by Carol McPhee
"Mornin'.” His upraised hand and sober face held a warning.
Lori's eyes darted to Rand, his back to her as he talked on the ship-to-shore radio while guiding the yacht. She heard his words: “We're heading to the island now ... Don't let him out of your sight!” Rand turned around toward her. His jaw dropped. He glowered at George, then snarled into the receiver, “Out."
Lori's hands rested on her hips. “Why didn't you tell me you were going to sea now, Rand? You knew I wanted to go ashore."
"You had originally planned to come out with us."
"I had intended to bring my painting supplies and I had intended to wear something more comfortable for the trip, but intentions can change. Besides, I told you I was leaving.” Her whole body began to shake with fury. She wanted to rip the wheel from Rand's hands and return to the yacht's berth. “What's going on? This is kidnapping."
"Let's not get overly dramatic. We slept in; the Destiny has to have her test run before the storm hits."
"Storm?” Lori's eyes widened as she looked from one to the other. “The storm went out to—"
George interrupted. “There's a gale blowing up the coast and it's due to hit here this afternoon, Miss Wheeler. We need to check out the engine, then we'll go back."
Lori switched her attention to Rand and softened her voice. “What island were you referring to on the radio?” She stared down his irritation.
"There's a small island offshore. We'll cruise to it and turn around.” His condescending tone didn't stop her. If she had a chance to find out something more, she'd take it.
"Why?” She ignored his exasperated breath.
"Because it's a good distance for the test ... Ah ... I want to see if the island is worth buying."
"It's for sale?"
"Anything's for sale if the price is right."
His words made her shudder. She wondered if the price of acquiescing to his lovemaking had been too high. This wasn't the Rand she had known. Her Rand had been there when she needed someone; her Rand had saved her life, and her Rand had plied her with intoxicating kisses that sent her heart into a tailspin ... Until this morning.
* * * *
Lori casually moved toward the chart. Rand could tell she was taking pains to hide her interest. Why couldn't she have stayed away another few minutes so I could have relayed more details to headquarters? He muffled a groan. Lori's avoidance of looking at his eyes certainly relayed the tension behind her stroll to the chart. Sharing breakfast could have led to a more positive atmosphere between them. How could he explain himself with her distrust so evident? The distrust he'd inspired.
George charged to the rescue. “Wonder if you mind if I checked out a few things with Rand? You can wait in the lounge."
"I'd be happy to get out of here,” she snapped.
The men watched quietly as she limped through the doorway. “What are you going to do about her?"
George's question forced Rand to make a decision. “This mission is top-secret, at my orders. I'm going to break that order and tell her everything. I'll get her to promise to stay away from Warner. If I get the impression she won't, we've got two officers stationed on the island. They can hold her there."
George shook his head. “Those guys won't want a distraction when they're keeping a lookout for the freighter. You could lock her in the cabin."
"And she'd be yelling out a porthole within ten minutes of getting back at the dock. There's nothing else I can do.” Rand slapped his hand against the Destiny's wheel.
"So what's this gonna do to your love life?"
"We had it good a couple of times ... I can ditch her whenever I like.” Rand's shrug of his shoulders didn't bestow confidence in his words. How could he brush her aside? She'd been part of something so special he'd never be able to give her up. “She's probably been playing me for a fool."
"Come on now, you don't believe that ... You set her up ... Didn't tell her you were Sergeant McCormick ... You're pissed ‘cause she's fudging the rules. She doesn't even know she's in a game. Give her a break. Tell her the truth, now."
Rand's fingers brushed his hair back from his eyes. “Damn that officer. What was he thinking when he grilled her?"
"I have no idea, but you gotta do something fast."
"Okay. I'm going to talk with her. Keep on course."
"Aye, aye, Captain. I can't think of any better way to handle her than with the truth. Pardon me if I take the wheel and stay where it's less dangerous—out of the line of fire."
Rand strode into the lounge, surprised to find Lori spreading his shirt, still damp from last night's outing, over the wall's handrail to dry. “We're going below. Lead the way."
"I'm not hungry. I'd rather stay here."
He was well aware of how she detested his use of authority on her. If she didn't draw out his antagonism so easily, he would be gentler. Okay, so it wasn't entirely her fault; he'd be more tactful. “What's better than a breakfast cruise?"
Her shoulders slumped. When he saw her glance around as if she were on her way to the gallows, a stab of pain split through him. He didn't expect a smile, but a word of appreciation that he offered her food might lighten his burden. She trudged toward the stairwell, bumping into the cabinet. She recovered her balance, but her face flashed humiliation and anger in one quick glare before she preceded him down the steps. There'd been a transformation from the mournful expression he'd often seen in her face. Now she tackled life like she did chess—with a refusal to surrender, fighting him all the way. The challenge in dealing with her caused him to question his sanity.
* * * *
Glad to escape the two men, Lori wished she could get even farther away—like back on solid ground. She clung to the railing of the stairs as the swells crested and pulled her off balance. The Halifax ferry on a windy day had been difficult enough for her, and that sturdy boat traveled protected waters. At sail on the open sea with a gale brewing was asking for trouble and she'd have a problem avoiding panic if Rand didn't get them back to sheltered waters soon.
She sat on one of the galley's two benches and watched Rand start breakfast. She expected a lecture for walking in on him in the midst of a private radio conversation. He remained close-mouthed as he searched for utensils and supplies. George must be the one who cooked, she decided, because Rand seemed unfamiliar with the area. She curled her legs underneath her and stared out a porthole near her shoulder.
When Rand dropped an egg and muttered expletives, she knew his temper was ready to blast off. Too bad. She fought the urge to clean up the mess like she fought the urge to make the coffee and toast—easily. She wasn't here of her own free will. He owed her an explanation.
"What's going on, Rand?” Did she really want to hear about his involvement in the drug world? To suspect it was one thing, but to listen to him deny it, or worse, try to justify it, would shred her perception of his strength of character, lowering him to the level of the lowest scum.
"There are important things going on."
"Then enlighten me.” Her knuckles fisted and pushed nervously into the blue vinyl padding of her seat. Her heart thumped with more force than usual. She braced herself for his revelations.
"There's something I'm going to tell you that will put the whole thing in focus."
She waited, her emotions hung somewhere between exasperation and anxiety.
Rand slapped strips of bacon on the grill, then broke six eggs into a bowl. His air of indifference to her presence as he set the table didn't fool her. The way he whipped the eggs until they were nothing but pale yellow froth spoke loudly enough. The bacon sizzled and filled the galley with an aroma that should entice anyone's appetite. Not hers. She remained where she was with a tight clamp on her sociability.
Lori hated the pall created by the lack of communication, but the yacht's roll became more pronounced, taking her mind off it. She twisted around, looked out, and was terrified to see how forcefully the waves lashed the yacht. She turned away quickly—her i
nstinct shouted for her to crouch under her seat. If the weather got worse, the pitch and yaw of the yacht could cause her to burst into senseless hysterics, then how much weight would her defiance carry? Maybe I am overreacting. Keep calm. Breathe slow and deep.
The smell of the fat overheating brought up a bout of nausea. An impossible wish flashed through her mind—that she'd escaped before being bedded. No matter how miserable her life had been, it had taken a giant leap and not for the better. Add stomach-crunching seasickness and she was well on her way to having her life turned into a complete debacle. She was likely to die out here in this angry environment—at the hands of a bullying tyrant.
Her natural reflex prevented two plates from sliding off the table. Lori slid them back into place. She steeled her nerves and rigidly braced her hands on her seat. Rand filled their plates and sank down opposite her. She couldn't execute her sudden longing to rush into his arms for safety lest he think he had brought her to defeat.
"So what did you want to tell me?” she asked.
"Eat your breakfast, first,” he muttered, looking straight in her eyes for the first time since he'd ordered her down here. “Damn, I forgot the coffee."
Rand seemed oblivious to the high seas; his walk counterbalanced the motion of the waves. When he returned and poured her coffee, some of it slopped over the mug's rim before she had a chance for a sip. He grabbed a cloth and sponged up the mess.
"Rand! Rand? I need you up here!” Lori heard the urgency in George's yell.
"Stay put, Lori!” Rand raced up the stairs while she stared in horror at the portholes. Covered in water, the sight looked like the yacht was trying out for submarine qualifications. When the glass suddenly cleared and her body involuntarily leaned backward, she knew they were in deep trouble.
Lori's mind took on a new focus when the plates skittered across the table. In a bold attempt to save them, she knocked over her mug, sending it crashing to the floor. The yacht swayed in the opposite direction, and holding the plates firmly in her grasp, she flung herself back on the bench. She gawked with helplessness at the turbulent energy of the ocean water splashing against the portholes. The platter, mugs, and coffeepot careened off the table. Recognizing the futility of holding onto them, she set the plates on the floor and scrunched down, holding onto the bench as hard as she could.
Her car accident had been frightening, but the way the water flung the yacht like a flimsy toothpick being flushed down the sewer terrified her. She had no control over her destiny. It had to be a perverse fate that brought her onboard a boat so aptly named. Had this turn of events been predetermined? Many other things in her life had not been controllable, why should she expect the way it ended to be different? She tried to remember some of the prayers she'd used the past year.
Her desire to go topside with Rand warred with the insistence in his voice that she do as she'd been told. Her paralyzed limbs made the final decision. She remained below—frozen in terror.
The Destiny's engine roared as it lunged ahead with violent thrusts. Lori's body trembled, just like the yacht. She knew Rand had reached the controls. The yacht's speed increased as if it were making a last-ditch fight for supremacy over the gale's grip. Abruptly, the vibration cut back to a moderate purr. The slap of the ocean's anger decreased.
Lori wiggled out from her refuge and peeked outside. Through the maze of sea-strewn droplets, she saw trees spiked along a rocky shoreline. A few minutes later heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs.
"Are you okay?” The worried look on Rand's face lit up her heart—for an instant.
"I think so. Where are we?"
"In the island's small harbor.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I haven't time to explain..."
Her imagination jumped into play. He was going to tell her they had no way back ... They were marooned ... and the radio was out. At least they would die on dry land.
"There are others on this island,” he continued.
In a split second, her mind switched gears. “Others” meant the possibility that help lay nearby, a chance to escape this nightmare.
"I want you to stay out of sight and keep quiet. I don't have time to explain!"
"W-What?” His order surprised her. Maybe the people were fishermen who would help get them out of here. “Why?"
"I told you, I don't have time to explain. They won't be coming down here, but they will be on the boat. Stay here!” He headed up toward the main level, but before he reached the top, she exploded.
"And if I don't?"
The glare sent her way convinced her that now was not the time to quibble. She noted the curl of his fist as he let go of the railing, but it was the tight compression of his mouth that warned against protest. Unless she wanted to experience the full brunt of his anger, it was best to obey his command—for now.
Eleven
"Whew!” Rand whistled, “That was some boat ride!"
"I really think we oughtta consider working a different section, Rand.” George's pale face looked like he and the contents of his stomach were about to part company. He wrinkled his nose and added, “I don't like marine work when the water's churned up."
"Me, either, George. I used to love the thrill of high waves, but I can't say I enjoyed this trip. I must be getting old."
"Or maybe, having Miss Wheeler in danger made the difference? Is she all right?"
Rand's face turned solemn. “She's okay, just shaken. I feel responsible for her, that's all. Don't look for something that isn't there. Once this job's done, I'll get to the root of her problem and try to correct it.” Rand kicked his toe against the wheel's base. “Then she's history. You and I could consider being more land-based, though. Your Amy would appreciate it."
George squinted and nudged Rand's arm. “That's the first time I've heard you suggest a shift since we started working here on the coast. If it's not Miss Wheeler, why the sudden change of heart?"
Rand ignored the crude response that rushed to his tongue. It was none of George's business if he felt the urge to change his lifestyle a little. Just then, he saw their contacts approaching and raised his hand to point them out. “Here come our guys. We better hustle out and welcome them aboard."
"Did you tell her who's on the island?"
"No. I wanted to give her the background first. I didn't know they'd be out to greet us right away. There just isn't time.” Rand shoved his hands in his pockets and waited impatiently for the large Zodiac leaving the shore. “As soon as they leave, she and I will have that serious talk. I told her I didn't have time now, but I guess I'm just putting off the inevitable."
"If there's anything I can do, let me know."
"What do you mean?” Rand shifted his attention from the shore to his colleague's puzzling offer.
"I don't want to see you blow this chance,” George answered. Rand rolled his eyes in silent mockery. “I know women,” George continued, undaunted. “They want clear-cut explanations. You're attracted to her, but I also know you'll get pissed if she doesn't swallow your argument."
Rand bristled. “I never ‘blew’ a relationship before ... I just didn't encourage a permanent one. My job is marriage enough!"
George stepped back and shook his head at the sharp retort.
Rand's shoulders drooped. “I think it's unfair to get tangled up with a woman I can't give my full attention. A wife would distract me from my work with her worries."
"Rand, that's a crock. Amy and I worked it out. She worries, sure, but this is what I was doing when we met and was part of the package. I love my work, too, but there are other things in life."
"Yeah? Such as?” Rand leaned against the deck's rail, arms folded, eyes narrowed on the approaching craft.
"Like companionship—to get your mind off the risks we take. Companionship that gives life such a good feeling you want to do the job even better."
"Well, even if there's something in what you say, there isn't much hope of anything lasting with Lori and me. Once she latches
onto an idea, I think hell on earth won't alter it. She's held onto her guilt a full year now, and I think her distrust of the law is even stronger. Losing my temper would be a waste of my time."
The Zodiac brushed against the side of the yacht. “We'll talk about this later. Let's see to our company,” George muttered. “Frankly, I think you've met your match in the stubborn stakes."
* * * *
Lori paced below deck, weighing the repercussions of creeping up the steps. Who were those men she'd seen coming out from shore? Friend or foe? Why were no other boats anchored here?
The Zodiac had no identification markers. What little she could see of the occupants as they passed by the porthole gave no information either. Hunched against the wind and spray, faces partly buried into bright orange slickers, the two men raised their eyes only enough to guide their craft to the yacht. She heard, rather than felt, the scrub of the Zodiac when it came alongside.
Lori's curiosity got the best of her and she silently maneuvered her way up the steps. At the top, she peered out to the deck and caught a flash of the men's rainwear through the open lounge door. Satisfied no one was coming inside and trembling with excitement, she tiptoed to the doorway. Introductions were indistinguishable as the dull hum of voices drifted toward her ears. Her fingers, crunched tightly against her palms, numbed from the tension. If they discovered her eavesdropping, she would expect an angry response. How dangerous would that be? Torn between apprehension and exhilaration, she strained to hear. The wind shifted, making the words easier to distinguish as one of the visitors spoke.
"We tried to contact you again, Sergeant, but we couldn't get a reply."
Sergeant? He's calling Rand a sergeant? Could these guys be military or fisheries officers? Maybe it's Rand's nickname. Lori's spine stiffened, sending a sharp crick into her neck. She yelped in pain, then clamped her hand over her mouth. Ducking back, she listened for footsteps indicating she'd been heard. There were none. She sidled back to her vantage point. After a brief silence, she recognized Rand's voice.
"I turned the radio off because the reception was poor."
