She’d always had a thing for men who were super competent but could still laugh at themselves, and Hot Bird Man with Newman eyes fit the bill.
Fiona was picking at the remaining food on her plate when Cara appeared.
“Changed your mind?” Fiona asked.
Cara shook her head even as she pulled out a chair and sat down. “I already ate. I tried to call you, but cell service is intermittent right now. It could have waited, but I figured I could use the walk.” She grabbed a fry from Fiona’s plate and popped it in her mouth. She chewed and groaned. “I forgot how good the fries are here.”
Fiona laughed, glad that whatever brought Cara here wasn’t urgent, or she wouldn’t be stealing fries. Plus, she didn’t mind the interruption. Dining alone with Bill had begun to feel a bit too intimate. Frankly, she’d been enjoying the time with him too much.
The waitress came to their table, and Cara ordered a Coke. When she left, Fiona said, “So what’s going on?”
“We have another crew member.”
“What? How is that possible?”
“He arrived late this afternoon, before we even got here. I think. It’s a little confusing. Here’s the weird thing: he’s a geologist. Trevor’s replacement.”
“What? And he was already here?” Fiona sat back in her seat, even as Bill leaned forward.
“How on earth did they get that arranged so fast?” he asked.
Cara shrugged. “I’m just as baffled. All I can think is that’s why Trevor was pulled from the flight? Maybe they already had this guy en route? But I can’t for the life of me figure out why. Could this have anything to do with Dylan Slater?”
Fiona furrowed her brow. “I don’t see how. I mean, Dylan was sent home because—” She cut herself off even as both Bill and Cara gazed at her sharply.
She’d consulted with her boss at the navy, Graham Sherwood, about Sylvia Jessup. Graham had directed her to talk to navy attorneys about how to best enter what she’d witnessed between Sylvia and Dylan into the record, and they’d specifically warned her not to speak of it with anyone from Pollux.
One slip could give Pollux grounds to sue if they weren’t selected for the next open-ended, on-call contract. Given that the EIS was worth several million to Pollux, they would seize on anything they could to keep the navy as a client. Much as Fiona liked Cara, and now maybe even Bill, she didn’t want Pollux involved with the next phase.
She was quite done with Sylvia Jessup.
She shook her head as if to brush away her near-slip. “What did Sylvia say?”
“I only managed to speak with her for about thirty seconds before we got cut off, but she said Victor Neff is to be made welcome on the team, and he’s a vital addition to ensure we get the EIS done on time.”
Cara snatched another fry from Fiona’s plate. Before taking a bite, she said, “Anyway, Victor took the third room in the guys’ side of the duplex, so, Bill, you’re bunking with us in our extra bedroom.”
He nodded. “I promise I’ll behave.”
Cara laughed. “Where’s the fun in that? This is the last time we’ll have access to alcohol for two weeks. We should pretend we’re back in college and play drinking games until three in the morning.”
Fiona groaned. “No way. I am not playing Never Have I Ever with any of you.” The last time she’d played that game, it had been around the campfire at field school when she was twenty-one, with her baby sister, Regan, by her side. She’d learned a lot about her sister that night and had made the mistake of vowing to be more adventuresome moving forward.
She took a long look at Hot Bird Man and wondered what a game like Never Have I Ever would reveal . . . and got strangely flushed just thinking about it.
Nope. No way. No field flings. She’d learned that much from Regan and her own mistakes.
THREE
Dean didn’t want to like Fiona Carver. Well, he wanted to like her, because he wanted Dylan to have found someone worth caring about, but he didn’t want to be attracted to her. Didn’t want to notice how her eyes crinkled when she smiled, or how damn smart she was, or the way she paused before she said anything about Pollux Engineering, demonstrating a thoughtfulness in her speech that he found rare in field expeditions. In his experience, once you got people away from the office, they loosened up and said things they’d never reveal otherwise. But not Fiona. If anything, she was more mindful, given her role as sole federal employee on this expedition.
He found her decisive, take-charge ways appealing. She’d secured lodging for the lot of them before anyone else had thought to grab their phones.
She also knew something about Dylan, but she wasn’t talking—and he was more desperate than ever to know why. But he didn’t think playing drinking games would do the trick, mostly because he was certain she’d never agree to play.
He placed his pack in the closet of his bedroom in the small former military base housing unit that was now owned by the Aleut Corporation. It was nearing ten, and the sun had set. He was tired but also wired after a long, stressful day of flying on a military jet under a false identity in an attempt to find the only person in the world who mattered.
He plucked one of his cameras from the pack. He’d brought four cameras with him on this trip, and this one was his favorite. The moon would be rising soon. He could get pictures of the twilit night and more of the ruined buildings and stark landscape after the moon rose. He grabbed a coat, hat, and fingerless gloves—the temperature had dropped rapidly once the sun went down, and the wind would probably be high—then stepped into the living room.
Fiona and Cara sat on the couch, sharing an open bottle of wine. The glass in front of the empty plush chair reminded him he’d planned to join them.
Fiona’s wool-sock-covered feet were up on the couch, with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her curly hair was loose and touched her shoulders, and there was something achingly beautiful about the relaxed, casual pose. The professional was off for the night.
He should stay. Maybe she’d open up in this setting. But he had his coat on and the camera in his hands. He couldn’t pull back. “Sorry. I was thinking this would be a good time to go for a walk. See if I can get some photos of nocturnal birds on the hunt.”
“Seriously?” Cara asked. “You’re going to have two weeks of that starting tomorrow.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I like birds.”
Fiona let out a soft laugh, then cocked her head. “You up for company?”
He shrugged, determined to keep his responses casual, when her request was better than he could’ve hoped for. “Sure.”
She looked to Cara in question, but the shorter woman shook her head. “No way. I’m going to enjoy real walls and plumbing and being out of the wind while I can. Have fun, though.”
“I’ll grab my gear,” Fiona said and ran into her bedroom. She returned a minute later with a polyfill jacket, rain shell, fleece cap, and wool mittens. She grabbed her boots and sat on the couch to don them, then pulled on the other layers that would protect her from the wind.
They set out, the wind greeting them at the front door, but it wasn’t as sharp or bitter as they were likely to face in the coming days. “I was thinking of heading to the ruins,” he said. “There are probably nests in the debris.”
“Sounds good.”
They walked along the main road that paralleled the shoreline in silence. A strong gust swept at them from behind, and Fiona shivered as she crammed her hands into her coat pockets.
“I’m surprised you wanted to join me,” he said. “You could be in a warm house having wine with Cara.”
“There will be plenty of time to hang out with Cara on Chiksook, and I’m a big fan of night walks. I live in a small town on the Kitsap Peninsula where I can walk by myself at night, and it’s one of my favorite ways to lose my stress so I can sleep. I was planning to go out later by myself, but it’s nice to have company too.”
Seeing an opening to get her talking, he asked, “Is y
our life on the Kitsap Peninsula stressful?”
“Work is. Always. But that’s true for everyone, isn’t it?”
Damn. Nothing about her personal life. “I suppose. I’m curious, though: Why is being an archaeologist for the navy stressful?”
She gave him a sideways look, and he figured he’d made another mistake, like not knowing what NHPA stood for. If he’d done this kind of contract work before, he’d know all about what archaeologists for the navy did. He cursed Dylan for not sharing more about the other disciplines he worked with in the field, but Dean probably had only himself to blame. He hadn’t paid close attention to the stories Dylan had shared.
“There are individuals in the navy who’d like to believe the military is exempt from having to follow environmental and historic preservation and protection laws. Take this project, for example. Navy brass wants this submarine base so badly, they initially tried to bypass the EIS process. As if the need for military might trumps the need for clean air or water.”
“But it’s not that simple.”
“It’s never that simple. As you know from dealing with loss of bird habitat. The ripple effect can be devastating, but we can have the base and protect endangered species. And honor agreements with Alaska Natives.”
“And yet, the entire reason the navy wants to build this base is because of the melting ice caps,” Dean added. He’d done his research on the rationale behind the project; he knew exactly what the navy planned.
“Yeah. Global warming is opening up a new Northwest Passage. One that will be in Russia’s and China’s control if we don’t establish a stronger presence here.” She kicked at a rock as they walked. “I want the navy to have their sub base, but I’m not going to roll over and rubber-stamp their plans without doing a thorough evaluation of the effects for the Environmental Impact Statement they’re paying me to do. I won’t compromise my professional reputation by signing off on an inaccurate or half-assed EIS. But sometimes the pressure from the top is strong for me to do just that.” She shrugged. “So it’s stressful.”
“But not stressful enough to make you rethink your decision to stay out of academia.”
She laughed. “Yeah, no. Different kind of stress. And, stressful as it is, I also love my job. I mean, look at what I get to do. I’m on Adak Island in the Aleutians, and I’m going to spend the next two weeks on Chiksook on the government’s dime. I’m going to record one of the most amazing sites I’ll ever be blessed to find, and I’ll also record a World War II site. I love travel and learning, and I’m going to learn new things and even possibly expand the knowledge base of prehistoric Unangax̂ dwellings, and even what it was like to be here during World War II. No two days will be the same on this expedition. It will be cold and miserable and exhilarating and wild.”
Dean was one of the lucky few whose job was his passion—and he was paid damn well to do it. He’d reached a level in wildlife photography most only dreamed about, and the words he used to describe his job were so very similar to what Fiona had just said, a passion for travel and learning. A similar need to understand the environment and the past to understand why wildlife behaved the way they did today, and the knowledge that his photos would educate and expand knowledge of the species he captured in a moment in time.
Sometimes a photo was just a photo. And sometimes it was a lesson in animal behavior. He’d bet sometimes a site was just a site for Fiona, but then there was Chiksook.
Her words triggered a rush of pleasure, but given who she was, the feeling was unsettling. And yet not unsettling enough.
They reached the point where the road skirted the end of the runway, and he paused, first looking down the long, paved expanse, then turning to face Kuluk Bay. Clouds were spotty, allowing stars to peek through, the water dark gray in the speckled light.
He turned again, this time looking down the shoreline, and lifted his camera to snap pictures of the rocks in the bay, the coastal road, and the housing development they’d just walked through.
It wasn’t a particularly pretty image—the light was all wrong—but it felt good to have his camera in his hands, adjusting the settings to get the best possible shot even in poor conditions. This he knew how to do. He was an expert in this one area, and it was good to remember that, given how off-kilter he was by having to pretend to be someone else.
By having to pretend that he didn’t know Fiona Carver had been sleeping with his brother, but she didn’t seem to give a damn about the fact that he was missing.
The camera in his hands gave him confidence. Reminded him of who he was. He’d made it this far. Tomorrow they’d arrive on Chiksook.
I’m coming, Dylan.
Fiona had wandered toward the water as he snapped away. Now his lens found her. Her silhouette was striking against the dark sea beyond the bay.
He adjusted the settings to make the most of the light and shadow. “Mind if I take your picture?” He had to shout to be heard over the wind and splash of the waves.
Through the viewfinder, he could see her wry smile, probably because he’d reminded her of his comment on the jet earlier. “Go for it. But no posting it online and identifying me. I don’t do social media, and I don’t like having my picture posted.”
That explained why he’d been unable to find her online from the scant information Dylan had given him. But also, she had nothing to fear from him on this point. As a photographer, he didn’t post any images online that he wasn’t prepared to lose control over. Pinterest and other social media sites were a nightmare for protecting photographers’ copyrights. “No problem.”
He snapped away, appreciating that she didn’t try to pose for him or hold still. She just continued what she’d been doing before, walking slowly along the shore, occasionally scooping up rocks, studying them, then tossing them in the water.
After spending the evening with her, he could see how she was just Dylan’s type. Which of course meant she wasn’t Dean’s type at all, even if he found her attractive. Even if they shared a similar passion for their work.
He and Dylan might be fraternal twins, but they couldn’t be more opposite when it came to relationships and their taste in women. Dean highly doubted Dylan had ever gone on a date that hadn’t turned into a serious relationship, whereas Dean had only had one serious relationship, and it would remain that way.
Dylan’s multiple breakups over the years only firmed Dean’s resolve. The divorce was simply the latest and worst. Dylan had left Southern California and moved to Seattle to start over.
When Dean reached out to Elise to ask if she’d heard from Dylan, she’d made it clear she didn’t care that he was missing, and he couldn’t understand how someone could promise to love and cherish till death, then three years later not even be able to muster concern for his disappearance.
Yet, a year after an ugly divorce, Dylan had been back in the dating game and waxing poetic about his new girlfriend on the phone.
As Dean snapped more pictures of beautiful Fiona in the darkening twilight, he couldn’t help but wonder how serious the relationship had been for her. All he could think from her reactions to the few mentions of Dylan’s name was, not very.
The last thing Dylan needed was another woman to crush his heart.
Dean lowered his camera. “Ready to keep walking?” The words came out terse, and he hoped she’d assume it was because he yelled to be heard over the wind.
She fell in by his side without a word as he continued down the road to the ruins of the old military base.
“Does Chiksook look like this?” he asked as they approached the crumbling buildings.
“Parts of it, but Adak has more housing and structures that were built after the war. Chiksook was still in use as a radio tower and staging point, but not nearly so extensively, so most of the ruins date to the war, not after.”
“What kind of ruins are there? The battles happened on Attu and Kiska.” He’d seen the ruins on Attu and visited the memorials when he was there to photograph bi
rds a few years ago.
“The requisite Quonset huts, Pacific huts, pillboxes, elephant magazines—”
“Elephant magazines?” the wildlife photographer in him couldn’t help but ask.
“They’re munition storage made with ‘elephant steel.’ It’s a turf-covered bunker meant to be nearly invisible from the air, so if a Japanese plane flew over, it would just look like another bump on the mountain.”
“Sort of like the prehistoric homes you were talking about at dinner.”
“Kind of, except the magazine has a circular opening in the hillside, not the top, but a similar built-into-the-earth design. There are also remains of things like generator buildings and other concrete structures, as well as collapsed wooden buildings. A gun emplacement. All the things you’d expect to find on any coastal base from that era. Plus, there’s all sorts of debris that litters the island. It’s surprising how well things can hide in the tall grasses. I’ve found more than one object by tripping over it.”
He smiled. “Sounds painful.”
She nodded. “It is. It really is.”
“So maybe the buddy system is a good idea after all.”
“Yes. For me—I’ll be traipsing across marshy ground and tall grasses with Christina. You’ll be in a vehicle most of the time so you can cover the most ground. None of us can spare the time to accompany you. I’m surprised Pollux didn’t hire a team to find the gray buntings.”
“I was all they could scrape up at the last minute.” Thank goodness. He doubted his knowledge would hold up with a real ornithologist to question him in the field.
He paused on their stroll to take a picture of one of the dilapidated structures. The gray sky was getting interesting as they left behind the few lights of the small town.
He scanned the night sky for birds. Even though Adak was known for an abundance of bald eagles, they were unlikely to be out at this time of night. His best bet would be to spot an owl hunting, but that would be pure luck, given that he hadn’t questioned locals on nesting locations.
Dangerous Ground Page 4
