CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

Flipping on the lights, Jack stepped aside to admit Olivia. As she passed by he released a pent-up breath.

What the hell was I thinking? I almost kissed her. Hell, I did kiss her.

He could still feel the soft curve of her cheek beneath his lips, and the warm flesh that seemed to burn under his touch. God, how he’d wanted to taste her mouth.

It had to be a byproduct of the tension and stress of the past few days. Yes. The trauma of witnessing that contusion on her face. And the pain of the unknown regarding his uncle. He needed someone−and that’s all it was. A comradery with the only person who shared the drama that had unfolded.

Yes.

Those were all plausible, convenient excuses.

But, dammit, I still want to kiss her.

“Have a donut.” He handed her the box as he crossed behind his desk, avoiding any glimpse of her soft mouth.

Perhaps the wooden barrier could stave off his wayward thoughts.

It worked. Behind the desk he was sobered into action as he surveyed the bank of monitors. Soon the FBI would be here and they would whisk Olivia away to safety. Maybe someday if he located his uncle and everything settled down again, he could pay a visit to McKAY CHARTERS. Maybe its bewitching owner would take him out on a tour of the coast−a tour where neither would concentrate on the rugged shoreline. Maybe then he could kiss her like he wanted to.

A red flashing light in the lower left corner of one of the monitors nearly went undetected as a byproduct of his racing pulse. Jack took a step towards it to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

“Whaww?” Olivia glanced up with a mouthful of sugar donut. She used the donut to point at a screen and some white powder dropped onto her thigh. “Oh look, Flinn listened. I see him getting in his car.” She hesitated. “It looks like he’s safely on his way.”

“Good,” Jack acknowledged, distracted by the blinking red light. He had to reset the system to be sure. It could be a fluke.

Walking back to his computer, he opened up the GPS software. His hand jerked when the phone beside his keyboard blared. A quick glimpse at the monitors confirmed that the FBI had not shown up yet. He snatched up the receiver.

“Jack Morell.”

“Mr. Morell. I am responding to your voice mail. I was tied up in meetings this morning−several regarding the Eclipse Container Line.”

The British woman? What was her name?

“Amanda Newton,” she responded to his inner thoughts.

“Yes,” he snapped. “I remember.” The wacko British chick who knew too much. “I researched your company as you suggested—and your title seems legitimate—” He caught Olivia watching him. The discoloration around her eye was beginning to turn sallow at the edges. Her lips were dotted with powdered sugar. “But it doesn’t explain why you want to speak to my uncle.”

“Mr. Morell. Let me just cut to the chase as they say, and list the details that have come to my attention.”

Jack searched the monitors for any sign of the FBI. If he had to cut this woman off, God knew when he’d connect with her again−and maybe they’d be interested in talking to her as well.

“The MV Pembrook, an Eclipse cargo ship carrying 2700 automobiles sank just south of Nova Scotia. It was presumed to be the victim of Hurricane Beatrice, but salvage crews were unsuccessful in locating the vessel.”

Olivia was staring at him. Every few seconds those cerulean eyes would slice to the monitors on the walls.

“My company,” the British woman continued, “BLUE-LINK, was hired by the Eclipse line to do a viability study on the New York – Halifax route. We have since been sued by the Eclipse parent company for negligence in reporting accurate weather patterns and falsifying the potential of the route.”

Jack snorted. “That’s absurd.”

“Indeed,” the woman stated mildly. “However, because of such absurdity, and to protect my company, I have had to fund a search into the whereabouts and demise of the MV Pembrook.”

Again his head shook in disbelief. “Because naturally you could locate a ship that the Coast Guard, in their exhaustive pursuit, and several high profile private operations could not.”

“I have resources, and the reputation of BLUE-LINK to concern myself with. Consider me motivated, Mr. Morell.”

Before his desk, Olivia rose to pace. On each rotation she paused and eyed the monitors.

“All fascinating information,” Jack caught a glimpse of the flashing red light in the bottom left monitor again. He tensed. “Remind me why this concerns my uncle.”

He refused to acknowledge that this woman had made a correlation between Warren and the sunken Eclipse ship. Let her present all her facts.

Unruffled, the smooth voice continued. “I have a record of a call placed from the MV Algonquin to the Nova Scotia Coast Guard. I also have records of the subsequent search and dispatch of the Coast Guard after the Algonquin was reported missing—all in the general area that the Eclipse ship went missing.”

“Great,” Jack cut in. “You have an abundance of time and illegal resources to track communication in the area. And what did you discover?”

“Mr. Morell,” she started. “The stellar reputation of BLUE-LINK is critical to me, as you can imagine.”

“I can’t imagine anything. I don’t even know you.”

“I’ll concede that point, but if someone were to attack The Pennington Marine Science Center with claims that your research was tainted—that you were providing the public with misinformation—”

“Yeah, I’d be pissed,” he finished.

“Indeed.” A long breath could be heard and then she fell right back into place. “I have had private ventures in the area searching for the Pembrook. They are mingling with local outfits to listen to the gossip and glean any substantial clues.”

“May I point out that the Pembrook went down almost two years ago—?”

“This lawsuit came across my desk only three months ago—” Curbing her agitated lapse, Amanda continued, “If I may proceed—one of these local operations saw the Algonquin several days ago. They also saw it boarded by a military helicopter with a small arsenal of armed men.”

The sound of gunfire that could be heard in the background of Warren’s phone call.

Clutching the arm of his desk chair, Jack leaned forward.

“This all sounds a bit Hollywood and unrealistic.” There was less passion in his dismissal, and more desperation. “Surely if your source is a local outfit, they must have shared their information with others. Hell, that would be bar bait as soon as they came back to port.”

“Yes,” Amanda agreed adroitly. “I imagine it would. However, any contact with this source has now gone unreciprocated and my latest intelligence tells me that this informant has gone off the radar, so to speak.”

Jack’s glance darted across the desk to meet Olivia’s. Hers widened at the connection, but he didn’t believe she could hear the conversation. Regardless, she picked up on his vibe and clutched her hands between her knees and started to bounce them nervously.

“Alright,” Jack regained his composure. “So when you first called me, you knew I wouldn’t connect you with Warren. You were just trying to fish for information−to see if I revealed where he was, or what he found?”

Olivia glared, hearing this end of the conversation.

“I won’t waste our time by denying that,” Amanda admitted. “And I hope you won’t waste our time denying what your uncle located. It is my belief that there is an influential cover-up taking place−a dangerous one. And I believe that you are in danger as well.”

“I fail to see how my safety would be of your concern−”

“It’s my concern because I need you. I need you to locate your uncle and determine whether or not he discovered the wreckage of the Eclipse ship.”

Jack sagged back against the chair. “That’s all you care about−saving your company’s ass? My uncle could be dead.”

Olivia settled her thigh across the corner of his desk. Her hand landed inches from his as she leaned in with a repugnant look on her face.

“Maybe saving my company’s ass will ultimately save lives. This time it was your uncle. Who will it be next?” The soft British lilt questioned. “Whoever this group is, they can’t silence everyone who travels along the North Atlantic.”

A motion on the corner of his desk caught his attention. Olivia pointed at the monitor. Two dark sedans were pulling through the front gate of the complex.

“I don’t have time for this,” Jack announced.

His heart demanded that he turn this over to the feds. His gut felt like it was losing a bout with acid reflux.

“Look,” A tinge of urgency had woven into Amanda Newton’s composure. “I can’t get to you yet, but I am sending someone there. Someone who can help.”

The emphasis on the word, help, was a curious one, but Jack was already distracted with the need to get upstairs.

“Fine. Whatever. This will all be cleared up here shortly. I am sure the authorities will locate Warren given their resources.”

A swift intake of breath and then Amanda whispered, “Don’t trust anyone.”

“Don’t trust anyone,” Warren whispered.

“Oh, I’ll be sure to heed your advice on that, Ms. Newton. Good luck with your lawsuit.”

Jack snapped the phone off, cursing at it. He noticed the pulsing red light again and hauled the mouse off its pad, hastily drawing up a program on the computer.

“Jack, they’re here.” Olivia was already in the doorway.

“I know.” He continued typing even as he rose. “I just want to check one thing real quick.”

“I can run up there while you finish.”

“Whoa−Olivia, wait!”

Startled by his cry, Olivia snapped back into his office, her head cocked as she searched his face.

“What?”

“That red light on the bottom monitor.” He pointed at the wall.

“Yes?”

Still not believing what the software revealed, he took a deep breath and uttered, “It’s a signal from the Algonquin.”