Three Weeks Last Spring

by Howard, Victoria

  For the time being at least, there was no real reason for him to remain in Seattle, but he decided against returning to the lodge that night, as he'd had little rest since leaving the island. He would check in with McCabe in the morning to make sure there were no new developments and then fly back to Friday Harbor in the afternoon. And then he’d call Skye. Hopefully she'd be pleased to hear from him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Debbie reached her office the following morning the first thing she did was call Skye. She listened to the phone ring out at the other end of the line and became increasingly uneasy.

  "Damn it, Skye. Please pick up the God-damned phone!"

  This was totally out of character. Even last year, when she'd been feeling so down after her return from Seattle, Skye had always answered.

  A cold shiver ran down Debbie's spine. What if Skye had gone for a walk and fallen? Or had suddenly taken ill? She could be lying somewhere for days before anyone found her. And why for God's sake, had she chosen such an isolated spot for an out-of season vacation?

  She nursed a cold latte and thought about what to do next. Abruptly the phone on her desk rang. She snatched it up.

  "Skye, is that you?"

  "Sorry to disappoint you Debbie, but it's me, John."

  "Oh John, hi. Sorry, I forgot all the manners I have. How are you? It must be the early hours of the morning in London. What are you doing up this late?"

  "I'm fine thanks. Over-worked, under paid—you know how it is when work colleague goes off on an extended vacation. What's this about Skye?"

  "I'm glad you've called. I was thinking about e-mailing you. I'm worried about Skye. I haven't been able to reach her since yesterday afternoon. We agreed that I'd call her last night, but there was no answer. I don't know if she's had an accident, she's sick or what. Did you know the cabin she's rented is way out in the boonies and her nearest neighbor is miles away?"

  "Hey, stop worrying. I'm sure nothing's wrong, after all she's on vacation. She probably went out for the evening and forgot about your arrangement."

  "John, I called every hour up to midnight and then again this morning. There's still no reply. Don't you think that's odd?"

  "I'll admit it's not like her to say one thing and do another. But I still don't think it's a reason to call out the National Guard. Have you two fallen out, by any chance?"

  "No, we haven't. At least, not since I went up for the weekend. I mean, we did have a misunderstanding, but we've made up since then. In fact, we had a long chat yesterday about… about men and stuff. She finally agreed that she needed to talk about what happened with Michael, to get it off her chest once and for all. But now that I can't reach her, I'm seriously scared."

  "Hey, Carrot Top," John said, using his nickname for her. "Calm down. I'm sure everything is fine and there's a simple explanation. Just give her some space. You know how uptight she gets when you mention Michael's name. If there’s one thing I've learned over the last twelve months it's not to push her on this. If you do, she'll close up tighter than a duck's arse. She'll talk when she's good and ready and not before. Stop worrying, I daresay she'll be in touch before the day is out."

  "I hope you're right. But I have a strange feeling that everything is not as it should be. You don't suppose she got it into her head to go to Bremerton, do you?"

  "What, back to that naval base? Don't be ridiculous! There is no way she would go there, credit her with some sense. Besides, that bastard will have been redeployed by now. I'm sure she said something about him waiting for orders before she flew out last year."

  "You're probably right, it's a stupid thought. I'll leave it another twenty-four hours, but if I haven't heard from her by then, I'm flying up there." Then she realized that John must have had his own reason for calling. "So what's with the call? Don't tell me you're reneging on our long-overdue date yet again."

  John laughed heartily. "You've rumbled me again, Carrot Top." Ever since her first visit to England, Debbie had tried to corner him into going on a date with her. So far he’d managed to wriggle out of it. "Actually, I was ringing to ask you for the number of the cabin. I've got a few problems with our latest project and I need Skye to look at the code for me. I know she took her laptop with her, but she's not picked up any e-mail since she left the country."

  "You don’t expect her to work when she is on vacation, surely? I'm scared to death for the girl, but if she is all right you realize she'll hang me out to dry if I give you her number, don't you?"

  "Yeah, but under the circumstances I think it might be justified—then we can both try phoning."

  "You're right, as usual. Okay, here it is, but you have to do me a favour too?"

  "Sure—"

  "If you speak to her before me, be a sweetie and tell her you used your considerable charm to persuade me to give you the number? That way, she can take her temper out on you rather than me."

  "Thanks at lot. I'm sure I'll enjoy Skye chewing me out for interrupting what's left of her vacation. But don't worry. I'll make sure she knows I talked you into giving me the number."

  John replaced the handset on its cradle. He leaned back in his chair, and put his feet up on the desk. There had to be a rational explanation for Skye's behavior and now that he thought about it she'd been in an odd mood of late. He was just beginning to believe she had finally got Michael out of her system when she abruptly announced that she was taking a month's leave and flying to Seattle. And as if that wasn't bad enough, she'd chosen to take a vacation at the precise moment their project was about to go live. It didn't add up.

  It would have made more sense if she'd chosen another destination, however she was adamant about visiting the San Juan Islands. Why? And he didn't buy the lame excuse that she couldn't put the past behind her until she'd been back there. That was total bullshit. He should have tried harder to persuade her to stay at home, rather than agreeing to her going halfway round the world on a whim. At least he could have kept an eye on her. He realized that it was almost a year to the day since Skye had phoned unexpectedly from Heathrow and asked him to pick her up. Could that have any bearing on her apparent disappearance?

  He'd never forget the sight that greeted him that chilly May morning. Skye was sat on her suitcase outside the terminal building waiting for him as he pulled up at the curb. He'd been shocked by her appearance, for the happy, smiling young woman he'd left there a mere three weeks earlier had vanished, to be replaced by a gaunt, disheveled woman with dark circles under her eyes. She had looked awful, John recalled, and when he placed his arm around her to help her into the car, she'd shrunk away from his touch.

  Throughout the journey Skye sat hunched in her seat as far away from him as she could and not said a word. When he drew up outside his house rather than hers she made no comment. It was as if her mind had shut out everything, except the basic instinct of survival. He remembered too, when he led her through to the kitchen and made her a pot of tea, she just sat in the chair rocking back and forth, staring at the wall. Later, when he suggested she go and rest, she had not argued, but like a small child, had allowed him to lead her to the spare room, undress her and put her to bed.

  Skye stayed in her room for two days. Then, on the third day he arrived home from work, to find her gone. He drove like a lunatic to her house, where he found her in the garden acting as if nothing was wrong. It was as if her vacation had never taken place, for she never mentioned it. Not once.

  Now, almost a year later, he was still trying to piece together the events of those fateful weeks. Could Debbie be right? Could Skye have decided to go to Bremerton in the hope of finding Michael? Surely, not even she would be that stupid.

  He would phone the cabin and keep doing so until either Skye or, God forbid, Debbie answered. He didn't care whether Skye was happy to hear his voice or not. The only thing that mattered was that she was safe and he wouldn't rest until he knew she was. His problems could wait; Skye's safety and wellbeing were far more important.


  ***

  Oblivious to the commotion she'd stirred up on both sides of the Atlantic, Skye ate a late breakfast. Although still tired, her headache had eased from a throb to a more acceptable dull ache and a couple of aspirins would finish it off. After being cooped up in the cabin for three days it felt stuffy and claustrophobic, but she didn't have the energy for a long walk. Instead, she picked up her book and the rug off the sofa, and threw open the French windows leading to the deck. She sat down in a wicker chair and placed the rug over her knees, then settled down to read.

  It was a beautiful warm and sunny afternoon. The woods were alive with chattering birds, their song mingling with the sound of the waves gently washing the shore. It wasn't long before the warm spring sunshine made her feel drowsy. Her book slipped out of her hands and onto her knee as she fell asleep.

  A small fishing boat chugged into the cove and dropped anchor. They had been paid well for their work and their only concern was disposing of the heavy containers. They had chosen the cove because according to the charts, the water under the hull of their vessel was deep enough for their purpose, not that it particularly mattered to them.

  But it should have done.

  A simple miscalculation in their navigation meant that they were dumping their deadly cargo in far shallower water than intended. Already the contents of the first container were seeping into the sea. If they had kept watch on the cabin they would have noticed a woman taking a keen interest in the vessel and actions of its crew.

  Skye jolted upright in her chair and stared as two men rolled something off the deck of a small boat into the sea. She was too far away to see exactly what splashed into the water, or the name of the vessel painted on the bow. It was a real rust bucket, and similar in appearance to the many fishing boats she'd seen moored in Friday Harbor. Abruptly, the engine pitch changed as the vessel pulled anchor and steamed out of the cove.

  What on earth were they up to? During her three weeks at cabin the only boat she had seen in the cove was Walker’s and for this one to suddenly appear seemed unusual. What could they have dumped overboard—a sack of some kind or perhaps a body? Or maybe it was just some fancy fishing gear. Skye gave the matter more thought and wondered if what she'd seen had been a barrel of some sort. But surely that was illegal? She must be mistaken. If only she had fetched her binoculars, which were lying inside on the bookcase, then she would know for sure. She dismissed the incident as nothing important, but made a mental note to mention it to Walker when, and if, he called.

  She picked up her book again, and had started reading, when the phone rang. Positive it would be Walker, she hurried inside to answer it.

  "Hello."

  "Hi there, Sweet Pea. Enjoying your vacation?"

  "John! How did you get this number? Why are you calling? Everything is all right, isn't it?"

  John thought carefully before he replied. He didn’t want to spook her. "I think I should be asking you those questions. Do you know how worried you've had everyone? Debbie and I have being trying to reach you for the last twenty-four hours. Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine. I had a really bad migraine and crashed out. I slept it off and can't have heard the phone ring. I'll call Debbie later and put her mind at rest."

  "Well, make sure you do—she's all set to call out the Washington State Militia if there is one or worse—fly up there to check on you personally."

  Skye groaned. "I'll ring her as soon as I put the phone down, promise. So why are you calling?"

  "You know I wouldn't bother you unless it was important. I asked Debbie for this number, as you weren’t picking up your e-mail. So don't chew her out, it's not her fault."

  "All right, but that doesn't answer my question. You’re not calling because I didn't answer the phone, or because you're missing me, are you?"

  "You've rumbled me. There's a problem with the software. There must be a bug in the code, only I can't find it. It worked fine for a while and then failed abruptly. I’ve looked at it until my eyes crossed and I can't see anything wrong. I ran the usual diagnostics on the hardware and there's no problem there. I’ve checked for viruses and the like and we're clean. I know I'm asking a lot, but would you check to see if I've missed anything obvious? And don't tell me you can't because I know you have your laptop with you."

  "I knew bringing that damned thing was a mistake. Seeing as you've asked nicely, I'll do it, but you'll owe me."

  "I knew there'd be a catch."

  "If I find the bug, I get to add two days to my vacation for every day it takes me, do we have a deal? If we don't, then my laptop stays firmly in its case and you'll have to wait till I get back."

  "Just remember, that we give the presentation barely six weeks after you get home. It doesn't leave us much time to get the gremlins sorted out and the testing completed."

  "Trust me, I hadn't forgotten. Oh, and as I'm going to be working you can call Debbie and tell her that I'm still in the land of the living and under no circumstances is she to fly up here or disturb me."

  John groaned. "You drive a hard bargain, Sweet Pea. Okay, we've got a deal, but do I really have to call Debbie? You know she only wants me for my body."

  Skye laughed. "Yes you do, and you may as well accept that she'll wear you down eventually. Why not give in and take her for dinner next time she's over?"

  "I'll think about it… and I'll call her, even though I know I'm getting the short straw in this deal."

  "Really, I thought I was being quite fair. E-mail me the details and I'll contact you as soon as I find anything. Talk to you soon, bye."

  Damn it! She didn't need Debbie mounting a search and rescue party just because she'd failed to answer the phone. Why couldn't she learn to leave things alone? It served Debbie right for pushing her into remembering what Michael had done to her. That was it. That's what she and Debbie had been discussing. It was all coming back now. She had agreed to tell Debbie the reason why she'd left Seattle in such a hurry and the pain of her memories caused her to blackout. Well, Debbie would have to wait—she would phone her once she and John had sorted out their technical problems.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Although Skye was suffering from the after effects of her migraine, she set up her high-spec laptop and put the kettle on to boil. She could wait until morning before looking at the code, but guilt gnawed at her for not keeping in touch with John, so she decided to make a start straight away. After all, they had a lot riding on this project, not only in terms of financial reward. If successful, their company would rank amongst the top twenty software development houses in the world. And that was something they had been aiming for all along.

  Walker hadn't been in contact, nor had he returned to the island as far as she was aware. She was so annoyed with him for not keeping his word that she wasn't sure she wanted to talk to him, let alone see him. In spite of everything she felt for him, in the end he was no different from any other man, for whom picking up a phone to call a woman friend presented a major challenge. Why should she put herself out? Her days of waiting around for him were over, and besides, she had far more important things on her mind now. Finding a reason for Walker's continued absence wasn't one of them.

  Setting her coffee mug next to her notebook and pen, she downloaded her e-mail. Sure enough, there was a message from John, which appeared as garbled text when opened. One of the first programs they developed encrypted data. They'd realized very early on in their careers, that sending information openly over the Internet was risky. Ever-conscious of security and the possibility of cyber crime, John had used their program to send her details of the problems he'd encountered when testing the new software. By hitting a specific key on her laptop the contents unscrambled in seconds.

  Armed with only his vague estimation of where the problem lay, she inserted the first of five CD-ROMs into her laptop and opened an obscurely named file, then laboriously started to check the first string of code which, along with countless others, made up the program.

&nbs
p; It was time-consuming work, and by midnight, she had found no errors. She questioned whether John had imagined the whole thing as an excuse to keep tabs on her. Breifly, she considered working through the night, but, with the dull ache in her temples threatening to develop into another migraine, she decided to go to bed. She shut down her laptop, made sure the cabin was securely locked, then turned out the lights.

  By mid morning she was on her fifth cup of coffee and no nearer to finding the problem. The enforced hours of inactivity were the only part of her job she hated. She much preferred to be outdoors, but it was something she'd learned to accept, as cramped muscles and aching shoulders were a small price to pay to see her ideas come to fruition.