Means To An End

by Carol McPhee

  "Malcolm, I'm looking forward to painting again. A seascape would be an easy start."

  "Then, by all means, go for it.” Malcolm's stoic expression gave no hint of what thoughts lay in his mind as he looked at her over the top of his menu. “I have to be in Halifax most of the day, tomorrow. I'm sorry, Lori.” His mouth curved in what she could only construe as a confident smirk. “Maybe you and I could see each other when I get back in the evening?"

  Her answer stuck in her throat. “I'd like that, but let's wait and see."

  She inwardly winced as the criminal's eyes narrowed. Perhaps she had gone too far. Truth was she didn't intend ever going anywhere with the creep. Rand was safer to be around.

  Malcolm paused long enough that she wondered if he would lash out his annoyance at being set aside by the likes of her, but he nodded. “It's a distinct possibility that I won't get back until late."

  For the present, Lori was happy to be firmly ensconced between her escorts. Having made headway with both, she decided it might make more sense to keep a balance, than oscillating between the two. Luck had placed her here, but she needed her wits about her to maintain the precarious spot. Once on board the Destiny again, her mind wouldn't be focusing on her artwork or on being alone with Rand, but on the chart Malcolm had asked her about.

  It only took a few moments to choose what she wanted from the menu. The seafood casserole, with the ingredients listed, sounded good, and with her decision to absorb what she could from each man, her appetite rose. Both men ordered steak. Malcolm ordered a bottle of the house red wine to go with the meal and poured a round when the waitress brought it to the table. He held up his glass. “To a splendid meal and good company."

  The others joined in, and with her first confident sip of wine, Lori knew she had her plan underway.

  The room's rustic charm, increased by logs flaming in the fireplace, should have given rise to a sense of ease between acquaintances in the midst of socializing. But it didn't, at least not in her view. She assumed the undercurrent was caused by hidden agendas. Obviously, the men weren't planning to reveal their secrets to her and maintained a guarded stance.

  The pressure was akin to teetering on the edge of a crater. Lori gazed out the window and took the plunge. “This room has a wonderful bird's eye view of the cove, and speaking of birds, look at the blue jays scrapping for food on those bird feeders."

  Her chatter was neutral, but without response it would hang in midair like a wedge driven between them.

  Rand came to her aid when he nudged her elbow and said, “Look at the mourning doves.” Lori and Malcolm stared at two brownish birds peacefully feeding amidst the screeching fray of their blue brethren. Rand added, “The doves ignore the fighting jays, but they should watch their backs."

  Damn. Was he classifying her as a dove in trouble? She'd worry if Malcolm saw her that way.

  "People should follow the doves’ example and ignore those who try to cause problems. Do you agree, Mr. Warner?” She clamped her mouth shut; she'd said too much of what was on her mind. She didn't want him to take offense by linking her comparison to her male companions; it might put him on edge.

  A mere grunt from Malcolm answered her worry. “Call me, Malcolm, I said."

  His failure to contribute more led to a gap in the conversation. Her stomach knotted. It wasn't a request; the terse order and the force with which he had spoken startled her. Rand furrowed his brow and glowered. Malcolm came up with another fake smile.

  While Malcolm surveyed the other guests in the room, Lori studied Rand. She thought she understood why Malcolm's tone had been sharp: possibly he resented Rand's good looks. Rand's rugged complexion and strong features boasted of a tough masculinity that Malcolm couldn't hope to acquire with his pox-scarred face and overweight physique. The smoky depths in Rand's eyes inspired any normal female to dreams that should be censored. And he wouldn't have to use slick words to maintain his appeal. Somehow, she had to get them all on a better footing or the time together would be wasted.

  "What is it George had to repair? The Destiny looked fit.” She tried to think of a topic that might spark up the conversation and develop a common interest that would eliminate friction.

  "She is okay,” Rand replied, “but she's taken some beatings from the storms we encountered on the way here."

  "There's nothing seriously wrong with her is there, Rand?” Malcolm's sudden concern regarding the yacht told her that the drug lord had a tenuous hold of command at best. Rand's ownership and skill exerted real power.

  "Nothing to worry about,” Rand said. “We had to make a few minor adjustments to take out a glitch in the motor. I'm certain she'll run smoother than before. George is a crackerjack mechanic."

  The men launched into mechanical jargon that Lori didn't understand, but the break in spotlighting her provided the chance to concentrate on what lay ahead. Somehow she had to get to the chart, but would she understand the markings when she found it? She couldn't steal the map; it would land her in too much danger should Rand discover it missing. There had to be a way to gather the information accurately and get it to Sergeant McCormick. An idea popped into her head. How simple. She could do it. She sat back and sipped her wine.

  As the waitress served their dinners, Rand smiled up at her. “Could you please see that a meal like this is sent over to my mate on the Destiny?"

  The waitress nodded and kept her eyes on Rand as she served the others. Lori found her prickly reaction to the woman's salivating alarming—one more irritating response she could attribute to Rand's influence. She'd never felt a pang of jealousy with her fiancé. Fortunately, the tantalizing aroma wafting up from the attractively arranged food pushed her unwanted response aside. The edgy mood at the table left as they all settled in to enjoy the meal.

  Lori should have soaked up the peaceful interlude and left it at that, but halfway through her meal she realized time was wasting. She'd hoped to learn something of value, but nothing had presented itself. Growing restless, she made a daring stab in the dark.

  "Tell me, Mr. Wa ... Malcolm, what do you do for a living?"

  The muscles along Rand's jaw twitched.

  "I'm in the import business. I deal in goods from Central America."

  "Which country do you deal with most?"

  "Panama."

  The curt answer didn't put her off target. Perseverance was what had got her through her tortuous rehabilitation. “I've heard Panama is notorious for its drug trade. But I'm sure you'd be careful to avoid that dirty business.” She smiled as disarmingly as she could.

  She noticed Malcolm's grip on his steak knife handle tightened as he cut off a piece of meat. On her other side, she heard Rand's quick expulsion of air, then felt the tap of his toe against her foot. Only fishing for a bit of information, she detected insecurity in the gaze Malcolm directed at her. She'd touched a sore spot. This was an unexpected break in his composure, leading her to think more could be learned from the smuggler boss at this moment. She dismissed the grazing foot with a quick kick, then admired Rand's poker face.

  "I've always been fascinated by Central America. Have you ever been there, Malcolm?"

  "I go down often,” he muttered. He offered nothing more.

  She leaned toward him and pressed the issue. “Do you have friends or relatives there?"

  The question seemed innocent enough to her, yet the tension hadn't abated.

  "I'm afraid we're neglecting Rand here.” Malcolm's tone was suddenly amiable, effectively shutting her down. Lori glanced at their companion and noticed a deep wash of red flaming up from Rand's open shirt. Embarrassment or temper?

  Rand had to be doing a slow burn because she was too friendly with a man skilled at attracting women.

  Malcolm's next question brought her attention back to the smuggler. “Lori, perhaps now that you know me better you'd like to reconsider that drive tonight?"

  She hated the shifty gleam in his eyes. They weren't just a deep brown; they were bla
ck with the kind of darkness that encourages a person to avoid back alleys at night. She never batted an eye or gave pause for thought. “I'm sorry, Malcolm, but I promised Rand another chance to beat me at chess. He seems to think I won by a fluke last night, and I want to prove it was more than luck. You do understand, don't you?"

  Rand straightened against the back of his chair as if bracing himself. His eyes stayed on his dinner plate for a moment, then he turned to Malcolm. “She's a sharp player, no doubt about it. It'll take considerable time to establish which of us has the most skill."

  When he unexpectedly glanced at her, his rescue needed no explanation. If a polished technique could melt a heart, hers would soon heat to the boiling point. He'd supplied a safe harbor.

  "Yes, of course. We'll try for tomorrow night.” Malcolm's quick understanding seemed out of character from her friend, Sam's warning of danger.

  She nodded, pleased that with Rand's support she'd managed to avoid outright rejection. If she were to get anything from Malcolm, it had to be within range of other people. Isolation with him would be hazardous to her health.

  Malcolm opened up with amusing stories of his stays at the lodge. Lori made a mental note of the dates to pass on to the sergeant.

  "Lori, do you want to come over to the boat directly from dinner?” Rand asked.

  At such close range, their eyes mere inches away, she was forced to look directly into his face. His good looks aroused a strong urge for her to accompany him wherever he went. Something was vastly familiar about the reflection of strength in Rand's eyes.

  "Sure.” She focused on him; every part of her body tensed. “Have you ever had your picture in the newspaper, Rand?"

  "Not that I know of. Why?"

  "I've thought from the beginning you looked familiar, but I can't place where I could have seen you."

  His eyes sparked irritation, becoming deeper in color, more intense. Rand's jaw twitched. She'd caught him off-guard. His eyes never left hers. The power of their depth brought the courtroom vision back. Her body numbed. That day, her glance around the room had fallen on two other eyes burning with the same intensity he displayed now. At the time, she could barely see the owner; only a granite chin and his two mesmerizing eyes were visible under his cap. They impaled her with their outrage.

  The clamor of dishes and voices around her faded to a dull rumble. Rand dropped his gaze, and she suddenly felt cheated when he shifted his attention to his coffee. She didn't trust her voice to speak and could only watch as he added sugar, knowing he'd already put in a teaspoonful.

  "They say everyone has a twin,” he muttered, “maybe you met mine.” He didn't look up, but aimlessly stirred.

  Lori almost knocked the spoon from his fingers as she waited for him to try drinking the mixture. When he finally took a mouthful, his expression didn't change. Fascinated at his resilience, she almost remarked aloud. She glanced at Malcolm, but he wasn't watching Rand, he was eyeing her.

  "I've been having the same thought about Rand. Think back carefully, Lori. Where have you been lately?"

  She had tweaked Malcolm's memory—tension around the table intensified. So, he and Rand were not tightly bound. “I've been too many places to remember,” she countered, trying to repress any display of emotion. “Rand isn't from Halifax. I'm thinking now that I just saw someone who looked like him. I'd remember him for sure. He'd be using his charm to lure women onto his yacht."

  "I usually have an excellent memory,” Malcolm grumbled. Then he brightened. “It'll come to me. Anyone care for another slice of this warm bread?"

  The stilted dinner conversation between Rand and Malcolm changed to a muffled drone as Lori's thoughts filled with memories of the trial and her outburst. Rand was the owner of the marvelous eyes that had fascinated her. She remembered that when she'd stood alone above the spectators how his eyes had transmitted their support even though she had made a spectacle of herself with her outburst. His steady gaze had left a deep impression long after she'd finished her tirade.

  "Lori?” Rand's rich voice penetrated her musings.

  "Yes?"

  "Do you want dessert?"

  "Uh, n-no thank y-you.” Her nerve failed her now. She avoided looking at either of the men. Tears threatened as one question revolved in her mind, steamrolling over all others.

  Why hadn't he told her he had been in the courtroom?

  "Do you feel all right?” Rand's breath brushed the top of her hair as he moved to pull out her chair.

  "She's probably tired,” Malcolm cut in. “Perhaps she should just chill at the chalet this evening instead of taxing her mind with chess."

  "No. I'm fine. It's crowded in here; the noise is getting to me. A chess game will be fun."

  Rand smiled his satisfaction. Obviously, she'd pleased him by not trying to escape his company. “Then let's go to the yacht now."

  She nodded, biding her time until she found it convenient to quiz him.

  Malcolm resignedly reached for his wallet. “You two run along. I'll cover the bill."

  Rand raised his hand in a motion to halt. “That's not necessary."

  "It's my pleasure. Perhaps George will forgive my rudeness if you tell him I paid for his meal."

  Lori murmured, “I enjoyed the dinner; thank you."

  With this opportunity to leave, she immediately rose. She needed fresh air. Being part of the circumstances that led to Rand's incarceration after he'd helped her in court depressed her. The war raging within her was almost too much to bear. Why was her life so complicated when she had come to Lochaber to simplify it?

  She was happy to be free of the tense confinement as she walked with Rand to the dock. The lowering sun cast an amber sheen across the still water. The ripples from the Zodiac danced upriver as Rand navigated to the yacht. When they boarded, George came from the bow, wiping his hands on a paper napkin. After his previous surly nature, Lori expected further resentment from the ill-tempered crewmember and inhaled a deep fortifying breath.

  "Hello, Miss Wheeler. I'm glad to see you weren't scared off by me on your earlier visit. I was rude and hope you can overlook my poor manners.” His accommodating tone and sheepish grin shocked her. He turned to Rand. “Thanks for the dinner; it was good.” The shy sincerity in eyes now beaming instead of frosting over drew a warm reciprocating smile from her, until she remembered he, too, must be part of the illicit activities. She looked away to avoid letting George see her distrust.

  Why couldn't all criminals portray themselves as mean and cruel, making it easy to hate them at first glance? Rand was a case in point. His smooth easy assurance as he sat by her at dinner had been comforting until he had interfered when she grilled Malcolm. Yet, Rand's generosity had allowed her to use him as a haven from Malcolm's unwanted attentions. Maybe he wasn't as deeply involved as she thought. Maybe he could be saved. Then again, maybe he had an ulterior motive himself. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she flinched. To cover her instinctive recoil, she coughed and excused herself. “I want to watch the sun go down from the stern."

  * * * *

  Rand nodded and watched as Lori made her way to the bench at the rear. He breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be back on board where he could keep an eye on her. Her boldness at dinner had been exasperating. She could have exposed him to more suspicion with her line of questioning. She didn't seem to have the sense to understand that Warner wouldn't hesitate to have either of them killed if he thought for a minute they were against him.

  Something else troubled him. Lori had deliberately distracted Malcolm from thinking he'd seen him before somewhere. Why? He played it over in his mind. Then he knew. She'd figured out where she had seen him.

  Rand appreciated her attempt to end the dissension she had caused at the table. He'd unwisely taken a risk by annoying Warner, but whether she knew it or not, she needed protection from their host. Her inexperienced prying might have brought disaster upon both of their heads. He had no one to blame but himself. He should never have
involved her, but to remove her now might tip Malcolm off. Hell, things couldn't get much worse.

  Watching Malcolm leer at her through dinner was bad enough, but Rand had nearly suffered heart failure when she doggedly began to question the drug boss. She hadn't picked up on the fact Malcolm didn't like it. What was she trying to prove? Didn't she realize he wasn't a man to be trifled with? She must be going after more than he, as Sergeant McCormick, had asked for, taking the danger to a higher level.

  He didn't want her anywhere near the damn drug dealer. Now he had to concentrate on keeping her out of trouble from whatever misguided plans she'd concocted. There was one saving grace, however. At her own volition, she had intruded into his life, then suddenly protected him from Malcolm's inquisitiveness. A strange sense of joy lit up his whole being. Now if he could just take her into his confidence...

  "Looks like you might have a problem there, Rand. Are you planning to tell her who we are?” George asked.

  Rand glanced over to be certain Lori was still at the stern, far enough away to not hear them talk. “I'm considering it, but I don't know.” He swept his hand through his hair and groaned. “Can you tell me why she isn't throwing herself at me to get information, George? Why wouldn't it be natural for her to try to seduce me? She thinks I have information the police need, yet she hasn't tried to draw it out of me."

  "Maybe, you don't turn her on."

  "That's been obvious from the beginning. Wipe that smile off your face.” Rand shrugged. He knew he'd left himself wide open for that one. “I can't figure her out and it's driving me crazy. I'll tell you one thing, before this evening is over, I will have figured her out."

  "What was it I said about someday meeting your match?” George raised a hand to cover his smile.

  "You're dreaming if you think she can plow me under,” Rand replied, frowning. With his hands in his pocket, he rolled his head in an attempt to loosen the tightness in his neck muscles that occurred every time Lori threw him a curve.

  "Just remember you heard it first from me."