“Jack!” she cried out.
Spilling the top half of her body over the rail she saw him plant muscular legs on the inflatable boat as it undulated beneath him. He heard her call and looked up.
“You’ll need this.” She tossed down one of the raincoats.
One hand snapped up, catching the garment in midair.
“Be careful,” she added breathlessly. She doubted he even heard her over the wind.
He must have read her lips, though. His silver eyes clashed with the sky and a thousand fierce sensations surged up at her. The hand around the yellow jacket fisted tight. Shaking his head in frustration, his mouth formed the word, “Dammit.”
Yes.
Relief came first, followed by trepidation as she eyed the lifeless ship across the water.
“What?” she challenged.
If he was grinning, the wind did its best to conceal it.
“I can’t do it, Olivia.”
His voice was so deep she could barely hear him.
“I can’t leave you here.” He reached for the ladder, corralling the life-raft. “Maybe it’s safer for you to stay on the Odyssey, but so far, we’ve been together, and we’re still intact. Our odds seem best as a team. I feel better with you next to me−I feel better with my eyes on you.”
And your lips…
It was a rogue thought—as reckless as any wave seeking to snatch the dinghy away. Olivia glanced up at the Algonquin again, resisting the urge to hug her arms about her. Already she yearned for his warmth.
“But, it’s your call,” Jack uttered quietly. “You have to do what’s best for you.”
What’s best for me is to stop picking up garbage from my shoreline.
There was no doubt what she wanted. Perhaps chaos had been unjustly thrust upon her. Through it all, however, Jack had been a rock. A six-foot-plus-sized anchor. By his side was where she felt safest.
“Let me check that the Odyssey is secure,” she called out. “I’ll be right back.”
In a matter of moments she was climbing down into the life-raft, feeling Jack’s firm hands clasp around her hips to guide her.
On her last leap, the craft bucked under her weight. She reached out and latched onto his shoulders. Rock.
Firm arms locked around her as she felt his lips in her hair.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, drawing back enough to read her eyes.
“We’re at a stalemate, Mr. Morell. I want you to board that ship alone about as much as you want to see me stay on the Odyssey alone. I guess that means that we’re doing everything together until this nightmare is over.”
The hands on her waist hooked around her. It wasn’t the passionate clasp they had shared moments ago. This was an act of allegiance. Mutual respect and support. The fact that it came in a steel-armed hug, complete with stubble tickling her cheek−well−that just cemented the bond.
Clinging to that connection, Livvy linked her arms behind his neck and dipped her face into his collar. Her nose scraped cold flesh.
“You’re freezing.” She drew back. “Get that jacket on.”
“Nah,” he murmured. “I’m not cold. Not with you wrapped around me.”
Her cheek muscles stung as she smiled. Wind always made them cherry red, like a Raggedy Ann doll. Testing her stability she withdrew from his embrace and reached for the tether line securing them to the Odyssey.
In the weeks ensuing the accident, no matter how hard she tried, she was never able to locate her family. Maybe today she could help Jack locate his.
“Are you ready to do this?” he asked.
For a moment he watched her with implacable eyes. The question was there. Are you sure?
In just a few brief days this man recognized the pain behind her motivation. With the exception of George who had been there through the whole nightmare, she’d never talked about that day. Not in the detail she had shared with Jack.
Yes. She blinked and released the rope.
I’m ready.
CHAPTER TEN
Jack angled the outboard motor, staving off the splatter of frosty saltwater. Shrugging into the slicker that Olivia hauled up his arm and around his back, he switched hands to haul it on fully. The musty scent of the Odyssey’s bridge clung to the garment.
As the dinghy closed in on the Algonquin a thick cloud of foreboding suffocated him. Once upon a time he had regarded this vessel as a wonder−a culmination of his uncle’s dreams—their dreams. Now it resembled nothing more than an elaborate coffin.
Shaking off the effects, he decelerated. Olivia sat on the bench seat, white hands clutching the rope between her squeezed knees. Dusky hair blew behind her, emulating the waves. A golden halo circled an eye squinted with resolve.
Guilt besieged him again. She shouldn’t be here. Only the memory of her lips helped ward off the melancholy. Nothing could happen to her. He would do everything in his power to protect this woman. She had come to mean too much to him.
Damn, she was beautiful. Not in a Hollywood tan, anorexic way. Her body was sleek and powerful from the regiment of her daily activities—not from a gym. There was an inner radiance that made her glow. Literally. Her eyes sparkled, her hair shined, and her cheeks blushed vibrantly in the wind. Being near her enabled him to bask in that splendor.
“Circle in from the left so I can hook the ladder,” she instructed.
No way in hell was he letting anything happen to her.
Aligning the small craft with the Algonquin’s dangling pilot ladder, Jack wondered who had unfurled the wood and rope mechanism. Normally it would be rolled up and stowed securely.
Warren stated on the phone that pirates had boarded the ship from a helicopter, but could they have departed by sea? Was another ship lying in wait?
As he helped Olivia secure the dinghy, he verified that the Glock was tucked against his back. When Olivia reached for the ladder he caught her arm and gently nudged it aside.
“Uh-uhh.” He waggled his finger. “Me first.”
Slim shoulders shrugged as she deferred with a subtle roll of the wrist. “Whatever happened to ladies first?”
Jack’s eyebrow dipped. “You know that the open sea has its own set of rules.”
Snagging the ladder, he managed a secure foothold on the first rung. The steps were sturdy, made of hard wood, but the rope was slick, hinting at how long this device had been unrolled.
Climbing with caution, he motioned for her to wait. He wanted to scan the bridge deck, which would be visible in two more rungs. If anyone was sitting there, he was a dead man.
Locking his arm around the rung, Jack reached for his gun, awkwardly scaling the remaining steps. Casting one last look down to see Olivia’s concerned face, he inched his head level with the deck. It appeared empty from this perspective. Still vigilant, he hefted himself aboard and immediately crouched in defense.
Silence as thick as any nimbostratus cloud hugged the deck. Not even the screech of a swinging door or the rumble of a propeller broke the stillness. Jack leaned forward and peeked through the gap in the balustrade to find Olivia still peering up with a desperate expression. He gave a quick thumbs-up, and then held his finger to his lips.
After another scan of the deck he directed her to ascend. Every step she climbed caused his heart to hitch.
God, don’t let her slip.
Hold on tight, Olivia.
As soon as his fingers closed around her arm, he drew her over the edge and clutched her to his body. Their relief was fleeting. The peril was just beginning.
Starting ahead of her, he used his body as a shield. A flick of his hand motioned towards the aft deck doorway. She gave a brief nod and touched his back. Whether it was for stability or encouragement, he did not know.
Caution was abandoned after the main deck proved empty. Stray signs of conflict caused Jack’s stomach to roil. Chairs overturned. Papers scattered. Doors kicked in.
My God, Warren, what happened here?
Fear for his u
ncle spurred on his pace and Olivia maintained it. Anxious now, and careless of noise, he clambered down a metal staircase, hoisting his gun as he slipped into the corridor. The hallway was barren. It intensified the sound of his hammering heart. That beat labored, however, when he discovered the battered door to his uncle’s lab.
Olivia’s hand clawed at his arm.
With a bleak nod he took a step forward, lifting his foot over the lip in the doorframe.
This research laboratory often reflected the high standard of professionalism that Warren Pennington was known for. But not now. Aluminum cabinet doors lined the far side of the room. All were hauled open, their contents spilled out on the floor and countertops. A wooden island that normally housed several research projects was swept clean, its surface stained by a coffee spill. Jack’s toe connected with a blue PMSC mug rolling beneath the table. A hygrometer lay on the floor next to it, it’s LED face blank now that it had been yanked from its moorings.
Remember the panel beneath my workbench?
Warren’s hushed message played inside his head. Neglecting the chaos he honed in on his uncle’s desk in the corner. Typically the workspace would be stacked with charts and books. Warren believed in having raw materials at his fingertips−data he could touch with his hands.
The books were there. An atlas of sea maps− Advanced Physical Oceanography−Fisheries Science−Ocean Weather Forecasting. Yes, they were all there−but on the floor, tossed open to wantonly expose their innards.
Jack crouched down and gathered them into a pile, stacking them on a nearby table. He grasped his hands around the frame of the metal desk. It was askew, but the perforation in the floor just beneath it seemed untouched.
Soft, pale hands joined his as she followed his motion and nudged the desk back against the wall.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“There is a panel in the floor under Warren’s desk. He had it put there to store anything he deemed a hazard. It’s usually filled with crossbows that he didn’t want to have accessible. Sometimes PMSC brings tours out on this boat, and he didn’t want anyone getting hurt.”
“What are the crossbows for? Tagging?”
Impressed, Jack sat back on his heels. “Exactly. NOAA will call from time to time and ask us to tag a few whales.”
“And you’re hoping to find those crossbows now?” she frowned. “I’m not sure I could shoot one. You saw how much success I had with the gun. If it involves a rod, I can handle it.”
His eyebrows quirked. “No doubt.”
A healthy blush filled her cheeks. It was an attractive look, and any other time he would have enjoyed her reaction to a little flirting.
“Fishing rods,” she clarified belligerently.
Jack chuckled and returned his focus to the embedded panel, working his fingers along the rim until he could budge the six-foot-long section open.
Baffled, he stared down at the contents.
“They must have taken the crossbows,” Olivia observed over his shoulder. “But you made it sound like they were heavily armed.”
Her words came to him through a tunnel. Yes, the crossbows were gone, but most likely extracted by his uncle in order to make room for the contraption in their place. It resembled a collapsed skeletal umbrella. The structure filled the length of the compartment and nearly the width. Sensors were embedded in the rusted shaft. A power console was mounted to the stand, but with no visible input options−usually the sign of something operated remotely.
Reaching out to trace his fingers along the trunk of the umbrella device, Jack’s mind raced.
Why did you hide this?
Is this what they were looking for?
Is this why they broke into Olivia’s house?
“Jack?”
His shoulder jerked. “Hmm?”
Anxious eyes watched him. She hugged her arms about her.
“What is that?” She nudged her nose at the device.
“Best guess,” he stood up, considering the object. “It looks vaguely like a cloud ionizer.”
Soft eyebrows furrowed together. “Translation?”
“An electronic rainmaker. You may have heard of cloud seeding. Planes injecting silver iodide and other substances into the clouds to help with crops in arid climates. But—”
“But?” Olivia stooped over for a closer inspection and then peered up at him with a sallow-ringed eye.
“But, it’s a highly controversial topic. Officially, the claim is that it’s all rubbish. A pipedream.”
“Unofficially?”
“Dubai boasted that they made it rain in the desert.”
Olivia absorbed that thoughtfully. “Okay,” she said, “so this is a floating meteorological lab, right?” She glanced around. “Why are you so intrigued by this ionizer thing? Doesn’t it belong here?”
Jack almost snorted. “No,” he stated. “The idea of artificially tampering with the weather would give Warren Pennington a heart attack.”
His stomach twisted at the thought of his uncle. Olivia caught his skin blanching and reached out to touch his arm. She said nothing. Just a touch.
“My uncle told me he hid something in this compartment. Something he found at the bottom of the sea.”
Crossing the length of the panel, Olivia nodded. “It definitely shows signs of corrosion. So he found this and hid it?”
“He had to have had a reason. He would know more about what this device represents. I went down a different course of studies.”
“Right,” she snapped her finger. “You studied the little creatures at the bottom of the sea.”
“Benthic Oceanography,” he replied dryly. “Now, how the hell are we going to get this off the ship? If Warren felt it was important enough to hide, then we can’t chance leaving it here in case they come back.”
Blue eyes widened. “You think they’ll come back?” She thrust her hand into her hair. “Scratch that question. They just blew out the foyer at your science center.”
Visibly anxious, Olivia searched the lab. “You have a gurney?”
In the corner sat an orange-cushioned transport.
“The med lab is a bit cramped,” he explained. “We wheeled that in here for extra room.”
“It could work,” she gauged. “But how in God’s name do we lift this contraption?”
“I might be able to help with that.”
She gaped at him. “I appreciate that you are built like an NFL baller, but I doubt you can lift that hunk of metal.”
A brash grin snatched his lips. “An NFL baller?” With a quick flex of the arm, he uttered, “Why thank you. But no, I wasn’t going to pick it up with my brute strength.”
Reaching for a cumbersome remote control dangling from a cable on the wall, his thumb pressed in the wide green button. A whirring sound rattled from above.
Olivia’s head jerked up. She backed away as she saw the hoist swing around, a black tarpaulin sling dangling from it.
“That’ll come in handy,” she observed wryly.
“Occasionally we’ll have visiting veterinarians onboard. Necropsies are sometimes performed to determine the cause of death for gray seals. The seals are pretty heavy. This is used to hoist them onto the lab table.”
Drawing the remote with him, Jack angled the sling alongside the compartment in the floor. He lowered the sling until it laid flat on the linoleum and then unhooked one end so that he could shimmy the tarpaulin under the hefty metal umbrella.
Olivia crouched down to assist. It wasn’t easy to maneuver the awkward item, but urgency seeped in. Without the motors running, all utilities had shut down. A deep chill permeated the ship. A cold that bit into the bones.
“No heat, but at least there is power,” she remarked, glancing up at the gurney.
“Yeah. It would explain us getting the GPS signal. But it doesn’t explain how it suddenly turned back on.”
Anxiety made him reckless.
“Alright, it looks like we’ve got it,” h
e announced, standing up. “Step back and I’ll raise it. We’ll position it over that gurney and then just unsnap both sides of the sling.”
Olivia frowned. “How are we going to get this onto the Odyssey?”
Jack hauled out his cell phone to check the time. They had been on the Algonquin for nearly two hours. Way too long. Each second increased their vulnerability.
“The same way. There are deck cranes on both the Algonquin and Odyssey. It’s not going to be easy. We lower this into the raft and then hoist it up again when we board the Odyssey.” He met Olivia’s gaze. “I’m not going to leave this behind. Not if Warren thought it was important enough to conceal.”
Her quick nod warmed him. It reminded him of the honest heart inside this woman. She had a strong sense of right and wrong, and a sharp intelligence. Just glimpsing those blue eyes, he could see the assessment there as she chronicled her surroundings.
The chime of a cell phone jolted them both. Olivia gawked at him. Self-consciously he patted his pocket. Nothing vibrated there.
“It’s not me,” he defended.
Nervously smacking her jeans, Olivia snaked her finger into her back pocket and extracted her phone. No girly ringtones for this lady. Perfunctory chimes only.
One glimpse of the screen and her shoulders slumped.
“Dammit.” Her finger hovered over the phone. “I can’t get a signal in my own damned house, but I can get one 30 miles out to sea.”
She glared at the silhouette on the screen. “I have to take this or he’ll worry.” Snapping her thumb down on the screen she hefted the phone to her ear and forced a smile into her voice. “Georgie, what’s up?”
Georgie.
Georgie’s intentions were admirable, but this woman didn’t need to be coddled. She was fully capable of handling herself.
As Olivia fabricated a visit to the mall, Jack snickered. He couldn’t envision her in the mall with her well-worn jeans, sweatshirt, and flaming black eye. For that fact, he wasn’t the mall type himself.
“I’ll be back soon,” she vowed stiffly.
Extracting his own phone, Jack snapped off several photos of the peculiar device. Stooping down he managed a couple of close-ups of the small control panel affixed to it.
Mist Page 13
