Three Weeks Last Spring

by Howard, Victoria

  He keyed the send button on his radio mike.

  "Turn back. Let's check out that damned ship's last position. And go in low. I want to see the skids of this bird kissing the tops of the waves. I want to be one hundred percent certain there is nothing floating on the surface. And get the boys at Whidbey to keep tracking that damned ship so we know exactly where she is at any given time."

  "Yes, sir!"

  The helicopter banked hard left throwing McCabe against the cold wall of the aft cabin. He hoped and prayed he'd called it right and that he wasn't about to embark on a wild goose chase. His instincts told him Walker was no longer on the vessel.

  ***

  Walker estimated he'd been in the icy water for no more than ten minutes, but already his body temperature was dropping. Against the ever-darkening sky he could just make out the silhouette of the Rosario Queen as she steamed steadily north. His initial panic had gone and he felt surprisingly calm. But despite his calmness, he recognized the on-set of symptoms of hypothermia. It took a supreme effort to keep his chin above the waves and more often than not he found himself holding his breath as a particularly large swell washed over him.

  He tried changing position to float on his back, but with his arms still tied, it was impossible. He needed to get his arms in front of him, but that was easier said than done in a choppy sea. Even as a lanky schoolboy he'd never been able to manipulate his body as other students had and thirty-odd years later, he still couldn't.

  The ache in his shoulders became unbearable, and the ropes binding his wrists rubbed his skin raw. With immense effort, and with his thigh muscles burning, he forced his legs back, bringing his body into an upright position. This allowed him to tread water, but also sapped his energy. How long he could maintain this effort was a matter of conjecture. Every seventh wave seemed to be more powerful than the six before it, driving him under, further diluting his strength, and forcing him to use what little reserves of energy he had left to kick hard for the surface.

  Of the barrels, Walker could make out a few which remained half submerged on the surface, a stream of air bubbles rising from the seals, as their contents spilled into the sea. He tried to keep away from them, but in the choppy sea he had no way of knowing whether their deadly cargo was sinking or floating on the surface. The hazard the barrels posed to shipping diminished with each passing minute, as they sank and joined the others on the sea floor, where they would become an even greater hazard to ocean life and ultimately man.

  In the ever-increasing darkness, Walker weighed up his situation and decided it wasn't good. In fact it was hopeless. He should have listened to McCabe and called the cops when he’d suggested, rather than trying to deal with matters on his own. Of all the stupid, dumb decisions he'd made that had to be the worst. When would he learn that dealing with a gang of eco-criminals required all the help he could get? But hindsight was a wonderful gift, but it was just that, hindsight.

  He lost track of time until all he could think about was the bone-numbing coldness of the ocean and his non-existent chances of survival. He was cold, so cold that he started to convulse. Despite the pain in his ribs and shoulders, all he wanted to do was sleep. He'd already drifted off more than once, dreaming about his childhood only to jerk awake, coughing and spluttering from the seawater he'd swallowed. He had to stay awake—he just had to!

  He couldn't succumb to hypothermia and die like this, but if help didn't arrive soon he knew he'd be done for. What little reserves of energy he had would soon be depleted, and he'd slip into the inky blackness not having the strength or the will to force himself to the surface.

  Turning his face skyward he tried to pick out familiar stars, but that only remind him of the first time he'd tasted Skye's sweet mouth. Skye, sweet, sexy Skye. Too late, he realized he loved her, but his stupidity and mistrust had made her turn away from him.

  When he closed his eyes he could see her as she had been that day on his boat, the wind whipping at her hair, a radiant smile on her face. She was so beautiful, intelligent and so darned sexy. He wanted her, even more than that he needed her. Although he'd not shown it, she made his life whole. If she would have him, he wanted to spend the rest of his life and have children with her.

  And yet in truth he knew he'd lost her.

  By now Ridge would have poisoned her mind against him and dragged her back to London. Everything in his life had taken a downward spiral since he'd taken this assignment. But he made himself a promise. If he got out of this mess he would find her and put things right between them, even if it meant following her halfway across the globe.

  In among the stars he spotted the twinkling lights of a plane as it climbed out of Anacortes airport, heading north towards Alaska. Drifting, his mind wandered. He shook his head to clear the salt water from his eyes and looked around, desperately seeking signs of a ship. He thought he saw a light in the distance, but when he looked a second time, it had vanished. Damn it! He was hallucinating. His exhausted mind was playing tricks.

  His chin fell onto his chest in utter despair. He dozed for a while. When he woke, the light he'd seen off to his right seemed to be getting closer. As he watched, it detached itself from the horizon and climbed into the sky. A plane! And what's more, it was heading in his direction, sweeping the sea as if searching for something or someone. He shouted through salt cracked lips.

  "McCabe!"

  McCabe had come looking for him. Thank God. Everything was going to be all right after all. Over the lapping of the waves, he could hear the distinct sound of a helicopter.

  "Come on, come on, baby! That's it, keep coming this way."

  Then to his utter dismay the machine changed course and headed away from him. Walker screamed in frustration, his hopes dashed. Despair shrouded him. It was pointless. His chances of being rescued were non-existent. He may as well accept his fate and give up. But giving up wasn't in his nature, but this time the odds stacked against him were just too high.

  The strong currents of Puget Sound tugged at him, dragging him along with the changing tide. The wave strength increased and Walker found it more and more difficult to keep his head above water. Caught in a sudden cross current, a particularly fierce wave washed over him. The sea became a white churning cauldron, tossing him in one direction and then another. He kicked hard but despite all his efforts he was dragged under.

  His lungs were bursting from the effort of holding his breath. He was on the point of blacking out when the submerged tree trunk slammed into the back of his head. It was a long time before his semi-unconscious body emerged on the surface, the sea once more calm as the wave rolled on towards the islands. He floated face down in the water, an invisible form in a black sea.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Skye had said little since they checked out of the downtown hotel. She sat chewing her bottom lip, deep in thought as the taxi carrying her and John to SeaTac airport threaded its way through the early evening traffic. John leant back in his seat, and watched her from under hooded eyes. He wondered whether to say something or to leave her alone with her thoughts. Ever since she had appeared at his hotel room door earlier that morning, a small waif-like figure with the weight of the world on her shoulders, he'd wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right.

  He'd known Skye for the best part of fifteen years, ever since her first term at university when she had mistakenly assumed he was the professor rather than a lowly post-graduate. Since that first encounter he had been more than a little in love with her. He'd known it wasn't reciprocated, and in the early years of their friendship it hadn't stopped him hoping that one day she might learn to return his feelings. But as time progressed, their acquaintance never moved beyond the realms of friendship and he'd accepted that Skye would only ever see him as a friend.

  He'd always been there for her, and always would be, no matter who or what came between them. When first her mother, and then her father died, it was his shoulder she'd cried on. And when somethin
g unexpected happened, he'd been there with a box of tissues and when occasions demanded, his couch for the night. They'd always been open and honest with each other.

  He reached out and caught her hand and gave it a re-assuring squeeze.

  "We're nearly there, Sweet Pea. Are you sure you want to go through with this? You look tired out. Why don't we grab a couple of rooms in the airport hotel and fly back tomorrow?"

  Skye shook her head. "I'd rather fly tonight."

  Within minutes, the taxi came to a halt outside the main terminal building. John released Skye's hand and got out. He paid the driver then helped her out of the car. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and picked up his overnight bag with the other.

  Like all airports SeaTac was crowded with people and humming with noise. He paid scant attention to the bustling crowds, as he hustled Skye through the melee towards the first class check-in desk.

  "I know we don't usually fly first, but on this occasion I thought you needed the peace of the upper deck rather than being seated with the rabble downstairs. Besides, I don't think my long bones could stand being cooped up in economy for another twelve hours. Before you complain about the extravagance, I think the business can afford it now that we know the software works."

  Skye focused her pain-filled eyes on John, and managed a weak smile. Once again he had come to her rescue, she really didn't deserve him as a friend, but she was so glad he was. Thoughtful, and always attuned to her needs, she just wished she could return his feelings for her, but sadly she couldn't. That burning, all-consuming spark of passion was missing. But her little experience of passion had taught her that it was an over-rated commodity and more often than not the pleasure was short lived, while the pain it brought lingered. Maybe she should settle for something less? A more staid relationship perhaps. One built on trust and mutual respect rather than intense passion.

  But not yet.

  First she had to get over this sorry mess and get her life back on track. Once back in England, she'd take things one day at a time, and throw herself into her work, as she had done last year.

  Their meagre amount of luggage checked, they passed through the interminable security checks and on towards the gate.

  "We've a couple of hours to wait before our flight is called. I'm hungry and I'm sure you must be too. Let's get something to eat and drink and then perhaps you should call Debbie and let her know you're flying home," John said.

  Debbie? Skye halted midstride, shocked and aghast that in her heartbreak she had ignored her friend. How could she have forgotten Debbie? She would be out of her mind with worry and yet Skye knew she couldn't call her. She couldn't face the endless probing questions, not yet. She felt a wave of momentary panic and fought hard to hold on to her fragile control.

  "I can't talk to her, not now. Would you phone her? Tell her we've got a problem with the business, anything but the truth. I couldn't bear that. I'll speak to her in a few days. I need...I need some rest, time to clear my thoughts. John, please, I can't face talking to her right now."

  John studied Skye's pale face, her sapphire eyes brimmed with tears, her pain clearly visible. What the hell? Against his better judgment and all the promises he'd made himself over the years, he reached out, pulled her into his arms and held her tight, savouring the feel of her against him. His lips brushed her hair.

  "Hey, no tears, remember? Don't worry. I'll take care of everything. I'll call Debbie, tell her there's no need for her to worry and make some excuse to keep her off the phone until you feel like talking." When she relaxed, he reluctantly loosened his hold on her; finally letting her go when he was sure she had her emotions under control.

  "If my memory serves me right, there's a restaurant further along, or if you prefer we can grab a coffee and a burger."

  John grimaced. "Oh Lord, you want me to eat a hamburger? Don't you know what they put in those things? Please, I'd prefer to keep my cholesterol levels as they are."

  Through her sadness, Skye laughed. "Oh, John, you're such a snob. Come on, the restaurant it is then."

  Under John's watchful gaze, Skye picked at her food. It wasn't that it was good, it was, but she wasn't really hungry. She managed to eat enough of her main course to satisfy him, but declined a sweet from the trolley. Over coffee he finally brought up the subject of Walker.

  "Do you think he caught the criminals behind the dumping?"

  Even though John hadn't mentioned Walker by name, Skye's eyes widened in alarm. She didn't want to start crying again in such a public place.

  "I hope so. I hate to think of all those chemicals being dumped and leaking into the sea. We did all we could, it's up to the authorities now."

  "I suppose you're right. What about Walker?"

  "What do you mean, what about Walker? I want nothing more to do with him."

  John's eyes searched her face, probing her thoughts. "Skye, you know that's not quite true. The man obviously loves you. The least you could do is call and tell him you're leaving. He deserves that much surely."

  Skye looked away, her mind a gamut of emotions. Part of her hated Walker with a vengeance because of how he'd treated her, but the other part cared. No, cared wasn't the right word—loved. She loved him. Plain and simple. But he'd hurt her beyond belief and right now she wanted as much distance between them as possible.

  "I don't think he deserves anything more from me, except a very hefty bill for my services. I agreed to help him and I have. He consented to my conditions; there is to be no further contact between us. There is nothing more to be said on the subject. Besides I don't know how to contact him, and—"

  John produced a business card out of his jacket pocket.

  "He gave me this, when he left us at the hotel this morning. I have his office number right here. Call him. Call him before you leave. Don't do something you may regret for the rest of your life."

  Skye shrank from the piece of paper, her eyes suddenly icy blue.

  "Call him? Call him and say what? Thank you for ruining my vacation? Or thank you for thinking I'm a criminal? Thank you for making me an emotional wreck? I don't think so. I couldn't bear to listen to his excuses, besides the man is an emotional vacuum where people are concerned. His only interest is the marine life he studies. I have no intention of contacting him now or ever."

  Silenced by Skye's dark angry expression, John was secretly pleased by her reaction to his suggestion, but strove hard to hide it from her. Best to let her think he'd put his size twelve feet firmly into his mouth. In a few months' time, he'd renew his efforts to win her.

  Soon after they'd finished their meal, the non-stop flight to London was called. They settled into their seats for the long journey. Skye took one last look out of the window as the huge plane climbed steadily out of SeaTac, heading northeast. The lights of Seattle twinkled below, becoming smaller and smaller as the plane gained height. Through the low cloud base Skye thought she caught a glimpse of the Space Needle and somewhere off to the right, she knew, was the building housing Walker's office.

  Fleetingly she wondered if he was back at his desk, compiling his report. Another ecological disaster safely averted, thanks to his expertise. What would he do now that things were over? Would he sit around waiting for the next phone call requesting his presence in some far-flung corner of the world? Would he think of her and the brief time they'd shared? Would he even miss her?

  She doubted it.

  No, she was sure he'd dismiss the whole affair as business; filing the days they'd shared and loved, along with his report. Her heart squeezed in anguish. Conceivably John had been right. This wasn't the way to end things. Perhaps she should have called his office, but hearing his voice would have completely destroyed her. Besides, what could she say? ‘Tell me you love you and I'll stay?’

  A man like Walker would never plead with a woman. His work would always come first. There was no room in his life for a permanent relationship. He was a man who travelled light and couldn't afford any baggage to slow h
im down. She'd done the right thing. She’d walked away with her dignity relatively intact, knowing that by giving her expertise she had acted without malice. It had cost her personally, but in time she'd forget the pain and the hurt. She'd learn to pick up the pieces of her life and move on.

  John watched Skye's inner struggle and noticed how her fingers had tightened on the arm of her seat as the huge plane lifted off the runway. Inwardly, he let out a sigh of relief. Skye was back under his protection and he was going to make sure nothing like this ever happened to her again. And if that bastard dared to come looking for her, he would have to get past him first, and he wasn't about to make Walker's job easy. Once safely back in London he would do everything in his power to ensure Skye forgot the two Americans who had so nearly ruined her life. He reached across the small table between their seats, and took her hand, linking his strong fingers in hers.

  "Try to relax, and get some rest. I'll let you know when they serve dinner. Do you want a brandy to help settle you?"