Pieces clicked into place that she didn't like a bit. The odd sightings of the plane yesterday. Enough, she realized, that they were being watched and had been well before Kyle returned with supplies. And to think she thought she had been clever enough to keep Annmarie from harm's way.
Out of her peripheral vision, the float plane suddenly appeared, flying alongside them, barely thirty feet above the water. It surged ahead, and then made a wide turn before coming back toward them.
A second later Ian came back up the ladder, carrying the flare gun and several flares.
"I want you down below," he said. "You can drive from down there."
"No." She watched the plane come toward them. "I don't know what you have planned, but you need me up here."
"Go below! Dammit!"
"No," she shouted.
"Rosie go!"
"There's no time."
"Ah, hell! Then at least take off the damn poncho so you're not so vivid a target."
She let go of the wheel long enough to strip off the slicker. The rain pouring over her felt even colder.
The plane swooped lower and came straight at them. She steered the boat closer to the steep wall of the fjord. Her move didn't provide them any additional cover, but as low as the plane flew, it couldn't get as close to the fjord's edge as they were.
"Perfect," Ian muttered next to her.
The plane suddenly rose, and something dropped from it, straight toward them.
Rosie opened the throttle and swerved the boat back into the middle of the channel.
"Damn—dynamite," Ian said.
The stick hit the water scant feet from them. An instant later it exploded and shot up a spray of water behind the boat.
"Two can play that game, baby." Ian picked up the flare gun, briefly touching Rosie's shoulder. "You're doing just fine."
His hand felt warm through her wet clothes. She wiped the rain from her face and concentrated on the channel in front of them. She knew the plane had turned and was headed back toward them when Ian began to croon next to her, as though he was calling to a lover.
The hair on the back of her neck rose.
"That's it, baby. Keep coming." He raised his arm, holding the flare gun steady with both fists, the rain pouring against his face. He fired.
The flare hit one of the wings. Instantly it tore off the plane like ripped paper. On fire, the wing fell toward the water faster than the plane.
It was so close to them she could see the faces of the two men in the cockpit, their faces filled with horror.
The plane somehow hit the water on one of the pontoons before leaning drunkenly in slow motion on the side of the remaining wing. A second later they climbed out of the cockpit.
"You got them!" Until then she hadn't been aware that she'd held her breath.
One of the men threw a huge bundle into the water—an inflatable raft. They managed to climb onboard just before their plane sank.
Just as suddenly as they had surfaced, the feelings of elation vanished, and she returned her attention to the water in front of them. Thanks to Ian's skill, they were okay. Again. For the moment, anyway. But how much longer until this happened again? What about next time? And if she was sure of anything, it was there would be a next time.
She began to shake.
"And don't ever tell me again that you're not stubborn," he said from behind her. "You could write a book on the subject."
"There was no time to go below," she returned. She didn't look at him, though she could feel him standing behind her.
"Like hell. But that isn't what I was talking about. Going up to that warehouse—that was a damn fool stunt."
"You don't have to swear at me." Never mind that she agreed with him. The rain seeped through her clothes and ran down her face and cheeks. She shivered harder.
"And you don't have to scare six years off my life." His arms came around her, crossed at her waist, his jaw against her temple. She felt his warmth through her soaked clothes.
She stood rigid for a moment, but the realization that she didn't have to stand alone was too alluring. She relaxed into him, his strength and his protective arms around her feeling better than they had any right to. Ahead of them the channel widened, signaling they were close to the mouth and would soon be in Clarence Straight.
Despite the rain and the cold and being miserably uncomfortable, she liked standing with him like this, feeling as though they were two against the world instead of just herself.
"It's time for you to go below." Keeping one arm around her waist, he adjusted the throttle to a lower speed.
"I'm fine," she whispered, steering the boat into the wider channel. Ahead of them, the clouds grazed the water, and she could see whitecaps instead of the usual calm surface.
"You're trembling."
She chuckled. "That's called shivering. We're both soaked to the skin."
"I'd noticed."
Gently he turned her around to face him, his arms coming around her in a comforting hug unlike any other she'd had from a man. No teasing smile lit his face as it sometimes did, nor was there the implacable command she often saw there. His eyes, though, were bright and so, so intent.
"I'm fine," she insisted, even as everything that had happened over the last few minutes washed over her. It was all so overwhelming. To her complete mortification, tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. Still, he just held her as though the rain and her tears were both okay. Surrounded by him, so close she could feel him breathe, a surprising realization flowed through her. She felt safe … more than she ever had in her life. And cherished … more than ever before.
At long last he kissed her cheek. Nothing had ever been sweeter, and she longed to turn her head just enough to feel his lips against hers.
She closed her eyes, absorbing his warmth and thinking about the kiss. It had been too short to really savor.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go check on Annmarie and Sly. Find out how much deck swabbing I have to do."
She laughed softly, realizing the moment for that deep kiss she had imagined had passed. He tightened the hug for an instant before letting her go.
He shivered suddenly as he stepped away from her. "And get into some dry clothes."
She climbed down the ladder thinking about that. What getting into dry clothes might have involved if they hadn't had a five-year-old chaperone onboard.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
The rain didn't let up, and as they moved into Clarence Straight the wind picked up, reminding Rosie of the fierce winter storms that gripped the inside passage for days. Accustomed as she was to sailing in weather, this was as bad a storm as she had been through in a long time. Rain slashed against the boat. Visibility was terrible. Ahead of them, rank after rank of whitecaps swelled.
They should be anchored somewhere safe, waiting for the storm to pass.
Without a bit of coaching on her part, Ian kept the boat headed straight into the wind, even when waves began to splash over the bow.
"My tummy hurts," Annmarie said.
"I have some medicine that will help." Rosie touched Annmarie's hair, then asked Ian, "Did you catch any of the forecast while I was clinging my clothes?"
"Rainy and windy," he returned.
"Are you talking about current conditions or the forecast?" She retrieved the medicine from a cupboard in the galley along with some soda crackers. Annmarie dutifully took the medicine and expressed her doubt that crackers would help her feel better. Rosie picked her up and joined Ian at the bridge.
"The forecast indicated this could go on until the day after tomorrow. I didn't figure ten-foot seas to be that bad."
"That's what the forecast called for?"
"Yep."
"We can't stay out here. We've got to get into the shelter of a fjord." She handed him the small vial of motion-sickness tablets. "You probably need one of these, too."
"I'm fine." He didn't take his hands off the wheel. He,
too, had changed into dry clothes.
"Well, your face says otherwise." She shifted Annmarie to one side and pulled the open chart book to her, comparing their heading and current location to the map. "This inlet is closest and would give us some protection against the storm." She pointed at one of the narrow fjords, only a couple of nautical miles away. "With the tide and this wind, this could be tricky, so—"
"I think you'd better drive," he interrupted, his color more pasty now than even a few seconds before.
Rosie set Annmarie down on the couch near the wheel and took over the second Ian let go of it.
"I think I'll go outside now," he added.
"I don't feel good, and I don't want to sit here," Annmarie whined. "I'm tired of sitting." She jutted out her chin. "Make these bumps go away."
"I would if I could."
"I want Mr. Ian to hold me," she added.
"He can't just now." Rosie glanced toward the back of the boat where she could see Ian lean over the rail. No wonder he hadn't wanted to take the medicine. "He's busy, sweetie."
Annmarie curled up, looking thoroughly miserable. Rosie wanted to comfort her, but that would have to wait. Navigating these seas required every bit of her concentration. She divided her attention between the GPS monitor, the chart, and the white-capped water ahead of her. The rain beat against the windshield relentlessly, and the visibility was as bad as she ever remembered being in.
She kept listening for Ian. She knew just how wretched seasickness could be, though it had been years since she'd had much trouble with it. Somehow his susceptibility made him seem more human. Superman had his problems with kryptonite, and Ian had his with seasickness. A stupid comparison, she decided, even as she acknowledged that she really did think of him as a hero, and she really was glad that he'd turned out to be as good a man as her sister had promised.
"Are we there yet?" Annmarie asked.
"Soon," Rosie promised.
"And then these bumps will stop?"
"It will be like it was this morning."
"Okay."
When the GPS monitor revealed the wide-funneled opening of the fjord, Rosie adjusted direction. A few minutes later, steep walls of the island appeared out of the mist, solid and dark as an ancient fortress. They blocked the wind. Almost at once the waves stopped crashing over the bow. The farther inland they sailed, the smoother the water became. The mist settled like a gray blanket, shrouding the surrounding hills. Rosie glanced over to Annmarie, who had fallen asleep.
Rosie kept a close eye on the tides and the depth and the wind, wishing Ian would come back inside. Fortunately, he had stayed in view, so she didn't have the added worry of wondering if he'd fallen overboard.
The mist grew even more dense, reducing their visibility to yards. She slowed the boat, looking for a likely place to drop anchor. At last she found it—a cove where a freshwater stream dropped out of a steep crevice. The center of the channel, less than a quarter mile away, was barely visible, and the other side of the fjord was completely hidden by the rain-laden clouds that hovered only a few yards above the water.
The door to the rear deck opened, and Ian came inside. His color looked a little better to her, but that look of the hunter was back in his eyes.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I keep thinking I hear another boat."
She glanced at the chart, her heart suddenly constricted. She wanted to offer a logical explanation, but too much had happened today. She wouldn't forget a plane falling out of the sky for a long, long time.
"There's one small village farther on up." She looked back at him, wishing that they knew for sure if the boat he heard was as simple as her explanation—somebody on their way home.
"I want you to turn us around so we can make a run back toward the sea if—"
"Okay," she responded, her imagination kicking in. She raised the anchor and gently maneuvered the boat around so the rear deck nearly touched the shoreline and the bow was pointed back in the direction they had come from.
When Sly began whining, Ian took him out, and they jumped off the back of the boat. He had put on the yellow slicker, which made him more visible than he might have been otherwise. Even so, he disappeared a second later within the mist and dense forest of the steep slope.
Rosie stood on the back deck a moment, listening. She heard it … the steady drone of an engine. Ian was right. Somebody was headed up the fjord. The way sounds carried in the fog and the falling rain, she couldn't tell how far away they were.
What mattered in the meantime was being invisible. Whoever was behind them might have seen their wake, but if they hadn't, there was no point in advertising where they were.
She went back inside, turned off the lights and muted the radio. In the mist and dense fog, they had a chance of not being seen at all.
Thankful that Annmarie was asleep, Rosie stepped back outside, listening, both for the boat making its way ever closer and for Ian and Sly.
Seconds later Sly and Ian appeared out of the mist and came back onboard.
"Good job," Ian said, shedding the slicker, "turning off the radio and the lights. I damn near walked past the boat."
"That was the whole idea," she returned softly.
"Trying to lose me?"
She met his gaze, intending a teasing retort. None came. "Not today," she finally said.
His expression softened ever so slightly. "Good."
The drone of the other motor changed, and Rosie knew the other boat was immediately across the water from them—less than fifty yards away. She peered through the fog.
"There," Ian whispered, laying a hand on her shoulder and pointing.
The running lights of the other craft could be seen then. The boat wasn't any bigger than their own, but it was dark, midnight-blue or deep-green. Silently they watched the boat until it disappeared into the mist.
Next to her Ian rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "We need to get out of here," he said, his eyes dark, worried.
"The water is going to be rough out there."
"Compared to the other things that can go wrong, that's okay."
So far his instincts had been right. She figured now wasn't the time to second-guess him. She went back inside to the bridge and a second later had them underway.
She couldn't decide whether to make an all-out run or proceed at the slower pace prudent for the weather conditions. Finally she settled on a pace just a tad faster than she would have normally chosen, but far slower than the breakneck speed her morbid imagination demanded. There should have been nothing sinister about the dark colors of the other boat, but pirate ships with black sails filled her imagination.
Little by little the height of the waves increased with the wind and soon were churning rhythmically against the boat, harder with each passing minute. On the couch next to her Annmarie moaned, but didn't wake up.
Ian came back inside, once again soaked and windblown from his watch from the flying bridge.
"What I want you to do is go straight out another half mile or so. Then cut the engine again, so I can hear."
"Okay." She didn't have to ask why—she knew. He wanted to determine if they really were being followed.
As before, the wind increased in intensity as they sailed farther away from the island. Rain poured from the dark churning clouds, reducing visibility to yards. Her worry increased with every dip the bow made into the oncoming waves.
A second later she heard Ian clatter down the ladder from the flying bridge. He flung open the door and rushed inside. He was soaked to the skin.
"That boat… It's here?" she asked, turning to look at him.
"No." He glanced around the galley. "There's gotta be a transmitter on board. Did you unpack everything that your cousin brought onboard?"
"Yes."
A wave crashed against the boat. Rosie instantly adjusted their direction as she realized she'd let the boat drift.
Ian rapidly searched through the cupboards, muttering under his
breath.
She wanted to leave the wheel and help him search, but the oncoming waves were much too high to risk leaving the wheel.
"What would it look like?" she asked.
"That," he answered, "we'll know when I find it." He glanced at his watch. "Call me in exactly one minute if I'm not back." And he disappeared down the steps to the stateroom he was using. Moments later he cursed, then came back up the steps. He held out a small black plastic box with a blinking light, no bigger than a book of matches. "Got a hammer?"
"In the cabinet on the rear deck," she said. "But I've got a better idea."
"I'm all ears."
"I'm pretty sure there's an inflatable buoy—the kind used to track currents. We could launch it—"
"And head in some other direction." His eyes lit. He pressed the transmitter into her hand and a casual kiss against her cheek before he took the wheel. "I'll drive."
Rosie ran to the back of the boat and flung open the cabinet where she had found the buoy when they were first onboard. She wrestled the unit out of its storage bag.
In that moment she looked up.
The dark boat appeared out of the mist, looking like the pirate ship she had imagined earlier. Her heart stopped.
She pushed open the door. "Ian, the boat. It's right behind us."
"How far away?" he asked as he eased the throttle forward. The boat remained motionless only for an instant before jerking through the oncoming waves.
"Less than a quarter mile."
"Damn!"
The other boat seemed suddenly much closer. "It's gaining."
"I know. Just get rid of the transmitter, okay?"
"Okay." Beneath her feet, she felt the motor's vibrations as Ian increased their speed. She taped the transmitter to the buoy with duct tape she found in one of the cabinets. Then she pulled the rip chord. Instantly the buoy inflated. The transmitter's light continued to blink, as if taunting her.
For an instant the other boat was obscured by a veil of clouds that skimmed along the top of the water.
She threw the buoy overboard. Without anything to hold it down, it bounced across the water, driven by the wind.
TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT Page 13
