Means To An End

by Carol McPhee

  "If you're wanting to fill in the evening with activity, Mr. McDougall, there's the workout room and the pool, too. On a foggy night like this, it wouldn't be wise to explore the area."

  "I don't suppose it would."

  They soon finished the pie, yet leisurely sipped at their coffee. Neither had qualms about looking at the other. She hadn't given any serious indication of recognizing him. Lucky her. But could he be absolutely sure?

  * * * *

  Lori wondered if there was something on her forehead that shrieked out: I can't afford dessert, but it took only a few seconds to succumb. She craved something sweet, something that would prolong her enjoyment of company for a meal, even if at first she'd been rattled by Rand's approach. With no burning desire to venture through the fog to the lonely cabin that awaited, she couldn't resist the simple ease of being with him. Nor could she resist his smile. She knew what hell her nights brought. Her evenings were long because of her habit of staying up late to hold off the nightmares.

  "I have TV on the boat."

  She scanned the room. Lucky him.

  "Would you care to join me and watch a movie there?” His invitation packed a wallop, throwing her emotions into chaos. To be entertained in grand surroundings would give her morale a healthy boost, but what would it do to her sense of propriety? He was a stranger. She'd made so many wrong choices lately she had little faith in herself left.

  She was about to refuse when a group of boisterous men entered the dining room and pulled her attention away from him. When she looked back at Rand, she saw he was studying the newcomers with interest. What surprised her was the tense way he held his body—back rigid, a death grip on his coffee spoon. Abruptly he dumped more sugar into his coffee, stirring it briskly, yet maintaining his watch. She wondered why they made him edgy. Did he know these men? He certainly displayed more than a casual curiosity.

  There were four new arrivals, dressed smartly in cotton pants and dark golf shirts—the kind with the little alligator on the pocket. As they moved to a reserved table, a sickening blend of strong colognes floated across the dining room and left an acrid taste in her mouth. Suddenly Rand looked at his watch. “My offer expires in thirty seconds."

  Jeez, he'd jacked up the pressure. He must know he'd placed her in a conundrum by asking. Most women probably leapt at the chance to go on board. And the worst part: she wanted to do so. Other females had lower morals than she, judging by the number that turned up in court for various crimes of passion. Thirty seconds to beat this around in my head isn't long enough. I need an hour. Damn. Thirty seconds must be up by now. I came to give myself a change—staying in the same old rut might keep me safe, but it won't improve my mental state.

  "Time's up. Verdict?"

  She felt like Humpty Dumpty. One gust of wind could blow her either way. “I'd like to watch a movie."

  She surprised herself. Like a mindless fool she jumped at the offer. She'd willingly exposed herself to something she'd never normally do—accompany a stranger to his lair. Or was it to adventure?

  "Then shall we make it in an hour?"

  The crinkly lines from his eyes told her he was pleased she'd accepted, but she wished they showed surprise. Now she felt as if she'd been set in the category of every other woman who couldn't resist wealth.

  "I'll bring the Zodiac to the dock and pick you up.” He signaled for the bill, then his gaze wandered back to the group. Something had changed in his attitude. His dismissal brought forth a sudden vexation, yet also aroused her curiosity.

  "That's fine with me.” She kept her voice even, not giving away the fact that now she was irked and not only that but super suspicious. She'd just recognized one of the strangers. Maybe she needed to work on her mental acuity as well as her emotions.

  Lori doubted she would actually go to his yacht. She didn't know Rand, didn't know if he could be trusted, and she had a low opinion of men loose on their own. She'd learned the hard way from her fiancé—he had strayed while she'd been undergoing intensive physical rehabilitation.

  Why had she put herself in the nerve-wracking position of having to cancel out with a lame excuse when Rand came to pick her up? She could well imagine that her turnabout would aggravate the hell out of him. It could be a self-destructive way of seeking revenge for his quick termination of what she considered a rare moment's enjoyment. She had changed these past months and she definitely needed to work on moderating her abrupt, illogical decisions. Still though, a start might be to take his invitation at face value.

  "I know one of those men,” Rand said. “I'd better go over and speak with him. I'll see you later, then?"

  She didn't tell him she knew about one of them, too. “I'll be at the dock in an hour."

  He'd given her the last right of refusal and she had knocked it from her grasp. She fished in her purse for her credit card.

  "Let me cover this. I'm going to order a steak for George, my first mate, as well, and while I'm waiting, I'll visit with my friend."

  "No, thanks. I'll pay my own way. I always do.” She stared down his attempt to exert his authority. He shook his head and yielded.

  Lori limped by the table of strangers, conscious of each man's scrutiny. She glanced only momentarily at them, but it was long enough to confirm her recognition of the distinguished man facing her. Malcolm Warner's eyes widened and he nodded. Lori smiled politely and continued on. She'd seen him several times at the courthouse and often heard prison guards bemoan the fact he always got off the hook. A shady businessman known to deal with criminal elements, was he the man Rand knew? When she reached the doorway, she discreetly half-turned and looked over her shoulder. Rand was speaking with one of the other men, then shook hands with the rest. Her spirit dropped a notch. Her suspicion stayed high. What was the connection?

  Making her way to chalet number seven, Lori wondered why Rand hadn't suggested watching TV in his cabin instead of the boat. She knew that no matter what she would never have consented to go into such intimate surroundings with him. Probably he sensed it, too. The lure of a magnificent yacht would tempt even the most disciplined nature. And she was hardly disciplined these days. Her moods shifted with the wind. It wasn't wise to go to the yacht, either, but there was someone else on board, so it wasn't as if they were alone. Sick of her own company, she longed for something different, which was why she was here in the first place. Put in perspective, she wanted the simple warmth of a human connection away from a medical situation.

  As eight o'clock approached, second thoughts brought regret; she'd been too hasty. Although she wouldn't like spending the evening alone, especially with the eerie fog swirling outside, it might be considerably safer than keeping company with a host whom she now knew had criminal connections.

  Betwixt and between, she injected herself with a shot of bravery. She'd been living a life devoid of excitement for too long. She needed to feel alive once more, to break clear of the shadows that haunted her every breathing moment. More must have been injured than her leg and face—her common sense. Common sense would advise against boarding a yacht alone on a dark murky night.

  Lori trudged along breathing in the woodland scents that permeated the mist. Her weak leg ached with the dampness, forcing her to use care to avoid putting excessive pressure on it. The cool September air felt good against her skin. A general haze from the outdoor lights lent an ethereal glow to her surroundings, conjuring up illusions of mystery and danger. In the distance she heard the mystical call of a loon.

  She could barely see the cottages as she passed by, so she hurried her pace in an uneven flow, careful not to stumble. If it hadn't been for the light standards strategically placed, she would have had to turn in at the lodge and borrow a flashlight to go down the steps. The dock's slippery surface could send her into the water with one minute's carelessness.

  All was quiet with none of the usual bubbling activity to give her comfort. As she stood alone in the silence, her thoughts concentrated on Rand's eyes. Why did his d
ark gaze seem so familiar? She must have acquired a new fetish for allowing minor details to taunt her imagination.

  The sound of a paddle dipping through the still water brought her mind back to a looming awareness—she was no longer alone. She shuddered. This is a mistake. She peered through the fog in the direction of the sound and saw a form gradually materialize. Was it Rand?

  Nerve endings strung to fever pitch, Lori hugged her arms tight against her body to try and stem their trembling. Her apprehension heightened upon recognizing the rubber craft as it nosed into sight. When he became visible, her heart skipped a beat, then raced at breakneck speed. Her instincts warned—turn back!

  The fluttering in her stomach unleashed a wave of nausea, but she fought the onslaught down. If she detected danger once onboard, she could dive over the rail. Her swimming expertise would hold her in good stead and he'd not find her in the pea soup night.

  The question was would she make it to the rail? This new man in her life had strong will written all over him—in his speech, in his penetrating stare, and in the steeled self-assurance of his stride to the table of unsavory individuals. She wished she knew what had transpired in the conversation that followed.

  "Hello, there. You aren't backing out?” The oars rested across Rand's knees as he squinted against the light.

  "You expected me to?” She raised one brow. Suddenly, she felt proud that she had shown up and proved she was up to a challenge.

  A sly grin crossed his mouth. “I thought you'd find some excuse not to come."

  She wondered how he would have handled it if she had chickened out at the last minute. Not very well, she'd bet. “Good.” She returned his grin. “It shows you can't second guess me with any precision."

  She noticed his face switched to a frown. For some reason, he didn't appreciate her take on the matter.

  "Let me give you a hand.” He held the bobbing craft close to the wharf deck with one hand and stretched up to guide her arm with the other.

  Her stretch black pants made movement easy, but she appreciated his supporting pressure when she stepped onto the unstable territory. He eased her into the seat at the bow, facing him, then paddled the boat back to his yacht. She focused on the silent motor attached at the stern, rather than risk quaking under his scrutiny. What need would there be for a pleasure craft to have a fast-moving Zodiac on board like the Coast Guard used?

  Once they reached the Destiny, Rand's mate helped her onto the deck by way of a short rope ladder. Rand tied the Zodiac to the yacht and climbed up behind her.

  "Lori, I'd like you to meet George. George, this is Miss Wheeler."

  "Good evening, Miss Wheeler."

  Lori extended her hand and received an overly firm grasp. “Hello, George. Please call me Lori."

  The dark deck didn't allow her to see George's face as clearly as she had been able to see Rand's under the wharf lights. Ushered into a lounge, she turned and stared into glacial blue eyes and a mouth stretched in a tight downward curve. She knew in that moment George didn't want her here. The hair on the back of her neck bristled. She didn't need this additional insecurity. Butterflies in her stomach were already playing musical chairs.

  A huge, heavy-set man with receding hairline and ruddy cheeks, George's silence did nothing to bolster her confidence. He was no hired help; he held himself too straight and proud, his keen eyes scrutinized her too pointedly to appear only moderately interested. The glance he sent Rand's way was one no employee would dare send aloft. She wasn't welcome and he didn't try to hide it. When she glanced at Rand, he was studying George's scowl as well. She'd bet dollars to doughnuts these two had argued and it had to do with her presence. The big question in her mind was, why?

  * * * *

  Rand glared at his partner, trying to divert George's attention from their guest back to him, but George remained focused on Lori. Rand regretted using his superior authority over George's logical reasoning. Their disagreement had started when he'd mentioned he'd extended an invitation for Lori to spend the evening on the Destiny. George had let loose with his reasons against having her here. That was one thing about working with George. Rand always knew where he stood.

  "You can't bring her here,” George had spouted. “She might pick up on something going on, either from the boat or from something you let slip if you get messing around."

  "This is strictly business. There will be no ‘messing around.’ I have to find out if she connects me with the courthouse. If she does, we'll have to get her away from here. She's one of the few I've interviewed that I can't read in a short time. I'm almost certain she didn't recognize me."

  "That's not good enough and you know it, Rand."

  "That's precisely why I had her come over. She asked prying questions, but they could be interpreted as natural ones. She's been through rough times. I don't want to make life more difficult for her if I don't have to.” Rand looped his fingers through his jeans’ belt loops. “I told you, she works for the Justice Department—in other circumstances I'd take her into our confidence. She's got a high security clearance, but we can't risk it this time, not after the failure of the last few drug busts. You know someone is getting the info to our targets."

  "If she works in the courthouse, those guys will know who she is. They've all been up on charges."

  "Why should that bother them?” Rand placed his hands on his hips in a defiant stance. “I explained to them that I'd just met her. Her presence might even be an advantage; they'll be on their best behavior. In fact, if she and I appear to be having a fling that may be a good way to avoid their suspicions. An undercover cop would never associate in public with someone who works with the law."

  George shrugged. “You have a point. But are you sure that's all it is? You've been without a serious attachment for some time and she's attractive, even with her scar. Why hasn't she had it fixed?"

  "I haven't a clue and it's one of things I'd like to find out.” He glimpsed a note of cynicism in George's face. “Rest assured, I'm not interested in an emotional entanglement. You know how strongly I feel about having anyone involved in my life."

  "I know, Rand, but someday you'll meet someone who won't simply disappear on your say so. Then you'll have to make some serious choices, and guess what?” George's eyes shone beneath Rand's scrutiny.

  "What? I've a feeling you're going to tell me anyway."

  "When you meet that someone, you'll fight the attraction with everything you have, but then you'll go down for the count just like the rest of us married guys. There won't be a thing you can do to stop it."

  Rand smiled, remembering how he'd scoffed at George's comments, but after all, he was the higher ranking officer and this mission was his responsibility. He'd lowered the Zodiac himself, while George had paced around, barking more observations on his single status. He'd had to turn a deaf ear until his partner settled down. He'd snapped back, “If you're through ranting, I'll go now and pick her up."

  "All I can say is be careful. We've gone too far to turn back. I'll make myself scarce so you can do what you have to do."

  Rand jumped into the present when George pressed his hand on his shoulder to get his attention and muttered, “I have things to do."

  Glancing from George's retreating figure to Lori's quizzical stare from the lounge window, he felt a bit foolish for his lapse in thought. He joined her, and placing his hand on her back, escorted her to a chesterfield against the outer wall. If she didn't remember him, a pretense at romance might be the way to go. It would cement his deception as a wealthy playboy writer, rip-roaring eager for excitement.

  He knew a foreign flagged coastal freighter due to anchor offshore would be carrying a multi-million dollar shipment. Through a CIA operative in the freighter's radio room, the RCMP knew the ship's approximate destination. The same source informed them of a delay in the ETA due to the storm. It was impossible to predict when it would arrive and that was in Rand's favor. It gave him more time to wheedle his way in with the men
responsible for accepting the cargo. They may not know yet that the yacht they had acquired to transfer those drugs had sunk. When they found out, they would need the Destiny. Lori's companionship could make his plan even more secure.

  "Oh! This is beautiful!” Her genuine appreciation of the opulent lounge brought a rush of pride. He couldn't figure out why her pleasure brought him such an asinine measure of joy. It wasn't his boat, but he had chosen to use it.

  "How long have you had the Destiny?"

  "I bought it last fall.” A thought occurred to him. I'll have to wing it and come up with answers on the spur of the minute. Her woman's point of view might spawn questions I hadn't counted on.

  "I've never been on a yacht before, but I often used to watch them come into Halifax's harbor. I hope you don't mind if I look around.” Lori didn't sit but wandered the room with her hands behind her back as she examined every detail.

  He liked the way she'd fastened the top part of her hair into a ponytail with a rhinestone clasp and let the rest hang free. Her fitted white blouse, tucked into her tight pants, effectively showed off her trim figure. She seemed proud of her sexuality with no trace of the defeated personality he'd observed in court. To his chagrin, he became aware of something stirring in his body and it wasn't caused by the chill in the air. The temperature must have risen outside or maybe George had turned on the blower to circulate heat. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

  One corner of the salon was devoted to a bar complete with stools. He watched her stroll over and climb onto one. Glasses and liquor were hidden from view, securely ensconced in closed walnut cupboards beneath the counter. She ran her fingers along the surface, then stared at the large TV that would give wide screen viewing for the evening's entertainment—hopefully relaxed viewing. He saw her gaze shift to the walnut coffee table that separated the black leather couch and matching chairs. A silver bowl filled with grapes perched on top. An end table of matching wood provided a base for the tall lamp presently casting a mellow glow. He heard her sigh.