TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

by Sharon Mignerey

  "Wow," he said.

  "Aunt Rosie knows what they all are for."

  "I can see that she does."

  "And there aren't any seat belts, but there is a lifeboat. It's compacted." Annmarie squirmed to look around him. "It's right over there."

  "I figured you'd want to drive from the bridge inside," Ian said to Rosie.

  "I can see better up here."

  She was right. Below, they would have had visibility only ahead of them, but up here they would see a full 360 degrees. She had been right to douse the lights, too. His night vision returning, he could see much more than he would have been able to if there had been any lights on.

  Rosie handled the controls with a familiarity that Ian admitted he couldn't have managed. In the abstract, sailing a boat seaworthy enough to get them however many miles they had to cover was simple. Now that he had observed Rosie's thorough check of the craft, he had new appreciation for the skill and knowledge required.

  "Do you have a license to drive this thing?"

  "It's pilot, not drive." She caught his glance from the corner of her eye. "And, as a matter of fact, I'm certified on craft up to five thousand tons."

  "That sounds big," he said.

  She laughed. "All it means is that I know how to keep my dad's fishing boat from sinking."

  "Ah, the salmon fishing. Lily told me about that." He watched Rosie a moment longer, then said, "You love this don't you."

  She grinned. "Yeah. I do." The smile slipped a little. "Not the reason for being here. I never knew I coveted a yacht until I went out with Mike and Katrina last fall."

  "So buy one."

  She shook her head. "That requires way more money than I have. Can you read a map?"

  He nearly laughed. "Only in my sleep."

  "Nobody reads when they are asleep," Annmarie said. "He's teasing, Aunt Rosie."

  From one of the drawers under the console, Rosie pulled out a book and handed it to him. He flipped on the flashlight and saw that he held detailed charts that covered the Alaskan coast from Skagway to Seattle. Within seconds he found the key, checked the index and found the map for Lynx Point on Kantrovich Island. Both seemed insignificant within the maze of islands that made up the inside passageway. From where he sat, he took note of the heading on the compass, then glanced back to the island behind them.

  Its silhouette was black against the shiny surface of the water and the cloud-laced night sky above them. When they were fifty yards farther from the shore, he could see Rosie's place, where it still looked as though every light in her house and greenhouse were on. In the opposite direction the few lights from Lynx Point illuminated low-hanging clouds. A dozen boats were lined up along the wharf, their geometric shapes reminding Ian of the battlements on an ancient fortress.

  Rosie steered the yacht directly away from the island. When he sensed that she had changed direction, he looked ahead and saw that she was steering toward a blinking light and compared their position to the map. She was headed for a narrow channel that separated Kantrovich Island from the adjoining island where they would emerge into a much larger straight.

  Whether the boat gleamed like a beacon within the night, soon it wouldn't matter. Within another few minutes they would be out of sight of Rosie's place and Lynx Point. They had a good chance—a very good chance—of disappearing.

  For the first time since the men had broken into Rosie's house, he relaxed. His luck had held.

  "Where are we, Mr. Ian?" Annmarie asked, tracing her finger up one of the waterways on the map.

  "Here," he said, planting his finger.

  "Oh." She peered at the lines. "Is it a long way to Grandma's house?"

  He found Petersburg on one of the other charts. "Way over here."

  She sat up straighter and looked out beyond the boat. "We could get lost."

  "We won't," he assured her. "Your aunt is the captain, and I'm her first mate in charge of navigation. We have it handled."

  "Good."

  "Are you warm enough, petunia?" he asked, drawing her close.

  She yawned. "Yes."

  That she didn't take offense to his pet name for her told him just how tired she was. He lifted her onto his lap, and she curled close.

  He pulled the book of maps closer. The route from Kantrovitch Island to anywhere else was a confusing maze past dozens of other islands. Recalling her plan to meet a cousin who was to take them to her parents' home, he asked. "Where are we supposed to meet your cousin?"

  "An island at the tip of Kanwau Bay."

  The boat passed the beacon, and she again adjusted their direction.

  "The Prince of Wales Island is a big one."

  She glanced over her shoulder, vague surprise chasing across her features when she realized he had found the bay—one of hundreds of inlets on Prince of Wales. The island she had referred to was minuscule in comparison.

  "Map Reading 101," he explained.

  "A regular Boy Scout."

  "Nah, just a ranger."

  "You were a forest ranger?"

  "Go ahead, insult me," he returned. "An Army Ranger, 75th Regiment at your service."

  "A ranger. I should have figured—the tough-guy attitude and all."

  "Yeah, that's me. Rangers lead the way." He glanced down at the child sleeping in his arms. At the moment he didn't feel tough, but if that's what it took to keep Annmarie and Rosie safe, he could handle it. Protecting women and children might not be one of Rogers Standing Orders, but it was at the top of his personal list. Gesturing toward the book of maps, he asked, "Is this busywork? I would have thought you'd be relying on the GPS system."

  "That tells us where we are," she said, "but the map has information the GPS system doesn't have—depth at high and low tides, for instance."

  "Ah. He glanced again at the channel she was guiding them toward. "It's just about low tide, right? You should still have plenty of clearance."

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. "I was pretty sure we did, but it's good to double-check. She's fallen asleep, hasn't she?"

  "Yep." He covered her forehead with his hand. "I think I'll take her below—don't want her to get chilled."

  "You, either. There should be a couple of coats in the locker next to the galley. Mike's not as tall as you, but he's bigger around, so one of them should be a close enough fit."

  "That would be good," he answered. He wasn't cold yet, but as chilly as it was, it wouldn't be long. "Are you warm?"

  "For now."

  "I'll be back." He picked up Annmarie and carefully carried her down the ladder, stepping over the dog, who was at the bottom. He took her to the larger of the two staterooms, figuring she'd be less likely to roll out of the queen-size bed. Sly followed him and plopped down as soon as Ian laid Annmarie down. When he pulled off her shoes, she sighed and stretched out more fully. Finding a blanket from the cupboard, he covered her, then stood watching her a moment, thankful that everything had turned out as well as it had. When he left the stateroom, Sly stayed behind. Watchdog or not, Ian wondered. Either way, he was glad that she wouldn't be completely alone while she slept.

  What a day it had been, Ian thought. And damn, they had been lucky. He'd successfully hidden Annmarie when he figured out how close they were to being found. He hadn't been seriously wounded in the attack this morning when he could have just as easily been dead. Finally there was Rosie. Aggravating and alluring. She obviously didn't need him, which grated more than he cared to admit. She attracted him at levels he didn't begin to understand, and that grated, too, especially since it was clearly one-sided. He hadn't been dumb enough to like a girl who didn't like him back in years.

  Given his sarcasm about her resourcefulness, he figured he owed her yet another apology. Since she hadn't accepted any of his earlier ones, he was better off keeping his mouth shut. A peace offering in the form of coffee was as close as he was going to get. While it brewed, he found the locker containing several coats and, indeed, one fit.

  The aroma
must have preceded him up the ladder a few minutes later because she said, "That smells heavenly. I kept hoping I smelled coffee."

  "I thought you might want some," he said, pouring her a cup from the thermos.

  "You thought right," she murmured, taking it from him and inhaling the aroma before she took a sip. "Thanks."

  Ian poured one for himself, then glanced at the waterway ahead of them, which gleamed more like a river than ocean water. "Just how narrow does this get?" he asked. "And how safe is this at night?"

  "Safe enough—if I pay attention to what I'm doing. At the narrowest point, it's more than a hundred feet. During high tide, the current is filled with eddies that I would never try, much less at night, so we're lucky. This will save us a couple of hours."

  "Handling a boat of this size—is that something everyone who lives on the inside passage knows?" Ian asked.

  "Mostly," Rosie answered. She smiled, as though some memory had pleased her, her face illuminated by the lights from the console. "When I was a kid, during the season, we all worked." She ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the wheel and inhaled deeply. "And, if I was steering, somebody else got to do the heavy work."

  Ian chuckled. "You've driven—piloted—this boat before?"

  "Yeah. When Mike got it last summer, he could see that I had a serious case of envy. I teased him that I might take it when he wasn't looking." Her smile faded. "I never imagined that I really would."

  "We'll figure out how to make it right."

  "We'd better hope we're able to take Miss Pris home just as spit-polished as she was when we took her, or I'll be working off the debt for the rest of my natural life."

  "Miss Pris—that's not really the boat's name, is it?"

  "It really is." Rosie looked over her shoulder at him, a grin lighting her face. "So much as a smudge, and Mike has a conniption. So that's what Katrina began calling her, and the name stuck."

  "If we wanted to rent a boat like this, what would it run us?" he asked.

  "I don't know. Lots."

  He made a mental note to check on the going rate for charters. Whatever it was, Mike and Katrina Eriksen would be paid for the use of Miss Pris.

  "I've been thinking about your plan to meet up with your cousin. He was going to take you to your folks' place, right?"

  "That was the plan."

  "We've got a perfectly good way of getting there on our own."

  "That's right. I just didn't want to call him until I knew we'd get this far safely."

  "You've got it covered, then," he said.

  "Don't sound so surprised."

  Her tone invited him to take offense. He didn't. Compared to Lily, everything about Rosie surprised him. Lily let herself need others, and Rosie seemed to want him to believe that she didn't need anyone. He might have fallen for it if he hadn't seen how she was with Annmarie.

  The channel ahead of them became more narrow, and without a word Rosie handed him the cup. He sat down on the bench close to the wheel and watched her expertly maneuver the boat. She skillfully used the throttle to carry the boat with the current, which seemed suddenly fast, a feat that would have been impressive during the day. In the dark it was damn near miraculous.

  Almost at once they emerged from the channel into a much broader one, one that looked as though the closest islands ahead of them were miles and miles away. He turned on the flashlight and looked at the map. "This is Sumner Strait?" he asked.

  She nodded, turning on the running lights and eliminating the need for a flashlight. Behind them, Kantrovich Island could no longer be seen. Ahead, in the far distance, there were a couple of other boats, their own running lights making them look like sparkling gems on black satin.

  "You did it," he said, giving voice to his relief. If they didn't make any mistakes, they had a good chance of simply disappearing until after Lily had testified and it was safe to return. "Good job." He handed her back the cup of coffee.

  She didn't reply, but took a long sip. "You thought Marco would show up, didn't you?"

  "I had a hunch," he admitted

  "Why?"

  Ian stared into the night for a long moment and finally settled on the truth. "I've known a hundred guys just like him. Hell, I could've turned out just like him—except I got lucky."

  She looked sharply at him and he shrugged. "I grew up running with a gang filled with guys like Marco. He's paid well enough to be loyal. He gets high from violence and power."

  Rosie shuddered.

  "You're looking more tired by the minute," he said a little while later.

  "I didn't get any sleep today, which is why I'm going to show you how the autopilot works. Sooner or later I'm going to need a nap."

  "If I were you, I'd want more than a nap." He joined her at the wheel, so she could show him. The principles she explained were the same as he was used to in aircraft, and he soon found himself more focused on the woman than on what she was saying.

  This close, he was again aware of the scent of roses. Mostly he was struck by how small she was, something he had a tendency to forget when she was attacking him or keeping him at a distance with her sharp words and sharper looks. This morning he had been reminded of a frightened kitten putting on a show of ferocity, an image that returned now. An image he was positive she would take issue with if he were dumb enough to share it.

  The tension that radiated from her couldn't be disguised. When he accidentally brushed against her and she once again started, he would have bet all he owned that she was scared of him—not leery, not nervous, but bone-deep frightened.

  He moved slightly away, giving her more space, but the fine trembling of her body didn't lessen.

  Without speaking, he refilled her cup from the thermos and offered it to her.

  As he had known she would, she made sure she didn't touch him when she took the cup. He figured asking her about it would only lead to an argument, so he didn't say anything. Standing behind her, he watched as she continued to explain the autopilot and the GPS system, and he thought about how assured she was on one hand and how edgy he made her on the other. Somehow, he had to make her understand that he wouldn't hurt her, despite their earlier physical altercations.

  He had watched her reassure both Annmarie and Sly with her touch. An obvious answer. All he had to do was show her that she had nothing to fear from him.

  He placed his hand at the back of her neck. She started. He caught her shoulders with his hands, holding her still.

  "Shh," he softly urged, gently massaging the tendons with his thumbs and fingers, relieved that his hands were warmer than her skin. As for her skin—it was far too soft for his own peace of mind. The truth he didn't want to admit was that he wanted to touch her.

  "I don't—"

  "Shh." Positioning his thumbs on either side of her nape, he massaged the muscles of her neck, then worked his way down each shoulder to her arms. If her muscles were any tighter, she'd break.

  "Ian. I don't need a massage."

  "Don't talk. I'm not going to hurt you."

  "You already have."

  "Sorry." He hadn't in this moment, so he knew she had to be talking about earlier. He figured her pride had suffered most of all. His own had certainly taken a bruising. He'd never before been bested by somebody he outweighed by a hundred pounds.

  He gentled the pressure of his touch, rubbing away one knot at a time in her neck, then moving on to the next.

  "You're not going to stop, are you?"

  He smiled, realizing that she hadn't asked him to. Instead of answering, he adjusted his touch to what he sensed she preferred and continued working the muscles of her neck and shoulders, pleased that little by little they became softer.

  She stood very still, as though to acknowledge what he was doing, in any way at all, would somehow be a betrayal. His intention was to relax her, but he found himself thinking about how nice she felt and about how much nicer it would be to touch more than her neck and back. With considerable effort he kept hi
s fingertips from running down the full length of her spine, or from turning her in his arms so he could hold her.

  "We'll be heading in this direction for a while, won't we?" he asked, forcing his thoughts away from the dangerous ground of seduction, which was his usual intent when offering a massage.

  A moment passed before she answered. "Yes." Her voice was little more than a whisper, as though she had dredged it from deep inside her.

  "Trust me enough to take the wheel for a while?"

  Slowly she turned around to face him, tipping her head back so she could meet his gaze.

  He grazed the back of a finger down the side of her face, a touch he couldn't have stopped if his life had depended on it. If he hung on to the last shreds of his discipline, he'd keep from kissing her. "You need to get some sleep," he added.

  She nodded.

  He bent and pressed a kiss against her temple without touching her otherwise. So much for discipline. "Go get some sleep, Rosie. You're safe, I promise."

  Her heart thudding, Rosie stepped past Ian and made her way to the ladder. She turned around and found his attention on the smooth water ahead of them. She watched him a moment, wishing she understood what had just happened between them. Something she wouldn't think about if she wanted any peace of mind at all.

  Moments later she collapsed on the bed, gathering Annmarie close and arranging the blanket over them. More tired than she cared to acknowledge, she admitted just how much Ian's gentle massage had made her relax. She would never have imagined he could be so gentle or so generous.

  And so the day ended as unusually as it had begun, her sweet Annmarie in her arms, and her thoughts on a stranger—a man who felt oddly safe in spite of all that he was.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  When Rosie was unable to reach her cousin or her parents by radio the following morning, Ian didn't buy her logical conclusions, and he seriously doubted that she believed what she told him, either.