by Carol McPhee
When the waitress removed Rand's soup bowl and brought his entrée, she continued eating. The pressure of his gaze prevented her from enjoying the food though; she merely pushed the vegetables around on her plate. Was it the fact she worked with criminal elements that caused suspicion that something might be amiss, or was it an instinct warning her to be wary of this dynamic male?
"Aren't you hungry?"
Not having expected further conversation, she flinched. Her raised brow brought a suggestion from him. “Look, it's no fun eating alone. Do you mind if I join you?"
Her stomach played leapfrog. “Ah ... I d-don't mind."
"Good.” He moved his wineglass and dinner plate to her table, along with the loaf of bread that came with his order. The attentive waitress passed him his cap, which he laid on the corner of the table.
Lori waited for him to make some remark about her scar; he couldn't miss it at this close range. Most people shifted their view to anywhere but her face. Rand was different. He never broke eye contact, and she quickly developed an appreciation of his polite manners. It had been a long time since she'd had the pleasure of male company. Not since—well, that was over, no point in dredging up another part of the aftermath.
"Where did your companion go?” she asked.
"What companion?"
"The man who was with you when you came up to the lodge."
"Oh, he's an employee who helps with the navigation and stays on board when I'm not there."
"You'll be sleeping onboard tonight, won't you?"
"No."
"You have a bed at your command, free of charge, and you choose not to use it?” She suspended her fork just shy of her mouth.
"That's right. I like to get my land legs once in a while, so I'm staying in chalet eight."
"Next door to mine.” Lori chewed and swallowed her bite of chicken. He was right. It was more enjoyable eating with companionship. And much more interesting.
"Really?” A frown crept across his face. The way his deep brown eyes darkened even more she thought for a minute he was going to make some sexist remark, but he refrained from risking dissension. She couldn't help but smile at his quick realization: she wouldn't like being trifled with. She'd put up with enough of that for a lifetime when she'd gone through the trial. Her experience with her newly acquired volatile temper warned her that she would jump on him in a minute if he pushed her too hard.
"Did you know your face lights up when you smile?” Rand's question took her by surprise. She never thought much about smiling—she didn't have cause to these days.
"Doesn't everyone's?” Her words had a sarcastic bite. She realized she'd not had much reason to smile and that was one more thing she resented.
"Touché. I was out of line when I said, ‘hasn't everyone’ been in Halifax. I didn't mean for it to come out that way."
"No problem. I shouldn't have pried.” She sipped her ice water.
"Are you here alone?” He appeared to be making an effort to get past the ruffling he had caused.
"Yes."
Rand spread his napkin on his lap. “There isn't much to do around the resort by yourself, unless you want to vegetate."
"That's exactly what I want to do ... enjoy the serenity, use the workout room, swim, and paint. Actually, there's lots to do. I might rent a canoe and explore.” The smile he tossed gladdened her heart. She was amazed at how she suddenly felt lighter. It was fun to be argumentative and not have it thrown back in her face. Energy poured out of her pores, and she attacked her dinner with delight.
She finished her meal before he did, and rather than order a pricey dessert, she asked for coffee. She needed to do something with her hands that were nervously massaging up and down her thighs. Pretending a leisurely hold on a mug would keep them secure.
His expensive cologne, well-tailored navy blazer, and crisp white shirt, combined with his confident air, radiated wealth. Here was an individual who never had money worries like she had. Her medical coverage had carried her through the horrendous expenses involved in surgery and rehabilitation, but her sick-time income had run out, and her meager savings had been stretched to the limit with basic living expenses. If she couldn't go back to work soon, she'd be in dire straits. It would mean moving back home. The last thing her parents needed was a daily reminder she had cost them one of their daughters.
The coffee was strong and hot. Its aroma heightened her senses and sharpened her interest. A nagging doubt he was not as he seemed sifted through her mind. The forceful set of his chin and the deep penetration of his dark eyes stirred up images of the interrogations she'd been through, stabbing the inner sanctum where her judgments formed. She suspected he might want to extract information she preferred to keep buried.
"You didn't say where you were from.” She'd do some interrogating herself.
"The Thousand Islands area is my home, but I haven't lived there for a long time. I don't have any relatives there now. I ... I move around a lot."
"You live on the sea most of the time?"
"You could say that."
There was nothing to disprove what he said. His skin was weatherworn as if he'd faced the salty spray often, and his heavy tan suggested long hours in the outdoors. But his hands were smooth, his fingernails trimmed neatly, not broken. Surely cruising demanded a high degree of monkeying with the engine and handling ropes to tie up. His evasiveness was practiced.
"Tell me about yourself, Lori.” The sparkle in his eyes betrayed a hint of humor.
"There isn't much to tell. Born and brought up in Halifax, I work for the Justice Department ... at least, I did. Until I was in an accident.” She immediately wished she hadn't mentioned it. She wasn't looking for sympathy, yet within her soul she craved it along with someone to say they understood her torment.
"That's how you got the scar, right?"
"Yes."
"That must have been hard on you. Would you like to talk about it?"
She quieted and bent her head down again. Her hands began to shake, causing the coffee in the mug to swish. She set her mug down and fiddled with the edges of her napkin. “I'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind."
She had no intention of disclosing her private agony to this stranger. It would mean rehashing the nightmare, and she would find it hard to keep the acid taste of a churning stomach from her throat. No. He didn't need to be privy to her dark side. She was here to get away from those malignant thoughts. They sucked the breath from her and demolished any chance for peace.
Two
Dammit! Of all the places in the world to chose, why did Lori Wheeler have to pick this resort? Rand recognized her the minute he glanced up at the restaurant window.
His thoughts raced over why his visit to Lochaber Haven was so vital and couldn't be allowed disruption of any kind. Most people came here for recreation and relaxation, but he'd come on an undercover assignment. At the first indication he wasn't what he appeared, his chance to make a serious dent in the province's drug smuggling would be blown, and he'd likely end up beneath the ocean he traveled. He wouldn't have been in the courthouse six months ago if the prosecutor in a drug bust case had been more certain of the evidence the RCMP presented. And that was the way of it. The damn smugglers had friends in the right places to make threats or see that evidence disappeared. Rand's luck had held and he hadn't had to break his cover. He hoped it would still be with him. This time he was after bigger fish—especially the man who arranged for the shipments—Malcolm Warner.
Intelligence reports indicated that the largest drug ring in the province had chosen the Eastern Shore as a base for bringing in illegal substances. Although they wouldn't be landing the drugs at the resort's dockside, the gang would be conducting the operations a short distance down the coast, while the ring leaders hid behind the guise of respectable businessmen on holiday at Lochaber.
Earlier in the week, a yacht, suspected of transferring drugs from coastal freighters, had gone down on rocky shoals off Nova Scoti
a. This incident inspired Rand's plan and had won support from RCMP headquarters. During a drug raid some time ago, a larger yacht had been confiscated just inside Canadian waters—the Destiny could substitute for the sunken boat as bait. So far, the arrangement had progressed smoothly. His mission today—cast the hook.
When Rand realized he was staring up at Miss Wheeler with his mouth agape, his exasperation knew no bounds. Smart, Rand, real smart. He clamped his mouth shut and hurried into the sports rental office after his mate to check out the type of watercraft available. It seemed they rented only paddleboats and canoes, which offered no danger to his plan.
Rand didn't mentioned to George that a sticky problem had suddenly appeared in the appearance of Lori Wheeler upstairs. He had to check her out. She might only have stopped here for a meal. The problem would lay with her staying any length of time. She could ruin their plans if she remembered seeing him in the courtroom and casually mentioned it to any of the dangerous guests now booked into the lodge. Malcolm Warner was as smart as he was shifty and might think in terms of police surveillance, automatically be on guard, and move his operation someplace else.
I'll check her out quickly before she can cause trouble. Damn. She works with the law, and if this mission weren't top secret, I could get her cooperation. I can't have loose ends, though—the stakes are too high. Rand's mind rushed back to when their eyes had locked in the courtroom, then dwelled on what happened after those heart-stopping moments.
Rand had felt an unusual bond watching her disappointment in court. He understood her anger and frustration. With the dismissal of the teenage driver's charge, spectators began to file out of the courtroom, cursing the lack of fairness; others rallied around her. With her parents flanking each side, she hurried out of the courtroom. He had a feeling that she left her belief in justice at the courthouse door. Rand had looked around to make certain everyone else had left the courtroom and they were alone, then ambled over to the prosecutor. “It must drive you around the bend, Jim, to see these guys get off."
"You know it does. With his previous record, the guy probably did run the light, but one charge, a year ago, doesn't prove he did it this time. And the judge wouldn't allow it to be entered as evidence. I really thought that kid would hold up under cross-examination, but by the time the defense lawyer was through with him, he didn't remember his own name. He only wanted the notoriety of being on the stand."
"The driver only got caught the one time. Now he'll go out and do it again and take someone else's life,” Rand muttered.
"I know, but we do the best we can under the circumstances. I thought there might be hope that the judge would take one glance at how pathetic Lori looked and swing the case in our favor. She was cool and collected on the stand."
"She seemed to have difficulty accepting the ruling,” Rand said. “I wanted to say something encouraging to her, but you know how it goes ... The good guys don't always win."
"There was a rumor going around that she wouldn't be able to get her act together if the case fell apart, which it did. She might not get past this."
"Like the rest of us, she'll have to."
"What are you doing now that your own case has wound down, Rand?"
"I'm going after the guts of the smuggling operation, and this time there'll be no weaseling out of the charges. You'll be hearing from me soon.” Rand smiled, thinking of the lengths they were going to now.
"Don't you get tired of the thankless job of chasing after criminals?"
"Don't you get tired of seeing charges through to trial only to have the perpetrators get off scot-free, Jim?"
"I get exasperated and fed up. I even consider another line of work once in a while, but we get convictions on many of the rotten apples. To know the streets are safer with at least some of the jerks behind bars is rewarding.” The lawyer finished stuffing his papers into his briefcase. “I'd ask you to walk me out, but you're better off not being seen with me."
Rand had waited a few minutes, pulled his cap low, and strolled out of the courthouse. He remembered walking down the steps thinking over what the prosecutor had said. His work was satisfying at times and he thrilled in the excitement of matching wits against those determined to break the law. The most cunning of all were the drug traffickers, who stopped at nothing to line their pockets. He had even considered that if his job were less dangerous, he'd like to start a family. He'd come close once, but had backed off knowing he couldn't quell his thirst to see these criminals off the streets. How could he allow loved ones to suffer anxiety awaiting his return?
"Do you want me to stay on the boat all night?” George's voice in the rental office yanked Rand's mind back to reality.
"Yes. We can't leave it unprotected. I've reserved a chalet so it will be easier for our informer to contact me. He's here already; that's how I know Warner is here now. I'm going up to the dining room to have a meal and wait to see if my plan to meet the scum falls into place. Do you want a bite to eat before you go back to the boat?"
"No, thanks. My stomach hasn't settled from the rough waves we ran into coming here. Next time, let me travel by land to the rendezvous, okay?"
"Maybe we should just convince the crooks to bring in their drugs by horse and buggy, making it easier for everybody, George."
His partner laughed and thumped Rand on the back before going back down to the Zodiac.
Once inside the lodge, Rand registered, then entered the dining room, scouting the window tables. Damn, she's still here. He deliberately chose the table in front of her with a hope of catching any glimmer of recognition. Her face was turned away from him and he wondered what was going through her mind. She was so deep in thought she never budged when he pulled out a chair and scuffed it against the green carpet, then noisily banged it against the table leg. A few minutes passed during which she remained focused on his yacht. This is exasperating; I've got to get a handle on her thoughts.
He had to determine whether she was safe to have here. This was the part he hated about his job—the need to limit the freedom of innocents. He'd know within a few minutes if she remembered him. Years of conducting interrogations had developed his skill for detecting anxiety. If she recognized him, she'd have no reason to hide it; yet should she try, with his experience of seeing her in court—nerves raw—he'd pick up on the telltale signs he'd already observed. Fidgety hands rubbing her thighs, darting eyes—yeah, her nervous reaction would be a snap to read.
Rand skimmed over the resort's brochure that the receptionist had given him last week when he'd cased the place. The lodge's main building nestled in the evergreens and white birches alongside the small river. The brown rustic structure housed the restaurant, conference rooms, and gift shop. Across the parking lot, near the tennis court and shuffleboard, the lodge's spa contained a workout room and pool. Quiet riverside cottages stretched beyond it. But across the highway, linked by a tunnel, sat fifteen chalets with fireplaces and little verandas overlooking the froth and roar of rapids. The brochure advertised romance and seclusion, but Rand shook his head. Lochaber Haven's compact area made contact amongst guests unavoidable if they strolled the grounds. His problem of recognition had to be faced now while he had time to deal with it.
When he opened the conversation with, “You like my yacht?” and sat down, she was startled by his voice and shifted her attention to him. Her quick glance around the room gave him the impression she wanted to run. Damn. Did she recognize him? Or was it merely a nervous habit caused by his intrusion into her privacy? He regretted not lending her moral support, yet the fact he hadn't might save her considerable inconvenience now. Was it him, or would any man make her uncomfortable?
His adversaries were to arrive at any moment; his plan to rout them out hung on the preservation of his false identity. This complication of her appearance had to be handled with tact and speed—the skills sharpened by his experience.
It had been a long time since he'd bothered trying to charm a woman, and he stifled an urge to
laugh when he asked politely to join her. Nonetheless, the pleasure he felt at her permission surprised him. There was no discounting she was pretty and could have attracted any male's eye, yet she chose to retain that ugly scar. Why?
Rand found he enjoyed her company. Though she had a tendency to probe his background, it couldn't be construed as more than natural curiosity. She'd calmly passed off any familiarity she'd noticed. He glanced at his watch, surprised to see how much time had elapsed and he still hadn't determined how much she knew. The men would be coming to dinner soon, time was wasting, yet...
"Are you having dessert?” he asked.
"No, I don't think so, but you go ahead."
He could have ended their meal right then, persuaded of her innocence. Already slender, he noted that she obviously didn't need to watch her weight, but money might be a problem. “Hmm. I don't have room for a whole piece of lemon pie. Say, would you share it with me so I won't feel guilty if I don't eat it all?"
Her face lit up.
The waitress placed the wedge of mile-high meringue pie in the table's center, giving each of them a plate. Rand sliced it in half, lengthwise. Lori neatly slipped a section onto her plate and didn't protest when the waitress refilled their mugs with fresh coffee.
"What's there to do around here in the evening, Miss Wheeler?” Rand took a bite and welcomed the infusion of tart goodness into his taste buds.
"If I'm sharing your food, I don't mind if you call me Lori.” She smiled as she let her fork break slowly through the fluff.
Rand watched as she closed her eyes, taking her time to absorb the lemony flavor before she chewed and swallowed. The sparkle when she opened them again lit something in him as well. He had a strong urge to reach over and wipe off a wayward bit of meringue at the corner of her mouth. She apparently felt the tickle and licked it off with a well-placed swipe of her tongue. Her gesture didn't help his determination not to be attracted to her. He sighed; her appreciation for a delicious taste had been what distracted her. She wouldn't be flaunting a sexual come-on. He almost wished she were. He wondered what besides food might bring her delight.
