Amber Beach (15 page)

“Of all the butt-dumb, ass-stupid… ouch!” Even as he cursed the cold, uneven rocks he hadn’t noticed when he sprinted barefoot up to the cottage, he welcomed the discomfort each step brought. It helped to get his mind off his crotch.

On the way to the boat, he decided to hell with shaving. After four weeks the stubble had become beard-soft and didn’t itch anymore. Besides, winter was coming eventually and he had it on good authority that women hated face fur. They liked the clean-shaven pretty boys or the way-cool types who had to plan their dates two days in advance so they would have just the right amount of fuck-you bristle on their city
cheeks.

Muttering every step of the way, Jake tried to find the silver lining in his particular cloud. The best he could come up with was the fact that by now everyone watching the cabin would know the prey was up and about.

The thought of Ellen getting a predawn wake-up call made
him smile.

Honor pulled herself together, dressed, and hurried down to the dock. It was still dark. The
Tomorrow’s
lights were on, the engine was chuckling to itself like a tree full of ravens, and fishing gear was laid out. She looked at the rods stand
ing upright in the rod holders next to the cabin door. Then she measured the big black dip net waiting in what Jake called a “rocket launcher” mounted on the roof. Exotic bits of fishing gear dangled from th
e rim of a white plastic bucket. Inside the bucket a package of frozen bait fish was slowly thawing.

“For this I got up way before sunrise”, she said under her breath. “For this I should have my brain scanned.”

With a feeling of doom, she stepped onto the dew-laden boat and opened the cabin door. The aroma of hot coffee curled around her like a caress. Jake was seated at the helm, holding a mug in his big hand.

“I forgive you”, Honor said instantly, reaching for the mug.

“For what?” he asked, startled.

“Anything. Just hand over your coffee.”

“Actually, it’s yours. Both sugar and cream.”

“Heaven in a chipped mug. Gimme.”

He gave her the coffee. She drank cautiously, persistently, then shuddered with the first, ecstatic wave of hot coffee lighting up her throat all the way to her belly.

“Other than the alarm, how did you sleep?” he asked.

“How do I look like I slept?”

“Badly.”

“Ouch. I thought all fishermen lied.”

“Only about things that matter.”

“Like fish?”

“Yeah. Any more calls?”

She shook her head, sipped
again,
then drank greedily despite the heat. “God, you make good coffee. How come some smart woman hasn’t married you, taken off your shoes and socks, and chained you to the kitchen stove?”

“Because I can’t get pregnant.”

“Ah, well, nothing is perfect. Except this coffee.” She finished the last drop in the mug and smiled winningly at him. “Do we really have to go fishing?”

“We really do. But nice try. I especially liked the bit about taking off my shoes and socks before you chained me up.”

Honor laughed and let the last of her grouchiness slide away. Dawn with Jake wasn’t all that bad.

“Truce?” he asked dryly.

She shrugged. “Yeah. I’m awake, now.”

“So am I”, he said, turning back to the chart plotter he had been working over when Honor appeared. “Sorry for that
crack about staring.”

“Sorry for staring”, she muttered. “I’m not used to mostly
naked men in the morning.”

“Whatever happened to women’s liberation?”

“AIDS, among other things”, she said, reaching for the coffeepot on the stove. “Celibacy is back.”

“Sounds boring.”

“So is sex.” She yawned. “You want some?”

Jake’s head snapped up. He saw her pouring coffee into her mug and told himself he was relieved rather than disappointed that she was offering him coffee, not sex.

“Yeah, thanks.”

She creamed the coffee and handed it to him.

“You do that like you’re used to fixing coffee for… someone”, Jake said.

“Faith. She likes loads of cream and sugar. Actually, cinnamon lattes are her favorite.” Honor shuddered delicately. “What a breakfast.”

“That reminds me. Did you eat something before you left
the cottage?”

“My alarm clock.”

Jake’s head snapped around toward her.

She burst out laughing. “You should see the look on
your face.”

“I’d like to. I’m trying to imagine how you’ll sound at
dawn tomorrow morning.”

“We aren’t going to be up then.”

“Of course we are. Would you like an omelet to go with your
alarm
clock?”

Honor gave him a look of wide-eyed awe. “Can you actually cook?”

“Do I look like I’m starving?”

“There are restaurants.”

“Local restaurants are the number one reason I learned how to cook.”

She wanted to ask if he had ever been married but couldn’t think of a subtle way to do it. “Have you ever been married?”

“Yeah. Have you?”

“Nope. I never found a man brave enough to take on the Donovan clan. How long were you married?”

“What makes you think I’m not married now?”

It was Honor’s turn to be caught with her jaw hanging open.

“It was twelve years ago and it lasted less than a year”, he said, smiling slowly. “I was in the navy and she was a party girl who didn’t like being alone. No kids and no regrets. Any other questions?”

Honor winced. “Sorry. I was just curious and it’s too early in the morning to be clever about asking.”

He tugged lightly on a flyaway piece of her hair. “I’m the direct sort myself. No kids for you either?”

“I told you I wasn’t married.”

“Honey, if you think it takes marriage to get a woman pregnant, you should watch daytime television.” Shaking his head, he turned away from her. “Can you cook?”

“Sure. Do you want me to peel the eggs for the omelet?”

His head turned swiftly toward her before he realized that he had been suckered
again.
Smiling, he turned towar
d the sto
ve. Kyle had been like that – quick-minded, quick to tease, quick to laugh at himself. Good company.

“What would you do if I said yes to peeling the eggs?” Jake asked.

“Make a mess.”

“That’s what I figured.”

He started cracking eggs into a bowl. While he made an omelet, Honor looked at the computer screens.

“What’s on the screen?” she asked.

“I found a batch of stored routes.”

“Where do they lead?”

“Out in the islands.”

“Fishing holes?”

“Seem to be.”

She made an impatient gesture. “The fishing can wait. I want to learn how to run the boat.”

“You can do both at once.”

Honor grimaced. “Whatever. Let’s get to it.”

“Eat breakfast first. You learn better when your stomach
isn’t empty.”

What Jake didn’t say was that he wanted to be certain that the elusive fourth boat, the Olympic, had time to get into the predawn parade. He would really like to get a look at whoever was aboard. It made him edgy not to know the names of all
the players.

He poured the egg mixture into a hot pan. As the eggs
set, he started adding ingredients.

“Did Kyle ever say anything to you about diving?” Jake asked casually, watching the eggs.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“Not really. He dove off of Australia some years back, when Archer was investigating Broome’s potential as a pearl
supplier.”

“But Kyle never talked about diving here?”

“Only in the negative. As diving goes, I gather the San Juan Islands aren’t much.”

“Compared to the tropics, they aren’t. Diving here is hard cold work. The currents are always tricky and often dangerous.”

“Do you dive?”

He shrugged. “Some. Is Kyle’s diving gear stored up at the cottage?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I turned that place upside down looking for his twenty-two pistol. I didn’t find any diving
gear.”

“What about the pistol?”

“It’s missing, too.” Then she added quickly, “But the guy who washed up on the beach wasn’t shot, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“All I’m thinking of is not burning the eggs.” He swirled the mixture around and tested the edges. Not ready to fold yet. “Did you see anything like this when you were searching?” he asked, turning toward the galley table.

Honor looked at the small electronic gizmo he picked up off the table.

“What is it?” she asked.

“GPS receiver.”

“Hello?”

“Global Positioning System. A receiver tells you where you are within a few yards or a few hundred feet, depending on how the government has dicked with the signal.”

Eyebrows raised, she glanced at the modest-looking bit of electronics again. “I didn’t see anything like it.”

He wasn’t surprised. He suspected that Kyle had the GPS unit with him. For whatever reason, Kyle had chosen to leave the SeaSport behind and use the Zodiac instead. Locating things at sea was dicey. A GPS made it almost easy. Almost, but not quite.

“Where else might Kyle keep dive
gear?”
Jake asked.

“Not in his car. I checked it first thing.”

Jake focused on the omelet. He didn’t want to be too obvious about finding out where Honor’s brother might store things he didn’t keep on the premises, but subtlety wasn’t
getting the job done.

“Does Kyle have one of those U-rent storage lockers in that place on the edge of town?” Jake asked finally, folding the omelet with a flip of the spatula.

“If he does, I didn’t see anything about it in his checkbook. That omelet smells heavenly. What’s in it?”

“Cilantro, sweet onions, jack cheese”, he said absently. He was digesting the information that Honor had been through Kyle’s check register in search of anything that might lead to her brother. For all her talk of nonlinear information sources, she didn’t overlook the linear kind. “Any unusual deposits or
withdrawals?”

“No big ones, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“The only sort of unusual check was to a wine seller in California. And for Kyle, that’s not really unusual. He likes decent wines, but not the kind it’s high drama to drink.”

“High drama?” Jake asked, looking at her.

“You know. The kind you have to open with a sterling silver corkscrew, pour into Baccarat crystal, and roll around on your tongue while someone whispers in your ear about all the fine points of the vintage that you, slobby peasant that you are, would overlook in quest of good old alcohol.”

Smiling, Jake lifted a corner of the omelet and decided it could wait for a few more moments. “What about his post
office box?”

“Junk mail. Household bills. More junk mail.”

“Telephone bill?”

The last traces of humor left Honor’s expression. “That
too.”

He waited, hoping he wouldn’t have to drag information out of her like a cop on cross-examination. He was walking a
very fine line between making her suspicious by asking too many questions about Kyle and wasting time by not asking questions.

“There haven’t been any long-distance calls charged on this number since Kyle went to Kaliningrad”, Honor said finally. “At least, none that have been billed yet.”

Jake didn’t point out that dead men don’t make phone calls. Neither did men who were on the run with a fortune in stolen amber and didn’t want to be traced.

He slid the omelet onto a plate and put it in front of her. “Eat while I cast off. The tide isn’t patient.”

“What about you?”

“Under the right circumstances I can be very patient.”

She watched his slow smile and wondered if it had been registered as a lethal weapon. “Um, I meant the omelet. Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?”

“I already did.”

Jake shut the cabin door behind him as he left, keeping out the chilly wind that was rising with the distant dawn. The
Tomorrow’s
navigation lights burned colorfully against the slowly fading night. He cast off the bow and stern lines, stepped aboard, and took the aft controls. As soon as the boat was headed in the right direction, he ducked back into the cabin and took the helm seat.

“Any company?” Honor asked.

“Not yet.”

“Do you suppose Captain Conroy is going to show up and board us
again?”