Suspicious Ways

by Lexxie Couper

  “We’re pulling out,” he stated, his voice utterly devoid of expression as he continued to remove the rope from its moorings. “Get some clothes on.”

  “Excuse me? What’s going on?”

  But Jack had turned his back on her, his shoulder muscles bunching as he coiled the rope around his arm.

  “Jack?”

  “There’s a package for you on the bench in the galley.” He didn’t turn to look at her. “And a message.”

  A chill seeped into her bones. What was going on? What message?

  “Jack?” She tried once more. “Are you okay?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Unsure what to do, she gave his back one last look and then stepped back down below. She was almost in the galley when she saw a small gold box sitting beside a folded piece of paper and her heart tried to leap up her throat. Oh no.

  There was only one person who’d send her a parcel in the Solomon Islands, especially one in such an ostentatious box. Only one person. She didn’t need to read the note to know who. “Peterson, you bastard. What have you done?”

  She should have known the man wouldn’t just lie down and accept her rejection, not with the way he’d looked at her.

  If he also knew Jack had arrived… She didn’t doubt Peterson would gain great pleasure in causing Jack pain.

  A heavy, oppressive sensation settled in her stomach, suffocating and numbing at the same time. She didn’t have to be a genius to know Jack had read the note, or to guess at the innuendo contained in its words.

  Lord, can things get anymore surreal?

  Something snapped inside her. Something wounded and tormented. She was sick of it all. Sick of the suspicions, the mistrust, sick of the way fate tossed her about like she was some old chew-toy for a dog.

  She snatched up the note and read it, each and every word, anger giving way to stunned, sickened disbelief. Ignoring the gold box, she spun on her heel and stormed up to the cockpit, her grip on the bed sheet tighter than ever as she fought with her fury. She glared at Jack across the cockpit, Peterson’s note a crumbled sheet in her fist. “Do you really think I’d have made love to you if I was sleeping with Peterson?”

  Jack looked at her, his face an expressionless mask. “I told you to get dressed.”

  “And I told you Peterson meant nothing to me. But you obviously didn’t listen then, so now we’re even.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed and he stopped coiling the rope. “Well, you obviously mean something to him.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what I mean to him,” Ali snarled. “It’s what I mean to you that matters. Although with the total and utter lack of trust you’ve shown me I’m beginning to wonder why.”

  “Why should I trust you, Ali?” Jack dropped the rope, stepping forward until he was but a meter from her on the edge of the jetty. “You haven’t told me what happened on the trip here. If nothing’s going on between you and Peterson, why the hell do you have a love bite on the side of your neck?”

  Ali’s hand flew to the offending bruise and a horrible sense of fatality threatened to engulf her. Oh Lord, why hadn’t she told Jack what happened? How was she to expect him to believe her now?

  “You know what, Ali?” A chilling, emotionless tone filled Jack’s voice again. “I don’t want to know. Because I’ve got eleven days to get you out of my system. Eleven days to use you like you used me. When we get back to Sydney, Peterson can have you. I’ll have had my fill by then.”

  A searing pain slashed across Ali’s chest, Jack’s cruel words cutting her like no physical wound ever could. She stared at him, her eyes wide, her breath caught painfully in her throat.

  Jack studied her, his face completely unreadable. “I tell you what, Ali. I’ve changed my mind. Don’t get dressed. Just wait for me on the bed. I’ll be there in a while.”

  She stared back, only moving when she felt the hot sting of tears like acid in her eyes. She’d be damned if she was going to let him see her cry. Be damned if she was going to let him see how much he’d hurt her. Flinging herself from the cockpit, she stormed across the cabin into the stateroom, snatched a pair of shorts and tank top from a storage compartment and yanked them on. She grabbed her bag and Peterson’s gift, stalked back up into the cockpit and climbed over Wind Seeker’s rails onto the jetty, completely ignoring Jack fixing the mooring line to the jetty as she made her way towards the clubhouse.

  “Where the hell are you going?” he snarled, catching up with her and grabbing one of her arms.

  Ali spun to face him, cocking her head to the side as she jutted out her hip. “Gee, I don’t know. To find another man? God knows, I couldn’t possibly be satisfied with two.”

  Jack’s nostrils flared. “Stop being childish.”

  “Don’t accuse me of being childish, Jackson McKenzie.” Ali snatched her arm out of his grip. “Take a good hard look at yourself before you start making that kind of accusation.”

  “Get back in the yacht. This is not the time.”

  “When is the time? After we’ve just had sex? After you once more accuse me of whoring myself to Peterson? It’s interesting that you accuse me of keeping secrets, yet you tell me nothing of this unfinished business between you and the man.” Ali glared at him, gratified to see him flinch. Her head was roaring like the inside of a jet engine and her whole body felt like it was about to explode. She had never been so angry. Or hurt.

  “I’ll tell you where I’m going. I’m going up to the hotel where Peterson is staying. I’m going to go to his room, ram his gift down his throat and then drag his fat, flabby ass down here so he can tell you that I haven’t slept with him. And then, just to add to the joy of the day, I’ll let him tell you how he attacked me on Wind Seeker. How’s that sound? How he bit me on the neck so hard I almost blacked out. How he tried to rape me against my own yacht’s helm—sorry, your yacht’s helm. And then you and I can return to Sydney.”

  Jack stared at her, his whole body still. “Ali—”

  “See that knife in the galley?” Ali pointed toward Wind Seeker’s cabin, refusing to let Jack interrupt. “That’s what I would have used on Peterson if he’d tried to touch me again. It’s amazing how far a girl can be pushed before she can’t take it anymore. Oh, and, Jack?” She lowered her voice, leaning towards him as though to share a secret. “A little fact you should know…you’ll never have your fill of me, regardless of how long the return trip takes. Because you’ll never touch me again. Ever.”

  Jack stood frozen. He watched Ali go, the churning sensation in his stomach growing with each step she took away from him as the words she’d uttered sank into his stunned mind.

  Peterson had tried to rape her?

  Murderous rage engulfed him. Cold and absolute.

  Jack was going to kill him.

  He leapt off Wind Seeker and ran after Ali. But in the time it had taken his stupor to vanish, she was gone, lost to the crowded marina and the tourists swelling around the waterside.

  It didn’t matter. Not at the moment. He knew where she was going.

  Increasing his pace, he ran for Peterson’s hotel. The bastard’s money wasn’t going to save him this time. Nor his contacts. This time Jack was going to do what he should have done the day Trudi’s body had been found on Peterson’s boat. He was going rip the bastard’s throat out.

  Five minutes later, Jack stood at the reception desk, his breath shallow, his knuckles white, staring hard at the man behind the counter who’d the audacity to say the words, “Mr. Peterson is no longer staying with us”.

  Jack’s rage roared in his head, through his body. He clenched his jaw. “When did he check out?”

  The man shifted on his feet, a nervous expression flickering over his face. “Last night, sir. He left a message to tell anyone who asked for him that he was flying back to Sydney.”

  Numb pressure squeezed Jack’s chest and he drove his nails into his palms. Goddamn it, Peterson had escaped him again.

  Turning from the reception de
sk, he stared at the opulent foyer. Christ, Peterson had attacked Ali when she was at her most defenseless—on blue water, with no one there to help. And she’d been on blue water with Peterson because of Jack. Because he hadn’t listened to her. Hadn’t trusted her.

  A sharp pain slammed into his gut, like an invisible force had punched him. It was his fault. Ali being with Peterson was his fault. And he’d accused her of sleeping with the prick for money. There was no way of taking that back. No way to undo the damage he’d done.

  “You fucking idiot.” He pulled his glasses from his face and dragged his hands over his eyes.

  What did he do now?

  Find Ali. Find her. Apologize and beg her to forgive him.

  And if she doesn’t?

  His gut rolled.

  He didn’t have an answer. And he had no one to blame but himself.

  Chapter Nine

  “Hi, Mom, how are you?”

  The phone line was scratchy but Ali didn’t care at all. She desperately needed to hear her mother’s voice, regardless of the poor quality of the connection. She gripped the telephone’s handset like it was a lifeline, her knuckles a glaring white in the afternoon sun.

  “Hello, sweetheart.” Her mom’s voice came back to her through the line, faint and hard to hear. “How are the Solomons?”

  “Fine,” Ali replied, trying to control the sudden wave of tears threatening to ambush her. “Hot.”

  “Make sure you wear plenty of sunblock, okay?” Jenny instructed, maternal concern in her voice. It was enough to set the tears falling, hot and shameful tears Ali scrubbed away with the back of her hand. Crying on a public telephone in the middle of the street in a foreign country was not what she needed to do right now. It was foolish. Childish. She had to get a grip. “Yes, Mom,” she answered, forcing her voice to sound normal. “I will. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine. Dr. Welch says I’m doing very well. He’s started me on a new course of treatment that seems quite effective.” There was a pause. “It’s very expensive, Ali. Where will we find the money to continue it?”

  Hope blossomed in Ali’s heart at the thought of her mom regaining her health and her life. “I’ll find it, Mom. Don’t worry.” She could never, would never, deny her mother the chance to have a pain-free existence, no matter how much it cost. She squeezed her eyes shut. She’d get the money needed, regardless of what she had to do.

  Regardless? Like becoming Peterson’s bed toy?

  The warm fluttering of hope in her heart died. Was that truly her only option now? Was it?

  God help her.

  “When are you heading home?”

  The question was casual, but Ali could hear the apprehensive tone in Jenny’s voice. Hate smashed over Ali. Hate and contempt and disgust. What the hell was she doing being so far away from her mom? She should be there beside her, to hold her hand and kiss her cheek and tell her not to worry. It seemed she was to let another parent down as well. First, her father, and now her mom. Some daughter she turned out to be. “Sooner than expected actually,” she replied, forcing the words to sound bright and cheery. “Mr. Peterson has been called back to Australia for an important meeting, so I hope to pull out today.”

  “I’m so glad, honey. I don’t like that man. I don’t like the idea of you being alone with him.”

  “It’s okay, Mom.” Ali closed her mind to the hideous memory trying to assault her. “He’s actually flying back to Sydney so I guess that makes the return trip that little bit easier.”

  “You’ll be sailing alone?” Concern tainted Jenny’s voice. “I don’t like that idea either.”

  An image of Jack flashed into Ali’s tormented mind, but she shoved it away. She didn’t want to think about him either. She couldn’t think about him. Not after what he’d said. “I’ll be fine, Mom. In fact I won’t be alone. There’s another yacht here from Sydney, a group from the CYC. A couple of the crew have said they’ll sail home with me aboard Wind Seeker.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue and another wave of self-disgust rolled over her. She hated lying to her mom, but she hated worrying her even more.

  “That’s good.” There was another pause. “Sweetheart, I’ve been thinking. When you get home I’d like you to bring Jack McKenzie up to the hospital. I haven’t seen him for such a long time and I’d love to say hello.”

  “Oh. Okay.” The dull ache in Ali’s chest flared up again, making her swallow. Her mother had spent the last four years wanting no one at the marina to know about her condition, yet now, within an hour of Ali deciding she never wanted anything to do with Jack again, Jenny wanted Jack to know. There was something darkly ironic about that, but Ali couldn’t find the energy or the will to smile. “Mom, I have to go. I’ll call you just before I leave, okay?”

  “Okay, sweetheart. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mom. Bye.”

  She returned the handset to its cradle and stared at it for a moment before turning away. Looking at the busy street around her, at the throngs of people bustling past, weaving in and out of each other with smiles on their faces and laughter floating around their heads, Ali felt utterly alone. The Solomons were a mecca for tourists from all walks of life, the rich and the poor. It was beautiful and exotic.

  A place to enjoy. To be happy.

  Except for her, it seemed.

  “Damn it, Ali, stop being so pathetic.” Her grumble was lost in the surrounding noise.

  What should she do next?

  She hadn’t had the courage to go to Peterson at his hotel. Half a block away from the building, her stomach had begun to knot, her palms had turned sweaty and her breath had caught in her throat. She’d stood looking at the luxurious hotel, willing herself to move forward and failing. Like so many other things in her life.

  “Damn you, Jack,” she muttered. “Why didn’t you trust me?”

  Why didn’t I tell him?

  Ali shook her head. She didn’t know. Fear maybe? Fear that Jack would think she’d brought it on herself. She had, after all, known the way Peterson thought about her, and she’d heard the rumors floating around the marina about her supposed relationship with the man. Perhaps, on a subconscious level, she’d been afraid if she told Jack what Peterson had done it would have shattered the burgeoning—but fragile—trust between her and Jack.

  But she’d also been thinking of the disturbing relationship between Jack and Peterson. Ali remembered all too clearly the chilling look in Jack’s eyes when he’d found Peterson holding her hand at the marina. Rage. Cold and murderous. There’d been more than jealously fuelling that burning ice. There’d been hatred as well. And something so much more frightening.

  Telling Jack about Peterson’s assault could have resulted in something far more deadly than just his anger.

  “Well, it’s too late to worry now, isn’t it?” She let out a wobbly sigh. She’d done more than tell Jack what Peterson had done. She’d practically accused him of being just as bad.

  “Serves him right.” She tilted her chin stubbornly, knowing she was being childish. Petulant. But she drew small comfort from the emotion. “How dare he leap to conclusions? How dare he? Without asking me.” Another surge of bitter anger rolled over her, leaving a burning taste in her mouth. She was being stupid. If Jack were here he’d tell her to grow up. Shaking her head, she let out another long sigh and stepped into the wave of tourists and locals walking past her.

  She wasn’t ready to go back to Wind Seeker. Not yet. She knew Jack would wait for her. He may be an untrusting, despicable pain in the ass, but he wouldn’t leave her behind. Still, she sure as hell wasn’t ready to face him again. She had too much to decide. She needed money and she knew exactly where she could get it, but she couldn’t pay that price. The only other person she knew with enough money was Jack, and she couldn’t ask him for help.

  Ali’s stomach lurched. There had to be another way. God help her, there had to be.

  Spying a street stall, she threaded her way through the crowd. T
hree minutes later, she’d swapped her watch for a bottle of water and a large straw hat. She could have used Peterson’s necklace but knew it would be worth so much more. When she got back to Australia, she would sell it to a pawn shop and use the money to help pay for her mom’s treatment. Some good had to come from this whole horrific nightmare.

  Ramming her new hat on her head, she began walking in the direction of the nearest beach. She had some serious thinking to do, and only when she was good and ready would she head back to Point Cruz Yacht Club. Until then, Jack could damn well wait.

  When Jack returned from his futile search for Ali, the yacht club was draped in darkness, the only signs of activity coming from the attached nightclub. The sound of a heavy bass thumping out a frenzied beat from the party within the club did nothing for the drilling ache that had made itself at home in his head.

  Scowling, he squinted at his watch for what seemed like the thousandth time since she’d stormed off. 10:30pm. “C’mon, Ali,” he murmured. “Where are you?”

  Anger, frustration, guilt and fear twisted through him as he walked the dark jetty toward Wind Seeker, the tink and clang of the surrounding yachts now more audible than the nightclub. Normally that sound filled him with calm contentment, but now it only hammered home the cold fact that Ali wasn’t with him. That she was possibly wandering the night streets of a strange country, instead of where she’d thought she would be—curled up in his arms.

  He bit back a frustrated sigh. When she came back he would sit her down and tell her everything about Trudi. Perhaps then she’d understand why he’d reacted the way he had, why he despised Peterson so much. Perhaps then she’d forgive him.

  Only a few meters away from Wind Seeker, a loud rattling of rigging caught his attention. Someone was aboard.

  “Thank God…” The words died on his lips as a large shape climbed hurriedly over the yacht’s side and onto the jetty’s arm, feet thumping the platform with a weight far heavier than Ali’s could ever be.

  “Hey.” Jack shouted, sprinting towards the yacht. “Hey. What are you doing?”