Mist

by Miller, Maureen A.

  “Whoa. Easy. I’m just getting the phone.”

  Waking from the netherworld, he realized that the weight pinning him down was Olivia’s temptingly nude body.

  “Hello?” she answered guardedly.

  Jack swiped a hand over his eye, grinding his palm into it. When he opened it again the vision was clearer−as was his memory.

  Oh damn, what memories.

  Soft curves. Tempting moans. Liquid heat.

  His palms wrapped around her warm flesh.

  “Yes,” she said, “here he is.”

  A phone was thrust in his face.

  “Huh?” he asked her, staring dumbly at the handset.

  A quick glimpse of the bedside clock confirmed that they had just fallen asleep a few hours ago. At some point in the night they had raided the fridge, but a few molten looks across the table and they were back in bed again.

  “It’s Agent Cowler.” Olivia gave him a mischievous grin and kissed his forehead before rising and scooting her delicious rear out the door and into the bathroom.

  Jack’s head fell back on the pillow and he whistled at the ceiling.

  “Jack?”

  Jack propped up on an elbow, the voice on the other end finally registering.

  “Agent Cowler. Do you have news of my uncle? Have you found Hawkins?”

  In the span it took Agent Cowler to take a breath on the other end, another question suddenly occurred.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  Cowler cleared his throat. “Well−the agent I sent to watch Olivia’s house reported that your car never left last night.”

  No. It hadn’t.

  “Right.” Jack sat up, peering through the oval window at a burgeoning blue sky. “What is it? What did you find?”

  “One of our RAC’s came up with a lead late last night. We have an agent on the way to the site now.”

  “Lead?” Jack swung his legs off the bed, his bare feet landing on chilly wooden floorboards. “What? What did you find?”

  “Not what,” Agent Cowler said, “Who. We believe we have located your uncle in a hospital in Nova Scotia.”

  Wrapped in a white fleece robe, Olivia walked back into the bedroom. Her socked feet halted, and she stood rooted by the look on his face. He held out his hand, waiting those few steps until warm fingers merged with his. Olivia sat down next to him, their hands still entwined.

  “Where?” Jack probed. “And what makes you so certain?”

  “Well, we’re not sure, of course, but it looks promising. We had widened our hospital scans for John Does and located an age match at Valley Regional Hospital in Kentville. Locals reported a man washed up on a beach in George’s Cove three days ago. The hospital placed him in an induced coma, fearing the amount of time he went without oxygen. They began decreasing the sedation yesterday to test his responses. He responded to a finger squeeze command. They’re hoping to fully wake him later this morning.”

  Jack launched to his feet. “We have to get there. He needs protection.”

  “Easy, Jack,” Agent Cowler responded calmly. “I told you an agent is on the way. And we have advised the hospital of the circumstances. They say he’s in an ICU ward that requires an approved wristband for admittance. No wristbands have been given out for him. He’s had no visitors or inquiries except for our own.”

  Jack used his toe to haul his jeans within reach. Olivia was already at her closet, the bathrobe dropping to the floor as the screech of sliding hangers filled the room.

  “Listen,” Cowler continued, “we’re still not positive it’s him. It could be some homeless guy with no ID on him.”

  “Did you send the hospital a picture?”

  “We did, but they report some bloating and bruising of the face. We’ll have an ID shortly, and hopefully he’ll be awake today and able to speak.”

  Hiking one leg into his jeans while still juggling the phone, Jack barked, “Don’t you dare have your agent grill him. He won’t be ready for that.”

  Cowler sighed loudly. “We’re not barbaric, Jack. We do manage a little more tact than that. If this was a terrorist crisis where lives were in immediate danger−yes, then maybe we’d have no time for sensitivity.”

  “The truth is, you still don’t know what the situation is.”

  It brought Jack little satisfaction that he’d finally rendered the agent speechless.

  ***

  “Hell, I would have taken one of the Pennington boats if they hadn’t all blown up.”

  Jack eyed the brake lights ahead on Route 2.

  Livvy glanced nervously at the meandering red line on her phone app. Traffic was listed ahead for at least three more miles.

  “It says we have one hour and forty minutes until we reach our destination.”

  Thumbing the steering wheel he cast a glimpse her way and then those blue-gray eyes lingered. They curled around her face and slid to the gap in her jacket. A faint smile toyed with his lips.

  “Wow,” he whistled softly.

  “Wow what?” Her cheeks burned.

  “I’ve been so caught up I haven’t even allowed myself a chance to think about last night.”

  As they were at a standstill on the highway, there was no urgency for him to remove his gaze. Livvy held her breath under that ardent probe.

  What was he thinking? For her it had been amazing. She still felt him inside her−literally and figuratively.

  Initially there were words. Vows and admiration. Passionate declarations. Whispered endearments. And then their communication was all through touch−through their breathing−through the cadence of their hearts. In the deep hours of the night talk was not necessary. They had bonded on all levels.

  “It was−” he searched her face and declared, “−it was the most special night of my life.”

  The knot in her chest unraveled.

  “There have been a few women in the past,” he added sagely. “But there has never been that.”

  And she knew what that was. For her, any relationship in the past had been marked with stiff conversation, awkward moments, and gentle discouragements. Not so with Jack. In a few brief days they could communicate by touch alone.

  “The same goes for me,” she whispered.

  His hand found hers. A hasty glimpse at the traffic ahead and he focused on her again.

  “You didn’t have to come with me today. You needed to get back to your business. You needed some rest.”

  “No way in hell was I going to let you come here alone, Jack.”

  Warm fingers wrapped around hers. “My own personal Wonder Woman. With you at my side I can tackle anything−even this gridlock.”

  He released her as the traffic began to move again, but the bantam remnants of a grin lingered.

  “I’m not that strong, Jack.”

  In fact the contrary. She was no Wonder Woman. Her life was simply a series of knee-jerk reactions.

  “True,” Jack’s agreement startled her.

  “What?”

  “I know a place that makes you weak. It’s just below−”

  “Okay,” she giggled. “Yes, so you see. I’m not that strong.”

  The laugh was therapeutic. For both of them. But as they passed through Windsor and drew close to the hospital, the mood shifted.

  “Are you okay?” Are you prepared if it isn’t your uncle?

  Jack didn’t take his eyes off the road, and he was driving a tad too fast−looking to make up for lost time from the traffic delay.

  “I will be,” he replied soberly.

  They pulled into the hospital lot and followed signs to visitor’s parking. Jack was out and at her door in a record sprint. She could see the intensity on his face. Strained muscles along his jaw, and eyes that mirrored the cloudy day. He reached for her hand as she glanced up at the glass entryway. With only three stories, the hospital did not look intimidating. When she slanted a look back at Jack, she found him scrutinizing the pedestrian traffic in and out of the building−scanning
each face with keen precision. Would that surveillance ever leave him?

  Inside, they inquired at the desk for Warren Pennington’s room. They were met with puzzled expressions until Jack painfully clarified, JOHN DOE.

  They passed through the corridors in silence and signed in at the ICU ward. A red-faced man in wire-rimmed glasses and a trench coat rose from a small sitting area to approach them.

  “Are you John Morell?” he asked, studying Jack’s face.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Investigator Reynolds. CGIS. Agent Cowler sent your picture and said you would be on your way. He wants to make sure we identify anyone entering the ICU ward.”

  Livvy watched Jack offer a perfunctory nod, but she could see some relief in the lines etched around his eyes. He approved.

  “Have you been in to see him,” Jack asked.

  Initially she thought the investigator was straight out of college, but there were a fair share of grays poking out of his kinky brown hair.

  “Yes. He is awake now. He has not said much. The doctor believes he is capable of talking, but−” Reynolds’ eyes shifted to the swing doors several feet away, “−suspects that he is being stubborn.”

  Another notch in Jack’s armor deflated as his shoulders dropped marginally.

  “Did he identify himself?”

  “No sir. We think it’s your uncle based on photos and age, but we can’t make a positive ID with some of the swelling and battering he took.”

  Catching Jack’s wince, the investigator rushed to add, “My apologies. I thought Agent Cowler said you had been briefed on−”

  Jack waved him off. “Yes. I’d like to see him now.”

  “Very well. The nurse instructed you of the bed number?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” Reynolds nodded, his eyes slipping to the ICU entryway. “I will stay out here. Anyone coming in has to pass through those doors. I’ll have my eyes out, although Agent Cowler seems to feel you will be the only visitor.”

  Jack extended a hand, which the young investigator shook assuredly. Jack then turned to Livvy and whispered, “Are you ready?”

  She entwined her fingers with his and offered a small smile. “Ready.”

  Together they stepped through the oscillating doors.

  ***

  Jack studied the foot of each bed, careful not to make eye contact with the patients. It was an invasion of privacy to do so, he felt. Of course the bed that he was looking for was number 10−most likely the last. Privacy walls separated each patient, but each footboard was open to the linoleum-tiled corridor for quick access by the doctors.

  7

  8

  9

  The last nook needed no artificial lighting. Windows wrapped around the end of the room, offering a view of the dreary day. As Jack entered, he found a nurse stooped over, pumping a blood pressure cuff. Her figure concealed the man in repose.

  “Oh.” She rose, startled. “You have a visitor,” she announced loudly, unwinding the cuff and stepping back.

  Jack felt his stomach roil in protest.

  “I’ll just leave you alone for a few minutes.” The nurse stepped back. “I’ll be back in to check on you,” she shrilled to the man in bed.

  There was no response. The man’s eyes were closed−eyes that resembled a raccoon with sporadic bruising across the brow plate and cheekbones. The swelling that they had warned about seemed minimal, but enough to cause some distension in the cheeks, forehead, and upper lip. A butterfly bandage stuck to that upper lip as Jack watched it rise and fall on each breath.

  One arm rested atop the white blanket. A slight reddening circle from the blood pressure cuff was still visible. The pale skin was void of contusions, but the dark green outline of an anchor tattoo jumped off the flesh.

  Christ. Why didn’t I think of the tattoo?

  He would have known yesterday that this was his uncle.

  Catching Olivia’s worried glance, he offered a decisive nod. Her blue eyes widened.

  Jack shifted closer to the head of the bed. He bowed slightly, searching his uncle’s face for clues as to what had happened. Had he been abused, or were these contusions a pummeling from the sea?

  “Warren,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

  Veiny eyelids fluttered and opened. Icy gray eyes peered straight ahead and then swerved towards Jack.

  “It’s about time,” the man rasped.

  It was like the countdown of a space shuttle launch. A rumbling started down at his toes and gained impetus until it erupted into a full-fledged laugh.

  “I’ll be damned,” Jack muttered, clasping the exposed arm.

  Warren sifted his other arm out from the covers and reached over to grip him.

  “It’s good to see you safe, Jack.”

  Jack snorted. “I’m not the one who washed up on shore.” Gravity began to take hold. He leaned heavily against the bed rail for support. “Are you okay? My God, Warren, you’ve been in a coma.”

  The arm with an IV line in it waved in aggravation. “I was tired. And that woman keeps coming in here and screaming at me. She thinks I’m deaf,” he called out into the corridor. “I’m not deaf. I’m ignoring her so I can sleep.”

  The disruption caused a brief coughing fit.

  “Hey there,” Jack settled a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t go getting all riled. You want to get out of here one day, don’t you?”

  “One day?” Warren’s eyelids dropped slightly. “You’re getting me out of here today.”

  Jack exchanged glances with Olivia and then said, “Warren, I’d like you to meet someone special.”

  The lucid eyes swung towards Olivia. “I was wondering when you were going to introduce the hot babe.”

  Jack wound his arm around Olivia’s waist, remembering exactly what the curve felt like minus clothing.

  “This is Olivia McKay. Olivia,” Jack hugged her closer. “Warren Pennington.”

  Olivia reached a hand out and settled it atop Warren’s so that he didn’t have to lift it. She squeezed his fingers and released them.

  “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Clearing his throat, Jack still felt it tightening. In this small space he was surrounded by those closest to him. The people he truly cared for. For these two he would battle any foe.

  “And how did you two meet? I don’t recognize you from the Center, and Jack never leaves there.”

  Olivia smiled up at Jack. It didn’t help the restriction in his throat at all. “It’s a long story,” he managed. “We’ll tell it all later after you’ve rested.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Olivia.” Warren looked at her with hooded eyes. “I’ve been worried about Jack−well, since I’ve woken I’ve been worried.”

  Anxious, he stared up at Jack. “You’re safe, though. And the Algonquin?”

  Jack touched his shoulder to settle the man’s agitation. “Look, we’re probably going to be kicked out of here any second. They said you needed your rest. There will be plenty of time to talk about it all later.”

  Forlorn eyes studied him. Jack didn’t want to say his uncle looked helpless. There was nothing helpless about Warren Pennington. But he was definitely diminished. Warren was always one step ahead of age. Age struggled to keep up with him. But today it had finally caught up.

  “What do they say?” Warren asked. “About my prognosis?”

  It pained Jack to see the desperation in the man’s gaze.

  “You were fortunate,” Jack told it to him straight-up. His uncle would expect no less. “The cold water lowered your body temperature, slowing down your metabolic rate.” He was quoting the doctor who had debriefed him when they first arrived. “It kind of put you in a standby mode, so your brain could deal without oxygen for a longer period.”

  The butterfly bandage clamped down as Warren thinned his lips. “Will there be brain damage?”

  “No more than you already had.”

  “Jack,” Olivia g
asped.

  Warren barked out a laugh that dissolved into a rattling of the chest. Immediately, Jack regretted his joke. The two of them had bantered like that since childhood.

  “Bah, you are still a pain in my ass,” Warren growled hoarsely. “You’re in for some fun with this one, Olivia.” He hooked his thumb in Jack’s direction.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I’m beginning to think I’m in for some fun with both of you.”

  Jack rubbed her back and leaned over, whispering to his uncle, “I’ll be damned…she likes you.”

  Seeing that grin as Warren’s eyes dropped closed was all that Jack needed. If anything had happened to this man−this man who had raised him−

  No. Don’t dwell. Let that torment fall in the past. Look forward. There was a bright future now. Probably a bright new boat. And, as he felt Olivia’s arm worm around his side, he imagined a bright new wonder woman in his life.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Seated in the conference room at PMSC, Jack tapped his thumbs on the mahogany table top. Across from him his uncle slouched with a Pennington Marine Science Center baseball cap on. The bruising had faded, but his face was thinner than the robust figure that paced this room like a caged animal, waiting for an opportunity to be out at sea. The doctors said the appetite would return slowly and that he would soon make a full recovery.

  Joining them was Special Agent Cowler, his expression dour as he stared at the console in the center of the table.

  “Thank you for taking my call, Agent Cowler,” a feminine voice filled the room.

  “As if I had a choice,” Cowler murmured, settling back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

  It was true. Amanda Newton had persistently contacted Cowler’s office as well as Jack for the past three days knowing that Warren Pennington had been found. What she didn’t realize was that the man was sitting in the room right now.

  “You seem to have some very high connections, Miss Newton,” Cowler grumbled.

  “Many governments feel that a favorable review from BLUE-LINK will aid their economy.”

  “Right.” He flipped open his pad and skimmed his pen down it. “Your global risk assessment rankings are esteemed, but you’re trying to prevent that lauded reputation from being tarnished by a lawsuit from the Eclipse Container line, correct?”