Means To An End

by Carol McPhee

  Rand moved closer to George. “We're going to be playing chess all evening. If you'd like to make use of the pool and workout room, feel free to leave the boat."

  "Why don't I do that, then go and read in your chalet? I could even stay there tonight.” George winked. “That'll give you as long as you like alone with her."

  Rand's mouth tightened as he looked in Lori's direction and pondered what approach to try this time. With a playful slap on Rand's back, George went below to collect his things. Rand hesitated before joining his guest. Something had changed when Lori met up with George's better side. He'd felt her uncertainty, saw her face pale with suspicion. She'd withdrawn into herself and away from him once again. If she'd only be the resolute interrogator she'd been with Malcolm, he could clue into her thoughts. Then he'd sit her down, ask her not to get angry, and tell her how things were. Now in going to face her, he wasn't sure he could predict her reaction. She was too anxious to leap into the fray, too inexperienced with danger to be of much use, and too damn distracting.

  * * * *

  The voices of Rand and George were muffled as they wafted across the yacht to Lori's perch at the stern. She watched the sun's orange ball of fire nip the tops of the trees edging the shoreline. The serenity of the sunset's quiet hour eased her agitation, but didn't relieve a dull ache just starting to make its presence known in her injured leg. She knew what that meant. She'd overworked it today and the pain would gnaw relentlessly and spoil her evening. She reached into her purse and pulled out a vial of pain medication, popping one tablet into her mouth.

  Lori turned her thoughts to Rand while she waited for the pill to perform its magic. She'd been sidetracked upon learning Rand had kept secret his knowledge of who she was. She wished she had more time to sort it out in her mind, but there were other pressing issues.

  The chart she had merely glanced at before was certain to pinpoint the location of the ship these men were to meet. If luck was with her, there might even be a notation of the time of arrival. She should plan on a thorough search of the Destiny tomorrow. With her drawing supplies legitimately on board, she could sketch the map's details and hand them over to the police. She didn't know Rand or George well enough to evaluate their reaction if they caught her snooping around here. Right now, in this beauty that shone around her, she wanted only to absorb nature's power and let it fill her with strength to cope with the evening ahead.

  Lost in the tranquility, she jumped when Rand's hand lightly brushed her shoulder and settled there. With his body so close to hers, an immediate spark surged through her flesh. Her usual goose bump response bubbled along her arms. She didn't like the way her heart stepped up its pace with his nearness. She tried to speak, to make some off-the-cuff comment that would force Rand to back off. But did she want that? The words died in her throat.

  The touch of his hand brought a reminder of the thrill that could explode between a gentle man and a vulnerable woman. She'd felt this excitement with him before, but with the sky bursting in gold, gray, and pink, it seemed more potent now, more sensual.

  Rand slid onto the bench beside her. He stretched his arm around her shoulders and as his fingers caressed and soothed her bare forearm, her body heated. His fingertips lightly caressed her skin as they watched the sun lower. She wanted to rebel, wanted him to disgust her so it would be easy to bolt, but she was mesmerized by a sensation of falling into a deep abyss—a cradle of want.

  She should get out of here. Not because of what she thought him to be, but because she realized how much she desired him. Her instincts told her that Rand's continued touch would drive her where she must not go—to wanting more from him than a casual stroke. Once in that frame of mind, he could sap her reason and destroy the chance she had to make a difference. He could bring out emotions she wanted to stay dead. The return of those feelings would be too painful.

  His breath feathered along her temple. Why did he always wait for her to make the first move? He acted as if he didn't have the courage to lead in a relationship. Did he sense danger in the path ahead, too? Yet this was in sharp contrast to what she'd observed in his relations with Malcolm, where he'd confidently defied the man. Why did he always hold back with her?

  Rand was not a man to chide. He carried himself with dignity and purpose when dealing with Malcolm's autocratic ways, and it had nothing to do with the security of his wealth. Exemplified by his straight posture and determined eyes, his pride came from within.

  Rand broke the silence. “I gather you weren't too impressed with the idea of spending time in Malcolm's company."

  His fingertips kept their rhythm, inching, heating the skin on her arm.

  "I don't trust him."

  His fingers stilled. “But you trust me?"

  "Yes ... Shouldn't I?” Everything in her wanted to trust him with her life. But with her heart? Surely not. She couldn't afford to be swayed by his magnetism. Her muscles tensed. He must have noticed. His fingers paused, then resumed their movement, but this time pressed deeper, seductively flirting with her soul.

  "You've been waging a war with me ever since we met, Lori."

  "Because I beat you at two games of chess and made you work hard to win the others?"

  "No. The chess games were only a subterfuge. You were trying to figure me out, to find my weaknesses."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way, Rand.” She had to break free of his seduction, so she slid along the bench, breaking the close physical connection. Disconnecting their mental attachment had to follow. “I was curious about the owner of such a luxurious boat. My curiosity was satisfied after we played chess."

  Her deception made her uncomfortable. She hadn't lied up to now, but he pushed her into a corner, leaving no alternative.

  "You found out all you needed to know about me from a game?"

  She suddenly chilled, unable to ignore what preyed relentlessly at the back of her mind. “Not quite. I have a question."

  He gripped her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Then ask it."

  She stared him straight in the eyes. “Why didn't you tell me you were in the courtroom the last day of the trial?"

  Her next word hung in the air. “Well?"

  Eight

  The Destiny's gentle rock on low tidal swells whispered serenity. Not at ease in the peace around him like he should be, Lori's question caught Rand at a disadvantage. He'd been concentrating on a plan to build her trust and lay groundwork for telling her the truth. He couldn't avoid the answer she sought. He lifted his hand from her shoulder and shifted his feet.

  His understanding of their instant connection in the courtroom now dawned on him. Her pain had become his, as she stood emotionally naked before the judge and onlookers. As a cop, he stood for justice and all it entailed, even if it meant defying authority. That's what she had bravely done—tried to get justice as she saw it. Because of her courage, he hadn't been able to shake the link forged that day.

  For the most part, she did trust him, else why would she have come? Still, with her innate distrust of the law, he had to postpone his complete honesty. His desire to divulge everything about his assignment was so strong, he had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her. His choice not to become permanently involved with a woman seemed weaker the more he learned about her. He wanted her to understand and believe in him. His blossoming feelings conflicted with his strategy for bringing the drug gang down. He had to find out why the RCMP officer had hassled her.

  "Are you ever going to answer me?” Her irate tone increased the pressure she'd already put on him.

  Rand sighed and shrugged. “I was in court because of a single charge against me in another courtroom down the hall.” He gazed across the glistening water and hoped she couldn't detect he lied or how uncomfortable he felt doing so. “I wandered into the courtroom you were in to see what was going on."

  "What was the charge against you?” Her body stiffened.

  "Possession of drugs.” His eyes locked on hers. He didn't blink.


  "And you got off?"

  "How did you guess?"

  "I never realized until this past year, Rand, how little faith we should place in the judicial system."

  "I wasn't guilty, Lori!"

  She scowled and turned away, clearly unimpressed by his denial. As her eyes skimmed the darkening water, the quiet no longer seemed relevant. He cursed the fact she couldn't or wouldn't have an open mind. Did she fear her emotions might take control? He knew what she was thinking—once again the RCMP had failed, and he'd been able to walk.

  "They don't lay charges without reason.” Her words were stark, her face downcast—as if she were reliving her own tragedy.

  "You aren't being fair. It was a case of mistaken identity.” What a pissanty argument, Rand thought. He'd convinced her too damn well of his underworld dealings. It was hell not being able to defend himself, but he'd spoil the setup if he did.

  "You're right, Rand. I'm being judgmental, again. That's a miserable trait I've developed; it's based on experience."

  He drew in a deep breath. “I didn't tell you that I recognized you so I wouldn't have to explain my presence in the courthouse. I knew you would immediately conclude I was guilty. And you've just proved me right."

  He couldn't blame her for her narrow viewpoint—she didn't have the facts, and he couldn't provide them. As was his habit, he ran his fingers through his hair with frustration. As far as he could see, there was no way he could prove his worth to her.

  "The fact you weren't found guilty doesn't mean you aren't.” She splayed her hands to enforce her point, then drew them to her side. “Look how my case turned out—rulings aren't always right. That's not perception, it's plain observation. Let's play chess."

  "And just because I was accused doesn't mean I was guilty. You're convicting me. That matters!"

  "It's nothing to me, Rand. You got off. The court made the decision.” With a defiant shrug of her shoulders, she moved from her seat. “Let's drop the subject.” As she strode past him, the angry force of her footfall strung his nerves taut.

  He wanted to shake her into the realization he was a man with morals, but he'd furnished her with a story that made her believe the opposite. “Damn your imagination,” he muttered, “it keeps getting me deeper in trouble."

  "You're getting yourself in trouble by the company you keep."

  He followed when she headed for the lounge, nodding at George who stood in the doorway, duffel bag in hand. The mate ground to a halt at Rand's bleak expression. Rand raised his hand in warning.

  Once Lori was beyond earshot, George whispered, “What's the problem, Rand? Things not working out between you two again?"

  "That woman is infuriating. She won't listen to reason."

  "I thought you gave her reason to suspect you. What's the matter? Did you do such a good job she doesn't trust you?” George clasped Rand's elbow and ushered him to the railing. “You're attracted to her more than you wanted to be, aren't you?” Another question begged an answer.

  "Of course not!"

  The twinkle in George's eyes told Rand that his partner didn't believe him. There was no point in uttering more denials. Dammit, he hadn't convinced himself either. They lowered a small rubber dinghy over the side. George was still laughing as he squeezed into it. Rand sucked in a bracing lungful of air and entered the lounge.

  * * * *

  Angry from Rand's pitiful denial of guilt, Lori sat on the sofa, rubbing her arms to lose the memory of his touch. If she could relay the location of the freighter's drop off, she'd play an important part in bringing Rand's activities and the whole drug operation to an end. They would all be caught with the evidence at hand, and this time there'd be no way Malcolm could talk his way out of it. Rand also would meet a situation he couldn't finagle out of ... And she wouldn't shed one tear of regret.

  Lori heard the muffled talk of the men on deck and realized Rand had lingered to chat with George. This might be her only chance. She stood in the center of the lounge, her eyes swiftly searching for the incriminating chart. In all likelihood, the chart wasn't in here, but the bedroom hadn't been a logical place, either. She couldn't afford to overlook anywhere that might have a large enough space. One all-consuming glance assured her there were only two possible sites in this room—behind the bar or in a two-door cabinet against an outer wall. The desk drawers beneath the computer were too short.

  She peeked out a porthole and saw Rand helping George lower a small boat. She darted behind the bar and slid a low compartment door aside. Several bottles of booze met her eyes; she slipped the door back in place. Peeking over the bar, she looked at the entryway and listened for footsteps that might signal Rand's approach. All was quiet. She opened two more cabinet doors—nothing.

  Warped by the ever-present ocean dampness, the last door was not so obliging. She had to push hard to open it, then shove it further to allow her to see inside. Bar cloths and napkins in a neat stack and a number of crystal glasses filled the shelves.

  Lori tugged at the door as she heard the dreaded footfall. The door slid off its runner, wedging firmly at an awkward angle. Expelling a sharp breath, she used both hands to lever it free, then slid it into place. It closed with a thud.

  "Can I help you find something?” Rand asked.

  "I-I was checking out your liquor stock to see if you had any sherry."

  "I thought you only drank wine."

  "Er ... I do like a small taste of sherry after a good meal. But I see you don't have any.” She avoided sherry as a general rule. She didn't like the strong taste and detested the effect it had on her senses. It did strange things to her—heat her knees until they weakened ready to collapse, made her so dizzy she prayed for crutches, and threw off whatever mental stability she had. And it didn't take much.

  "Yes, I have. I saw the bottle last night ... It's at the back of the shelf ... I'll get it."

  She shuddered, but thank goodness, he didn't appear to notice.

  "Anything wrong?"

  "No.” So she was wrong, he had noticed. It worried her how fast she came up with the lie.

  He continued on, “Why don't you get the chess game from the other cabinet, while I pour you a glass? It's on the right."

  "Okay.” With the perfect excuse to see what the cabinet contained, Lori strolled across the carpet, bent down, and opened the small door on the left. It was empty.

  "It's in the right-hand side, I said."

  "Oops. Sorry."

  Avoiding Rand's eyes, Lori opened the right one, pulled out the chess game and took it to the coffee table. She hoped the heated flush sweeping up from her neck would quickly fade. One questioning scowl from him would be enough to dampen her already flagging enthusiasm, although it wouldn't discourage her completely. She'd find that chart supposing it took all night. She hoped it wouldn't.

  Lori spread out the chessboard and sat. The liquor gurgled as Rand poured it into what she hoped were two very small glasses. She didn't want to drink alone, nor was she ready to face him just yet. Maybe she'd find a chance to ditch her drink. Rand's placement of the glasses on the table startled her. He had poured her more sherry than she thought she could down. She clenched her teeth, determined to keep secret her distaste for the drink and for his unlawful interests.

  While he pulled up a chair and sat opposite, she searched beyond him for a potted plant or an urn to deposit her sherry. There were none—in fact, the room was bare of anything that could tip and tumble in stormy weather. She turned and looked straight into his pensive gaze. What thoughts lay behind the lustrous eyes that could be flint hard one moment and suddenly mellow to gentle curiosity the next? She swallowed to choke back the lump clogging her throat.

  A heady aroma of expensive cologne drifted toward her. She hadn't noticed the pervasive scent when she sat next to him at dinner. Why did it assault her senses now when she needed a clear head and sharp wits? Lifting her glass to her lips, she took a sip. Immediately her throat felt like it was on fire. She gasped
and choked. Rand thumped her vigorously on the back. After a few moments, she was able to breathe normally, and he settled back in his chair.

  "Sherry is your favorite drink?” Rand asked, as he quirked his eyebrow.

  "Not exactly. Why?"

  "Your eyes looked ready to burst from their sockets.” Then he grinned, and her nerves did whirly-gigs—her heart joined in.

  "Well, this sherry is drier than I've had. But it's good.” She took another sip and let it sit before easing it down her throat. It helped. She regretted the necessity to appear normal. She didn't know what normal was anymore. “I haven't had it often. You can probably tell.” She might as well be honest about something. It might cool her embarrassment. She cleared a lingering tickle in her throat with a quick cough.

  Rand politely refrained from agreement, but the amusement in his eyes weakened her defenses and sent waves of unexpected delight down her spine. She sipped more sherry and discovered she was starting to feel warm and comfy. This drink and his company weren't so bad after all. Maybe she was developing a taste for both.

  "Okay. Let's have a game,” Lori suggested. Activity would strengthen her resolve and lessen his appeal.

  Showing no mercy, she cleared his pieces quickly, and the first game finished. By the second game he was on his toes and fought her in ways that more than demonstrated his skill. His cleverness won the game and her admiration.

  "You're a good chess opponent,” Rand acknowledged, “skilful, daring, resourceful."

  Lori gloried in the compliments, but was tiring from the stress of the evening. She felt slightly dizzy. “You aren't so bad either."

  "Ready for a tiebreaker?” His question challenged her in a different way when he rubbed the back of his neck, drawing her attention to the top two unfastened buttons on his shirt. Her stare settled on the tufts of black wiry carpet seductively peeking above the opening. The lure of his male sexuality constricted her throat. She took a quick sip of her drink, not even minding the taste. Her taste buds had mutinied. The dark curled mass beckoned her fingers to explore the rest of his broad chest. The two games of chest they'd just played hadn't prepared her for this kind of tension. His sex appeal had been present when they were on the beach, and she'd shied away in alarm. Yet, right at this moment, the same masculinity gripped her attention more forcefully, demanding she abandon her goals and simply enjoy what he could offer. She shook her head to fight those wayward thoughts before they led her astray. The movement shifted her dizziness to new heights.