CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

Jack sat on the couch, his arm resting on the folded pile of sheets Olivia had left for him. Light penetrated the gap in the drapes, its source a snook lamp mounted at the entrance to the pier. This diluted radiance cast an abstract outline of a wooden fisherman against the wall. Jack glanced uneasily from the hunched figurine to its shadow.

Haunted?

No, he wasn’t afraid that the place was haunted. The wraiths that circled this bungalow were very much alive and much more threatening than any ghost.

After researching the demise of the Eclipse container ship, the ambiguous facts left him certain that the vessel had gone down at the hands of a force more malevolent than nature. All sources claimed that the ship was an innocent victim of Hurricane Beatrice. It was a logical conclusion. The container vessel was directly in the trajectory of the deadly storm’s path−its last position nearly fifty miles off the coast of York. But why? Why was it there?

This had not been the type of storm to sneak up on you. The hurricane’s path was tracked the second it assaulted the Bahamian islands and lumbered its way up the coast. Predictions of destruction along the coasts of Massachusetts, Maine, and Nova Scotia were issued well in advance. There was plenty of time for the Eclipse Pembrook to either return to its port of origin, or reach its destination, Halifax.

So what then? Scuttling? Had they sank the vessel for the insurance money? That seemed unlikely. The Eclipse Line was a sound one.

Jack rose and entered the foyer on bare feet. This was his sixth patrol through the quiet house. And for the sixth time he paused before the closed door to Olivia’s bedroom.

His glance dropped to the doorknob.

An image from earlier flashed in his mind. Olivia was jabbing her fork at the laptop monitor, so engrossed that she forgot to chew the slice of tomato she had just slid into her mouth.

“Waww awr way dowwin oww there?”

“Excuse me?”

A hasty swallow and the obstruction was gone. She jabbed her fork again−this time at an AP photo of search vessels off the coast of Massachusetts.

“What were they doing out there? I remember that storm. I’m still paying repair bills from it.”

Those blue eyes sucker-punched him.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

“You need help,” she reminded. “I will help.”

Raising his eyebrow did little to intimidate her. Her free hand flowed over the keyboard while the fork dove for another batch of salad.

For as desperate as the situation that placed him in this stranger’s house was, the evening was a comfortable one. Olivia truly did want to help. He would let her do so for now, as long as it meant she was protected.

Staring down at the doorknob, Jack recalled his lame squabble to have her keep the bedroom door open.

“I want to be able to hear if you’re in trouble,” he argued. “What if someone climbs through your window?”

Her lips curved. In the dim light that smile tempted him. Too much.

“You looked out the window in my bedroom before. If you recall, it’s oval-shaped with perhaps a 10-inch maximum circumference. A small child would barely be able to wriggle through−if they could even reach it from the outside.”

Frowning, he countered. “The one-inch muzzle of a gun would fit fine.”

Immediately he wished he could retract the words. The beautiful smile was gone and the eyes grew stark.

“I will feel safer locked in my room,” she whispered hoarsely.

There was no refuting that. He nodded. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Olivia’s gaze fell to his chest. After a second’s deliberation, she started to slide the door shut.

“Olivia−”

Restless eyes lifted to his.

“−I’m sorry.”

A ghost of a grin dusted across her lips.

“I know,” she murmured and then shut the door.

Now, as Jack stared down at that doorknob he felt despondency smother him. He tried to toss it aside. He had resources. He had skills. He would find his uncle. He would find those responsible for his disappearance. And he would avenge the attack on this innocent woman.

When the bout of adrenaline subsided, he sat down on the living room couch. Knowing the hour in London, he once again attempted redial on the call he received earlier. Another BLUE-LINK voice mail. Any search about the company and the woman, Amanda Newton, validated her role. But no internet search would explain why she had called. With his eyes fixed on that gap in the drapes, he fell into a restless slumber.

***

Footsteps.

Jack sat up straight. The dim light of daybreak filtered through the drapes.

Olivia must have woken.

As he stood and took a step towards the foyer he noticed that her door was still closed. Again, a footfall sounded on the other side of the wall, near the front door.

He clenched his hands, hoping they would prove enough of an ally. Cautiously, he paralleled the wall on bare feet.

Another sound in the foyer. Jack’s muscles grew taut. The element of surprise and some well-executed maneuvers could disarm an armed man he reminded himself.

“Livvy?” A voice called out. “Are you up?”

Livvy?

“Be right out, Georgie. It was a long night. I’m running behind.”

Jack caught a glimpse of the grandfather clock. 6:47am.

She had guests before 7am?

The kind that could let themselves in?

The kind that called her Livvy?

A burly man stepped past the arched entrance to the living room. He was not tall by any means, but he was beefy. Beneath a red vinyl jacket, a polo shirt strained against an ample girth. A cap of pure black hair glistened from an early morning mist. The man was certainly not what Jack would picture a woman like Olivia with, but who was he to speculate on a woman’s preferences?

“Where’d that silver Cherokee come from?” The man yelled as he rifled through a fistful of envelopes. “I thought−”

Tucking the envelopes under his arm, he looked up. Walrus-sized eyes flared at the site of Jack standing in the living room. A hefty second chin dropped when the man’s mouth gaped open.

Jack realized the image he must portray. At some point during the night he fell asleep below an air vent that spewed dry heat. The rest of the bungalow kept its chill, but that spot on the couch was like pitching a lawn chair on the equator. He had tossed aside the blanket and unbuttoned his shirt.

Olivia picked that moment to open her door. A balmy scent of coconut wafted through the hall.

“Oh−” Her hand flew to her mouth.

But it was her eyes dropping to his chest that warmed Jack. Every inch they covered scorched his skin. Something primal churned in his stomach when their eyes locked. Swallowing it, he began to hitch the buttons to his shirt.

“Livvy, who is−” The burly man turned to her, “−oh my God, what happened to your face?”

Immediately, the walrus eyes swerved and narrowed into a threat. Jack raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

“No, Georgie. He didn’t do it.” Olivia swept her hair back and sighed. “Coffee. Damn, I need coffee.” As she started into the kitchen, she tossed back over her shoulder, “George, meet Jack. Jack, meet George.”

In a silent face-off, the two men stood rooted in the hall. Jack felt remarkably calm. Olivia was safe, and this man appeared to pose no threat to her. It seemed he needed to convince this Georgie that he posed no threat as well.

“Jack Morell.” He extended his hand.

In one assessing glance, George took in the discarded bedding on the couch and the untucked shirt. Thick black eyebrows drew together into a suspicious frown.

“George Pagonis,” he stated, returning the shake with added force. “Are you a−friend of Livvy’s?”

It might have been comical were it not for the desperate situation. Some of the humor was also doused by his irrational bout of jealousy. So what if Olivia−err−Livvy had a boyfriend? In fact, this cleared up everything. Now he could leave here feeling assured that she would be in someone else’s care.

But why didn’t she confess to the boyfriend last night when he had pointedly asked?

“No. I just met her yesterday.” That probably sounded lame considering it was obvious he had spent the night.

“Coffee’s ready!” Olivia hollered from the kitchen.

George lingered, still locked in an ocular duel.

“Georgie, get in here. I have a list.”

Meaty shoulders sagged as George muttered, “She always has a list.”

For a moment, Jack eyed the front door. Olivia had company now. She had protection. Georgie might be slightly out of shape, but he was a sizeable man. He would keep an eye on her. It was time to start focusing on the next step−the next means of locating Warren.

“Jack,” Olivia called. “Come in here.”

Tempted by the front door, he nonetheless turned towards the kitchen. She deserved far more than a sneaky departure.

***

Livvy forced composure before she turned around. It didn’t help. Her breath still caught. Jack stood with his shoulder hitched against the kitchen doorframe. Maybe he was trying to appear relaxed, but she could see the outline of every taut muscle beneath his cotton shirt. Thank God he had buttoned it. The recollection of that wide chest and the alluring ladder of muscles beneath it was seared in her mind to be replayed tonight when she was alone with her fantasies.

The sound of a chair scraping against linoleum nearly made her drop her mug. George looked up at her from her desk chair. She recognized that expression. He took the big brother role to heart. If she divulged the events of the past twenty-four hours he would have a coronary and try to force her to sell this house as he had done so many times before.

“Are you going to just stand there gawking, or are you going to tell me why you look like an extra from a Rocky movie?”

Here it goes−

“Would you believe I walked into the doorframe?”

George tapped the butcher-block surface with his thumb. “Normally−yes.” His derisive grin subsided as he crossed his arms and glared at Jack. “But things aren’t normal this morning.”

Okay, perhaps it had been a long time since George had seen her out on a date. She had known George Pagonis since she was six years old. He was her brother’s best friend. When the accident occurred, George stepped in and became her older brother. Well−older brother, mother, and father all on one life-altering day. She was twenty at the time, and since then George had probably only seen her with a few guys.

Now, at twenty-nine she had reached the conclusion that there was too much work to be done, and men only got in the way of that. Georgie was a rock. He helped her run this business. But it was her business. And it consumed her. Many male clients had tried to flirt out on the boats, some even renting just for an opportunity to charm the young captain. She wasn’t worried. She had a harpoon on board. A harpoon that she hadn’t reached yesterday.

Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough.

“Hello, Livvy. Are you home?”

Which was worse, facing George’s disapproving stare, or meeting the solemn gray eyes that studied her from across the room? Definitely the latter. But she was drawn towards them−compelled to do so. Unreadable shadows lurked in those eyes. Here was a man so intense and full of such angst. A man who claimed to be a scientist, and yet harbored the raw edginess and skill of someone with a more disciplined background.

All she had to do was tell George what had happened−to give the slightest hint that she feared this stranger, and it would be all over. George would see to it that Jack left, and the whole debacle would be behind her.

Or would it?

Jack’s warning made her fear otherwise.

Apprehension over the brooding stranger was tempered by the memories of his touch against her cheek, and the warm and desperate look in his eyes as he held that ice so gently against her wound. There was also the inane conversation they had as they cleaned dishes afterwards. She had sought to lighten the mood and asked, “So what is a Ben−benth−ben-theck creature?”

Jack reached to take the dripping plate from her sudsy hands and began drying it. A faint smile dusted his lips, but she could see his gaze dart to the window, sharply assessing the night before he returned his attention to her.

“The Benthic zone is the lowest level of the ocean where crustacean creatures, or benthos live. These are creatures that have adapted to dwell on the bottom under dense water pressure. They come in many varieties, but none are what you would consider, endearing.”

Not seeing anything in the dark, just her own reflection staring back at her, she asked, “So you really are a geek?”

“You seem to feel otherwise,” he mentioned quietly.

Both of her hands were in the water. She used her shoulder to scratch her itchy nose. “You carry yourself like a cop, or the military.”

Silence at her side prompted her to slice a quick glimpse. He was staring out into the night−and definitely not with the eyes of a nerdy scientist. No, he looked like a lethal weapon.

He held up a ceramic cow decanter. “Which cabinet?”

Okay, maybe not a lethal weapon. But cow decanter or not, he did not seem tame.

Now, the morning after−that untamed creature studied her, awaiting her next move. If only there was some guidance in that unreadable expression. Do I share what happened here yesterday? Do I share what we found in the trunk? Do I share that your uncle is missing?

Nothing. Barely a blink from the hurricane-colored eyes.

“Georgie, for Christ’s sake−I’m allowed to have a man over. I haven’t been a kid in a long time.”

Livvy felt bad for the flush that spread across George’s plump cheeks. Perhaps the rationale behind her impulsive response wasn’t so much to protect Jack as it was to liberate herself from always being a child in George’s eyes.

George’s heavy boot scuffed the floor. Clearing his throat, he reached for the coffee mug and took a hearty swallow. He seemed reluctant to look at Jack. Jack on the other hand was sporting a smirk that she found ridiculously sexy. If only her tale had been true. If only this man was here because he wanted to make crazy passionate love to her all night.

Humph. No wonder George was incredulous.

“Listen, Livvy. Of course you can have a man over.” Just saying it seemed to pain her friend. “It’s just that I’m wondering where you got that shiner. We both know you could find your way around this place blindfolded. You don’t walk into walls.”

Her cheeks burned. “I had a few glasses of wine,” she explained. “As a matter of fact, I was−I was−walking back into the kitchen for a refill. The lights were out. I stumbled.”

In the background, the grandfather clock ticked, Fool. Fool. Fool.

George’s lips tangled coyly. “Well, that does make some sense.”

It does?

“It would explain the broken glass on the floor behind the stepstool.” He pitched his head at the step ladder folded beneath a cupboard.

Livvy shot Jack a look. His shoulder budged slightly in defense. They had spent the greater part of the evening trying to correct the melee left by the invader. Jack was adamant about restoring every inch to its original luster. His guilt was in overdrive at the time.

“Yes, yes it would,” she stuttered.

“But−”

“But?”

George folded his thick arms. “It looks to me more like there was some sort of altercation. Broken glass. Those scrapes on the wall over there−.” A knot formed between bushy black eyebrows. “Mind you, none of this is anywhere near where the wine is stored. And−”

Busily cursing the slashes on the wall that must have come from one of the tossed kitchen chairs in the burglar’s chaotic path, Livvy realized that George had paused. He was now studying Jack with a limited rein on his anger.

“And,” he continued. “The fact that this character here was undoubtedly sleeping on the couch when I came in is a clear indication that he had been kicked out of the bedroom after the argument.”

This entire situation had turned surreal.

“May I inject something?”

Livvy’s head jerked at the sound of Jack’s voice. He offered a subtle dip of his chin, conveying with his eyes that everything was going to be alright.

George lolled his head to the side in anticipation.

A muffled chime reverberated around the kitchen. As it repeated, each jingle suspended her heartbeat.

Jack reached into his back pocket for his cell phone. Frowning at the panel, he hoisted it to his ear without any salutation. Livvy watched the shadowed planes of his face sharpen. Despite being unshaven, the stubble could not conceal the sudden paleness. She feared he had received grave news about his uncle. Impulsive as it may be, she wanted to cross that kitchen floor and hug him−to offer some form of solace. Words−words were useless. They could not heal. George had tried words. His wife, Hannah had tried words. She loved them both for their selflessness−but their words couldn’t erase the pain.

***

“I know you have the trunk in your possession.”

Jack strained to identify any accent. It certainly wasn’t British−nor was the brief glimpse of the phone number an international one.

“I don’t know what you found inside it, but the fact that you spent the night watching over that woman indicates it was something worth protecting.”

Northeast, Jack thought, but not New England. Not Maine. The man said, over, not ovah.

“What else did you discover?” The voice asked as a rush of static filled the connection. In a moment the line was clear again. It sounded like he was making a call on a windy street−or on the deck of a ship. “I’ll share what I found.”

Not looking up, Jack could feel Olivia’s eyes on him. Soulful. They had grown darker as the evening progressed last night. For a man who had spent a considerable amount of his life on the ocean, her tales of the sea fascinated him. She was young. Maybe thirty. But she spoke like a seasoned captain, and she reminded him of Quint from JAWS−albeit, a hell of a lot sexier than the dodgy old drunk from the movie.

She had lied to the behemoth Greek man sitting at the kitchen table. Why? And what a lie−implying that they had more-or-less been getting it on. Damn, he had felt the effects of that fib deep in his groin. This morning he was still reeling from how close he had come to kissing her when he held that icepack to her face.

But now this faceless voice erased those effects. Now this nameless threat prevented him from meeting her gaze. Now this anonymous menace was about to divulge what it found…

“I found a cowering old man,” the voice hissed.

Jack’s blood ran cold. He gripped the thin phone tight enough to splinter it. Knowing that he had two people staring at him, he choked down the condemnation that ached to spill from his lips. He held a single finger up, hoping it didn’t shake as badly as it felt. With that simple gesture, he moved briskly from the kitchen to haul open the front door. His long stride managed to eat up some of the driveway before he cried out, “Goddamn, you son of a bitch. If he is dead I will hunt you down.”

Jack whirled in the gravel to see if the front door had opened, but he was alone on the far side of the circular drive. Blood pounded in his ears.

“How did you get this number?” he challenged, ready to chastise someone at PMSC for being so liberal with his contact information.

“We know all about you, John Morell. We have researched all ties to Warren Pennington, but only you are on that shore searching for the same thing we are. Only you operate as ‘security’ for the Pennington Center.”

“You started this,” Jack goaded. “You called me. There is something you want. Something you need.”

“I believe we’ve already established that.” The man replied coolly.

“If you tell me that my uncle is alive, then perhaps we will continue this conversation.”

A banshee cry of static filled the connection. It tapered only for Jack to hear the words, “I can’t tell you that.”

Jack disconnected.

Ignoring the vibration of another call, he started towards the house and drew to a halt when he saw Olivia watching him from the porch. When had she come out?

Inside his pocket, the cell phone drilled on.

Olivia stood rooted at the top of the stairs with her hand wrapped around the wooden railing.

With feral aggression, he hauled the phone back up to his ear. “What?”

“You have something I need.” The voice stated blandly.

A fucking broken chair?

“If my uncle is dead, then you have no bargaining tools.”

Angry that no new dialogue had been injected, Jack lifted his thumb to disconnect.

“Is the woman’s life not a bargaining tool?”

His gaze wrenched back up to Olivia standing stoically on the porch. She watched him, but he could tell by the pale-tipped fingers gripping the rail that she wanted to push off and join him. He had divulged too much last night, and now she had the misguided impression that they were allies.

Yanking away from that probing gaze, he hunched over for privacy. Wind nipped at his exposed ear. The other burned against the phone.

“I don’t even know her,” he hissed. “Like you, I showed up here yesterday looking for that goddamn footlocker. And guess what−I have it. All you need is me.”

“If you don’t know her, then why did you spend the night? Was it to protect her?”

Son of a bitch.

“She’s going to need more protection, I’m afraid,” the voice droned on. “That is unless you give me what I’m looking for.”

“I’ll give you the goddamn trunk,” Jack yelled, and then tossed a quick glimpse over his shoulder to see if she had moved.

“That will be a good start, but if it doesn’t contain what I’m interested in, then we have a problem.”

We have many problems.

“Listen to me,” Jack’s tone was lethal. “I’ve run out of patience. I am taking the woman and the trunk to the police. I’ve already reported my uncle missing. The Coast Guard is out there searching, and I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before they stumble across you, or whatever it is you are hiding,” he paused. “There will be nothing left for you to come after…except for me. So go ahead, big man. Come get me.”

Even with the fine peal of the ocean breeze curling into his ear he could hear the man’s drawn breath.

“You have no idea who or what you are dealing with.”

“You’re right. But so far I’m not impressed.”

“We’re aware that you are a snag we must address, but this woman has seen too much as well. She has become a liability to us. If you take her to the police, she will talk−and we can’t have that. Don’t underestimate the scope of what you’re dealing with here. Maybe she’s innocent, but that’s too bad for her. And it’s too damn bad for you that your uncle couldn’t ignore what he discovered on the ocean floor. Stay where you are and let us collect what we need. Perhaps−”

“All I hear are words,” Jack’s voice lost some conviction. “There is no proof of the fate of my uncle.”

The man’s voice grew faint. He was on the move. “Ask Olivia McKay if the fist to her eye felt like words.”

Pressing the cell phone tight to his ear, Jack realized that the connection was severed. He searched the bay expecting to see the flash from a pair of binoculars reflecting back at him. A small skiff plodded towards the mouth of the inlet, its rear end weighted down by a motor and a man in a baseball hat. The man was looking ahead, concentrating on the path before him, one hand guiding the motor.

A touch of morning fog still clung to the surface of the water, and the air was brisk enough to dissuade the casual boater. Only hardcore fishermen were heading out at this early hour.

He sensed her approach, but didn’t turn his head. She was inculpable in a scheme he had yet to comprehend. Part of him wanted to gamble that the voice on the phone was just a flake, and that indeed Olivia would be safe with the authorities. Still, his mind replayed that gunfire echoing in the background as his uncle warned, trust no one, Jack.

Surprised that Olivia remained silent, he finally turned to look at her. She was standing at his side, her arms crossed to fend off the morning chill. Wind chased shiny amber strands across her shoulders. Her cheeks blossomed under the assault. She was staring out to sea with an intoxicating combination of sadness and wonder.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Sorry? For what?”

Her head tilted up at him and her eyes were troubled. “I’m sorry about the phone call. I know what those are like.”

Stumped into silence, Jack finally asked, “How do you know what the phone call was about?”

She squeezed the spot at the top of her nose, but then lifted her head and gazed out at the receding mist. “I don’t. But, your expression was a sad one. It was also indignant. I know that recipe. You’ve received news of your uncle,” she hesitated and he swore there were tears in her eyes. “And judging by that expression, it was devastating. I am so sorry.”

A pair of seagulls crisscrossed in the air, their raucous search for food fading away as they glided down the coast.

“Did you lose someone recently?” It was an invasive question, but she looked so forlorn.

“Mmmm.” Her head bobbed. “A few.”

Before he could even analyze that statement the front door opened and the Greek man stepped onto the porch. Jack glanced from him to Olivia’s windblown cameo.

“Can he take you away from here?”

Her head tipped back in frustration. “We had this conversation last night. No.”

“Is he a relative?” The fact that he wanted to come right out and ask if the guy was her boyfriend frustrated him.

“Sort of,” Olivia hedged. “I will not put him in any jeopardy.”

“Is everything alright out here?” George called before starting down the porch steps with the enthusiasm of a landscaper entering an alligator-infested swamp.

“We’re fine Georgie.”

“Listen to me,” Jack whispered roughly. “You have five seconds to make a decision. The phone call I received was a blatant threat−to me−and to you. I know that is not fair, and that you have nothing to do with me or my uncle, but unfortunately you’ve been tangled up in this mess. Your choices are either to leave here with Georgie−or you get in my Jeep and I will figure out how to get you to safety.” With the big man only a few steps away, Jack added, “−but if you care about this man. Send him away from here. Keep him away at all costs, Olivia. Do you understand?”

There was no time for her to respond. George Pagonis stood before them, his head tipped in curiosity, the wind puffing up his black hair like the crown of a crow.

“Georgie, I’m shutting the place down for the day.”

Shock caused a dip in the black unibrow. “Say what?”

“I’m taking a day off, which means that you get the day off as well. Why don’t you fix up those mustard pork chops or whatever for Hannah. Surprise her.”

George tucked his hands into his jean pockets and studied Jack edgily. “The only surprise going on today is you.” His glance slid back to Olivia. “You never take a day off. Never.”

Seeing her mouth open, he cut her off. “Yeah, you’ve maybe had a sick day or two over the past nine years, but I handled the boats. We never closed.”

Out in the harbor a skiff crept by, the sun glinting off its narrow windshield. Was it his imagination or had the craft slowed down?

“Olivia,” Jack urged huskily.

To his surprise he felt her arm loop through his.

“George. I want a day off.”

Warmth infused the left side of Jack’s body. What was he supposed to do? Should he put his arm around her to support her ruse? That was impossible when her unexpected touch had paralyzed him.

“I get that, Livvy. I get it.” George swiped a hand over his face and clutched his chin. “I have no problem with you leaving with this−this−”

“Jack,” Jack offered.

“This Jack here. But I’ll stay in case any business shows.”

Even through his jacket, Jack could feel the tension around his arm as her body grew taught.

“Nobody came yesterday. We’ll be lucky if someone shows up this weekend. I’ll leave a sign up on the front door. Just take the day off, Georgie.”

Dark eyes measured her before landing on Jack with obvious mistrust.

“It’s your business,” he yielded. “I can’t tell you what to do.”

“It’s your business too, George.” Olivia quickly rushed.

Taking a step backwards, his hands still in his pockets, George shook his head. “No, it’s not.” He pulled out his car keys, staring down at them. “Have a good time today. I’ll call later to check in.” At the door to his pickup, he added, “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

Jack’s bicep clenched in a silent message.

“Well, don’t call the land line,” she directed. “Call the cell.” Answering the man’s raised eyebrow, she offered, “The landline has been having problems.”

Opening the door of the Dodge Ram, George measured her over its rim. “Is everything alright, Livvy? I mean it.”

Olivia chuckled, but it sounded like a motor running underwater. “Stop worrying so much. Everything is perfect!” For confirmation, she hugged Jack’s arm and even rested her head against his shoulder.

Dubious, George stooped into the cab, and called out. “Then you both have fun. I will check up on you later.”

It sounded more like a threat.

Olivia released the death grip on Jack’s arm so that she could wave enthusiastically at George as his pickup ambled down the driveway. As soon as it rounded the trees on its way to Gull Harbor she edged away from Jack completely.