by Carol McPhee
Twelve
Lori lay on the bed, her head pulsating with such pain that she could hardly think of anything except the agony. There was no chance of coming up with a plan of action in her present state. The light tap on the door barely penetrated her tortured brain.
"Y-Yes?"
"May I come in?” Rand's low voice didn't start her heart palpitating as it had so often in the past. This time, she didn't feel the excitement; the familiar goose bumps on her arms didn't appear. The thrill of his presence had gone—a good start to breaking free of him, she thought. How he must be mocking her gullibility and lack of trust.
"This is your b-boat. I can't s-stop you.” She tried to sound indifferent yet knew she failed, not only because of her stammer, but there was no way she could lighten her discouraged tone. The mere whisper told it was all she could manage. No power stood behind her words, no energy to defy him, and she certainly didn't want his pity. Their relationship, for whatever it had been worth, lay dying on the brink of new discoveries. She owed it to herself to do what was right. How could she make plans with a head teeming with pain and a heart filled with sorrow?
"I brought you a couple of extra-strength Tylenols and a glass of water.” He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, no doubt expecting a quick brush-off. When she didn't protest, he entered and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Lori wiggled into a sitting position. With a trembling hand, she took the capsules and chased them with several sips from the tumbler. Her pain-wracked eyes squinted to look at him.
"It will be awhile before we leave.” Rand paused, eyeing her closely. “Did anything Constable Hennigar say change your mind about the RCMP?"
"I see now that I jumped to conclusions, but I'm inclined to do that, you know.” A slight smile quivered on her lips. She hadn't thought through the disclosures enough to completely give in and drag out an apology.
A grin of satisfaction curled the corners of Rand's mouth—the mouth she had loved to kiss and be kissed by a short time ago. “You knew the constable before?” she asked.
"No, but I'd heard good things about him. When he came on board and introduced himself, the name clicked. I'd planned to look him up anyway, after my duties here were over."
"Why would you do that? How I felt about the RCMP wasn't your problem."
His eyes widened, but she was no longer mesmerized by their depth.
"Yes, it was, Lori. It's important to me that you understand we do the best we can to rout out the criminals.” Rand's face looked more serious than she'd ever seen him, even more determined than he'd been when playing chess. “Your distrust was misguided, but it stung.” Shifting his weight he fell silent and placed his hand over one of hers.
She finished drinking the water, then passed the glass back. His hand warmed more than her fingers. She had listened, fixing her eyes on his, watching his every nuance. She felt more disheartened than ever and tried to pull her hand away, but he hung on.
"Your hostile attitude made me question my dedication."
That did it. He had ripped her heart into shreds. She tried to hide how badly she felt for making him suffer, but she knew her welling eyes gave her away. Rand gentled his tone and continued. “We spend time and energy trying to apprehend criminals. Before I transferred here, the RCMP came within a hair's breadth of catching the ringleaders, only to have it fouled up. This mission was given top priority for that reason. Headquarters gave me free rein to handle the job. I had George brought in because I'd worked with him before and trusted him. With Malcolm Warner involved, we couldn't chance failure by bringing others into our confidence."
"Not even someone like me with a high security clearance and proven record?” She yanked her hand out from under his and turned away. She couldn't help feeling slighted and didn't want to feel the warmth of his palm or hear the soft regular rhythm of his breathing.
"You are so stubborn, just like me, dammit. Look, these guys have ears in high places. There's nothing more I can say if you won't look at my motives with an open mind.” His finger turned her face toward him; their eyes locked in mutual misery.
Lori wasn't a stranger to the unhappiness she saw. Something inside her kindled a flame from the embers of her spent emotions. “Okay, Rand. I do understand."
His brow arched with skepticism. “You'd better get some rest. The trip back will still be rough.” He patted her hand and stood. “When we get to Lochaber, I want you to pack and go back to the city. Warner is about to have a change of luck. If you stay, there's a chance you could get caught in the crossfire. I can't let that happen."
"I hope the finale turns out well for you, Sergeant. Who knows? Our paths may cross again in the courthouse."
Rand rose and walked to the door. Lori held her breath when, with his hand on the doorknob, he waited a few seconds, then turned. Was it possible he thought there might be a way to demolish their problems? Miracles did happen.
"You've suffered enough grief,” he said, shaking his head, “away from me you'll be free to get on with your life.” Her spirit took a nose dive. He took in a deep breath and expelled it in a sigh. “Rest now—that's an order.” Rand closed the door behind him; his off-hand rejection tainted the air.
Rand hadn't minced words when telling her the yacht would be facing a rough ride back to Lochaber. He could have at least indicated it would be sheer hell cutting through the high swells. There was no point in trying to make it to the kitchen; she was certain she'd end up on her keister and possibly break some valuable part of her body as well. The best she could do was to hang on for dear life and try and remember her Sunday school prayers as a change from those she'd used previously. If all went according to plan, the good Lord would look kindly on her effort.
But rest? How could she possibly rest as he demanded? Even though her headache had eased, the room seemed oppressive with him gone. Rand's rationalization only served to reaffirm that before she left; she had to find out how many smugglers accompanied the cargo. The information offered protection; otherwise, the police would board at the mercy of desperate men. If she and Rand had to part, so be it, but she'd do all she could to keep him safe.
* * * *
The entrance to the channel and its calmer water loomed ahead, demanding Rand's full attention. The fact that Lori finally had acknowledged his position should have given him a sense of relief. He wondered why peace still eluded him. He still saw her pale face in his mind, heard the catch in her voice, and felt the softness of her hand. At least, with the wheelhouse door open, the smell of the ocean dissipated any lingering traces of her scent.
His heart still hammered from his sudden decision not to see her again. Maybe he needed this sharp edge to wrap things up—to fine-tune his senses. His job would be finished tomorrow, and he'd go on to other investigations. Going from one assignment to the next had always excited him. This time he would dread the end when he'd return to his lonely apartment. Funny, it had never bothered him before.
George broke into his thoughts. “I don't mind telling you, I'm glad to be coming back to Lochaber in one piece, Rand.” He laughed as he looked at the busy river traffic ahead. “You're getting to be an expert at navigating these waters, but don't get too used to the Destiny. She'll soon be going back to the department. And we'll be going home."
Rand didn't want to hear his enthusiastic chatter. He felt anything but enthused. “May I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Do you think someone like me could ever settle down and deal with a stubborn wife? I mean, without it being a constant source of pain for us both?"
"You'd make it work, if you really loved her. Your own obstinacy might be a blessing in disguise in her case.” George tapped his knuckles on the ledge. “Does it matter anyway? From what you've told me, you changed her mind and she's ready to move on."
"I know, but I'm not certain I am.” Rand responded in the nick of time. Lori entered the wheelhouse, her eyes glistening.
The smile on her lips set him to thinking thoughts best left
undisturbed. Her voice sounded more cheerful. “I want to see how you manage to ease the Destiny upstream without smashing into something."
Rand grinned. “The same way I got out ... very carefully."
"I'll go out on deck and guide you,” George said.
Rand nodded. With George's departure he turned to Lori. “How's the headache?"
"It's gone. I'll be going ashore as soon as we dock."
"You're taking my advice and heading home?"
"Tomorrow."
He noticed she tuned herself to the river's channel instead of looking directly at him. “I think I have a date tonight."
George hollered, “You're going to have to watch out for a lot more boats, Rand. Seems like everyone and his dog made for this river to get out of the strong winds."
Rand's concentration on maneuvering the yacht slowly upriver prevented him from mulling over Lori's statement.
* * * *
As soon as they berthed, Lori didn't wait around for fond farewells. Why should she? She'd been mistreated enough; there was no sense in holding herself up to the agony of departure. Back at her chalet, she was about to climb into the bath and soak her cares away when she looked out the window and noticed Malcolm standing alone at the rapids. The pleasure of soothing her distress amongst bubbles would have to wait. This opportunity to speak with him was too good to let pass. She donned fresh underwear, a pair of navy slacks, and a bright yellow sweater, then strolled down to join him.
"Hello, there.” She waved as she approached.
Malcolm's sharp eyes blinked like a hawk recognizing its prey. “Good afternoon, Lori."
Lori sucked in her breath. “Did you have a successful trip to Halifax?"
"Very much so. In fact, I'd like to celebrate by taking you to dinner. There's a quaint seafood restaurant a short distance from here. We could leave now."
"That sounds like fun. Let me freshen up a bit and I'll be right with you.” Surprised by fate dropping him into her lap so quickly after her decision, Lori didn't intend to be intimidated by dwelling on possible consequences. She'd come up with a novel idea that would give her a clear-cut advantage. She could hardly wait to use the object that would accompany her.
Malcolm nodded and smiled pleasantly. “Come out when you're ready, I'll be here."
Lori entered her chalet and leaned backward against the door. She forced down a strangling revulsion, slowed her breathing, and moved across the room. A splash of makeup and a switch to a high-buttoned white blouse was all the freshening she deemed necessary. She looked in the mirror and giggled. Her modest attire and disfigurement should prove Rand's theory that Malcolm's interest lay in her access to data, not very flattering, but in Malcolm's case she could live with it. Plying Malcolm with a sexier appearance could backfire too easily. She lightly fingered her scar. Its presence didn't jump out at her when she peered at her reflection. Nor did looking at it rouse her guilt. She'd made real progress. She knew she had Rand to thank for that, too, but sadly, she'd have to confine her gratitude to her dreams.
Lori was proud of her ingenuity, though. On her way from the yacht, she'd stopped at the lodge's registration desk to see if tape recorders were available. The desk clerk had found a small one used for conference speakers and loaned it to her. She touched the recorder in her slacks’ pocket and realized the slight bulge might give it away. Remembering her green cardigan had pockets on the side, deep enough to hold something that size, she immediately pulled it from the closet. By concealing it in one, she could move the machine close to Malcolm and get a better chance to capture his words. She planted a fake smile on her face and walked down to the rapids—and the date that awaited.
The scant traffic should have made for a relaxing drive along the rocky coast, but Lori's mind stuck to the reason she had come.
Malcolm's conservative speed allowed him to glance at her with seemingly glowing approval. “Did you enjoy your excursion on the water?"
She strove to calm nerves that decided to play tag in her stomach. “We ran into a gale."
"Gales come up quickly I've been told. Did Rand handle the yacht well?” Not much wonder he asked, the safety of his goods depended on Rand's navigational skills.
"Like he was born to it, Malcolm. He got the Destiny to a safe harbor at a small island."
"There are several islands out there at this point. Did Rand tell you its name?"
"No, and I didn't think to ask."
"Was the island inhabited?"
She noticed Malcolm's knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “It was deserted,” she answered, without missing a beat. His knuckles soon regained their color. She didn't like the sly smile that crept over his mouth. It spoke of cunning and secrets, reminding her of a crocodile in search of a tasty snack. Menacing teeth behind the closed mouth. Eyes beaded, looking for weakness in its target.
"I didn't see any lights in your cabin last night, Lori."
"I was late getting back from playing chess and went straight to bed. We left early this morning.” She held her breath. Her explanation slipped out before she thought. If he knew she'd arrived back still wearing her dress today, he'd deduce she must have spent the night on the Destiny, and he'd catch onto her lie. She'd have to be more cautious.
"Did you defeat Rand?"
"No. He's tough."
"Rand intrigues me, Lori. What do you know about him?"
"Very little.” Her fingers fiddled with the tiny white buttons on the cardigan draped over her shoulders. “He doesn't talk much about himself. It must be wonderful to have the money to afford living in style."
"I prefer not to flaunt mine. It's not tasteful.” His smirk and obvious envy set the tone of the conversation for the evening. Once they were seated in a private corner of the small diner, Malcolm grabbed every possible chance to either make derogatory remarks about Rand or prod her about her accident, feigning great sympathy. By the time dessert arrived, she could barely hold back her fury. Rand had been right. He'd been right about a lot of things, not the least of which was the danger that lurked below Malcolm's pleasantries. She could almost taste it. How dumb did the crook think she was?
"We've talked enough about me. Tell me about yourself,” she said.
"What would you like to know?” he asked pleasantly. “I've told you a bit about my business."
A very little bit, she thought. “I'd like to know more about it. Dealing with foreign countries must be fascinating and a real challenge."
"The import and export trade requires me to be on my toes, that's true."
"Do you always work out of Halifax?"
"Mostly, I do. But sometimes I coordinate efforts to bring goods ashore up here. It saves in transportation costs to the eastern part of the province."
Stunned by his admission, Lori figured he had to have an ulterior motive placing her so close to the truth. She suspected he planned to include her in his schemes later, if he thought he could trust her. He'd be in a position to affect the entire judicial system by getting her to do what he wanted with court records. She chewed on her lip. She could turn his plan against him by displaying keen interest.
"Do you land the merchandise at Lochaber?"
"No. Farther up the coast. I can show you the area on our way back if you like."
"By all means. I bet it's in the isolated cove you spoke about."
"It is. Privacy is only one of its useful features."
"What are the others?"
"The scenery, the sounds of quiet—only the lap of waves against the beach—and the perfume of wildflowers mingling with seaside scents. The locale is made for better things than doing business. I think you'll find, Lori, that Rand's cabin on the Destiny has little to offer compared to what this place inspires."
Inside she cringed.
* * * *
Rand nosed the rental car into the bushes. Why hadn't he paid more attention when Lori said she “might have a date?” Once it sunk in, after she'd left the yacht, he'd decided that if Mal
colm planned to draw Lori into his web, he'd work his smooth ways on her in an isolated spot. A spot away from him. It was only a guess it would be in the seclusion of the cove that the mobster had shown him. Then he'd remembered mentioning to George how he'd like to know how many of Malcolm's men were on the freighter. If she'd heard ... He knew by now how her mind worked. He and George had grabbed their service firearms and here they were—staked out in the dark above the shore.
"What are you gonna do if they're parked down there making out?” George's question tweaked his nerves tighter.
"I can't believe she'd be that stupid."
"She might not have a choice. My bet is she'll try to get as much information as she can."
"I think so, too. But she won't know when to stop, and that could get her killed. She was upset I didn't trust her. That makes it worse."
"Why?"
"Because I had another reason for deceiving her—I wanted to have her around, more than I needed the friggin’ information. It wouldn't be the first time we've boarded a ship without knowing how many were on there. The info wasn't vital. No thanks to me, she may have overheard us talking and thinks it is. She's playing a dangerous game.” Rand's fingers drummed on the wheel. “Even though I told her to leave, I'm responsible."
"You feel more than responsible ... You're hooked good, buddy."
"I'm not, and you're out of line. Come on, let's get onto the ridge where we can see if they're here."
George and Rand crept to the edge of the bank, taking care to keep their heads low. Once the men got there they could look down and see the beach under the moon's rising glow. George nudged Rand's elbow. “Look, they're here all right and getting out of the car."
They both squirmed onto their bellies. Rand's attention shifted to the two figures moving to the front of the vehicle. An involuntary growl rolled from his mouth. Exposed by the car's headlights, their quarry joined hands and strolled toward the water. Rand swore, then tightened his jaw. They strained to hear the conversation, but the waves, still rough from the offshore turbulence, crashed on the land, drowning out voices.
