Three Weeks Last Spring
by Victoria Howard
Copyright 2011 Victoria Howard
Published by: Vanilla Heart Publishing on Smashwords
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Dedication
For my Goddaughter Suzanne, who for one so young,
has faced so much and always with a smile.
Acknowledgements
To Daphne Rose, Lesley Dennison, and Dorothy Roughley for their encouragement, support and tolerance, in reading every page as it came off the printer. I couldn’t have done this without you, and I’m honored to call you my friends.
George Bennett, a published author in his own right, deserves my thanks for his guidance, and generosity in showing ‘the new kid on the block’ the way. Without your help, this book would never have been completed.
To Kimberlee Williams, my editor at Vanilla Heart Publishing, who is always so supportive and gracious, no matter how many questions I ask her.
And finally, to Stephen, my thanks for his patience, support and belief that I really could write this novel.
Chapter One
England April 1999
Skye Dunbar stood by the window, and looked out across the meadow, and waited for the transatlantic phone call to connect. It had been a miserable weekend—dull, wet and cold, cold as the heart that beat inside her breast. She glanced at her watch, and calculated the time difference between London and San Francisco.
After a few rings, a sleepy American voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Debbie? It's Skye. Did I wake you?"
"Not really, I was lying here thinking about getting up. Talk to me, you sound anxious."
Skye took a deep breath. "I’ve decided to take a months’ sabbatical. I've contacted American Airlines and have an option on a flight leaving in just over a weeks’ time. They're holding it for the next twenty-four hours."
"Why, that's great. You need to get away and you know San Francisco loves you."
"Actually, Debbie, that's why I’m calling, I'm not flying to San Francisco. I'm going to Seattle and—"
"Skye, you can't possibly want to spend a month there, not after all that happened last year."
"I can't explain why, but I need to go back." Skye twisted a strand of her hair between her fingers while she waited for Debbie's response.
"I don't understand, and if you want my advice, you’ll come here and stay with me. After all that lying bastard put you through, I’m amazed that you can even contemplate being within a one thousand mile radius of Washington State. Please, come here and stay with me. We can visit all our old haunts—Fisherman's Wharf, Chinatown. We can go for a drink in the John Barleycorn and listen to that folk singer you liked so much. If that doesn’t appeal, then we could hire a car and drive along the coast. You haven't seen the Marin Headlands or Monterey yet. And if you wait until I get to the office on Monday I'll see if I can beg for some vacation time. Perhaps we could meet somewhere else. How about Vermont?"
"That's a lovely thought, Debbie, and I do want to see Vermont, but in the Fall. Please, save your vacation time. This is just something I have to do on my own. I can't explain why. I go to bed at night and in my dreams I see this figure on a beach. I know it's me. It sounds crazy, I know, and I really don't expect you to understand. Just give me your blessing and tell me that if I need you, you’ll be there for me, okay?"
"I guess you know what is in your heart, although I really do worry about you, Skye. You have to put what happened behind you and move on. So, tell me, just where are you going?"
"I've rented a cabin in the San Juans."
"You've done what? No one goes to the San Juan Islands in the middle of April. It’s too cold for one thing and Friday Harbor will be deserted. What will you do there for a whole month on your own?"
"I thought I would catch up on some reading, go walking and generally enjoy the scenery."
"Hmm, I don't know. If you ask me, the last thing you need is to be by yourself. However, now that you've made your mind up I don't suppose there's much I can say to dissuade you. But promise me, if you become too upset or lonely up there, you’ll get on the first available plane to me, here in San Francisco. Deal?"
"Deal. And, Debbie," Skye hesitated before continuing, "thanks for understanding. You’re the best friend anyone could ask for. As soon as I finalize my plans I'll let you know."
Skye replaced the receiver and turned once more to look out of the window. Was she being stupid wanting to go back to the Pacific Northwest? What would it achieve? Would it even put her mind at rest? They were questions she couldn't answer, yet in her heart she knew she was doing the right thing.
She’d met Michael while on a visit to Debbie the year before. He’d knocked her to the ground while roller skating in Golden Gate Park. He’d helped her up, and insisted on buying her a coffee. Coffee had somehow turned into lunch and before they knew they’d spent the whole day together. Skye was due to fly home the following day and Michael had insisted she give him her address. She had agreed, but hadn’t really expected him to keep in touch. Six weeks later, returning home after a particularly fractious day at work, she’d found his letter waiting on her doormat.
That initial letter, like those that followed, had been read and re-read time and time again, the words feeling as if they were almost engraved on her heart. Finally, in January Michael had written asking her to visit.
Skye quickly pushed the thought of him out of her mind. She had so much to accomplish in the coming days that daydreaming wasn't a luxury she could afford. Her flight confirmed, and the cabin booked, she needed to concentrate on clearing her diary. Then all she had to do was pack a suitcase and talk herself into getting on that plane.
The following week passed in a blur. She arrived at the office early and brought all her files up to date for John, her business partner, to take over in her absence.
They’d met at university shortly after Skye's mother's death, and been good friends ever since. At thirty-nine, he was five years Skye's senior. Six feet tall, and of muscular build, with brown eyes, unruly curly hair, he had a smile that could melt the iciest of hearts. John had been a Graduate Teaching Assistant when Skye had started her degree course.
When Skye graduated, she and John had set up business together. Years of long hours and neglected vacations had finally begun to pay off and their services were in demand by major corporations all over the world. But despite the success they experienced, their relationship had never passed beyond friendship.
None of Skye’s closest friends knew what she did for a living, apart from the fact that she was a high-level executive, and whatever it was, she didn’t like to talk about it. In another few months, she and John would be making a presentation to Government officials in the hope of securing an exclusive contract—top secret, and most the most demanding of their respective careers.
The day before Skye was due to leave she scheduled a meeting with him.
"Skye, what are you going to do with an entire month's leave? You'll be bored by the end of the second week, and you know how busy things can get here. There is still a lot of testing to do."
"I realize that, but you said you could handle it. The code is complete, so you really don't need me."
"This has to do with what happened between you and that navy guy last year, hasn't it? I wish you'd tell me what brought you scuttling back two weeks earlier than planned. I told you not to trust a guy in uniform and in particular a sailor, but you didn’t listen. What you need is a real man, not one of these military types who still play with the action man they got as a child."
"And just who did you have in mind—yourself?"
John ignored her comment. "You've been like a scared rabbit ever since you got back. You never go out; you're slowly becoming a recluse. You spend every waking hour here at the office. Just what did the bastard do to you?"
"I don't wish to discuss my love life, or lack of one with you. And what if I do spend all my time here? At least the work gets done and we are ahead of schedule on one or two projects."
"Look, love, I know something happened and whatever it was, it must have been something major to have affected you this way. But you have to pick up your social life. You can't continue to bury yourself in your work or it will make you ill. You'll meet someone else and I promise you if he really loves you he won't hurt you. Besides if you’re frightened of being left on the shelf you could always marry me."
"I appreciate your concern. But, you and I both know that while our business relationship works, a more personal one wouldn't. You're not the type to settle down, so just leave it there before one of us says something we'll regret. Now about the Jones account—"
"Before we get back to business hear me out. Professionally you're one of the most logical people I know. You've an eidetic memory and know instinctively when a project is about to go pear-shaped. You're a shrewd and ruthless businesswoman when necessary. You've even got a temper to go with the color of your hair, but then nobody's perfect. But having said all that, you're just a big softie at heart." John reached across the table, took Skye's hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "What I can't understand is why you couldn't see that guy was trouble." Skye’s expression told him he’d over-stepped the mark. "If you must go on this idiotic trip, will you at least let me take you to the airport on Sunday?"
Skye smiled. Only her voice betrayed mild annoyance. "Thank you for that character analysis. Remind me to return the favor one day. I am quite capable of organizing a taxi. But if you feel you must, then I'll accept your offer. Check-in is at noon."
"In that case, I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty."
Sunday dawned warm and sunny, and although early April the daffodils were already in bloom. As she showered and dressed, Skye couldn't help wondering if this was the new beginning she was seeking or whether she was just being plain stupid.
A short time later, she heard John's BMW pull into the drive. She took one last look around the house, picked up her suitcase and opened the door.
"Ready, Sweet Pea?" John asked. "Have you got your tickets, passport and packed everything you need?"
"I think so." Skye picked up her purse.
"It’s not too late to change your mind you know. Even Debbie thinks you're slightly crazy for wanting to do this," John said, making one last attempt at getting her to stay.
Skye stopped in her tracks. "You've been talking to Debbie, behind my back?"
"Actually she called me. Now, don't be annoyed with her, she's just concerned about you. Besides, Seattle wasn't exactly the happiest of places for you, now was it?"
"I wish you two would accept that this is something I need to do, instead of hounding me to change my mind. I don't want to argue with you. I have to go through with this. I don't expect you or Debbie to understand. You're both good friends and I know you have my interest at heart, but please allow me to do this and don't tell me I told you so, if I come home in tears."
John put his arms round her diminutive frame and gave her a hug. "I just don't want to see you hurt again, that's all."
"I know. If you don't put that suitcase in the car, I’ll miss my flight."
They hardly spoke during the journey to the airport, John sensing that Skye needed to be alone with her thoughts. He repeatedly glanced across at the figure beside him. She seemed so small, so vulnerable and yet beneath that very feminine exterior he knew there was a strength and stamina that defied her appearance. Still, she had taken such an emotional beating over the last year that he couldn't help the feeling of wanting to protect her from more hurt.
Forty minutes later he drove into the car park in front of Terminal four at Heathrow Airport. John collected Skye's luggage from the boot. He walked round to the passenger side of the car and opened the door.
They walked into the terminal building where Skye completed the check-in formalities for her flight to Seattle. John accompanied her as far as Passport Control. He took her into his arms, gave her a hug, and kissed the top of her head.
"Have a good flight, Sweet Pea. Get some rest and lay that ghost. Then come back and be prepared to do some work," he grinned.
Skye wiped away a stray tear at his use of her nickname, and tried hard to smile. "I'll do my best." Without a backward glance, she showed her passport to the official and walked through to departures.
She found a seat close to the gate, and took out her book. But she couldn't concentrate on the words and gave up, amusing herself by watching the people in the terminal, wondering where they were all going to and the reasons for their journey.
The time passed quickly, and soon her flight was called. She took her seat in business class, and settled down for the flight, fervently hoping that the seat beside her would remain unoccupied. The last thing she wanted was to spend twelve hours next to someone who wished to talk all the way to Seattle. Luckily, her wish was granted, for within fifteen minutes of boarding, the flight attendant closed the door and the aircraft pushed back from the ramp. As the plane taxied towards the runway, Skye suffered one last moment of self-doubt, but she knew it was too late to turn back. Seconds later, she felt the increased tempo of the Boeing 747's engines as it thundered down the runway. After what seemed like an eternity the huge plane lifted gracefully into the air.
Skye read a little and slept as the plane flew across the Atlantic. She was startled awake when the landing gear hit the ground. She shook her head to regain her focus, and looked out of the window. The terminal buildings looked as grey and uninspiring as they had a year ago.
Having completed the Immigration formalities, the delay at Customs was only mildly annoying. The usual questions and then ‘have a nice day.’ She made her way to the rental car desk and collected the keys to the car she had organized. Within minutes, she was maneuvering the vehicle out of the parking lot and down the ramp on to Interstate 5.
Fortunately, she didn’t have far to travel to her hotel and soon found herself being shown to a room on the third floor. Among its excellent facilities, the hotel boasted a large swimming pool and an atrium garden filled with wildly colored tropical plants, and an excellent restaurant.
After breakfast, Skye took out her road map and traced her route north. The hotel receptionist had told her that it would take about two hours, depending on traffic, to drive the seventy or so miles to Anacortes.
As she had time to spare, Skye decided to do a little sight-seeing. She found a place to park on Alaskan Way, close to the ferry terminal. Many of the shops were empty, and Skye found she could browse at will. She climbed the Harbor steps, and stopped to admire the fountain, before continuing her walk along First Avenue to Pike Place Market.
She wasn’t due to check into the hotel in Anacortes until early evening, so walked as far as the Westlake Centre and then caught the monorail to the Space Needle. For once the weather was kind to her, unlike her previous visit, when the sky had clouded over. Today there was hardly a cloud visible, although it was a little on the cool side.
The panoramas from the observation deck of the Space Needle were stunning—well worth the white-knuckle ride in the express elevator. Far below she could see a State ferry leaving for one of the islands in Puget Sound. A few small sailing boats were out in Elliot Bay, no doubt, like her, taking advantage of the fine weather. Skye leant against the safety rail and looked out across the bay, and remembered the postcard she’d received from Michael.
Skye glanced at her watch and was amazed to see that she had been standing daydreaming about what might have been for nearly an hour. Annoyed for having allowed Michael into her thoughts yet again, she rode the elevator back down to ground level. She quickened her pace as she walked down Broad Street and on to Alaskan Way, past the Aquarium and Omnidome until she reached Ivar’s restaurant. There she found a table overlooking the bay, and ordered a bowl of clam chowder and a pot of coffee.
After her meal she drove out of the city on Interstate 5 towards Anacortes. According to her guidebook, the bustling port of Anacortes was founded in 1877. Shipyards, seafood processing facilities, and tourism all contributed to the local economy. Spectacular panoramas, combined with exclusive real estate, yacht charters and marina facilities brought residents and visitors alike to the area. Judging by the number of expensive cars in the town, Skye had no doubt the book was correct.
The ferry to Friday Harbor left at eight the following morning, and the travel agent had recommended that Skye stay at the inn close to the terminal. Tired from her drive, she ate a solitary dinner in the hotel's dining room before calling it a night.
A short time later, she slipped between the cool white sheets of the Queen-sized bed and settled against the comforters. Sighing deeply, she wiped a surreptitious tear from her eye. "Where did we go wrong, Michael? Why couldn't you talk to me? Why did you have to hurt me the way you did?"
Chapter Two
The following morning dawned cold and grey, the cloud level so low, that the majestic mountains of the Pacific northwest were completely hidden from view. There were only a few cars waiting for the ferry, and most of those appeared to be locals and business people. The tourists would come later, making it essential to book passage and spoiling the tranquillity of the journey.
Skye locked the car and climbed the stairs up to the main deck. The aroma of coffee drew her towards the small cafe. She purchased a beaker of Seattle's Finest, and carrying her cup, wandered out to the observation deck.
As the ferry slowly steamed towards the islands, the cloud base gradually lifted, allowing the sun to filter through here and there. The panorama unfolding before her eyes was amazing, and she wondered why anyone would want to lie on a sun-drenched beach all day, when they could have this.
Friday Harbor soon came into view. It was much smaller than Skye had imagined, and she wasn't prepared for the numerous sailboats with their impossibly tall masts, which filled every berth in the marina. The San Juan Islands were a Mecca for tourists, whether they arrived off the ferries from Anacortes or Canada, or sailed their own yachts into the tiny and picturesque harbors that dotted the islands. San Juan Island was the second largest in the archipelago.
Skye found the realtor's office in a side street, just up the road from the ferry terminal. The formalities completed, and with the key in her pocket and a detailed map in her hand, she once more set out.
The roads were deserted, and the only traffic she passed were trucks carrying fish from the north of the island to the ferry terminal. Skye found driving in this backwater much easier than in Seattle or on the Interstate. Her exit came into view; she moved across the highway, and signaled her turn into the private track.
The cabin was all she had hoped for and more. Constructed purely of timber, it stood some five hundred yards back from the shoreline and a mile or so off the highway. A path led down from the cabin to a small wooden dock. Eager to explore, Skye unloaded her shopping, and made herself a quick cup of coffee. The rest of the luggage could wait. She wanted nothing more than to breathe the clean fresh air and savor the view, before unpacking and settling into what would be her home for the next month.
She left her jacket over a kitchen chair, and carried her steaming cup to the dock and sat down. She took off her shoes, and was just about to dip her toes into the deep blue water, when a very masculine voice called out.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The water is pretty darned cold at this time of year."
Startled, Skye’s heart thumped in her chest. She turned and scanned the trees in an attempt to locate the voice, which emanated from the very depths of the pinewood. She squinted into the early afternoon sunlight. A figure emerged from the trees. He was tall, well over six feet, with raven black hair and the slight shadow of a beard. She couldn't really see his eyes, but had a feeling they would be icy blue and would have that ‘damn you to hell’ expression.
A chill ran down her spine. The cabin was isolated, and even if there was another house within screaming distance, no one would be at home at this time of day. Skye considered her options as the tall figure walked towards her. If he were to prove difficult she could always push in him the sea, and run back to the safety of the cabin.
The stranger halted a mere foot from her, forcing her to look up.
He grinned. "Sorry to startle you, ma’am, but I wasn't sure if you were planning on taking anything else off besides your shoes."
Skye's mouth opened but she couldn't utter a word.
"Because if you were, you'd only last about thirty minutes before hypothermia set in, and being the gentleman that I am, I would feel duty bound to come right in after you. That would be a shame, because I'd planned on going home and cooking this fish for lunch."
Coughing and spluttering, Skye choked on her coffee. So a fish was more important than saving someone from freezing to death. She inclined her head to examine him more closely and saw that she’d been right about his eyes. Here was a man who didn't suffer fools gladly. Well, Mr. Damn Your Eyes could just go back where he came from and take his fishy friend with him!
"You’ll be relieved to know, that I had no intention of taking anything other than my shoes off. The thought of going for a swim hadn't entered my head. But now you've mentioned it, it's not a bad idea. As for you coming in after me, I'll take a rain check, if you don't mind. Not, I might add, that what I do is any business of yours. I was assured that this was private property. May I ask just what you think you are doing prowling around scaring the hell out of people?"
"My, my, we're mighty touchy. What happened, someone wake you up too early?" The icy blue eyes flashed. There was a trace of laughter in his voice that was totally lost on Skye, who felt more than a little intimidated by the stranger's height. She stood up in one fluid movement. Not one inch of her five foot five frame gave her anymore confidence. She barely came up to the man's chest—a chest that any woman would feel comfortable snuggled up against.
Still feeling at a disadvantage, she took a long look. Close up he didn't appear quite so intimidating—‘impressive’ was a better adjective. In fact, she could think of a number of suitable adjectives to describe Mr. Damn Your Eyes, including handsome, rugged, not to mention offensive and arrogant. This guy would stop traffic in London, but there he would be completely out of place. Here in the rugged mountains of the Pacific Northwest he was totally at ease.
Skye revised her estimate of his height. He was at least six feet four, possibly more. His eyes were deep set and she’d been right about the color. He had a scar over one eyebrow and a smaller one on his chin. She wondered how he'd acquired them, but had no intention of asking. He was dressed in black jeans, which fit him like a glove and a navy blue check work shirt worn open at the neck, revealing a tangle of dark hair. He held a fishing rod in one hand, and a fish in the other, and looked for the entire world, as if he had stepped right out of the pages of her guidebook.
Skye stiffened. "Look, Mr? Sorry, but I didn't quite catch your name, and at this particular moment, I don't even care to know what it is. I've had a long journey and I'm tired. As far as I'm concerned you're trespassing. I'd very much appreciate it, if you would leave by whatever means you arrived and allow me to finish my coffee before it goes cold."
"My, my. The lady obviously has a temper to match the color of her hair. Now why don't you take a deep breath, calm down and enjoy the day? You're obviously not from around here otherwise you wouldn't jump down a perfectly innocent person's throat, especially one who's trying to give you some friendly advice. I won't disturb you any longer. I'll be on my way, and for future reference, the name is Walker. Jedediah Walker, but everyone just calls me Walker." Abruptly he turned and strode quickly along the dock. He continued along the pebble beach, in the opposite direction from which he'd come.
Skye smothered a giggle. "I can see why!" And what did he mean, "Future reference?" Hell could freeze over before she would choose to cross his path again.
Her first thought was to call the realtor and complain. They had, after all, promised her complete privacy. She'd been most insistent on that when booking the cabin. She hadn't wanted noisy neighbors to destroy the peace and tranquility of this wonderful place. No campers, boaters and especially no screaming children, just her own space in which to do as she pleased for the next month.
But logic kicked in.
The San Juan Islands were well known for attracting fishermen and women. The guy had probably moored his boat somewhere along the coast, and walked along the shoreline to find a suitable place from which to fish. No big deal. However, now that the cabin was occupied, Skye sincerely hoped that he'd respect her privacy. Other than the mailman, with the occasional letter from Debbie or John, she didn't wish to see anyone during her stay.
Skye picked up her cup, and shuddered in disgust as the cold liquid hit the back of her throat. She made her way up the dock to her car, retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, and carried it into the cabin.
The cabin was very well equipped with cable TV, VCR, and an impressive stereo system. Skye could live without a television, but music was a different matter and she was glad she had brought a selection of her favorite CDs with her.
The centerpiece of the main room was a stone fireplace which stretched across one wall. The floors were polished and scattered with native Indian rugs. A large leather sofa sat invitingly in front of the fireplace. Full-length windows opened onto the deck, where the owner had left wicker chairs in which visitors could sit and admire the wonderful scenery.
Skye carried her suitcase into the bedroom and started to unpack. Not only was there a king-size bed, and an open fireplace, but the room also had full-length windows which opened out on to the deck. A hand stitched quilt with matching comforters covered the bed. She ran her fingertips over it and marveled at the hours of work involved to complete it.
She decided to call Debbie later to let her know she had survived the journey. By that time, it would be getting close to midnight in London—a perfect time to call John—at least he wouldn't be able to trace her call. That was the disadvantage of working at the cutting edge of technology and having a business partner who was her self-appointed ‘big brother.’ Without wasting any more time, she set off to explore the cove and surrounding woods.
After terminating his conversation with the woman, Walker had made his way through the trees to the lodge. He hadn't expected the cabin to be occupied so soon, and was taken completely by surprise when he saw the small, solitary figure walk to the end of the dock. He vaguely remembered receiving a letter from the realtor advising him that it had been let for a month. For some reason he had it in mind that the cabin had been let to a man. If he’d known it was a woman, he would have told the realtor not to accept the booking.
The aroma of coffee had alerted him to someone's presence, reminding him just how long it was since he'd eaten breakfast. He'd watched from the tree line as the figure walked down to the dock. He guessed she was no more than five foot six, and was dressed in a pair of black slacks with a baggy red sweater. He had the feeling the sweater hid a soft and curvaceous body— the sort of body a man could bury himself in, until he forgot who he was. The gentle breeze had lifted her thick, shoulder length auburn hair, reminding him of the color of leaves in fall. He imagined it would be soft and silky to the touch, and appeared just long enough for a man to tangle his fingers in. Unable to tear his gaze away he'd continued to watch as she sat down at the end of the dock and took off her shoes. She appeared so sad, and for one agonizing moment he feared that she might do more than just dangle her pretty toes in the ice-cold water.
Damn it, he didn't need this sort of distraction now. He knew someone had been using the nearby coves at night, and now it would be doubly difficult to prove it. He just hoped that he hadn't placed this unwitting stranger in any danger. It was just one more thing on his list to worry about. His first priority was to find out who was poisoning the fish around the island. The second was to find out who was hacking into his computer files. He stood his fishing rod against the wall of the lodge and unlocked the door.
He went straight to the laboratory he'd set up in one of the bedrooms and proceeded to expertly dissect the fish. Walker was meticulous in his sampling, and in the preparation of the slides for the microscope. Only when he was satisfied he had everything he needed, did he discard the carcass; it would have to be burnt like the rest. Pity, it was a magnificent salmon, but if he didn't find out what was causing fish to wash up dead along the shoreline, it might not just be the salmon lying on a cold slab.
Four hours later, his suspicions were confirmed. The fish contained a mixture of toxic chemicals and, had it been eaten, would have put someone in hospital. He strode into his study, picked up the phone, and called his friend at the Department of Fish and Wildlife on his direct number.
"McCabe."
"It's Walker."
"I can tell from your voice that I'm not going to like this."
"Five gets you ten on this one. The latest batch of samples show that the fish are contaminated with lead, mercury, cyanide and some other substances I've been unable to identify. I'll have to send the samples into the main lab in Seattle to get a more detailed analysis. The results should be back in three or four days, and it wouldn't surprise me if they showed large quantities of PCBs."
The voice at the other end of the line let out a stream of expletives. "For once, can't you give me some good news?"
"Joe, it gets worse. Fish have started washing up along the cove in front of the lodge. This has gotten personal. I want to nail whoever's dumping this stuff. Sooner or later someone is going to get sick, real sick. What's new your end? Have the police come up with any leads yet? Someone somewhere must know where this stuff is coming from."
"Realistically, it could be any of five plants in the State. But, and this is unconfirmed, it maybe coming from the plant belonging to the waste management consortium that applied to build a new facility at Anacortes a while back."
Walker frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "But they were refused consent. I know—I sat in on the committee. In fact, I made the recommendation that their application be refused."
"I realize that. But from what we've heard, the present facility is unable to cope with demand. The police approached some of the employees, but no one would talk. I'm just as concerned and frustrated as you are. But we need concrete evidence before we can move on this, and so far no one has found any."
"So what do we do? Wait until someone ends up in hospital or worse, on the cold slab in the morgue? Is that what you're telling me?"
"I'm as annoyed about this as you, Walker. But I have to do things by the book, you know that."
"I guess so, but it doesn’t make it any easier." Walker slammed the phone down.
After graduating from university as a marine biologist and biochemist, Walker had worked for the State Government Department. His main area of expertise was the environment, and the effects mankind was having on the diminishing fish stocks. After years dividing his time sitting behind a desk and collecting the water samples, he finally decided it was time to go it alone. He set up his own company, Walker Environmental Research. Now after ten years of hard work, his company was well respected throughout the world. There was hardly a government he hadn't given advice to, or major ecological disaster he hadn't helped investigate.
Several months earlier, his old university friend, Joe McCabe, had called him. Joe worked for the Washington State Department of Fish and Wildlife. He was concerned about the increasing reports of dead salmon being washed up around the coast of Puget Sound, and in particular the San Juan Islands, and had called in Walker's company to investigate.
At first, they thought the problem was caused by the large oil tankers plying their way between Alaska, Canada and the rest of the USA. Many of the ships’ captains were not above flushing their tanks before heading out into open waters. But a detailed analysis of the dead fish had shown they were contaminated with a lethal cocktail of chemicals, and not crude oil. But, there was no consistency. Fish would wash up one week on the north coast of one island, and the next they'd wash up on the west coast of another. The changing tides couldn't account for such discrepancies, which meant only one thing—someone was deliberately dumping toxic waste. Two weeks ago fish had started washing up on Walker's land, and last week his computer files had been hacked into for the first time. Suddenly the fight had become personal.
He’d purchased the lodge and twenty-five acres of prime waterfront land just over five years ago. It was a place where he could return to re-charge his batteries after investigating some of man's worst atrocities against nature. The lodge was far too big for him, and normally he stayed at the cabin. But this year he'd decided to undertake some renovations. Over the years he had come to love the place and now someone was trying to ruin it, but not if he could stop them first.
Skye spent two hours wandering along the trails. The woods were alive with birdsong. The early spring sun was starting to dip towards the horizon as she returned to the cabin. Apart from breakfast and the odd cup of coffee she'd eaten nothing all day. No wonder her stomach had begun to rumble. She carried her supper plate and glass of wine onto the deck to watch the sunset.
She wondered where the tall dark stranger had disappeared to for she had not seen any other houses on her walk, as she dialed Debbie’s number.
"Hi, remember me, that crazy Englishwoman staying in the San Juans?"
"You sure timed that right. I've just walked through the door. Obviously you got to Seattle in one piece. Did you manage the drive okay?"
"I took time to reacquaint myself with the Market and the Needle while in Seattle. And despite having to drive on the wrong side of the road, the journey to Anacortes was fine."
Debbie laughed. "Okay, so you're a better driver than me, but then that's because I don't drive very often—"
"Just often enough to remember how!" they said in unison and then dissolved into fits of laughter at their private joke.
"No one in San Francisco with any sense owns a car."
"Admit it," said Skye, "I am just more co-ordinated than you when it comes to things mechanical."
Debbie laughed again. "How’s the cabin? Let me guess, you've paid nearly $2,000 for a wood shack, with no hot or cold running water, just an open fire to cook on and the bathroom's a hut at the end of the garden."
Skye smiled. Debbie could always make her laugh. "Actually, it’s beautiful, and very well equipped. It stands in two acres of woodland, and has a view to die for."
"Met any of the locals yet?"
"Only one and he was damned rude too! ‘Mr. Damn Your Eyes’ appeared out of nowhere and then promptly gave me a lecture on how cold the water was at this time of year."
"My, he certainly got your hackles up. What did he look like?"
Skye closed her eyes and described the stranger. "He’s about six feet four, dark hair, unshaven, and wearing a real nasty expression."
"He sounds interesting. Planning on seeing him again?"
"Not if I can avoid the bastard. Besides, he's got a fishy friend to keep him company on long lonely nights, while I have—"
"While you have a computer and your music, I know. I'm not sure that either is a substitute for a real man and from the description of... what did you call him? Oh yeah, ‘Mr. Damn Your Eyes,’ he could be just that. Perhaps I should try and get up for a long weekend and look him over for you."
"Debbie, the last thing I want is an affair. You of all people know that."
"Just teasing. So, apart from your encounter with the natives, have you settled in?"
"Yes. I'll call you again in a few days, okay?"
"Sure, speak to you soon. Oh, and Skye—"
"Yes?"
"Behave yourself with the tall hairy guy," Debbie said. She broke the connection before Skye could utter a suitable response.
Trust Debbie, to have the last word. Ever since Skye had managed to comply with Debbie's quest to have her photograph taken with a ‘real Highlander’ resplendent in full Highland dress, with kilt, skean dhu, and sporran, they'd played this game. When Skye had visited Debbie, she'd responded by getting Skye's photograph taken with every policeman they'd encountered. Now, regardless of which city in the world they met, they played the game, each trying to get the other photographed with the biggest and ugliest of the locals.
Skye calculated it was a little after midnight in London, so her call to John ran into his voice-mail. She assured him she'd arrived safely and all was well, then cut the connection. From now on, if she needed to call him, she'd use the payphone in Friday Harbor. She knew John would be too eager to use his new software to its full potential in an attempt to find out exactly where she was staying.
Chapter Three
For the first time in days Skye felt truly relaxed. All in all, she'd been traveling for the best part of forty-eight hours and now, with the firelight flickering around the room and the mellow sound of the saxophone on the CD player, her thoughts drifted back to Michael.
His letter inviting her to visit had arrived just after Christmas. A whole month in his company was more than she had ever hoped for. They’d continued to write and talk on the phone until finally the day arrived for them to meet.
From the moment she’d been assigned her seat in first class, the flight had been fantastic. She'd been far too excited to read or watch the film as the plane crossed the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. She recalled being nervous as the plane had touched down at SeaTac Airport. The arrival hall was relatively empty with only one or two people waiting to meet the plane. She’d anxiously scanned the faces for Michael and was a little worried when he didn't appear to be there but as she walked towards baggage reclaim, he came running briskly off the escalator. Before she knew what was happening, he'd whisked her into his arms and spun her round and round, covering her face in soft kisses.
They’d collected her luggage and walked out to the car. Michael kept his arm around her all the time, holding her close. The smiles he gave her set her pulse racing. It wasn't until they reached the car, that he drew her into his arms once more. One hand had traced the line of her cheek while the other had caressed her back. He’d lowered his head to hers and kissed her.
Skye would remember that first true kiss in the weeks to come. It had been soft, and sensuous. Michael's lips had brushed hers; his tongue gently probing until she'd opened her mouth to him, and allowed the kiss to deepen. At that moment she knew she wanted him with every fiber of her being.
The drive from the airport to Seattle had taken just over an hour, the traffic on that late sunny Sunday afternoon in May being relatively light. They'd parked on Alaskan Way and walked along the waterfront before finding somewhere to eat. Skye had no recollection of the meal. The only images that filled her mind were those of sitting opposite Michael, holding his hand now and again and watching his face intently. She’d memorized each line, each expression, the way one eyebrow raised at a question, and the way his face lit up when he smiled, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners.
Michael had booked a suite in one of the large hotels near the naval base. That way he would be close to the ship should he be required onboard. His gaze had never left hers as he told her that as much as he wanted to lie with her in his arms, he also didn't want her to feel under any pressure. How, if it didn't feel right for her, he would understand and book her into another room. Skye had blushed at his hesitant words, and had reached across the table to take both his hands in hers. With faltering words, she'd softly said that she wanted nothing more than to lie by his side and to be completely loved by him.
They’d left the restaurant arm in arm, and walked back to the car to join the queue for the ferry. While most passengers left their vehicles on the car deck and climbed the stairs to the lounge, Michael and Skye had sat for a long time in the circle of each other's arms, just like a pair of teenagers on a first date, neither of them really able to believe that finally being together could feel so good, so right.
That first night, Michael made love to her with such tenderness that she thought her heart would burst. He'd whispered his thoughts to her, igniting the fire inside her. With one smoldering look Michael could make her body ache for the touch of his.
The first weeks had passed in a blur. They spent the days exploring the Kitsap Peninsula and the nights making love. Once or twice, Michael was recalled to the ship, leaving Skye to explore on her own. On those occasions, she caught the ferry to Seattle or Port Orchard and visited all the usual tourist venues—Pioneer Square, Pike Place Market, and the Space Needle. While she'd hoped these where places they would have explored together, she understood that the Navy had first call on his time.
Michael showed her around the ‘mothballed fleet’, the resting ground of some of the US Navy's most famous battleships and destroyers. He had painstakingly explained the names of the various parts of the ship and how a sailor's bunk was called a ‘rack.’ Skye had found it hard to comprehend how five thousand men and women could cram together on an aircraft carrier and call it ‘home’ for six months. Her admiration for Michael, and what he did for his country, grew by the hour. Although he never introduced her to his fellow officers, Skye hadn't thought it particularly strange, at least not at the time. It was only much later, when the sorry category of events finally unfolded, that she understood why.
Skye awoke from the dream with a start. The cabin was completely dark save for the glow of the embers from the dying fire. Brushing her hair from her face, she felt tears. Crying again. Would she never learn to forget him? Would he always be in her thoughts, her dreams?
Blindly, she searched for the switch for the lamp on the table behind the sofa. She turned it on, and blinked frantically as the room was suddenly bathed in light. Looking around the unfamiliar room, she couldn't see anything that would have wakened her, other than the final log disintegrating into ashes in the grate.
One window was slightly ajar, but not enough to cause anything to fall. She crossed the room and closed it, then reached to draw the drapes. She had the strange feeling that she was being watched. Don't be stupid and paranoid. You're a country girl at heart, remember? It's probably just the breeze in the trees, or maybe a neighborhood cat out on a nightly prowl. She walked over to the fire and placed the safety guard in front of it, making it safe for the night.
From his hiding place deep within the wood, Walker heard the sound of an engine backfiring. By the time he reached the track, the vehicle responsible for the noise had vanished into the black of the night. The woman in the cabin had heard it too, for one moment the cabin had been in complete darkness and then suddenly it was a blaze of light. Walker watched the slim figure come to the window and look out before closing the drapes. He stepped back into the darkness afforded by the trees, his ears straining for the slightest sound that seemed out of place. An owl hooted nearby, no doubt in protest at having its nightly hunting raid disrupted.
Somewhere out on the water he could hear the throb of a ship's engines as it made its way through the strait. He’d heard the same ship earlier in the evening as it rounded the headland a few miles south of where he now stood. But the ship hadn't been what caught his attention. It had been the sound of a heavy vehicle moving down the track towards the cabin and beach. If he'd left the lodge earlier and taken up his hiding place in the woods, he would have seen the vehicle and more importantly, he would have known why it was using the track at this time of night.
A light in the cabin bedroom went on. His tenant was preparing to go to bed. Sure enough, a few moments later, the sitting room light went out, followed not ten minutes later by that of the bedroom. Walker decided to give it another thirty minutes before walking down to the shore to see if the vehicle had left any tracks. He was quite sure that whoever was using the cove was very professional. There would be little or no trace of their visit. He hoped for once he was wrong, and that his tenant had spooked whoever it was just as she'd spooked him earlier that day. Sufficient perhaps to make them find another access point to the shore, but he rather doubted it. These bastards didn't have any thoughts other than for the large bundle of untraceable bills, which undoubtedly would be pressed into their eager grubby hands.
Two hours later, after a fruitless and frustrating search, Walker had come up with nothing. Whoever had been using the track had left in a hurry, even so they’d been careful to cover their movements. Apart from a few broken twigs and the odd footprint, there was little to show that a vehicle, other than his tenant's rental car, had been down the track. Yet Walker was sure in his own mind that someone was using the dock to off load cargo onto a small boat. He just needed one breakthrough—something that would help him to identify either the vehicle or the goods being transported. And if those goods turned out to be the chemicals he’d found in the fish, then he was sure they could traced back to the plant that produced them.
He shivered slightly in the cool breeze as he returned to the lodge. Not only was he tired and frustrated by this latest case, but he was also angry with himself for renting out the cabin. It was too late now to change things. He’d just have to work round the situation. He'd been in tighter spots than this over the years, so why was this beginning to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up? Part of it, he knew, was the feeling that this latest case of illegal dumping was personal—someone getting back at him. That didn't surprise him. He had trodden on enough toes over the years, so he guessed it was payback time. But the question was who and why?
The other part of the problem was the woman, that small vulnerable figure who brought out the protector in him, even if she did have the temper of a wildcat. He didn't know her, and had no particular wish to. He wasn't one for short vacation affairs, the love them and leave them attitude of the beach lothario was definitely not his style, even if he had the time or inclination. Besides, he preferred his companions to be less fiery and opinionated, although he had to admit that she did have a certain appeal.
He shook his head in disgust at the direction his mind was headed. He let himself into the lodge, flicked on the percolator in the kitchen on his way to the study. He sat down at his desk and waited for his computer to boot up. Although it was after midnight he wasn't ready to sleep. He intended making a list of every company, corporation and individual who might just be interested in nailing his hide to the mast for closing down their operations, even for one day.
While his PC hummed and whirred into life, Walker poured himself a mug of black coffee. He had a feeling he would need it, and a stronger feeling that the list he was about to make was going to be long, very long. Twenty minutes later, he took a swallow of his now-cold coffee and reviewed the list. There were seven names on it.
He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and tried to cast his mind back two years earlier, to a particularly difficult and unpleasant case. He'd been working in South America at the time, he recalled. But was sure the corporation involved had been headquartered here in America. The name was in the far recesses of his mind, if only he could remember what it was. He rubbed his temples to relieve the stress. There was nothing for it; he'd have to access his files on the main computer in the company office in Seattle.
Walker pointed his mouse at an icon on the screen and opened up his Internet software. The modem clicked and hummed as the software dialed into the server. His password accepted, he accessed his firm's vast database. Finally, he located the files he wanted and started to download them only for the screen to become corrupted a few seconds later. Damn it, not again. He quickly tore phone line out of his laptop. Just how are they doing this?
The latest anti-virus software had been installed on his machine only a few weeks earlier and the passwords changed. The mainframe and server were also protected, yet someone had managed to hack into the system once more. Only two people had the access codes to the main database, his IT specialist and himself. Everyone else within company had limited access. He hoped that whatever had corrupted his screen hadn't destroyed any other files.
Locating and stopping the hacker was beyond his capabilities, and he suspected the police would be no help either. He’d need to call in a specialist firm, but who could he trust? Perhaps Joe would have a contact he could use; if not then it was time to call in a few overdue favors. He checked his watch, and decided he could afford himself the luxury of a few hours sleep before contacting his friend.
After a long hot shower and breakfast, Walker put through his call to Joe.
"Hey, McCabe?"
"I knew it had to be you, Walker. Only you could call me at this ungodly hour. Okay, spill—more bad news I assume?"
"Yeah, someone was using the cove again last night, only I missed them. If—"
"What d’you mean you missed them? I thought you were out there all hours, playing the Navy SEAL."
"I was, but I got distracted. It clean went out of my mind that I’d let the cabin and I got the surprise of my life finding my new tenant sitting on the dock dangling her feet in the water."
"Her? You're telling me you're seeing water nymphs now, is that it? You're hallucinating. When was the last time you slept?"
"Joe, I’m serious. I forgot the realtor had let the cabin. My tenant arrived yesterday. I met her on my way back to the lodge. When I was camped out in the woods last night, I heard a truck and went to investigate. But whoever it was also disturbed my tenant's beauty sleep, so I had to wait until I could get a chance to look around."
"She’s not a water nymph, but Sleeping Beauty. Make your mind up, this isn’t a fairy tale, you know. Why don’t you admit you fell asleep on the job?"
"Okay, buddy, have it your way. Something else happened last night which makes me think this is aimed right at me."
"Go on."
"Let's face it, over the last ten years I’ve trodden on enough toes and shut down enough corporations to upset a few folks. I sat down and made a list of who would most likely want to see Walker Environmental Research and me, go to the wall. So far there are seven names on the list. As soon as I tried to download the relevant information on each of them from my company's database, my PC crashed."
"Nothing unusual in that my friend, mine does it all the time."
"Yeah, but you’re just plain ham fisted and computer illiterate."
"Give me a tablet of stone and a chisel any time. So, what makes this unusual?"
"Joe, I spent a small fortune installing the latest security and anti-virus software. I can't be sure until I get into the office later today, but I’m certain someone has hacked into the mainframe and not for the first time either. I just hope they haven't deleted any files, or corrupted them in some way. This is way out of my area of expertise. I'll have to talk to someone who can give me an insight into exactly what damage hackers can do and what I can do about it. Not to mention whether it’s possible to trace them, although I don't know if that's even theoretically possible. Do you know of anyone who might be able to help me on this?"
"Quit worrying. It was probably some high school kid out for kicks. But if it will make you any happier, I'll ask around. But we're talking about cutting edge technology and I’m not even sure the FBI has the ability to do what you're asking. But then what would I know? I'm only a humble servant of the State Department. When do you want this by?"