Dangerous Waters (16 page)

Yesterday he was a suspect; today he was helping compile lists of other suspects? Part of him wanted to say no, but that wouldn’t speed them on their way out of here. He regarded her with a rueful smile as he stood there in full scuba gear.

“I’m a little busy right now. I’ll be done in about an hour. You’ll find me in my cabin after that. I’ve got a list of people who’ve dived with the marine lab, and I guess I can tell you the people in the area I know who dive regularly.” He adjusted his mask. The safety officer caught his eye and gave his group the signal to go.

“Thanks,” the cop called after him brightly.

The regret in his heart as he stepped into the deep, cold water was that it was Corporal Messenger, not Holly, asking for his help. He turned to his wide-eyed students and flashed them the OK signal, which they both mirrored. Their excitement and nervousness was palpable.

He forced himself to concentrate on a job he took seriously. People could die if he got it wrong. They descended the sheer drop-off, him pointing out goose barnacles, which gently fanned the water with skeletal fingers, and an octopus that sat in a hollow and seemed to watch them just as avidly as they watched it. And still a bone-deep awareness of Holly filtered through the edges of his mind. Women did not affect him like this. He didn’t do relationships past the basics and never got involved with women who thought he might. In his experience, life was filled with blood, death, and disappointment; happily ever after was part of the fairy tale that died as soon as reality set in. His reality had set in from day one.

He gave the signal, and they went deeper, cold water pressing around him and forcing him to concentrate on these students, this dive. To live in the moment because life had also taught him that was all anyone really had. Just this one moment in time.

He deliberately flooded his mask to show the students how to clear it ten meters down, in the murky reality of the Pacific. Then he made them do it.

One of the girls grinned at him when she successfully got rid of the water and he smiled back. But even then it was Holly’s smile he was thinking about, the perfect line of her bare shoulder, the gentle curve of her waist. He pictured her battered face, and that only made things worse. With a frustrated shake of his head, he finally figured out he couldn’t simply ignore Holly while she was here. He had to help catch Len Milbank’s killer and help her on her way out of town. Protect her, protect the people he cared about. Then they could both get on with their lives.

Holly walked into Finn’s cabin and kicked off her shoes at the door. “Goddamn misogynistic, hairy, smelly—”

“Whoa, Sergeant Rudd, you startled me.” Corporal Messenger stepped out of Finn’s bedroom, and Holly felt like she’d been slapped in the face by a two-by-four. The heat that suffused those cheeks and the bright sparkle in Messenger’s eyes told their own story.

“I’m just collecting my stuff so I can go back to the hotel.” Holly sounded defensive even to her own ears.

She stalked toward the bedroom she’d slept in last night. As she passed the open door, she glanced inside and there was Finn, leaning his chair back on two feet, hands behind his head, hair ruffled, SCUBA DIVERS GO DOWN LONGER T-shirt clinging to honed muscle. No wonder Messenger’s eyes were twinkling. Holly hooked her door shut with her ankle and winced when the wind caught it and slammed it home. She cursed when there was a quiet knock on the door less than two seconds later.

“That could be a problem.” Messenger’s pretty ruby lips pursed. “The hotel sprung a leak, and the whole second floor was water damaged, so they’ve only got two rooms habitable. Steffie and I are sharing one. Jeff, Ray, and Freddy are sharing the other. I thought you’d just stay here.”

“I can’t do that,” Holly snapped. Christ, the thought of staying this close to Finn was already making her sweat. “People might talk.”

“I don’t know why, under the circumstances.” Messenger dropped her gaze to the carpet. “But
I’ll
take the couch at the hotel. I really didn’t think it would be an issue.”

Holly blew out a tight, hot breath. “No. I’m sorry. Stay where you are. I’ll take the couch.” She wasn’t going to be getting much sleep anyway.

“How did the interviews go?” Messenger asked, eyes intent. Holly had the feeling she was going to be a great cop one day, if she could just get over her “nice.”

Holly opened her mouth to say something rude about the local, tight-lipped, stubborn, unhelpful population but closed it again when Finn walked up to Messenger and handed her several printed pages. Holly watched the two of them together—so perfect, so beautiful it hurt the eyes. Messenger was almost Finn’s height but looked all waif-thin and elegant standing next to him.

Holly didn’t remember ever being jealous in her life and didn’t want to start now, no matter how golden Finn’s smile. She caught her reflection in a mirror and grimaced. The grotesque bruises and unsightly swelling were beginning to recede. Looks didn’t matter, although resembling a monster hadn’t helped her chances in the bar. The barkeep had been a complete ass-wipe. She stripped off her vest and tossed her cap on top of the blanket. Wiped her sweaty forehead.

“That everything you need, Corporal?” Finn asked the other woman.

“Yes. Thanks, and please, call me Rachel.”

Holly pulled faces to herself as she listened. Then the other woman left and she could hear Finn in the silence. It wasn’t Messenger she was pissed at. It was the whole goddamn world and total lack of answers in this murder investigation. She heard the creak of a floorboard.

“Come on. I want to show you something,” Finn said, watching her from the doorway.

“What?” She was almost too tired to move.

“Come on.”

“About the case?”

“What else?”

With an exaggerated sigh she pushed herself up and off the bed. Her bruises were so tender she wanted to weep, but she wasn’t about to give the bastard who’d pushed her off the road the satisfaction of slowing down.

Finn’s red truck was parked next to the cabin, for which Holly was eternally grateful. She hauled herself up and settled into the comfortable seat, setting her teeth against the constant ache of day-old injuries.

Finn started driving, through Bamfield and out of town.

“Where are we going?” Her voice was hoarse—with fatigue or frustration she didn’t know.

He looked at her, sun slanting over those rugged features, turning his hair and skin to gold dust. “Do you trust me, Holly?”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “If this is the moment where you turn into an ax murderer, I
will
shoot you.” She closed her eyes and leaned back against the head rest. Ten seconds later, she was fast asleep.

Finn pulled into the parking lot at Pachena Beach and drew in the fecund scent of the rainforest, trying to drown out the sweet scent of Holly, whose gentle breathing made him want to sit there until the sun set and just watch over her. Her face was starting to regain its normal shape, although her skin looked like a tattoo artist on oxy had gone on a binge of self-expression. Black was easing into purple edged with mottled green. The split on her lip was healing fast. And she hadn’t let it stop her.

He’d lied to her, and she was going to be pissed. And it bothered him only because watching Holly get riled up turned him on. Not what he’d had in mind when he’d dragged her out here.

He silently eased open the door, but her instincts were honed, and her eyes snapped open.

“Where are we?”

“North end of the West Coast Trail.”

She followed him out of the cab and stretched out her back with an audible crack. “What are we doing here?”

“I need to show you something.” He led her along the path, past the A-frame visitor center.

They crossed the clearing and walked down another sandy path that opened up onto a half-mile stretch of the purest white sand this side of the northern hemisphere. The sea smelled as fresh and clean as ozone. The sun inched west in inexorable fashion. He used his hand as a shade and watched three ospreys taking turns diving into the surf. He kicked off his shoes, and after a taut pause, she did the same with her boots and socks. They abandoned them, and she wiggled her frog-tipped toes in the sand.

“What did you want to show me?”

Finn scratched his jaw. “Nothing. You just looked like you could do with a break.”

Her lips parted, and Finn told himself to stop watching her mouth, but somehow he couldn’t drag his gaze away. She closed her eyes and seemed to be counting to ten to stem her temper. He snagged her wrist. “Walk with me.”

Her hands formed fists, and he felt the strain in her sinew as she pulled against him. From the glint in her eye, she was thinking of flipping him onto his ass. He was thinking about letting her.

“Please,” he added.

“I have a murderer to catch and some bastard tried to kill me. I have a boss who wants to make sure I screw up my first case as primary. I
don’t
have time for a walk.”

But she took a reluctant first step and he tugged her again. “Sometimes you need a break so you can see things more clearly.”

Holly glared through shadowed eyes. “I’d see more clearly if people in this goddamn town would talk to me.”

Finn pressed his lips together.

“See?”

“What?” he protested, but one side of his mouth curved as she fell into step beside him. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Everything. Anything.”

“Like what?”

“Your brother. How does he make a living?”

Finn slipped his fingers down to interlace with hers. He’d made a decision to help. He might as well take advantage of the fringe benefits. “I have no idea.”

“See? See!” She tried to pull away, but he didn’t let her.

“We haven’t been close in years.” He didn’t mention the conversation they’d had the day before yesterday. “Once he was arrested, he refused to see me.” God, what a time that had been. Freed from his tormentor but cast adrift by the only person in the world he’d loved. For a thirteen-year-old boy it had been a critical period, the confusion and rage crippling. He could so easily have slid into the downward spiral of a life of crime. “Thom took me in.” He’d saved him. “He figured out I was dyslexic and taught me to read.”

She blinked. OK. Finn knew he was telling her more than he’d planned to, but none of it was relevant to the crime, just to why he owed these two people so much. He’d be dead without Brent, and he wasn’t sure anyone would have noticed, let alone cared. Without Thom, he’d have been locked into a life of confusion and frustration. Which of them he owed most, he couldn’t say.

“Thom told me that the first thing Brent did when he got out of prison was burn down the shack where we’d grown up. He lived in a trailer for a few years while he built the house.”

“
I
couldn’t afford that house.”

Finn shook his head. “Me neither.” The sea’s detritus lined the beach. Palm-sized, bone-white bivalves, some ragged and broken, others pristine and whole.

“I wrote to him. Probably a thousand times over the years.” And back then, writing hadn’t been easy.

Holly said nothing, but her fingers tightened in his. Her skin was like satin, her flesh warm and soft despite her prickly exterior.

“He sent back every single letter unopened.” Every time he’d mailed one, he’d steeled himself for the return envelope. Every time he’d gotten one, it had pierced his heart like a speargun. “Eventually I stopped trying.”

“Why won’t he talk to you?”

Finn huffed out a breath that should have been a laugh. “I destroyed his life—”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it was my fault!” He dropped her hand and immediately wanted it back. Too damn bad. He walked faster, but she kept pace despite the fact she’d taken a beating yesterday. He knew how the hell that felt. “Usually when the old man was on a bender, we ran and hid until he sobered up. This time I’d fallen asleep and he caught me. Then I said something stupid to set him off.”

He picked up a piece of driftwood carved by waves, drew back his arm, and hauled it far out to sea. “I’d missed the signs, been careless, and Brent paid for my mistake.”