Читать книгу Secret Assignment - Paula Graves - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Shannon’s bravado was fading fast, but if there was anything she’d learned how to do in a houseful of rough-and-tumble siblings, it was to show no fear. “I want to know what’s going on. Who were you just talking to?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“On the phone, just now. Who were you talking to? You said ‘call me if you see any boats coming ashore.’ Ashore at Nightshade Island? What are you up to?” She nodded toward her duffel bag, lying open on the floor. “Why were you going through my bag?”

“Put the gun down.”

She shook her head. “I’ll keep the Walther.” But she lowered her hand again. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m here to do a job. But I don’t know you from Adam, and I don’t like your snooping through my things.”

“Back at you.”

“Your bag was lying open.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. I don’t like being interrogated at gunpoint.”

She laid the Walther on the top of the cabinet nearest her. “Better?”

“I carry a gun for protection. Why do you carry one?”

So he’d seen the GLOCK. “Same reason. I have a license.”

“So do I.”

All her family had concealed carry licenses. She supposed it wouldn’t be unusual for a former marine to have one as well. “That still doesn’t answer my question. Who were you talking to?”

“Lydia Ross. I asked her to go to the high point of the house and look around to see if there was any unusual boat activity around the island.” He took a couple of steps toward her. Slow and steady, as if he were being careful not to spook her.

She was spooked anyway. “Why would you think there might be?”

He moved closer still, his big body looming in the small cabin. He barely had headroom at all, his hair brushing the top of the cabin. He would have to duck to get through the door, she realized. But he could do a lot of damage to her if he wanted.

Did he want to?

“Because someone sabotaged the boat.”

A chill washed over her. “How?”

“Don’t you know?”

The conversation was careening off into unexpected territory. “How would I know?”

He took another step. A long one, bringing him only a few inches from her. His nearness seemed to steal the air from the boat cabin, leaving her feeling light-headed and sluggish. “Someone put at least a half gallon of water in the fuel tank, no doubt in an effort to strand this boat out in the middle of the Gulf. I didn’t do it. But I left you in here for several minutes. All you’d have had to do is grab some of the bottled water in the fridge, go down to the engine room and add the water to the tank through the access port.”

“I wouldn’t know a fuel tank from a fish tank,” she said flatly.

“You said you grew up in a marina.”

“I said I practically grew up in a marina. Which means I know my way around a fishing boat, sure. But nobody ever let me mess with the engines. And they were mostly outboards anyway.” She cocked her head. “You think I’m trying to keep you away from the island so someone else can—do what? Have there been threats to Mrs. Ross?”

Gideon backed away from her a few inches, his blue eyes narrowed to slits. “She’s a wealthy woman. She owns things of value.”

The picture became a little clearer. “You’re not just the caretaker at the island, are you? You’re her bodyguard.”

His grim mouth curved a little, carving a surprising dimple in his cheek. “Just don’t let her hear you say that.”

She dragged her gaze away from the dimple and tried to gather her suddenly scattered thoughts. “You think someone’s trying to keep you away from the island so Mrs. Ross will be more vulnerable?”

“I think we need to get back to the island. Now.”

She stepped aside when he moved forward, bracing herself as he reached for the Walther on the table where she’d placed it. But he just slipped it into the waistband of his jeans.

He stooped under the door and turned to look at her. “You coming?”

“Can I bring my GLOCK?”

His lips curved, triggering the dimple again. “Do you know how to use it?”

She gave him a withering look that only spread his smile so that the other side of his face formed a dimple as well.

“Do what you want,” he said, and headed up the ladder.

She grabbed her GLOCK, still in its holster, and clipped the whole thing to her hip. At the last minute, she went back to the galley and grabbed a couple of bottled waters, tucking them under one arm as she climbed one-handed up to the pilothouse.

“Here,” she offered, holding out one of the bottles to him. “I counted, by the way. Five bottles of water left. I drank one earlier and here’s two more. Eight total. How many did you put in the fridge?”

“Eight,” he admitted.

Suddenly a low moaning wail rose in the air, distant but loud. Beside her, Gideon Stone tensed, his features hardening.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Trouble,” he answered. He grabbed a phone receiver built into the instrument panel and dialed. “What’s wrong?” Anger darkened his face, ice forming in his blue eyes as the person on the other end of the call answered. “Are you sure?”

Shannon tamped down her impatience, peering in the direction of the noise. She realized she could see the island now, a dark mass in the middle of the murky gray-green of the Gulf. It was no more than two miles in length and, from the looks of it, even narrower in width.

The noise was coming from somewhere on the island.

Gideon hung up the phone and reached into his bag, pulling out a pair of binoculars.

“Was that Mrs. Ross? What’s happened? What’s that sound?”

“It’s a foghorn on the lighthouse on the western side of the island—see it there?” He pointed dead ahead. Sure enough, she saw a tall white lighthouse rising above the tree line. “It’s not in use anymore, but the horn still works. I don’t like leaving Mrs. Ross alone on the island, but sometimes I have to, so I had someone rig the power connection from the horn to go to the main house. Mrs. Ross can trigger the horn from the house now. You can hear it all the way to the mainland.”

“Why did she trigger it?”

“There was a boat attempting a landing. Rubber raft, really, with an outboard motor. She saw it from the widow’s walk on top of the house. So she ran and sounded the horn.” He swung his binoculars in an arc, apparently looking for the offending boat. “She said they turned back around and started hightailing it away.”

“Is that unusual?”

He lowered the binoculars to look at her. “We get trespassers,” he admitted. “They don’t always know the island is private. Sometimes you get people having boat trouble.”

“Could today’s incident have been something like that?”

His mouth tightened. “Maybe.”

“But you don’t think so.”

He didn’t answer, settling back in the pilot’s seat and starting the boat engine. To Shannon’s relief, the engine rumbled to life easily enough.

By the time they neared the island, the siren had died away to nothing. They rounded the southern tip of the island and aimed north toward the mouth of a cavernous boathouse. It had to have been built specifically for the Hatteras Convertible, Shannon thought. “How long have the Rosses owned this boat?” she asked as Gideon eased the boat into the shelter.

The interior of the boathouse was dark and shadowy, as if they’d gone from noon to twilight in a matter of seconds. Her eyes, accustomed to the bright sunlight bouncing off the water of the Gulf, had trouble dealing with the sudden darkness, making her temporarily blind.

Out of the gloom, Gideon’s answer rumbled like thunder. “I don’t know. It was here when I came.”

With sunlight through the entrance driving away the worst of the shadows, Shannon’s sight soon adjusted. She followed Gideon Stone down the ladder to the main deck and gathered her things.

“You might want to put away the GLOCK,” Gideon suggested. “Mrs. Ross is probably already on edge.”

Shannon unclipped the holster from her waistband and put the weapon and holster in her duffel bag. Gideon took the bag from her hands as if he were picking up a child’s toy. He slung it over his shoulder and nodded for her to precede him down the pier.

Where the pier ended, a river stone walkway began, winding through lush, tree-shaded grass uphill toward a large house near the top of a small rise. “Stafford House,” Gideon said quietly behind her. “Stafford is Mrs. Ross’s maiden name. The island has been in her family for generations.”

“And the house?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

“The old one was badly damaged by Hurricane Frederick decades ago, when Mrs. Ross’s parents were still alive. They rebuilt to make it more hurricane-proof. I’m told the house looks exactly as it did before. Just taller.” He withdrew his gaze from the house and looked at her, his mouth curving too slightly to trigger the dimples again. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights. The bedrooms are on the top floor.”

Stafford House gave the impression of a stately manor, with tall white columns supporting the front portico as well as the balcony on the top floor. Where the roof gable met at a point above the second floor, a widow’s walk ringed the entire roof area. “Is that how Mrs. Ross spotted the intruders?” she asked as they reached the front walkway. The river stones here were edged by monkey grass and unlit walkway lanterns. Shannon imagined it would be lovely at night with the lights on.

“Yes,” Gideon answered tersely.

The front door opened and a small woman in her late sixties walked out onto the long front veranda, a smile on her face. She must have been a stunner in her youth, Shannon thought, as elegant and lovely as she remained in her later years. She wore a short-sleeved cotton blouse in pale yellow and a pair of denim capri pants that showed off slim, smooth ankles.

“You must be Shannon.” She held out her hands in welcome.

Shannon took the older woman’s hands. “Mrs. Ross, it’s nice to meet you. Your home is absolutely beautiful.”

Lydia Ross smiled with pleasure at the compliment. “It will be heartbreaking to leave it behind. But the gentlemen with the Department of Conservation and National Resources have assured me that they plan to work with the Gulf Coast Historic Trust to preserve the house as a museum for visitors to the island.”

Thinking about the family home back in Gossamer Ridge, the shabby but well-loved house where her father had raised his six boisterous children, Shannon felt a twinge of sympathy for Lydia’s plight. Her father’s home was no longer the place she lived, but it was still home to her, a place to which she knew she could retreat if she needed.

“Where will you live when you leave here?” she asked as Lydia showed her inside the house.

“My sister-in-law owns a farm in Burkettville. Her husband died a few years ago, and I know she’s missing him terribly. Perhaps we’ll be able to give each other some relief from the loneliness.” She smiled. “It will be lovely to be around my nieces and nephews more.”

Lydia’s words sounded sincere, but in her eyes Shannon saw anxiety, as if she feared what further changes her future might hold.

There was no foyer inside, as she’d expected, only a large, airy room that seemed to spread all the way from the front of the house to the back. It was part living room, part dining room, with a large, airy kitchen near the back and, through several sets of French doors, a long veranda that overlooked a raised garden.

“Gideon, dear, I’ve given Shannon the blue room.” As Gideon headed up the stairs to the top floor, Lydia turned to Shannon with a smile. “You don’t mind if I call you Shannon, do you? And you must call me Lydia.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve tried to get Gideon to call me by my given name as well, but he’s so formal! My husband said it was because he was a marine.”

Shannon smiled back. “Two of my brothers were marines. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

Lydia showed her into the kitchen, where a small tray of cheese and crackers sat on the narrow breakfast bar, along with a pitcher of iced tea. “I hope you like sweet tea. I can come up with some soft drinks if you prefer.”

“Tea is perfect.” Shannon sat where Lydia indicated and took a couple of crackers and some slices of Havarti cheese from the tray. “Is it okay if I get started this afternoon? Going through your husband’s papers, I mean.”

Lydia looked surprised. “I thought you’d want to rest and start fresh in the morning.”

“I’ll do whatever you wish,” Shannon said quickly, reading Lydia’s reluctance. “We can spend this afternoon getting to know each other if that’s what you prefer.”

Lydia smiled ruefully. “I’m quite transparent, aren’t I? It is rare for me to have female companionship these days. I haven’t ventured to the mainland for more than a couple of hours at a time since Edward’s death. It’s hard to know how to deal with old friends—sometimes, I feel as if they’re watching me carefully in anticipation of a breakdown.”

Shannon impulsively put her hand atop Lydia’s where it lay on the counter. “My sister lost her husband a few years ago, and she used to think the same thing. She didn’t even like to be around the family sometimes because of it. But it wasn’t what we were thinking, I promise. We just wanted to help her however she needed it.”

Tears brimmed in Lydia’s eyes, but she held on to them, as if refusing to let them fall. “And did you help her?”

Shannon smiled. “As much as she’d let us. But there’s a happy ending—she remarried a week ago.”

“Well, lovely for her!” Lydia’s smile looked genuine. “The young are not meant to be alone.”

“I don’t think anyone’s meant to be alone.”

Lydia patted her hand. “I am fortunate, then, to have a kind young man like Gideon to keep me company, no?”

As if speaking his name conjured him into appearing, Gideon came down the stairs and entered the kitchen with long, floor-eating strides. “I need to do a patrol of the island,” he said tersely. “If you need me, I’ll have the two-way with me.”

“Thank you, dear. You’re too good to me.”

An odd, pained look flashed in Gideon’s blue eyes before he nodded goodbye and headed back through the front door.

“How did Mr. Stone come to be your caretaker?” Shannon asked curiously, seeing an answering pain in her hostess’s eyes.

Lydia smiled, but there was anguish in her expression. “My son died saving his life.”

* * *

A BOUT A QUARTER mile north of the house, Gideon found the spot on the beach where the raft had tried to come ashore. Something like a Zodiac would be able to accommodate a crew of four, the number of men Mrs. Ross had seen from the widow’s walk. It would also fit Mrs. Ross’s description of the vessel she’d seen.

A fishing boat off course might be an accidental visitor. But a Zodiac—it made no sense that a Zodiac or any sort of motorized raft would have been traveling the Gulf of Mexico on a pleasure cruise. More likely, it had been a landing boat from a larger craft, like the Hatteras or something even larger.

He’d retrieved his binoculars from the Lorelei before he started his island circuit and lifted them now toward the Gulf of Mexico stretching in turquoise splendor as far as the eye could see. There were shrimp boats out on the water, even the occasional sailboat. And fishing boats, of course.

Any one of the larger fishing craft could have carried the intruder boat, he recognized with frustration. Could someone in a boat have used a rubber dinghy to attempt an island landing, not realizing the place was inhabited?

He turned around and looked toward the house from where he stood by the furrowed sand. Stafford House’s facade was clearly visible even from here, and would have been even more visible from the water.

Nobody could have mistaken Nightshade Island as deserted.

Movement on the second-floor veranda caught his eye. Shannon Cooper stepped out onto the balcony, joined by Lydia. Stepping behind the shelter of a scrubby sea oats stand, Gideon raised his binoculars for a closer, more covert look.

Shannon’s straight, dark hair lifted in the breeze coming off the Gulf, fluttering around her heart-shaped face. Wind flattened her blouse against her body, revealing the shape of her small, round breasts and narrow waist.

Fire licking at his belly, he lowered the binoculars with a grumble of frustration. He’d been isolated on the island too long.

He resumed his walk around the island, trying to think who might want to sneak onto Nightshade Island and for what purpose.

But in the back of his mind, Shannon Cooper still leaned against the railing of the second-floor veranda, her hair floating in the breeze and her dark eyes full of mysteries.