Poison Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  He slipped a hand between her legs and stroked her, and she twitched with pleasure. “Anything else you want to know?”

  She touched the scar that bisected his eyebrow. “How did you get this?”

  “Jumping out of a plane in a hurry. A strap wasn’t secure, and when I pulled the chute, it sliced me.” He widened her thighs so he could play with her clit and slip two fingers inside her. “My turn. What turns you on, Ivy?”

  “Right now, you.”

  He grinned. “No. I mean what are your fantasies? Have you ever done this, sex with a stranger before?”

  “In my early twenties. Not since—” But she wouldn’t mention her marriage. Not now. Not with Jack.

  “It’s empowering, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She breathed more than said the word as he moved and stroked her clit with his tongue. And she realized that was part of why she wanted this tonight. She couldn’t control what happened in the swamp, but right this moment, she owned her body and was doing as she pleased with it.

  Or rather, letting Jack do as he pleased, which pleased her very much.

  She was reclaiming herself, which she’d given up in pieces during her marriage. Plus, she’d gotten lost in the empowering oblivion of sex, escaping the shock and horror of the mangrove swamp. “Thank you for fucking my brains out, Jack.”

  “I’m not done yet.”

  He slipped his tongue inside her, causing her to purr.

  “That sound right there.” He moved to lavish attention on her clitoris. “Drives me wild.”

  She made the sound again, first as a joke, then for real. He’d earned it with his clever tongue. “You’re good at this.”

  “Thank you. Too bad it’s not the sort of reference I can put on the charter website.”

  She laughed. “Five stars. Captain Jack fights and fucks like a champion.”

  How did she forget that sex could be so much fun? Not just that it felt good. She felt his laughter against her inner thighs as his body shook with it.

  Then he got serious about his task, and she held her breath as another orgasm built. As promised, he held her on the edge, letting her savor it forever before he added his fingers to the task and pushed her over the precipice.

  Afterward, she was drowsy and sated, but she felt like she should show him the same courtesy. He stopped her from scooting down on the bed and kissed her temple. “Get under the covers. You’re beat and need to sleep.”

  They lay spooned together. She enjoyed the feel of his hard, muscular body against hers. Muscles he’d earned in the Air Force. He’d served in the one branch of the military she knew the least about. She knew plenty of men in the Navy and Marines through her work both at the institute and now for NHHC, and when her cousin Alec had been in the Army she’d met her share of soldiers, but she didn’t think she’d ever spent time with an Air Force pilot.

  “How long were you in the Air Force?” she asked.

  “I thought it was my turn to ask questions.”

  “If you’ve read or watched the news in the last nine months, you probably know everything about me.”

  She felt him shrug. “I know a bit. Your grandfather and father were cartographers. You followed in their footsteps. You have a cousin, Alec Ravissant, who is a senator in Maryland.”

  He probably knew about Alec because of the damage control necessary when Patrick was arrested. Patrick had campaigned for Alec, and everyone close to Patrick was suspect. She’d made several statements pointing out that she was the connection between Patrick and the campaign. She’d actually left Patrick months before the election but hadn’t told Alec because she didn’t want to disrupt things when his campaign had other, far bigger problems.

  “Like the senator, you came from money, but your branch of the family poured their money into the institute, which was a nonprofit, and with the dissolution of the institute, the money is gone now.”

  She nodded and rolled to face him. “My father brought Patrick aboard because he had money and a philanthropic bent. Or so we thought.” She brushed her lips over Jack’s. “But that’s all we’re going to say about Patrick, okay?”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I’m just—I’m happy right now. I want to keep that.” How crazy was it that she could feel happy after the night she’d had? Jack was good medicine.

  “Deal. Okay…what else do I know? You’re fluent in Spanish and English—and, apparently, Japanese.”

  “Less fluent in Japanese, but getting there.”

  “Basically, you’re smart as hell. You work for NHHC—which was in the news a lot last fall.”

  “You’re referring to the thing that happened on the ferry in the Strait of Juan de Fuca.”

  He smiled. “Yeah. The thing. You know anything about that?”

  “Not really. I’ve only met Undine Gray—the NHHC archaeologist who was involved—a few times when she was still working for the Underwater Archaeology Branch.”

  “She doesn’t work there anymore?”

  “She quit so she could stay in Washington. She fell in love with Luke Sevick—the guy from NOAA who”—she raised her fingers in air quotes—“single-handedly saved the world that night.” She didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

  Jack laughed. “You don’t believe the story?”

  She shrugged. “The news helicopter footage from that night clearly shows two people set out on the Interceptor. There is only one logical explanation for why the Coast Guard and Navy won’t reveal the identity of the second man. He must’ve been one of the Ukrainians. A terrorist who was then let go. Or given amnesty. Or some other bullshit deal.”

  “So you’re one of the conspiracy theorists. What about the idea that the Coastie preferred to remain anonymous? You’ve seen what happened to Sevick.”

  “Fair point. And it’s clear Sevick didn’t have a choice in the matter—he was outside on the boat and reporters identified him before the Interceptor had even gone a mile.” She ran her hands over the hard planes of Jack’s chest, loving the smell and feel of him. Loving talking in bed. “But still, why remain anonymous when everyone in the US wanted to kiss the guy’s ass?” She slipped her hands around to his butt to punctuate her words.

  She’d been lonely these last few years and hadn’t even realized it. Too obsessed with her work to notice she was missing human interaction. Sex. This.

  “So you think the other guy on the boat with Sevick was Ukrainian,” Jack said.

  “How else would Sevick have gotten the information he needed? It sickens me that they let the guy go.”

  “Even if he helped save the world?”

  “He had to be some sort of spy or terrorist. He should have been arrested along with the others.” She had some experience dealing with traitors and wouldn’t mind seeing them all punished. Severely.

  “I take it you haven’t asked Luke Sevick what happened that night?”

  “We’ve never met. But he and Undine will be in DC over Memorial Day for the ceremony at Arlington. Everyone from NHHC will be there.”

  “I suggest not using air quotes when talking about that night. Former SEALs can be touchy.”

  Her laugh turned into a yawn.

  He stroked her hair. “You should sleep, Ivy.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. For fighting the Avengers. Coming for me in the swamp. Bringing me here…and rocking my world.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “Thank you for rocking mine.”

  She rolled to her side, presenting her back to him. “And now, I think I’ll pass out.”

  He held her snug against him and tucked his knees behind hers. She felt secure. Cared for.

  “Sweet dreams, Poison.”

  “Good night, Death Valley.”

  Chapter Six

  He watched Ivy sleep, hating, dreading what he was about to do. The woman was utterly captivating. He’d gotten lost in the power of her strength, humor, and brains. Lost in the seduction.

  For a while there, he hadn’t
been playing a role. He’d been living in the moment and enjoying every breath and stroke and heartbeat.

  Jack Keaton was the man Ivy had wanted, but it was Dimitri Veselov who’d delivered. And now, Dimitri would destroy that fragile, fleeting happiness. Never again would she pant his name as she came. But then, the name Jack was just another lie.

  He pressed his lips to her temple, then slipped from the bed. Remorse sat in his gut, but liking Ivy MacLeod didn’t change what he had to do. Relationships, love—anything beyond sex in the heat of the moment—was a luxury he couldn’t afford. At least he could free his nephew from facing the same bleak life. Sophia and Yulian would be free. But to do that, he needed Ivy and CAM to find Russia’s lost toy that would buy their liberation.

  He dressed quickly and quietly. This would be easier if he’d deposited Ivy in the guest stateroom, but his lower brain had been in control when he brought her to his bed.

  “Why are you up, Jack?” she murmured.

  He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to move us to a different marina. In case someone saw you with me. They won’t know where to find us.” At least with this excuse, she wouldn’t wonder at the engine noise.

  “Good idea.” She pushed at the covers. “Do you need me…” Her words trailed off as she drifted toward sleep again.

  “No, sweetheart. I got this. Sleep. I’ll be back in bed in an hour or so.”

  She made a soft sound of acquiescence and that was it. The last time she’d take him at his word. The last time she’d think of him in a good way.

  He was losing something important here. But that was nothing new.

  Maybe, when this was all over, after he was long gone, she’d come to see him as something other than a villain. He knew of one person who could tell her a story that might paint him in a lighter shade of black.

  He’d also hoped the same person would watch out for Sophia and Yulian when the time came. Not because he owed Dimitri—he didn’t—but because he was a good man.

  Three days ago, when he’d read the article about Ivy and CAM, he’d figured others would zero in on her and her brilliant toy. After all, he wasn’t the only one searching for Russia’s missing tech. The waters of Palau were about to get crowded, forcing him to make a decision. But he couldn’t simply call Luke Sevick and ask for his help.

  Sevick had been lauded as a hero after that November night. He was the “Sully” Sullenberger of SEALs—the go-to man the media wanted to interview when anything remotely related to the Navy, NOAA, or SEALs made the headlines. Dimitri had no doubt that Ivy would listen to the former SEAL, even if she did believe the other man on the Interceptor that night had been a Ukrainian terrorist.

  Dimitri always kept tourist cards on hand for the rare guest who wanted to send snail mail home to family instead of posting a selfie to Facebook. After reading the article on Ivy, he’d grabbed a card featuring Jellyfish Lake, the single biggest tourist attraction in Palau. The lake was in the Rock Islands—the place where all the hunters would gather.

  The message he wrote on the card had to be cryptic. He couldn’t simply sign it, not when it would go through scrutiny at Luke’s work, and he didn’t have the man’s home address.

  In the end, he’d decided on the one message Luke would recognize as clear as a signature. He’d written the combination of numbers they’d used to save the world on the inside of the card and slipped it into an international express envelope and mailed it.

  Given the time difference, Luke might, in fact, be receiving the card right now, which wasn’t a moment too soon, given that Ivy had said Thor had a Russian accent. A wild card had been thrown into this clusterfuck of a snipe hunt.

  Days ago, he’d worried at the risk in bringing Luke into the loop, but after tonight, his doubts were gone. Once Ivy’s predicament became clear, Luke would come to Palau. He’d be here to protect her should something happen to Dimitri.

  Now he crossed the salon to the small library and game shelf. Not that his clients ever read or played games. They drank and fucked and complained. He had no problem with the first two, but when vacationing in paradise, one should at least bother to look at the scenery once in a while. Then again, he’d never tried to pull in respectable clientele.

  He flipped through the cards, finding another Jellyfish Lake image. Was a second card to Luke warranted, or would it overplay his hand?

  With express mail, the card would arrive in two to three days, but from Ivy’s boss’s call, he knew word of what happened at the party had already made headlines across the Pacific.

  Dimitri had avoided the news cameras when he hurried to the garden to find Ivy, but plenty of people in the ballroom knew Jack Keaton. That name was probably all over the news. Luke was smart. He’d receive the card and watch the news. He’d put together two and two without a second nudge.

  When Luke arrived in Palau, he’d need direction. Dimitri held on to the card. He had one errand before Liberty could depart. He set off down the dock. When he reached the end, his gaze paused on the flower garden that edged the shoreline. Moonlight shone on the orchids, and the memory of Ivy in his arms hit him like a fist.

  But what he was about to do wasn’t about Ivy. It was about a four-year-old boy he’d never met, and likely never would, but whom he loved fiercely all the same.

  He would see this plan through for Yulian and Sophia.

  He finished his task. After that, departure was simple. He’d been prepping for this for weeks. He glanced at his dive watch—a gift from Sophia when he joined the Coast Guard, and the only item he’d retained from his life as Parker Reeves—it had been less than fifteen minutes since he’d left Ivy in his bed, and already Liberty was pulling out of her slip. By the time she woke, it would be too late.

  The dark tinted windows in the captain’s stateroom couldn’t compete with the bright, tropical morning. Ivy woke slowly, taking stock of her surroundings before she committed to keeping her eyes open. The bed felt lonely, and she reached toward Jack’s pillow and found it empty.

  Disappointing, but she smiled, thinking of ways to convince him to return to bed.

  She rolled to her side. Her body was sore, both from the assault and the lovemaking. She focused on the good aches and tried to ignore the bad.

  Her sleepy gaze landed on a note and a flower on Jack’s side of the bed. She smiled and held the peach-colored orchid as she read the note.

  Ivy –

  I will never look at a peach moth orchid again without thinking of you. We need to talk about what happened at the party, but if we try to talk in my stateroom, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Join me for breakfast on the upper deck when you’re ready.

  – DV

  “DV” must stand for Death Valley, which made her laugh. She was eager to see him. Eager to touch him. She’d promised him it was a one-night hookup. Was it wrong that she wanted to extend it a few days? Maybe even for the rest of the time she was in Palau?

  But the Palau end date would be firm. She’d promised herself that once CAM was running, she’d attempt artificial insemination, so this was hardly the time to entertain fantasies of a relationship. No, this was about sex, pure and simple.

  She found her toiletries on the shelf in the master cabin bathroom. Head, she corrected herself. On a boat, the bathroom is called the head. Cabins are staterooms. The living room is a salon, and the kitchen is called the galley. She’d thought Patrick was pedantic over boating terminology, but she’d learned he wasn’t unique or even extreme. Boating people were sticklers for language.

  She washed up and dressed, then took the orchid with her when she left the stateroom. The curtains in the salon were closed tight, leaving most of the room in shadow. Sunlight poured through the rectangular hatch above the steep steps that were more ladder than stairs to the upper deck.

  She climbed, her bare feet silent on the treads as she emerged into the brilliant, blinding sunlight of morning in the tropics.

  She blinked and squinte
d. A table was arranged on the aft end of the upper deck. White tablecloth. Champagne bottle, fruit juice, and a vase filled with orchids arranged in the center. Jack stood next to the table, facing her.

  Warmth flooded her—entirely different from the heat of the equatorial sun that was scorching even at this early hour. Her heart fluttered just looking at him. Remembering the feel of his hands, the caress of his lips.

  She grinned and stepped forward, having eyes only for him. When he didn’t smile at seeing her, she faltered. Was he nervous about her morning-after reaction?

  Or was this a fancy kiss-off?

  She blinked again as her eyes adjusted to the light. She should have grabbed her sunglasses from her purse. She was half the distance to the table before she bothered to look left or right, to take in their surroundings. She vaguely remembered him moving the boat to another marina in the middle of the night.

  She stopped short, and her breath left her in a rush. The sunrise was behind Jack, meaning he stood to the east. Nothing but blue water to the north. Blue water to the south. She spun around. The port must be behind her, to the west.

  But no. There was nothing. Nothing but water stretched from Liberty to the horizon in all four cardinal directions and every degree on the compass in between.

  For the first time in her adult memory, she had no clue where on the planet she was.

  Chapter Seven

  Jack must’ve guessed how debilitating it would be for her to feel…unmoored. She was a cartographer. A GIS wizard. She was like a homing pigeon. She lived and breathed compass bearings as if mag north was implanted in her brain. And now she lacked her superpower. Wonder Woman sans lasso. Thor without his hammer.

  She grimaced. Best not to think of Thor. Batman was better. Yeah. Batman without his gadgets.