Enemy Waters

by Justine Davis

  He’d kissed her before, that afternoon ashore, right here. She’d convinced herself, after, that her fierce response had been born of the circumstances, her fear and isolation and grief. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  In fact, now she thought she just might be going crazy, at last cracking and turning into that erratic, half-crazy woman Jeremy had accused her of being. Why else would she be out here, on a boat with a man she’d met less than two weeks ago, not only letting him kiss her senseless but reveling in it?

  Because she was reveling in it. The hot, firm touch of his lips, the way she could feel his pulse speed up, the way he cupped her face to tilt her head back so he could have more, the way his breathing had quickened as he deepened the kiss, took every bit she offered him even as she was stunned that she was doing it.

  Some still-functioning part of her mind was sounding a warning, but the heat that was building in her was unlike anything she’d ever felt, and it was drowning out the warnings of long, hard experience. Once she would have said nothing on earth could ever make her throw caution to the winds again, could ever make her leap without thinking long and hard.

  Apparently, Cooper Grant could.

  He was pressing her against something hard that dug into her back; she barely noticed. She felt the tentative swipe of his tongue over her lips, and it was the diffidence of it as much as the incredible sensation of him probing, tasting her, that sent her careening down an even more fiery path.

  She felt his hands slip down from her face, over her shoulders. They stopped at her waist, shifted her slightly, and suddenly they were pressed together from head to knee. She gasped with the heat of it. He was swamping her, burying her in sensations she’d never known, her head was spinning and she closed her eyes against it but it didn’t help, the spinning got faster, tighter, he was surrounding her—

  Trapping her.

  Panic exploded. Gut-level, unthinking panic. It had nothing to do with him, but she couldn’t stop it. She twisted, squirmed, shoved at him. And in the first seconds, when he didn’t move, didn’t let go, she nearly screamed.

  And then she was free.

  Cooper stepped back, raising his hands, palms open and facing her in a signal of release. He looked a little dazed, almost bewildered.

  But he had let her go.

  And now that she could think again, at least a little bit, she could understand his expression. If he’d been feeling anything like she had, caught up in that swirling, hot whirlwind of sensation, it must seem like she’d tossed a bucket of ice water on him.

  But he’d stopped. Somehow, he’d understood and stopped.

  And perversely, now she felt cold and bereft.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He sounded like she felt, with a thick layer of confusion added in. “I thought…I didn’t… Hell. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I won’t. It won’t happen again.”

  “I meant don’t apologize.”

  His brows furrowed. Now he looked thoroughly confused. “It was…wonderful.”

  His expression softened. “It was incredible,” he said. “Unprofessional, but incredible.”

  The incredible reassured her she hadn’t been alone. The unprofessional part simply puzzled her. “I’m not your client,” she said.

  “No, you’re not,” he said slowly, looking a little relieved. Then, for an instant that anger flashed in his eyes again. “And neither is Brown. As far as I’m concerned, my only client is Tristan Jones. And I’m guessing he’d want me to take care of his sister.”

  He couldn’t have said anything that would have turned her to absolute mush inside faster. If he’d said that before he’d kissed her…

  “Cooper,” she whispered, wishing she’d never stopped him, that that silly fear hadn’t enveloped her, taking over, making her push him away.

  For a long moment he stood there silently, studying her. Then, quietly, he said, “I thought you said he wasn’t physically abusive.”

  “He wasn’t,” she said, understanding his confusion after her reaction. “He never hit me. That would be too unrefined. But he liked to push. Crowd. And then trap me. To remind me that he controlled me. That I could never go anywhere or do anything unless he said so.”

  Understanding dawned, she could see it cross his face. “I would never—”

  She held up her hands much as he had, stopping him. “I know you wouldn’t. You just proved that.”

  For a moment he continued to study her, in that intense, perceptive way that unnerved her a little because he seemed to see so much.

  “It was a gut reaction, instinctive,” she said, when he didn’t speak. “It had nothing to do with you.”

  “So it wasn’t because you hated what I was doing?”

  She’d already told him it had been wonderful, but decided he deserved more of a statement. “Hated? Hardly. If it hadn’t been so incredible,” she said, using his word, “I would have stopped you long before.”

  A satisfied smile that was so smugly male it made her smile spread across his face. And traces of it remained as he shouldered the duffel that sat on the floor.

  “Come on. I’ll give you that tour.”

  He held out his hand to her. She felt the sudden need to show him she’d meant what she’d said, that her moment of panic had nothing to do with him, or not trusting him. Because she did trust him. She wasn’t sure exactly when in the past few hours it had happened, but it had.

  She immediately took his hand, making her own gesture more pointed than it would have normally been. She saw by the look he gave her then that he understood. He didn’t miss much, she thought. No wonder he was good at his job. She even thought that had he met with Jeremy in person, he might just have seen through that formidable facade. And that wasn’t something she’d say about many people.

  She wondered for a moment what it would be like to live with a man who was that perceptive. She thought it might be a bit disconcerting, but that the benefits might far outweigh the drawbacks.

  And then she couldn’t believe she was even pondering such a thing. She crammed the thoughts down into the depths of her mind, telling herself she simply wasn’t thinking straight. He was holding her hand, after all.

  He led her down a narrow corridor. A door on the left was open, and a glance showed her what appeared to be a workshop equipped with many various tools, a workbench across one wall—were they walls, on boats?—and, oddly, another door on the outside wall. The room smelled faintly of gasoline.

  “That’s my garage,” he said, explaining before she had to ask. “I put in the outside door so I could wheel the bike in and out without tracking it through the main salon.”

  “Makes sense,” she said. Then her eyes widened. “Your motorcycle!”

  He shrugged. “Roger will keep an eye on it, I’m sure. Heck, maybe he’ll even start riding it.”

  That image made her smile even as she acknowledged the possibility. “He just might,” she said.

  She wondered when she’d ever see the man who had been so kind, so generous to her again. If she ever would.

  “It won’t be long,” Cooper said, “and you’ll be eating one of his amazing meals, telling him how Jeremy Brown met his downfall at last.”

  She stared at him. “I could get used to this mind-reading stuff.”

  He gave her that half shrug again. “It’s just noticing. Reading people. And remembering.”

  “Jeremy does that,” she said. Cooper went still, as if she were accusing, and she hastened to go on. “Not the reading people, he’s pretty tone-deaf about that. But he does notice and remember.”

  “I’m not sure I like the comparison.”

  “It’s not a comparison, not really. He uses it for himself, he pays attention so that he can use it on them later. Good or bad, anything and everything is a tool to him. To manipulate. To charm, or frighten. For you, it’s…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for the right words.

  “For me, it’s just a knack tha
t comes in handy? Is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I can live with that,” he said. “Galley you’ve seen.” He made a gesture that included all of the compact but well-equipped space. “Not a whole lot of food. Between Roger and the Waterfront, I’ve been eating out too much to keep it stocked. Have to go shopping.”

  The idea of going ashore sent a ripple of that old panic up her spine. How quickly she’d come to think of the boat as a refuge, a safe haven, a place Jeremy couldn’t get to. Foolish, nowhere was safe from him, but the illusion was comforting.

  He gestured at another small space along the corridor. “Laundry’s in there.”

  “Laundry?”

  He tugged a sliding door open, revealing a compact, stacking washer/dryer unit. She shook her head in amazement.

  At the back of the boat was a spacious cabin that she guessed was the master stateroom. There were doors along the sides that were probably to closets or other storage, interspersed with portholes that let in a surprising amount of light. Beneath one of the portholes on each side was a built-in bench with a thick cushion, sort of nautical window seats. The bed was a good size, tidily made up and covered with a blue comforter. There were drawers for more storage underneath.

  He dropped her duffel atop the blue comforter, then turned to gesture toward a door off to one side.

  “Head’s in there. Towels in the cabinet behind the door. I just filled the tanks with fresh water, so we should be good for a while. Water heater’s small, though, so no twenty-minute hot showers, I’m afraid.”

  “A hot shower at all is more than I expected,” she said.

  Cooper grinned at her. Her heart seemed to plummet, then swoop upward in her chest, taking her ability to breathe properly with it.

  “All the comforts of home, for the most part,” he said. “Anything you need, ask. I might have it, unless it’s seriously girly stuff.”

  She didn’t want to delve into what he meant by that. Or what it meant that whatever he meant by it, he didn’t have it aboard. And that thought was so tangled and confused she thought she’d be better off not trying to think at all at the moment.

  That kiss probably scrambled your brain, she told herself.

  And belatedly she realized that he was talking and acting as if she’d be staying here in this stateroom. Which had to be his. He’d dropped her bag on the bed. His bed.

  Her gaze shot to his face, the memory of that smugly male smile playing back in her head.

  “I didn’t assume that kiss, hot as it was, was a signal you’re ready to sleep with me. No matter how much I wish it had been.”

  She felt her cheeks heat. “How did you—”

  “No perception required on that one, Nell. It was written all over your face.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom, giving her a chance to regain her composure. Then he reappeared with a razor, shaving cream, a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste in his hands.

  He gestured with the toothpaste. “You have this?”

  She nodded, a little numbly. He headed for the doorway. Then he stopped. Turned around. Her breath stopped once more as he looked at her with a heat that matched what she’d felt when he’d kissed her.

  “If you change your mind, though,” he said, “I’ll be right down the hall. Feel free.”

  One word rose to her lips. It seemed to take everything she had not to speak it, to hold it back until he was gone. She couldn’t quite believe how hard it had been. It was only one word. One single syllable, yet she’d had to fight saying it as if a flood of words were piling up on the tip of her tongue.

  Just one word she dare not speak, yet had wanted to say with a fierceness that astounded her.

  Stay.

  Chapter 24

  It’s your own damn fault. You never should have kissed her.

  Cooper’s self-lecturing wasn’t doing much good. Neither was his determination to just forget about it and get some sleep. And it wasn’t just the change of being in the guest stateroom berth, even though it only pounded home the reality of the woman curled up in his bed.

  Instead of soothing him as it usually did, the rhythm of the tiny waves slapping against the hull had him thinking of other natural rhythms, like two bodies locked together, finding their own. The cries of the night birds that occasionally split the silence made him think of other cries he’d have liked to hear in the night, from the woman sleeping—probably soundly—just yards away.

  He rolled over yet again, slamming his fist into his pillow as if the helpless sack of feathers were somehow responsible for his sleeplessness.

  “Your own damned fault,” he muttered into the darkness.

  He took some small comfort in the truth of what she’d said; she wasn’t his client. There would have been no way past that one. He’d said that everyone had a code, whether they admitted it or not. And kissing a client while she was a client was not in his. Sleeping with her would be…

  Incredible.

  He shook his head sharply. Maybe she wasn’t a client, but she was the center of this case. Except, did he even have a case, when the person who hired him had lied from the get-go? When the person who hired him had not only done it under false pretenses, but with nefarious intent?

  When the person who hired him had tried to kill her? And had killed her beloved brother?

  The image formed in his mind, so vivid it was as if he’d been there. He could picture so well what had happened that night: Jeremy Brown coming upon his wife and her brother, gathering up what was most precious to her. That would have signaled to him what was impending, that she was about to make a break, to free herself from his grasp. Whether he’d come armed, honestly thinking about a burglar, or gone for the weapon when he’d seen what was going on, didn’t really matter at this point. What mattered was that he’d come after them with the weapon.

  And Tristan Jones had done what he’d apparently done all their lives; he’d protected his little sister. He’d put himself between them, in the line of fire.

  Cooper knew how fast things happened in situations like that. Most civilians took so long to process what was actually happening that they ended up dead. Which told him that Tristan had not been caught by surprise. He’d known Brown was a threat, had to have suspected he might do something drastic when he realized he was about to lose his prized possession.

  Any step out of line or inappropriate word spoken required atonement in his world. And filing for divorce certainly fell into that category.

  Her words echoed in his head. Why had Brown waited until that night? Had he not believed she’d really have the nerve until he saw her packing up her things?

  You underestimated her, he thought.

  And he had the feeling that the man, for all his power, always had. He thought he’d married a quiet, malleable, obedient little sparrow. And Nell—Tanya, then—had been vulnerable, weakened by grief and loss and thought she’d found refuge.

  But even that sparrow had a breaking point. And then she had blossomed into a hawk.

  He felt a burst of warmth that it took him a moment to recognize. Pride. He was proud of that little sparrow, of the hawk she’d become. And she should be proud of herself. Sometime, when she might listen, he’d point that out.

  In the meantime, he’d better keep his emotions—and his suddenly unruly body—in check.

  He had a little success in the sleep department, not so much in the controlling urges department, by the time dawn crept over the mountains. Tonight, he told himself, he’d sleep up in the pilot’s berth, away from temptation. Then laughed inwardly; he couldn’t get far enough away for that if The Peacemaker were a hundred-footer.

  After a rough night of self-recriminations, he figured he might as well finish the job. He got up and walked out to get his phone. With no WiFi connection for his laptop out here, he’d have to use the smartphone for this. He sat down at the table adjacent to the galley and began the research he should have done long ago.

  He
had to quash that little voice that nagged at him, telling him what he already knew quite well: that he should have done this long ago. He should have known that what had seemed so clear-cut and simple might not be, he should have remembered one of the first rules of any investigation: people lie.

  A while later he had the basics. And looking at it all dispassionately, he wondered if he would have tumbled to the lie even if he had done his homework when he should have. He’d never seen Brown in person before he’d turned up yesterday, so he wouldn’t have known what he looked like to compare to the photographs he’d found of the man. There were a couple of video news clips from after the shooting, brief statements Brown had made. Perhaps if he’d listened to them rather than just reading the transcriptions, he might have recognized his voice.

  Maybe.

  But the things he couldn’t deny would have changed everything were the various reports confirming that Tristan Jones had been pronounced dead on the scene. And there was nothing, anywhere, of a miraculous revival by paramedics or emergency room staff—and that, Cooper knew, was something that would hardly go unnoticed in the flurry of news covering the story.

  Because Jeremy Brown was exactly what Nell had said he was. Powerful. Big-time. Famous. Newsworthy.

  If nothing else, that had become clear in the stories he’d scanned. Since her brother, not her husband, had hired him—or so he’d thought—he’d stopped after the initial coverage. If it had been the husband looking for her, he would have been suspicious, but the brother…somehow it seemed more innocent.

  So he hadn’t done his homework. And Nell had paid the price for it.

  “Cooper?”

  The sound of his name in her soft, sleepy voice blasted away all the fine shoring up he’d done. He pasted a smile on his face and turned to look at her, knowing he’d regret it. Knowing he’d want nothing more than to take her right back to bed.

  She’d left the glasses behind. Without the heavy frames to mask her face, he could see the delicate structure of her face. He’d seen her without them only a couple of times, and it always struck him what an effective disguise they were.