel. As you can see, it’s past its prime.”
Livvy eyed the rusted vessel with a mariner’s lust. It had to be at least 70’ and was equipped with two small launch crafts. A childlike enthusiasm made her long to run down the hillside and climb into the pilothouse.
“The Algonquin is much more sophisticated,” Jack explained. “Only a few years old. It was Warren’s pride and joy.”
Was.
Her momentary reverie was cut short by the harsh reality of the events that brought her here. Acknowledging his words, she wanted to offer some solace, but she knew that nothing could be said. Instead, she focused on the research trawler again.
“If you had that at your disposal, why on earth would you need one of my charter boats?”
“That,” Jack nodded at the trawler, “is not inconspicuous.” His expression turned pensive. “Although I wish I had used it now.”
“Why?”
They were close enough that she had to tip her head back to look up at him. Emotion churned in the savage seas gazing down at her.
“Then you wouldn’t be involved,” he explained roughly. “Then you would be safe.”
Livvy stared at his throat. It was the first part of the man she had glimpsed through that peephole. The cord of muscle that ran along the side of his neck fascinated her.
“Olivia,” he murmured.
Her gaze lifted to his lips.
“Olivia,” his voice echoed. “We have to make that call.”
With one quick convulsion she snapped out of her spell. What the hell was wrong with her? The effects of shock? The effects of the sordid, surreal curve her life had taken over the past twenty-four hours? The effects of a handsome stranger?
“Of course,” she regrouped. “Yes. I want to get home before nightfall.”
Something flashed briefly in Jack’s eyes, but he nodded and touched her elbow again, encouraging her down the glass corridor.
Lab after lab passed by as Jack hastened his pace. His urgency triggered her nerves. Getting out of that Jeep and into a well-secured facility should have quelled some of her fears, but his demeanor made them run wild.
“What are these rooms?” she asked as she passed closed doors with simple numeric labels on them.
“Our bio and chemistry labs. Water analysis testing mostly. Global warming is always a concern. We conduct tests on fish in increasing water temperatures.”
Interesting. And admirable enough.
“We’re safe in here, right?”
He didn’t answer, which hitched her anxiety up a notch.
“Jack?”
At the end of the corridor they faced another set of elevators. One opened on their approach. Jack prompted her inside, and as the wall slid shut she saw his chest pump out a breath before the muscles in his face began to relax.
“Yes.”
He caught her meditative stare. “Too much exposure up there,” he explained as he rubbed his jaw. “In addition to some labs, that level contains the Visitor Center, and the graduate and undergrad classrooms.” His hand dropped. “It was designed to be able to see the bay from every room without obstruction.”
Livvy gasped. “You’re worried about bullets. You’re worried about us being targets from the outside?”
He winced and keyed a sequence into a panel. “Only a few people have access to the underground level. There is no way someone from the outside can reach us without passing a number of security tests. There are no windows down here. On this level I’m a hundred percent certain that you will be safe.”
To punctuate his statement, the elevator door slid open to reveal a wing with the sterile impact of a hospital ward. Dim lighting made it look as though they were working off of a backup generator. As they stepped out, stark overhead lights flicked on.
“Did you do that?” She flinched at the reverberation of her voice.
“No,” he replied. “Sensors.”
Jogging to keep up with his brisk pace, she nearly toppled into him as he abruptly halted. An open palm landed on his back for balance. Beneath it his corded muscles rippled as he opened an office door and extended his arm in invitation.
“Have a seat,” he offered. “I’m going to make some phone calls. Namely, the FBI.”
“Can you just call the FBI? Who does that? Do you even reach a real person?”
He pulled out a chair for her. “Well, I’ve never had an occasion to do so before, but Pennington Center does reach outside the state of Maine. And Warren’s disappearance could have been in international waters if he made it far enough north. It will definitely get their attention…”
Livvy glimpsed down at her watch.
9:05am. Seriously? It felt much later.
She dropped down into the comfortable guest chair, one of two situated before an L-shaped desk. Muted light filled
the windowless office from the green banker’s lamp. Jack slipped behind the desk and reached for the phone. His hand stopped in mid-air and his eyes connected with hers.
“What?” she asked.
“Are you okay?”
The intensity of his gaze flustered her. Up until this point she was acting on pure adrenalin. Why did he have to stop and focus on her like that? He should carry on with his tasks. He shouldn’t look at her.
“You keep asking me that. What do you want me to say?” Anxious, she glanced around the dark office. “I just want to go home.”
His hand stilled on the phone. “I realize that. I really do. But I’ll only send you back there once I know you’ll be safe.”
“Why would you care?”
Slate eyes flared.
“Seriously,” she continued. “I’m no one to you.”
The response took a long time in coming, and when it finally did his words were husky. “I wouldn’t say that. I did spend the night with you.”
Livvy felt her cheeks flush. Not so much from the inference, but the heat in his eyes. In this dark office they were the color of midnight. Midnight was her favorite time of day. The peace. The quiet. The mystery. The promise. All of which she saw in the eyes that studied her so closely.
“As soon as I complete these calls we’re going to find some ice for your cheek.”
“Forget about that.” She waved her hand and sank back in the chair. “Just concentrate on what you need to do.”
Acting preoccupied with her survey of the room, she waited until his attention returned to his call. Now that her eyes had acclimated she realized that the office was larger than her first impression. Mahogany bookshelves lined one wall, the embossed binders illegible in the muted light. Nautical touches could be found everywhere, particularly with the large ship’s wheel mounted behind his desk. A diploma from the School Of Marine Sciences from the University of Maine hung from another wall.
Hah, he really was a geek.
Geeks weren’t generally Chief Security Officers, though.
Listening to his fingers punch in numbers at each recorded prompt, she rose and studied the wall behind her. Framed black and white photographs scaled the clay-colored paint. From these photos she caught her first glimpse of the Algonquin. Oh my, it was majestic. It reminded her of Jacques Cousteau’s Calypso.
On the pier in front of it stood two men with their arms looped casually about each other’s shoulders. She recognized a younger version of Jack Morell. Tall. Lithe. Young, and sexy. A flash of white teeth revealed a spontaneous smile, as if the photographer just told a hilarious joke. In an equal state of mirth was the elder man beside him. A dark PMSC baseball hat capped white hair. His shoulders were a few inches below Jack’s, but his posture was erect, broadcasting how proud he was of the vessel behind him.
Livvy listened to Jack’s deep tone as he repeated an abbreviated version of his tale. His curt, “I’ll wait,” hinted that his patience was waning.
Beside the photograph of the two men standing before the Algonquin was a similar picture. The same two men. The same pose. Only, time had regressed. In this era, the elder man was taller, and a young Jack wasn’t smiling.
Who took this picture? Did they have no witty pun to goad a grin from the youth?
“Yes,” Jack sat up from straight after the lengthy bout on hold. “Who am I speaking with?”
Livvy exhausted her search of the office and now focused on Jack’s face, eager to hear his end of the conversation.
Chiseled muscles flanked grimly set lips, while black lashes concealed his glance.
“Yes, that’s right. So one o’clock, then?”
Livvy watched his large hand curl around the receiver with enough ferocity to snap it−the same hand which had circled around hers with tenderness.
“Alright,” he concluded. “We’ll be expecting you. I assume you have the address.”
The response was garbled, muffled by Jack’s jaw. One more perfunctory nod and he hung up the phone with a quiet snap.
Livvy’s pent-up breath eased from her chest as she deflated against the chair cushion.
“They’re on their way?” she asked keenly.
For a moment he was lost in thought, his thumb tapping on the edge of the desk.
“Yes.”
“One o’clock?”
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. It was impossible not to focus on the taut muscles on each side of his neck. So much tension in this man.
“I wasted almost three days,” he muttered to himself before dropping his head to meet her gaze. “I should have done this immediately. But Warren was so adamant. And I believed him. I listened because he has never steered me wrong.”
Livvy thought of the photographs behind her. They were all images of Jack and his uncle. Not one included any other elders−any parents.
“I realize if not for me, you would probably continue your search alone out of respect to your uncle’s wishes,” she admitted quietly. “You wouldn’t be calling the FBI yet.”
When he grimaced, she continued hurriedly. “We respect and trust those who have guided us through life. We don’t second-guess because we trust them with all our might.” The message was all too personal, but she sensed Jack would understand. “I carried on the charter company out of respect to my father. I was young. I could have done anything, but I knew in my heart that keeping McKAY CHARTERS alive was something that he would have wanted.”
In the deep shadows of this windowless room, the glow from the desk lamp revealed sad enlightenment in Jack’s gaze. His shoulders strained as he sat forward.
“Can you tell me what happened?” The tone was earnest and its warmth curled around her like the thick down comforter on her bed.
Trying to shrug off the emotions she kept her eyes locked with his. That connection encouraged her. Why not? He was a stranger. There were no roles to portray around him.
“Well−” she began with a rough voice, “−my family was out on the McKayDay. Dad and my brother, Fred, were in the zone over a swordfish. One damn fish. They wouldn’t let it go.”
In her mind she could envision their zeal. Competitors. Partners. Best friends. Her brother and father shared an enthusiasm for the sport. The term enthusiasm being an understatement.
Livvy knew every detail of that swordfish debacle because her mother was texting a play-by-play from the boat. Julia McKay was anxious about the storm.
To this day, Livvy could see the last text. For so long she had tried to keep that message, but with changes in phones and carriers the words were finally erased.
They tell me they just need a few more minutes…
“The storm hit.” Her voice was desolate. “They don’t know exactly what happened. The McKayDay was located, but−”
“It’s alright, Olivia.” Jack rose and rounded the desk, preventing her from uttering the rest of that sentence−the bodies were never recovered. “I’m sorry,” he added thickly.
He moved in so close that she thought he might reach for her. Right now she desperately wanted that. She wanted to feel his arms. She wanted comfort−for past pain, for the current trauma. Maybe if she just leaned forward−just gave him the slightest inclination…
If I lean beyond the point of balance, will he catch me?
“They never found any of them.” She regained her balance and forced out the words. “Divers located the boat near their last coordinates. It showed signs of a lightning strike.”
Jack sank his rear back against the desk and swiped a hand over his jaw. “How old were you?”
“Twenty.”
He shook his head. “And you ran that business all by yourself? Had you been involved in it before that?”
“I was in college at the time, so I only got to help out during school breaks. It was a challenge to take it over, but I needed the challenge. The overwhelming demand kept me from crumbling.”
“I realize I just met you.” He crossed his arms, the motion tugg
ing the cotton shirt tight over his biceps. “But you don’t strike me as someone to crumble. After everything that has transpired in the past thirty-six hours, you’ve never once come close to falling apart when you certainly had every right to.”
Feeling awkward under his praise, Livvy rose and began to pace, even if it was to get away from his close proximity. Jack Morell filled the office with his voice, his presence, and his body. The closer she got, the more she wanted to feel his arms slip around her.
“Well, you met George. He helps a lot. George was my brother’s best friend growing up. He was supposed to be out on the boat with Fred that day.” She grappled with an unseen thread on her thigh. “I’ve told him time and time again that he doesn’t have to feel guilty−that he doesn’t have to help me. But he and his wife have become my family, and I−I couldn’t live without them.” Emotion clogged her throat. “It’s why I chose to come with you rather than stay with Georgie. I can’t risk anything happening to him.”
Angst pinched Jack’s face. Gripping the edge of the desk, his head dropped forward in defeat. Perhaps he was condemning himself. Part of her allowed him to go on doing so because of the unjust situation she was thrown into. The practical, empathetic side of her realized that he was a victim too. A victim who was worried about his uncle. That pain of the unknown was all too familiar. It had sharp teeth. Lost at sea was a vacuous epitaph.
“Well−” He raised his head and managed a half-hearted grin. “At least he’s married. It would explain why I didn’t get my ass kicked this morning.”
Oh my God. That thought surely distracted her. The image of Jack standing in her living room this morning with his shirt unbuttoned was permanently branded in her brain. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks. Was he happy that George wasn’t her boyfriend? Was that even possible?
No, McKay. He’s just happy he didn’t get his ass kicked. He’s got a hell of a lot more on his mind than your relationship status. He’s just being nice.
But the gravity in his gaze showed signs of magnetism−of attraction.
And she was only noticing these traits because she was suffering from some sort of survivor psychosis. Falling for the man who was protecting her.
“Doesn’t it drive you crazy having an office without windows?” She quickly changed the subject.
Mist Page 8
