Chapter 34

The door to her bedroom was ajar, and he tapped lightly.

She didn’t respond.

Ignoring the warning claxons blaring through his brain, he nudged open the door. The curtains over the window were closed, but faint streaks of afternoon light leaked around the edges.

She lay on her back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, her arms at her sides, her hands clenched into tight fists. Tears glistened on her cheeks.

A lump filled the back of his throat. She’d been so excited when she recalled the supply boat operator’s long-ago telephone conversation with her father. And how had he responded? He’d doubted her. He tugged at his shirt collar, his face heating. Doubted her? Hell, he’d as good as told her she was imagining events.

A stronger man would walk away and leave her in peace. But where she was concerned, he was weak, and his feet didn’t budge. He couldn’t leave her. Not like this. Before he talked himself out of doing something stupid, he crossed the room, sat on the bed, and drew her into his arms. Her body was stiff and unyielding, but she didn’t fight him. After a minute, her stiffness eased, and she relaxed and nestled against him like a child seeking comfort.

But she wasn’t a child.

Far from it.

The soft curves of her breasts and the sweet roundness of her ass were proof of her womanhood. His blood heated, and his heart rate quickened. He ached to take this further, to claim her once again and hear her throaty moans of surrender, but he refused to take advantage of her vulnerability. He wanted her. Hell yeah. But the next move had to be hers.

The room darkened, and his arms grew weary, but still he held her.

Otis padded into the room, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He laid his bristled chin on the edge of the bed and whined. When he didn’t receive the response he wanted, he barked.

Athena backed out of Russ’s embrace and sat up, leaning against a pillow. Her hair was a tousled cloud around her tear-stained face. “Why are you still here?” Her limpet-blue eyes searched his.

Because I want to make love to you. Right here. Right now. She’d never looked more beautiful. He breathed deep and fought the desire raging through him like an out-of-control wildfire. He tightened his lips, kept silent, and erupted off the bed as if he’d been scalded.

Otis barked again.

Athena patted the mattress. “Come on, boy. Come here.”

The oversized, gangly dog leaped onto the bed in a single bound. The bed bounced under the impact, and he licked Athena’s tearstained face.

She shoved him away. “Stop, Otis.”

Otis circled three times on the mattress before settling with a plop, his head resting on Athena’s lap.

“I’m sorry I doubted you.” Russ’s voice was a rough croak. “Let’s talk to this JD Burroughs. He might remember something.”

Her fingers threading through Otis’s fur stilled. “You’ll help me?”

He nodded, unable to speak around the boulder stuck in his throat.

She stared into his eyes as if seeking answers to an unspoken question. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”

The choking lump in his throat dissolved, and he grinned, uncaring he was acting like a schoolboy who’d just been noticed by the most popular girl in class.

****

The small car-and-passenger ferry steamed through the aquamarine waves toward the wharf. As the rugged, forested hills of Hornby Island neared, butterflies danced in Athena’s stomach. She gripped the rusted metal railing and breathed in fresh sea air laced with the acrid tang of the diesel exhaust spewing from the ferry’s tall, black smokestack.

Other passengers, who, like her, had left the boat’s warm interior and braved the cold wind and damp air, crowded the railing.

A trio of Pacific white-sided dolphins caroused through the rolling wake off the ferry’s stern. Seagulls circled high overhead in the clear, robin’s-egg-blue sky, shrieking and diving into the white-crested waves. The ferry’s horn blasted a single long, lonely wail announcing the boat’s arrival.

She glanced at the tall, handsome man leaning against the railing beside her, and her heart skipped a beat.

The wind ruffled Russ’s thick, dark hair and reddened his cheeks. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, his expression unreadable.

Once he’d agreed to her plan, he was all in, and he’d helped her track down JD Burroughs. An Internet search and three phone calls confirmed JD had sold his supply boat years ago and retired. The man who’d bought the business knew the old sailor’s current address.

She could have phoned JD and asked him her questions. That would have saved them the long trip, but she wanted to meet him in person so she could see his face when she asked him if he’d been on the island the day her parents disappeared. That was the only way she could be certain he was telling the truth.

The kennel was overbooked, and she didn’t have anyone with whom she could leave Otis, so instead of flying, they drove. The three of them. In Russ’s small, red, two-door sports car.

The dog thought the road trip was a terrific idea.

She wasn’t so certain.

They’d crammed the massive, shaggy dog into the small back seat where he alternated between staring out the window, panting and drooling, or curling up on the seat and sleeping. Dog hairs floated in the air, slobber painted the side window, and muddy dog prints marked the leather seat.

Throughout the long, ten-hour trip from Calgary to Vancouver, she and Russ took turns driving, stopping only for take-out meals, gas, and Otis’s numerous pee breaks.

Russ didn’t seem to mind. Another plus in his favor. He liked dogs. A lot. And he really liked her dog. A bubble of laughter filled her throat as she recalled the time they pulled into a picnic area along the side of the highway. In an effort to burn off some of Otis’s energy, Russ had found an old wool sock and played tug of war.

The dog yapped and tugged on the sock like a puppy, his teeth bared in mock battle. He was so excited playing the game, he’d peed all over Russ’s boot.

She’d held her breath, waiting for Russ’s blast of anger, but instead of cursing and yelling, Russ had burst into peals of laughter.

Otis yapped and bounced around Russ’s feet, oblivious of the faux pas he’d committed. Even now, she couldn’t help chuckling at the memory.

When they had radio reception, they listened to music and watched the endless miles pass. They followed the Trans-Canada Highway out of Calgary and into the foothills. Climbing higher, they ascended into the Rocky Mountains and to the Rogers Pass where they drove through five long avalanche tunnels.

The rugged, snow-covered peaks of the mountains were stunning. Coniferous forests climbed the mountainsides, frozen lakes and ice-choked rivers filled the narrow valleys, and melting snowbanks lined the sides of the road.

As if they’d agreed ahead of time, they didn’t talk about Shelter Island, the unsettling events on the Minerva, or their relationship. If they even had a relationship. She wasn’t so sure about that.

Once they reached Vancouver, they drove straight to the ferry terminal and caught a ferry to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. From there, they’d driven thirty minutes along the Island Highway to Comox and boarded the small car ferry to Hornby Island.

In all those long hours, she hadn’t been able to keep her gaze from Russ’s handsome face. The incongruity of his rugged features offset by the softness of his mouth intrigued her. All too well, she recalled the sublime feeling of those lips pressed to hers—lips that could be demanding and insistent one minute, and achingly tender the next. And then there was that damn dimple. When he grinned, and his dimple deepened in his lean cheek, she melted.

She tore her gaze from him and focused on the approaching shore. This trip could be a waste of time. Her memory might be faulty. Maybe JD Burroughs was telling the truth, and he had been delivering supplies to another island.

Maybe.

Or just maybe she was right, and JD delivered his supplies to the other island, and then stopped at Shelter Island. The possibility that he might know something about what happened that fateful day made the trip worthwhile. The ferry bumped against the dock with a jolting thud, and she staggered.

“Careful.” Russ gripped her arm and held her steady. “Are you ready for this?”

“I…I think so.” She swallowed. Was she? What if JD didn’t know anything? Worse, what if he was the one responsible, and he was a murderer? Were they about to confront a coldblooded killer? She thrust her fears away. “I’m driving.”

“Shotgun.” Russ’s laughter followed as they threaded their way through the tightly packed vehicles on the ferry deck.

“What are you talking about? You’re the only passenger.”

He pointed at the sports car. “I don’t think so.”

Otis sat perched on the front bucket seat, his head stuck out the open passenger seat window, his long pink tongue lolling.

She grinned. “Looks like you lost your seat.” She opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel.

Russ shoved his sunglasses onto the top of his head, opened the passenger door, grabbed Otis by his collar, and dragged the resisting animal off the front seat. “Nice try, boy, but that’s my spot.” He flipped the front seat forward and, grunting with the effort, lifted the heavy dog and shoved Otis into the back.

With a smug smile, Russ settled into the front passenger seat, dispelling a cloud of dog hairs.

She bit her bottom lip to stifle a giggle, but he must have heard her because he slid her a stern glance.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No. Of course not.” But too late, her chuckle spilled out. “Okay, maybe just a little.”

He grinned, and the devastating dimple made an appearance. The tiny crinkles beside his eyes deepened.

Her laughter stilled. Dear Lord, he was pretty. Especially when he laughed. She stared into his hazel eyes and bathed in the searing heat. For a moment, she forgot where she was, forgot to breathe.

A car behind them honked, breaking the spell.

He slipped his sunglasses over his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Heart fluttering, she drove off the ferry ramp and bumped onto the road leading from the ferry terminal to the interior of the small island. As she negotiated the winding roads beneath towering cedar and Sitka spruce trees, she peered through the filtered afternoon sunlight, studying the road signs.

“There it is.” Russ pointed to a narrow gravel lane branching off the main road. “That’s the road we’re looking for.”

She steered the car onto the lane. The houses were set back from the road amidst dense, old-growth rainforest and lush emerald-green meadows. They bumped over a single-lane bridge spanning a small creek clogged with moss-covered rocks and tangled, leafy ferns.

The road grew rougher, and she slowed as she steered around deep, water-filled potholes. They hadn’t seen another house for the past kilometer. A forest of tall trees and thick brambles lined both sides of the road. “Are you sure this is the right road?” She steered around another yawning hole.

He studied the map on his phone. “I think so. That guy I called said Burroughs lives at Number Sixteen, Gable Island Road.” He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and peered through the mud-spattered windshield. “There. Turn there.”

She swung the car onto a long, winding driveway shaded with towering coniferous trees and pulled to a stop in front of a mobile home protected by a rusted, moss-covered metal roof.

A small wooden addition, sided in faded silver-gray cedar slats, protruded from one side of the narrow trailer. A sagging, cedar-planked deck extended from the front. A wild tangle of weeds filled what had once been well-tended flowerbeds. The rusted hulk of a car, tires flat, windows shattered, and weeds growing inside, sat in the middle of the front yard like a giant lawn ornament.

Her heart sank. “Do you think anyone lives here?”

Russ nodded at a shed on the far side of the weed-filled clearing. A white, late-model pickup truck was parked under the sagging, moss-covered roof. “Looks like someone’s home.”

Turning off the motor, she opened the car door and climbed out. An air of desolation hung over the small, rundown mobile home. A row of grime-encrusted windows lined the front. She narrowed her eyes at a flicker of movement behind one of the windows. Someone was watching them. She shivered and rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.

“This’ll be okay.” Russ clasped her hand and squeezed. “No matter what you find out, you won’t be alone. I’m here with you.”

Warmth from his soft touch and his words radiated through her. “Let’s do this.” She pushed through the weeds, avoiding mud puddles and fallen branches, to the sagging porch. Climbing the rickety steps, she crossed the deck to the screened front door, drew in a deep breath, raised her hand, and knocked.