"Let's go make sure they're okay."
"We'll get the coffee first." She was almost afraid to look. If the boats were gone, she'd be trapped here with Mac for far too long.
"Yeah, don't want to forget that," he said. But he continued to stare at the grey slice of the harbor.
Key clenched in her hand, she headed toward the main camp building. Her fingers were cold and clumsy, but she managed to get the key into the lock and open the door. She stepped into the kitchen and turned to watch Mac. He was staring toward the harbor.
"Get in here before the rain makes the floor slippery," she told him. As he brushed past her, Lizzy turned to Franny. "Stay," she ordered the dog. Franny knew she wasn't allowed in the kitchen, but she didn't want the dog rolling in the mud.
"The coffee is in the freezer," she said, flicking on the lights. "I'll get it."
The walk-in freezer door opened with a groan, and cold air rushed out. When she exhaled, her breath hung in a white cloud in front of her face. She kept one foot on the door as she scanned the shelves, but after a moment, the door opened wider.
Mac stood there, holding it open.
"Thanks," she said, rubbing her hands together.
"No problem." He peered into the shadowy depths. "These things freak me out."
"Yeah. Me, too." Their gazes caught and held, acknowledging their shared fear. She held his gaze for a heartbeat too long, then spun away. When she spotted the five-pound bag of coffee, she grabbed it and stepped out of the freezer. Her hands still shaking from that shared look with Mac, she reached for the plastic storage bags. "Hold this open while I pour in the coffee," she said to Mac.
Mac opened the bag, then glanced around the kitchen as the rich scent of coffee filled the room. If there was a phone in here, he could take the cord and use it with Lizzy's phone.
He'd just spotted the phone when Lizzy said, "That enough coffee?"
Damn it! He glanced at the gallon bag, which was almost too full to close. "That should be enough."
Lizzy zipped the large bag of coffee, replaced it in the freezer and secured the door. Then she struggled to close the bag holding his supply. "That looks like enough coffee to last a couple of months. You're not going to be here that long."
"I like coffee," he said easily, scooping up the bag and tucking it beneath his arm. "Anything else you need here?" He'd need a few seconds to remove that phone cord.
"Nope. I'm set."
"What's the rest of this building?" he asked, wandering through the kitchen to the large room on the other side. His training pushed him forward. Always know where the exits are.
"This is where everyone eats," she said. He took in the room with its rows of tables and matching benches, cataloging every detail. Never knew what he'd need. "Library on the left, offices on the right. Pool outside."
"Pool?" He scanned the door, the stairs down to the empty pool. "You don't swim in the Sound during the summer?" he asked idly.
"No. Way too cold," she said. He sensed her turn to look at him. "How long have you lived in Seattle?"
"Long enough to know you don't swim in the Sound there. Have you seen the waterfront in Seattle?" he said casually. "Way too many boats. Oil slicks. Trash from the tourists. Not exactly a beach."
"Yeah." Another pause, as if she weighed his words.
He turned to look at her, raised his eyebrows. "Would you swim in Seattle?"
"Swimming's not my thing."
"And yet you live on an island."
"That's why God made boats."
"Right. And we need to make sure yours are okay. You ready to go?" His eyes narrowed as he watched her wrap her arms around herself. Why didn't she like the water? Or boats?
"I wasn't the one who needed coffee." She turned and headed for the door, and he followed her.
He stepped outside, and when she turned to lock the door, he wandered over to the line of thick bushes next to the building. When he peered over the branches, he saw three boats floating on the waves. One was a motorboat lashed to the dock, bumpers crashing into the metal platform with every wave.
There was a sailboat moored farther out, as well as a bigger boat. "Three boats. Is that what you're expecting?" he asked as he studied them.
"Yeah. Thank God." She stood on her toes beside him, studying the boats swaying in the water. "All there."
"What's the big boat?" he asked. "Looks like an old tug."
"It's what we use when we need to get a bunch of people over to Orcas or San Juan Island," she said, stepping away from the bushes. "Not fun to drive."
He spread the branches and leaned forward to get a better look, and she yelled, "Watch it! There's a steep bluff behind those bushes."
He stepped backward, but his boot slipped in the mud and he landed on his ass. When he put his hands down to push to his feet, his fingers sank into the slimy mud.
"Way to startle me," he muttered as he struggled to his feet. The cold mud seeped into his jeans and soaked through his boxers.
"Would you rather slide down the bluff all the way to the harbor?"
He turned to face her, wiping his muddy hands on his thighs. "I guess the honeymoon period is over. Must have been the shortest one on record."
Her mouth began to curl up, until she scowled and clamped her lower lip between her teeth. He remembered what her lips tasted like, remembered the slippery silk and the way she'd moaned when he sucked her lower lip into his mouth. His cock stirred as he stared at her mouth, and she flushed. She was remembering, too.
"Let's get back to the house," she said, her voice low and throaty.
Yeah. Lots of things they could do at the house. Lots of ways they could spend the day.
His jeans were uncomfortably cold by the time they reached the house, his boxers sticking to his ass and mud squelching in his boots.
Good impression you're making on her, Donovan.
He was coming across as inept and inexperienced. Which he was, he reminded himself. He wasn't a wilderness kind of guy. He was comfortable in the city. Skilled. Smart.
Not fitting in on this island didn't give her any reason to suspect him of ulterior motives. Possibly even helped. If he'd come here for her deliberately, wouldn't the FBI have sent someone with a little more outdoors experience?
Maybe. Possibly. Hell, he had no idea.
"You should strip right here," she said as she opened the door.
"All you had to do was ask." He stared at her as he untied his boots and took them off, then removed his socks and slid the heavy, wet jeans down his legs. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of his boxers, and she grabbed his hand before he could remove those, too.
"No! Not, uh, those. That's good," she said, although she sounded a little breathless.
"They're wet and muddy, too." He inched the damp material down his hips as his cock leaped to attention.
She grabbed his wrist to stop him. "Your room is fine for those." He glanced at her fingers on his wrist, and she let him go. "I'll, ah, get the washing machine going."
"Really?" He caught and held her gaze. "That's what you want to get going? The washing machine?
"That's it." She held his gaze steadily, and he had to give her credit. Lizzy was no scared rabbit who ran from the fox. Instead, she stared him down.
As he studied her bright blue gaze, he reminded himself that he wasn't here to flirt with her. Or have sex with her.
His personal opinion of her guilt or innocence in Kelly's murder was irrelevant. She was a witness. She'd said so herself. She'd given them a very detailed description of what had happened on the top floor of that parking garage.
And then she'd run. Disappeared like a wisp of smoke.
They'd found meth in her apartment.
Something didn't add up, and it was his job to bring her back to Chicago so they could figure out what it was.
He let his gaze drop and headed down the hall toward the room where she'd left the pile of clothes. "I'll bring these into the laundry room in a momen
t."
As he emerged from the room wearing the ratty sweats he'd worn yesterday, he heard the loud splash of water into the washing machine. When he turned into the doorway, Lizzy was in front of the machine, her hands braced on either side, staring down into its depths. "Hey," he said, moving into the room. "You okay?"
She whirled to face him and gave him a bright, false smile. "Yeah," she said, keeping her eyes on his face. "Waiting for the rest of your clothes."
"Here you go." He offered her the wadded up material of his shorts, but she stepped to the side.
"Just drop them in."
She lowered the lid and moved sideways out of the room, being careful not to brush against him. What was she thinking about?
He had no idea, and it bothered him. He prided himself on his ability to read people. Right now, Lizzy was a complete mystery.
He followed her into the kitchen, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering her. "What are your plans for the day? Anything I can do to help?"
She glanced over her shoulder, and she looked surprised. As if asking to help her was the last thing she'd expected. "I'm going to feed Franny." She nodded to the dog, who was sitting patiently by her food dish. "Then I'm going to check my email and do a little work."
"Work? I thought taking care of this island was your work?"
She shrugged. "There's not much I can do in this weather. So I have a side job."
Interesting. She'd volunteered nothing about herself since he landed on the island. Why now?
"What's the side job?"
"Translation work."
She gestured toward the computer. "As long as the internet is working."
"In this storm? Isn't that unlikely?"
She shrugged. "It's not impossible. It's a land line. Cable's on the Sound floor. And I'm behind on some stuff."
"Don't let me stop you. I'll find a way to amuse myself."
She studied him for a long moment, as if wondering what that would be. "Okay. Help yourself to any of the books on the shelves," she said, gesturing toward the filled bookcases that lined one wall.
"Could I use the computer to send some emails?"
"When I'm finished working, sure."
"Okay," he said easily. "Thanks." His money was on the computer conveniently not working when she was done with it. "You want me to feed the dog for you?"
"I can do it."
"Beth, I can handle a simple chore. Go ahead and get to work. I'll feed Franny."
Her gaze flickered from him to the dog, who was sitting patiently next to her food dish. "All right. Thanks. Her food is in the pantry," she said, pointing toward a closed door.
"Right. Got it."
He found a half-full bag of dry dog food on the floor, and Franny nosed at his hands while he poured it into the bowl. He crouched next to her while she ate, petting her head. Her short, stumpy tail wagged slowly as she crunched on the food.
"You're pretty good with animals." Lizzy spoke above him, and he twisted to find her leaning against the counter. "You must have had a lot of pets as a kid."
"Nope." He let his hand drop away from Franny and stood up. "The five of us were born close together, and there wasn't the time or money for a dog or cat." He rested his hand on Franny's head, was irrationally pleased when the dog leaned against his leg. "Then my dad was killed, and a pet was the last thing on anyone's mind."
"Yeah, I know how that is." Lizzy drew a deep breath and tucked her hands beneath her armpits. "I always wanted a dog, but my mom couldn't deal with a pet."
"It's tough." He studied her for a moment, then took a chance. "So how'd your dad die?"
Chapter 11
Lizzy sucked in a breath. How did he know?
She'd tried so hard to hide her true self from him. After the moment in the hall, when he'd almost stripped off his boxers and she'd waited, her heart pounding, for him to do it, she'd realized she was in trouble. And she'd vowed to be more careful. More guarded.
Now, as she turned to look at him, every square inch of her skin felt raw. Exposed. Her muscles were tense, her body trembling. It felt as if he could see through her clothes, through her skin, all the way to her soul.
"Why...why do you think my father's dead?"
"Because I recognize that expression. The total devastation." He reached for her hand and held it tightly. "Last night, when I told you my dad had died, you said you knew how it felt. We've both heard people say that. You probably resent it as much as I do. But you know. You've been there."
She clutched his hand and studied his face. He was telling the truth. One survivor recognizing another. She bowed her head and stared at her legs. A worn spot on her jeans was unraveling, and she tugged at a string as she gripped Mac's hand.
"He was killed in a fishing...accident."
"He drowned?"
She nodded once.
"Doesn't sound like you think it was an accident."
"It was..." She bit her lip before she could blurt out the truth. She didn't want to tell Mac her father had been knocked unconscious before being shoved out of his fishing boat. She didn't want to tell him about the hellish world her life had been when she was nineteen, about the deputy sheriff who'd stalked Lizzy and killed her dad. She'd long ago buried all those emotions deep inside her. Kept them hidden away so they couldn't poison her life.
But the poison was still there, embedded deep inside her, and seeing the FBI agent killed three months ago, then realizing the killer was another agent, brought it all bubbling to the surface again. She'd run because she knew from bitter experience that law enforcement always protected their own. Even when they'd committed a crime.
Especially when they'd committed a crime.
She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then sighed. "It was complicated."
"You want to tell me about it? I don't have anywhere I need to be."
She untangled their fingers. "It's a long story. And I've got work to do."
"That's okay," he said. "I've got time."
He meant he was stuck on Skipjack. But for a moment, she wished it was true. Wished they both had time. Time for...
What, Lizzy? Time to get to know one another? To date? For a relationship?
That wasn't possible. She knew it. But for a moment, she wanted all of those things. Wanted to be normal. Wanted it so much she ached with need.
The realization was scary. This wasn't the time to be thinking about dates. About seeing Mac again, sharing life stories. She couldn't let anyone in. She was stuck on Skipjack, alone, for the foreseeable future.
The email she'd received from Diane last week had offered a glimmer of hope. Diane had a friend who was an attorney. He could help her, Diane had said. He'd go to the FBI, try to work out a deal for Lizzy. Make sure she was safe.
She'd told Diane no, but Lizzy hadn't been able to forget the offer. She'd re-read it so many times that every word was burned into her brain. It offered her a future. A chance to breathe easy again. Hope.
The tantalizing promise of being able to live her own life. To put Beth Gorham aside and become Lizzy Monroe again. A woman who could get to know Mac Donovan honestly. To get involved with him.
Mac hadn't done anything threatening. He'd been pleasant. Friendly. And he'd made her body sing like no one had in a long, long time.
He'd been poking around her house last night, her cautious side reminded her.
Wouldn't she do the same in similar circumstances?
She gathered herself to move away from him before she could do something stupid. Proximity to Mac seemed to shut down her brain, so she'd keep her distance and think this through. And maybe, sometime in the future, after this mess was resolved, that fantasy of her and Mac in the shower would be possible after all.
"Wait." Mac grabbed her wrist. "Beth..."
He stared at her, his fingers burning into the sensitive skin on the underside of her wrist. Heat flared in her belly, and she wanted to move closer. To feel his arm against hers, his leg aga
inst her thigh.
Only a few inches separated them. It took all her willpower not to slide that small distance.
Think. Hadn't she just decided she'd mull over the situation with Mac calmly? Rationally? Because calm and rational were not words that would describe how she felt right now.
Horny would be better. Aching for him would work. Ready to jump his bones would be honest. She drew in a shaky breath, let it out slowly.
Mac moved his thumb on the underside of her wrist. He caressed her slowly, his thumb moving back and forth, barely touching her.
She swallowed, her throat thick. She tried not to shiver as his thumb swirled in circles and pleasure swept over her in a hot wave.
"Tell me." He curled his fingers around her hand. "I want to know about you."
And she wanted to tell him. Wanted to spill out the whole ugly story, tell him what she'd seen, why she'd run. She wanted to clear the air between them so she could see what might happen with her and Mac. But it was a stupid wish. Dangerous. She knew better than to trust anyone.
Even though her instincts told her to trust Mac.
No. Not instincts. Hormones.
"No," she whispered back. "I need time to think about this."
"About whether or not you want to tell me about yourself? We've already been as intimate as two people can be."
And just like that, her body ignited. She wanted him, more desperately than she'd ever wanted a guy. Her eyes locked with his, and she couldn't look away.
His gaze burned into her and she closed her eyes. Amateur mistake. Now he'd know just how much he affected her.
How the slightest touch of his fingers got her going.
In a moment he'd notice the 'take me now' sign flashing above her head.
He leaned closer and kissed her neck, scraping his teeth over her skin. He wouldn't be able to miss her shivering this time. "I already know your body, Beth. I'd like to know more. I want to know who you are, where you came from, where you're going." His sexy growl vibrated over her skin, and oh, God. She wanted to tell him. She wanted him to know her.
When had they gone from cautious, suspicious strangers to this? To flirting. Touching. Kissing.
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