cafe was decorated early-box. All supplies were in boxes, unstacked and unopened until needed. A splash of rickety tables took up the rest of the space. A swinging blackboard announced the cook’s menu for the day-which was chili, either hot as hell or the sissy version. Another sign forbade spitting on the floor.
The group filed around the big round table in the corner. Cate gingerly took a seat between Harm and Ivan and mentally lectured herself against galloping into the kitchen to find a rag and soap and some way to scour the table. For darn sure, it hadn’t been washed in recent history. On the other hand, an exuberantly friendly lady with a mighty chest and rambunctious smile immediately came over to take their liquor order.
Beer was the poison of choice. The waitress/owner put enough longnecks in the center of the table to last three weeks and then some, Cate thought. Initially, their table was silent. Listening to the chatter between the other customers was more engrossing than anything they could possibly say. The longest discussion involved a “little” domestic abuse the week before that included a fire, blown-out windows, screaming matches and the husband finally giving up and calling in the law.
Apparently, calling in the law meant that someone literally had to either boat or fly in, because there wasn’t any law here. Once the chili was served-Cate chose the hell-hot version-Ivan said to Harm, “You beginning to get it?”
“Get what?” Harm asked.
“The complications of your man dying here. This just isn’t like the Lower 48. No place is more beautiful than here. No better place to be independent, be your own man, make your own way. But trying to get bureaucratic things done on a fast timetable-it just doesn’t happen.”
“Different values here,” Harm said.
“Ask me, they’re better values. But I’m sure I’d feel different if I had an employee die on my watch, and had all your kind of responsibilities.”
Harm didn’t respond-but then everyone was guzzling beer in gulping heaps by then. The chili was
When the smoke from the chili cleared, Yale put down his beer, which was probably his fourth. “Something just occurred to me. We’re all gonna know.”
“You’re slurring your words,” Arthur said impatiently. “We’re all going to know what?”
“We got a thief in our company,” Yale told Ivan brazenly. “Somebody took a formula. Worth millions. Maybe billions. Maybe worth nothing, too, because the data disappeared…but that’s just what occurred to me. The data’s gonna reshow up. In someone else’s company. Then whoever sold us out is gonna be very, very rich. And then we’ll know who it really was.”
“You’re drunk, Yale.” Purdue moved his colleague’s beer away. “This isn’t anybody’s business but ours.”
“But that’s the thing, you see? What would be the point of anyone stealing if they didn’t get rich from it? But the minute the money shows up, the minute somebody gets rich, then we’ll know who it is.”
Cate saw the men all looking at Harm, as if they all expected him to put a lid on Yale-to stop the whole conversation. Instead, he eased back in his chair, and she remembered what he’d said-that he’d brought his team on this trip, to a place where they’d be isolated, out of their normal realm. He wanted to see if his staff could, or would, unravel-so he could discover what happened if they did.
When no one picked up Yale’s conversational lead, he reached over the table and grabbed another longneck. “The thing that really messes with my head,” he said, “is that all this time, I thought it was Fiske. You know. Because it had to be the financial guy, because it’s always the financial guys who know how much money is really involved-and who know how to get to it.”
“I don’t see how it could ever have been Fiske,” Purdue said. “Fiske had a heart of gold.”
“So do whores, they say.”
“Watch your mouth,” Arthur scolded, but then quietly, “I think anyone can be tempted to do anything…if the stakes are high enough.”
“And maybe the stakes weren’t money. Maybe it was something more important than money,” Purdue offered.
“That’s stupid. There’s nothing more important than money-at least when it’s big money.” Yale sighed, then let out a gigantic hiccup. “The thing is, if it was Fiske, then it’s almost the worst thing. Because the money might never show up. The formula might never show up. We not only won’t have the money or the data, but the world won’t have the damned cure. We’ll all be under a cloud of suspicion forever. You still suspicion us all, don’t you, Harm?”
“
“I’ll go, too.” Hans stood, followed by Ivan. All of them ended up hiking back at the same time. As if reflecting the group’s mood, the clouds bunched up and produced another version of Alaska’s “summer rain”-drenching them in a downpour as they climbed aboard.
Cate retreated to the galley, where she cleaned and fussed and rearranged-and then did it all over again. Over the next hour, voices and sounds gradually faded away. She assumed everyone had caved below deck, needing rest after the long day, but there was no chance of her sleeping yet. She wandered through the empty salon, pushed open the doors to the aft deck. The deluge had stopped, the skies were just barely dripping, and the lightning had faded to a luminescent pearl-gray.
Her pulse jolted when she saw Harm, leaning over the rail. The shadowed overhang concealed his expression, but his posture was both tense and exhausted. He was staring at the black-silver waters as if his worries were as impossibly deep as those seas.
Before Harm realized she was there, Cate figured she should back up and back off, head below. It was easy to guess he didn’t want company-much less hers.
Since she never seemed to make the wisest choices, she edged closer instead. She didn’t say anything, just leaned over the rail right next to him. She felt his startled stiffening. Ignored it. He was as alone as a man could be, had no one to turn to. Maybe that wasn’t her problem…but she was the only one who seemed to be able to do something about it.
“I’m not good company right now,” he said.
He didn’t say go away, but he might as well have. “I can’t imagine you would be. After everything that happened today, I figured you might be in a mood to kick someone around. I’m not a bad kickee. You don’t owe me anything. I’m not in your company radar. And I’m tough as nails.”
“You’re not remotely tough as nails. And quit looking at me that way.”
“What way?”
He turned, just far enough so she could see his glower. “You think I won’t bite your head off-I will.”
“Go for it,” she urged him. “Bite.”
The conversation didn’t make much sense, but when he suddenly grabbed her…that made sense, she thought. He was pretty angry. Not at her, but at life. And at himself, she suspected, because he couldn’t solve unsolvable problems and find answers out of thin air-which he apparently expected himself to do.
So his hands were rough on her shoulders. He yanked her closer. His mouth slapped on hers, communicating pressure and dominance, and probably he intended to arouse fear in her. He was one pissed-off kahuna, all right.
Still, she didn’t back off and she didn’t kick back. She did what any other lunatic of a woman would do.
She melted. Right into him. Closing her eyes, feeling herself going soft and pliant all over. Feeling the rush of sensation when his kiss darkened, deepened, took.
Thrilling. Hells bells, it was a word out of her grandmother’s time, out of old movies in the forties in black- and-white. Real women weren’t thrilled by a guy’s kisses today. The whole idea was romantic and stupid.
Yet thrills kept shivering through her bloodstream, making her heart pound, making her knees feel weak. Making need shoot through her body with cat claws, sharp and real. It was just desire, she told herself. Nothing important. Just hormones.
But it didn’t feel like “just hormones.” His mouth felt like an answer to a question she’d never asked, the taste
