The ferry to Friday Harbor left at eight the following morning, and the travel agent had recommended that Skye stay at the inn close to the terminal. Tired from her drive, she ate a solitary dinner in the hotel's dining room before calling it a night.
A short time later, she slipped between the cool white sheets of the Queen-sized bed and settled against the comforters. Sighing deeply, she wiped a surreptitious tear from her eye.
"Where did we go wrong, Michael? Why couldn't you talk to me? Why did you have to hurt me the way you did?"
Chapter Two
The following morning dawned cold and grey, the cloud level so low, that the majestic mountains of the Pacific northwest were completely hidden from view. Only a few cars waited for the ferry, and those appeared to belong to locals and business people. The tourists would come later, making it essential to book passage and spoiling the tranquillity of the journey.
Skye locked the car and climbed the stairs up to the main deck. The aroma of coffee drew her towards the small cafe. She purchased a beaker of Seattle's Finest, and wandered out to the observation deck.
As the ferry slowly steamed towards the islands, the cloud base gradually lifted, allowing the sun to filter through here and there. Amazed by the panorama unfolding before her eyes, she wondered why anyone would want to lie on a sun-drenched beach all day, when they could have this.
Friday Harbor soon came into view. It was much smaller than Skye had imagined, and she wasn't prepared for the numerous sailboats with their impossibly tall masts, which filled every berth in the marina. The San Juan Islands were a Mecca for tourists, whether they arrived off the ferries from Anacortes or Canada, or sailed their own yachts into the tiny and picturesque harbours that dotted the islands.
Skye found the realtor's office in a side street, just up the road from the ferry terminal. The formalities completed, and with the key in her pocket and a detailed map in her hand, she once more set out.
The roads were deserted, and the only vehicles she passed were trucks carrying fish from the north of the island to the ferry terminal. Skye found driving in this backwater much easier than in Seattle or on the Interstate. Her exit came into view; she moved across the highway, and signaled her turn into the private track.
The cabin was all she had hoped for and more. Constructed purely of timber, it stood some five hundred yards from the shoreline and a mile or so off the highway. A path led down from the cabin to a small wooden dock. Eager to explore, Skye unloaded her shopping, and made herself a quick cup of coffee. The rest of her luggage could wait. She wanted nothing more than to breathe the clean fresh air and savour the view, before unpacking and settling into what would be her home for the next month.
She left her jacket over a kitchen chair, and carried her steaming cup down to the dock and sat down. She slipped off her shoes, and was just about to dip her toes into the deep blue water, when a very masculine voice called out.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The water is pretty darned cold at this time of year."
Startled, Skye’s heart thumped in her chest. She turned and scanned the trees in an attempt to locate the voice, which emanated from the very depths of the pinewood. She squinted into the early afternoon sunlight. A figure emerged from the trees. He was tall, well over six feet, with raven black hair and the slight shadow of a beard. She couldn't really see his eyes, but had a feeling they would be icy blue and would have that ‘damn you to hell’ expression.
A chill ran down her spine. The cabin was isolated, and even if there were another house within screaming distance, no one would be at home at this time of day. Skye considered her options as the tall figure approached her. If he were to prove difficult she could always push him into the sea, and run back to the safety of the cabin.
The stranger halted a mere foot from her, forcing her to look up.
He grinned. "Sorry to startle you, ma’am, but I wasn't sure if you were planning on taking anything else off besides your shoes."
Skye's mouth opened but she couldn't utter a word.
"Because if you were, you'd only last about thirty minutes before hypothermia set in, and being the gentleman that I am, I would feel duty bound to come right in after you. That would be a shame, because I'd planned on going home and cooking this fish for lunch."
Coughing and spluttering, Skye choked on her coffee. So a fish was more important than saving someone from freezing to death. She inclined her head to examine him more closely and saw that she’d been right about his eyes. Here was a man who didn't suffer fools gladly. Well, ‘Mr. Damn Your Eyes’ could just go back to where he came from and take his fishy friend with him!
"You’ll be relieved to know, that I had no intention of taking anything other than my shoes off. The thought of going for a swim hadn't entered my head. But now you've mentioned it, it's not a bad idea. As for you coming in after me, I'll take a rain check, if you don't mind. Not, I might add, that what I do is any business of yours. I was assured that this was private property. May I ask just what you think you are doing prowling around scaring the hell out of people?"
"My, my, we're mighty touchy. What happened, someone wake you up too early?" The icy blue eyes flashed. There was a trace of laughter in his voice.
Skye felt intimidated by the stranger's height. She stood up in one fluid movement. Not one inch of her five foot five frame gave her anymore confidence. She barely came up to the man's chest—a chest that any woman would feel comfortable snuggled up against. Still feeling at a disadvantage, she took a long look. Close up he didn't appear quite so intimidating—‘impressive’ was a better adjective. In fact, she could think of a number of suitable adjectives to describe him, including handsome, rugged, not to mention offensive and arrogant. This guy would stop traffic in London, but there he would be completely out of place. Here in the rugged mountains of the Pacific Northwest he was totally at ease.
Skye revised her estimate of his height. He was at least six feet four, possibly more. His eyes were deep set and she’d been right about the colour. He had a scar over one eyebrow and a smaller one on his chin. She wondered how he'd acquired them, but had no intention of asking. He was dressed in black jeans, which fit him like a glove, and a navy blue check work shirt worn open at the neck, revealing a tangle of dark hair. He held a fishing rod in one hand, and a fish in the other, and looked for the entire world, as if he had stepped right out of the pages of her guidebook.
Skye stiffened. "Look, Mr? Sorry, but I didn't quite catch your name, and at this particular moment, I don't even care to know what it is. I've had a long journey and I'm tired. As far as I'm concerned you're trespassing. I would very much appreciate it, if you would leave by whatever means you arrived and allow me to finish my coffee before it goes cold."
"The lady obviously has a temper to match the colour of her hair. Now why don't you take a deep breath, calm down and enjoy the day? You're obviously not from around here otherwise you wouldn't jump down a perfectly innocent person's throat, especially one who's trying to give you some friendly advice. I won't disturb you any longer. I'll be on my way, and for future reference, the name is Walker. Jedediah Walker, but everyone just calls me Walker." Abruptly, he turned and strode along the dock. He continued along the pebble beach, in the opposite direction from which he'd come.
Skye smothered a giggle. "I can see why!" And what did he mean, ‘Future reference?’ Hell could freeze over before she would choose to cross his path again.
Her first thought was to call the realtor and complain. They had, after all, promised her complete privacy. She had been most insistent on that when booking the cabin. She didn't want noisy neighbours destroying the peace and tranquility of this wonderful place. No campers, no boaters and especially no screaming children, just her own space in which to do as she pleased for the next month.
But logic kicked in.
The San Juan Islands were well known for attracting fishermen and women. The guy had probably moored his boat somewhere along the
coast, and followed the shoreline until he found a suitable place from which to fish. No big deal. However, now that the cabin was occupied, Skye sincerely hoped that he would respect her privacy. Other than the mailman, with the occasional letter from Debbie or John, she didn't wish to see anyone during her stay.
Skye picked up her cup, and shuddered in disgust as the cold liquid hit the back of her throat. She made her way back to her car, retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, and carried it into the cabin.
The cabin was very well equipped with cable TV, VCR, and an impressive stereo system. Skye could live without a television, but music was a different matter and she was glad she had brought a selection of her favorite CDs with her.
In the centre of the main room was a huge stone fireplace, which stretched across one wall. The floors were polished and scattered with native Indian rugs. A large leather sofa sat invitingly in front of the fireplace. Full-length windows opened onto the deck, where the owner had left wicker chairs in which visitors could sit and admire the wonderful scenery.
Skye carried her suitcase into the bedroom and started to unpack. Not only was there a king-size bed, and an open fireplace, but the room also had full-length windows that opened out on to the deck. A hand stitched quilt with matching comforters covered the bed. She ran her fingertips over it and marveled at the hours of work involved to complete it.
Once settled she would call Debbie to let her know she had survived the journey. By that time, it would be getting close to midnight in London, a perfect time to call John, at least he wouldn't be able to trace her call. That was the disadvantage of working at the cutting edge of technology and having a business partner who was her self-appointed ‘big brother.’ Without wasting anymore time, she set off to explore the cove and surrounding woods.
***
After terminating his conversation with the woman, Walker made his way through the trees to the lodge. He hadn't expected the cabin to be occupied so soon, and was surprised when he saw the small, solitary figure on the dock. He vaguely remembered receiving a letter from the realtor advising him that the cabin had been let, but for some reason thought the tenant was male. If he’d known it was a woman, he would have told the realtor not to accept the booking.
The aroma of coffee had alerted him to someone's presence, reminding him how long it was since he had eaten breakfast. Screened by the treeline, he watched the woman who was dressed in a pair of black slacks and a baggy red sweater, stroll down to the dock. He had the feeling the sweater hid a soft and curvaceous body—the sort of body a man could bury himself in, until he forgot who he was. The gentle breeze lifted her thick, shoulder length auburn hair, reminding him of the colour of leaves in fall. He imagined it would be soft and silky to the touch, and appeared just long enough for a man to tangle his fingers in. Unable to tear his gaze away he had continued to watch as she sat down at the end of the dock and took off her shoes. She appeared so sad, and for one agonizing moment he feared that she might do more than just dangle her pretty toes in the ice-cold water.
Damn it, he didn't need this sort of distraction now. He knew someone was using the nearby cove at night, and now it would be doubly difficult to prove it. He just hoped that he hadn't placed this unwitting stranger in any danger. It was just one more thing on his list to worry about. His first priority was to discover who was poisoning the fish around the island. The second was to discover who was hacking into his computer files. He stood his fishing rod against the wall of the lodge and unlocked the door.
He went straight to the laboratory he had set up in one of the bedrooms and proceeded to expertly dissect the fish. Walker was meticulous in his sampling, and in the preparation of the slides for the microscope. Only when he was satisfied he had everything he needed, did he discard the carcass. It would have to be burnt like the rest. Pity, it was a magnificent salmon, but if he didn't find out what was causing fish to wash up dead along the shoreline, it might not just be the salmon lying on a cold slab.
Four hours later, his suspicions were confirmed. The fish contained a mixture of toxic chemicals, which had it been eaten, would have put someone in hospital. He strode into his study, picked up the phone, and called his friend at the Department of Fish and Wildlife on his direct number.
"McCabe."
"It's Walker."
"I can tell from your voice that I'm not going to like this."
"Five gets you ten on this one. The latest batch of samples show that the fish are contaminated with lead, mercury, cyanide and some other substances I've been unable to identify. I'll have to send the samples into the main lab in Seattle to get a more detailed analysis. The results should be back in three or four days, and it wouldn't surprise me if they showed large quantities of PCBs."
The voice at the other end of the line let out a stream of expletives. "For once, can't you give me some good news?"
"Joe, it gets worse. Fish have started washing up along the shore in front of the lodge. This has gotten personal. I want to nail whoever's dumping this stuff. Sooner or later someone is going to get sick, real sick. What's new your end? Have the police come up with any leads yet? Someone somewhere must know where this stuff is coming from."
"It could be any of five plants in the State. But, and this is unconfirmed, it maybe coming from the plant belonging to the waste management consortium that applied to build a new facility at Anacortes a while back."
Walker frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "But they were refused consent. I know, I sat on the committee. In fact, I made the recommendation that their application be refused."
"I realize that. But from what I understand, the present facility is unable to cope with demand. The police approached some of the employees, but no one would talk. I'm just as concerned and frustrated as you are. But we need concrete evidence before we can move on this, and so far no one has found any."
"So what do we do? Wait until someone ends up in hospital or worse, on the cold slab in the morgue? Is that what you're telling me?"
"I'm as annoyed as you are, Walker. But I have to do things by the book, you know that."
"I guess so, but it doesn’t make it any easier." Walker slammed the phone down.
After graduating from university as a marine biologist and biochemist, Walker had worked for the State Department. His main area of expertise was the environment, and the effects mankind had on diminishing fish stocks. After years of dividing his time between sitting behind a desk and collecting water samples, he had set up his own company, Walker Environmental Research. Now after ten years of hard work, his company was well respected throughout the world. There was hardly a government he hadn't given advice to, or major ecological disaster he hadn't help investigate.
Several months earlier, his old university friend, Joe McCabe, had contacted him. Joe worked for the Washington State Department of Fish and Wildlife. Joe was concerned about the increasing reports of dead salmon being washed up around the coast of Puget Sound, and in particular the San Juan Islands, and had asked Walker's company to investigate.
At first, they thought the problem was caused by the large oil tankers plying their way between Alaska, Canada and the rest of the USA. Many of the ships’ captains were not above flushing their tanks before heading out into open waters. But a detailed analysis of the dead fish had shown they were contaminated with a lethal cocktail of chemicals, and not crude oil. But, there was no consistency. Fish would wash up one week on the north coast of one island, and the next they'd wash up on the west coast of another. The changing tides couldn't account for such discrepancies, which meant only one thing—someone was deliberately dumping toxic waste. Two weeks ago carcasses had appeared on Walker's land, and last week his computer had been hacked into for the first time. Suddenly the fight had become personal.
Walker had purchased the lodge and twenty-five acres of prime waterfront just over five years ago. It was a place where he returned to re-charge his batteries after investigating some of man's worst atrocities ag
ainst nature. The lodge was far too big for him, and normally he stayed at the cabin. But this year he had decided to undertake some renovations. Over the years he had come to love the place and now someone was trying to ruin it, but not if he could stop them first.
***
The early spring sun dipped towards the horizon as Skye returned to the cabin, having spent two hours wandering along the trails. Apart from breakfast and the odd cup of coffee she had eaten nothing all day. No wonder her stomach rumbled. She carried her supper plate and glass of wine onto the deck to watch the sunset.
When she finished eating, she dialled Debbie’s number, and wondered where the tall dark stranger had disappeared to, for she had not seen any other houses on her walk.
Three Weeks Last Spring Page 2
