“I know what reef means. It’s too risky to walk up on the deck right now to do it.”
“I can do it,” said Dalton. “Keep her steady.”
“No. I’ll bear away. We’ll take the longer course.”
“No, I can do it!”
He took three steps and slipped and fell down the side deck into the life lines. As if it were a mere stumble, he got back to his feet and continued. A monster wave crested in front of us and tumbled over the bow, thundered down the deck, and swiped his feet out from under him. He slammed into the lifelines and fell over the side.
The jackline pulled taut as he came to the end of the tether. “Dalton!” I screamed.
I turned into the wind, let the mainsheet loose, and ran to the railing. Dalton was hanging over the side, both hands on his tether, trying to haul himself back on board as waves battered him, crashing over his head.
Think! Quick! The boom slammed back and forth over my head. I grabbed the spare halyard line, wrapped it on the winch, and tossed the bitter end to Dalton. “Grab the line!” I shouted.
He tried to catch it with one hand as it flapped in the wind and water. As soon as he had a grip on it, I cranked the winch in double-time, hauling him back to the rail. He heaved himself over the lifelines and flopped into the cockpit. Dalton bent over, his head in his hands, trying to catch his breath. “Holy crap! That was quick thinking, McVie.” He nodded, his way of praise.
“Just what we needed, a little excitement. It was getting boring,” I said as set the mainsail and adjusted our heading.
He smiled wide, threw his head back, and let loose a hearty laugh.
Inside, my heart hammered away at my ribs. I checked the instruments and reassessed our course. “We drifted quite a bit, lost some ground. We’ll have to stay on this tack for a while.”
He nodded, then turned and stared at the sunrise for a long moment. “I thought I was going to have to cut loose. I was reaching for my KA-BAR.” He turned back to face me. “Then there you were, with a lifeline.”
“You’d do the same for me.”
“Yeah, but…”
“If you’d have had to cut loose, I would’ve found you.”
He looked me in the eyes. “No doubt you would have.”
“It wouldn’t look good on my resume, losing a new partner so soon.”
He laughed again. “I’m sure you’re right.” He shook his head and turned away.
The gale blew all day, waves growing larger by the hour in the gray, dreary sea. By mid-day, we were exhausted, but we still had miles to go. We’d long since lost sight of the Forseti. Dalton and I took turns at the helm while the other manned the sheets, a steady mind-numbing routine punctured occasionally by moments of panic.
The cockpit never quite cleared of water and my feet were raw from cold, wet boots. My stomach growled but food didn’t sound good. Besides, heading down below to get anything would be an adventure all its own.
The radio squawked to life—Sea Mist, Sea Mist, Sea Mist. The charter company trying to hail us. Dalton answered, told them we were en route to the harbor and our coordinates. By the time we got back to port, she’d need some repairs, he told them.
“Glad you are headed back,” the man said. “The gale’s supposed to blow for another couple days.”
Dalton signed off and looked at me. “I hope the Forseti is back in port, too. Or we might never find him again.”
The afternoon dragged on as the Sea Mist got pummeled by wind and waves. Dalton and I held on.
By dusk, the harbor was in sight.
Once we had her back in the berth and tied up, Dalton wrapped his arms around me in a big bear hug. “We made it,” he said.
“Yes, but what if the Forseti isn’t here? What will we do then?”
Dalton combed his fingers through his hair. “My god, Girl. Take a breath.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
After a quick stroll, and finding the Forseti in the marina, I collapsed in my bunk.
Even in the protected harbor, the boat rocked and jerked against the lines all night. I tossed in my bed, too exhausted to sleep.
When daylight finally streamed in through the port light, I roused and set a pot of coffee to brew, then went up on deck to see if there was any movement on the Forseti. No sign of anyone.
Waves crashed into the breakwall and splashed twenty feet into the air, then poured over the back side. Flags fluttered at the tops of their poles. Halyards and stays rattled and hummed in the wind as boats rocked and shifted in their berths.
Back down below, I checked the weather forecast. Marine warnings darted across the screen. As we’d been told, the storm was expected to blow for another day at least, maybe more, before settling down. Thirty-foot seas and sustained forty-knot winds with gusts as high as fifty-five. No one was going anywhere.
I found a frying pan and cracked some eggs into it.
This plan wasn’t going to work. We couldn’t keep up with the Forseti, even in calm seas. There had to be another way. A better way.
I had to get on that boat.
Dalton stuck his head out of his cabin, one eye open. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“Nectar of the gods,” I said. “Coming right up.”
He slumped into a seat at the table. I set a mug down in front of him, trying to keep my eyes from his muscled arms and rock-hard pecs. The eggs were done, so I slid them onto a couple of plates and plopped them on the table. “Eat up,” I said.
“Wow,” he said. “She saves me from Neptune’s mighty grip and cooks me breakfast.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”
I slid a fork across the table to him.
He wolfed down his eggs and chased them with two gulps of coffee.
“The Forseti is at the dock. I haven’t seen any movement over there this morning.”
“Morning? It’s nearly eleven-thirty.”
I glanced at the clock. He was right. I must have been more exhausted than I’d thought. I never slept this late.
“I suppose we should check in,” he said and reached for his phone.
I shoved the plates in the sink. “I cooked. You clean up.”
He grumbled some kind of confirmation as he scrolled through emails on his phone. “I got a note from Nash,” he said. “Listen to this. He called Norwegian officials to give them a heads up and discuss arrangements, assuming we’d be successful in our mission, and it sounds like they weren’t too keen on us being here. Some political crap about jurisdiction and the U.S. overstepping.” He looked up at me. “The Op’s been nixed. He wants us to head home right away.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “But what about Ray? What about the whales he’ll capture?”
Dalton shrugged. “Nothing we can do if they won’t have us here.”
“Nothing we can do?” I plopped down on the bench across from him. “But we can’t just—”
“Poppy, I know you’re—”
“You’re damn right. I’m not going anywhere. Not while that man is here capturing whales. What about April? What about that pod? What about Granny K?”
“We knew this was a long shot at best coming in. Joe was going out on a limb sending us here in the first place. We don’t have—”
“You write back and you tell him I’m already on the boat.”
“What?” He shook his head, his jaw muscles taut. “No way. I’m not going to do that. You’re not—”
“You tell him I found a way on the boat and you can’t leave me without backup. Tell him there’s no way to get word to me or to get me off the boat without risking my life. You tell him.” I nodded emphatically. “I’m already on that boat.”
“Poppy, no. No way. It’s too dangerous. Besides, that is not even remotely an option. There’s no way Ray is going to let a stranger on that boat. What you’re thinking is impossible.”
I crossed my arms. “Nothing’s impossible.”
Dalton stared at me, then sighed, closed his eyes. “And
what exactly is your plan?”
“Well, I’ll…I’m going to…I’ll find a way.”
He shook his head. “Poppy, you’re not—”
“I’ll get a job with him. I’ll stowaway. I don’t know.” Breathe. Breathe. “But I am not walking away from this. I’m not. Not if I can stop it.”
His eyes grew large. “Who said anything about stopping it?”
I gritted my teeth. Sure a video might be the evidence we needed to convict Ray, assuming we could convince the Norwegian authorities to take him into custody, but what good was it to the killer whale who, by then, would’ve already been sold into slavery and living in a bathtub in Russia or China? Of course I had to stop it.
I mustered calm. “I’m doing this. Are you with me or not?”
He stared at me, his eyes filled with apprehension, then he examined the inside of his coffee mug for a while, then finally looked back at me, shaking his head. “This is a bad idea.” He frowned and set the phone down. “You realize, we’re gonna have one shot at this guy. Once we’re blown, it’s over. And Nash is going to have our asses either way.”
A smile spread across my face.
“But remember, if you’re planning to get video from on board that boat, you can’t stowaway. For it to be admissible in court, you have to be invited aboard.”
I nodded. “Invited. Right.” How the hell was I going to do that?
I shot up from the bench, headed for the sink, and went to work washing the dishes. I needed something to do with my hands while I organized my thoughts into some semblance of a plan. Dalton could do them twice later.
I scrubbed and scrubbed, my mind in overdrive. Perhaps they needed another hand on board. Not likely though, as they were already heading out. Maybe pose as a second captain? Probably all set there too. The cook? Maybe we could persuade that Dylan boy to quit. Put flour in his stew?
I stacked the dishes and paced while Dalton got dressed. There had to be a way to get on that boat. Something that man needed. What little I knew of him, which was from our one, short encounter, and as much as I hate to admit Dalton was right about him, he seemed like the kind of man who would be suspicious of my grandma. And if he suspected the agency was on to him at all, there was no way he’d let a stranger on board.
But the son, Michael, might. Yes. He was my ticket. He was my best chance. If I could get his attention, then get him talking, I could figure out what Ray needed. Then I would persuade Michael into thinking I was a valuable asset and get him to convince Ray to invite me aboard.
I slipped into the head and rummaged through my toiletry bag. A little mascara, some eyeshadow. I swiped some lipstick on my lips.
Dalton was standing in the galley with his arms crossed when I got out.
“How do I look?” I asked.
“Is that lipstick?”
“There’s a storm. Where do sailors hang out during a storm? The pub, of course.”
“And what are you planning to do?”
“Well, Michael and I had a conversation going and—”
“The son? Are you telling me your plan is to—”
“The oldest trick in the book,” I said with a grin.
CHAPTER NINE
I fled up the ladder and down the dock before Dalton could say anything more.
The crew of the Forseti was at the same table they’d been at two nights before, each with a basket of fish and chips.
I found two empty stools at the bar, leaned on my elbows between them, and ordered a beer. After a moment, I spun around and looked right at Michael and smiled. He noticed. Good. Now to reel him in.
The bartender nudged me with my mug of beer. I tipped it back and chugged down a few gulps, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes on Michael.
He said something to the other two of his crew, then rose and walked toward me.
“You’re back,” he said.
“So are you,” I said, letting my eyes travel down to his waist, then back up.
His eyes on my beer, he said, “Kinda early to start, isn’t it?”
I shrugged, tilted my head down a little and looked up at him with my best glamour eyes. “What else is there to do?”
He grinned. “Well, you’ve got me there.”
“So you’ll join me?”
“Can’t think of anything I’d like better.”
I waved to the bartender and motioned for him to bring another beer.
“So, tell me, what’s a lady like you doing in a place like this?” Michael said.
“That’s a terrible line,” I said with a giggle. “Really.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, all matter-of-fact. “You’re not here to fish.” He tipped up his beer and looked at me over the bottle.
“True.” I took another swig of my beer, stalling. If I was going to get anywhere with this guy, I had to ditch the married couple act. Make it known I was available. But not too easy. “My boyfriend thought it would be great fun to go sailing on vacation.” I added a big eye roll.
He raised one eyebrow.
“My ex boyfriend, I mean,” I added with emphasis. “He turned out to be a real jerk.”
He nodded and sipped his beer, taking some time to formulate a response, it seemed. “Are you afraid of him?” he finally said, genuinely concerned.
I hesitated, trying to give him the impression I was, but wouldn’t say. It could only help my cause, right? This guy might have been Ray’s son, but he didn’t seem so bad. Maybe his mom was a good person, one of those Ivy-bred women who took off with a rogue badass like Ray Goldman to piss off her parents. Maybe she’d raised him right, with good manners and a respect for women. He seemed to have a bit of chivalry in him. I could work it. “I’ve a mind to catch the next ferry out of here,” I said. “But I’m stuck. This storm is quite something, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, something.” His eyes never left mine. He had that intensity of a guy who knows exactly what he wants and doesn’t let up until he gets it. And right now, he was focused. On me. Excellent.
“I don’t know about you,” I said, “But I’m feeling a little restless, holed up like this, for days on end.”
That broke the spell. He looked away, sipped his beer. “My dad says the storm’s clearing already. We’re heading back out in the morning.”
“Oh?” I said. Crap. “Are you sure it will be safe to head out?”
He shrugged, as though he hadn’t given it any thought. Either because his father had decided and that was that or he was too manly to let a storm keep him in port. I wasn’t sure which.
I hadn’t seen any report that the storm was letting up. Was Ray desperate enough to head out in this weather? To take that kind of risk to find the whales? Either way, this was my only chance then. I turned to Michael and gave him my best sexy eyes. “Meanwhile, what’s there to do around here that’s fun?”
One eyebrow went up. “What about your boyfriend?”
“My ex boyfriend.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, his eyes all flirty now.
“So…any ideas?”
“Actually, yes.” He took my hand in his and said, “There’s something I want to show you.”
He led me past the pool table, down the narrow hallway, and out the back door to a tiny, grass-roofed shed. The door had been left ajar a few inches. The wind whipped down the alley between the pub and the shed. I hesitated. Why in the world would Michael take me back here? My pulse picked up a bit. Was this a trap?
“Um, I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I’m that kind of girl.” If he expected me to knock one out in the back shed, I’d kick him in the nuts and come up with another plan.
“My, you have an imagination,” he said with a warm, disarming smile. “C’mon.” He pushed the door open, and with the grin of a boy showing off his older brother’s secret clubhouse, he motioned for me to follow him in.
You’re being paranoid now. Go with it. I took one step inside behind him and—was that…the mewing of kitt
ens?
A bare light bulb hung over a crate, inside which a heap of little fur balls, maybe four weeks old, snuggled. Someone had rigged the light bulb for warmth. Their little blue eyes were open and they were squirming and crawling over each other. One rolled over, showing its little pot-belly. A gray tabby.
Michael had a conspiratorial grin. “Aren’t they cute?”
I picked up the roly-poly one and cuddled it to my cheek. “Oh my, are they ever.”
He picked one up and held it to his chest, petting it softly. “You’re going to be just fine, little one,” he said, then added, “The bartender has been trying to find good homes for them.”
I picked up a second one. “Too bad people aren’t responsible enough to get their pets spayed and neutered. It really makes me—” I stopped short “—want to take them all.” Crap. I had to be careful.
“I wish.” He grinned and nodded, showing no reaction to my semi-rant.
“You could take one on the boat,” I said. “People do it all the time.” I set the first one down and picked up another. “Just think, an unlimited supply of fish. A kitty-cat’s dream.”
He shook his head, but didn’t say anything more. He leaned against the wall, stroking the kitten, making little soothing noises.
I leaned on the wall next to him. “They’re so sweet,” I said, but Michael seemed lost in the simple joy of petting the kitten. I tried to sort out in my mind how he could be on the hunt for an orca, that he could be here in Norway for the sole purpose of capturing one from the wild, yanking it from its ocean home, kidnapping it from its family, yet here he was, all sentimental, cooing at a tiny kitten. How could that be? Certainly it wouldn’t be fair to judge someone by his father’s behavior. But he was an adult, and there was no way he didn’t know what his father was up to. He couldn’t possibly be ignorant of the whole plan. But how could the same man do both?
“You surprise me,” I said. “I wouldn’t have thought you were an animal lover.”
“Yeah?” he said. A question.
“You know, being a fisherman and all.”
He shrugged, as though one didn’t have anything to do with the other. Did he think of the whales as just big fish? Did he have no understanding of them at all? Their intelligence, their capacity to feel, to hurt, to love?
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 27
