A Killing Tide (17 page)

Kaz's temper slipped another notch. "Contrary to what people seem to think about us Jorgensens, we don't go around with guns strapped to our bodies or hidden under our pillows. And I haven't spent a lot of time in my life contemplating how I'll handle midnight intruders. This
used
to be a safe town."

He closed the distance between them and grasped her chin, turning her face so that he could see it better. Something cold flashed in his eyes. "Is that your only injury?"

Kaz edged away, unnerved by the effect of his touch. She raised a hand to her head. As if on cue, a lump at her temple started throbbing. "I fell on the stairs when he pushed me. I'll have a few bruises, but nothing serious."

He rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands in his pockets, almost as if he didn't trust himself not to touch her again. "What was he after?"

"How the hell should I know?" She stomped up the front porch steps and through the open door, leaving them to follow. "The break-in probably has to do with the weird phone calls I got today." She started stuffing books back onto the shelves. "Hang-ups."

"Christ." Chapman dumped a pile of paperback thrillers on the shelf and turned to face her, his face grim. "You know they were checking to see if the house was empty."

"Well, it wasn't." She went into the kitchen and filled the teakettle with water, then located some herbal tea bags. He followed her in, and she could feel his pale eyes on her, probably assessing how hysterical she might be. Okay, maybe she was acting a little over the top, but it had been an extremely stressful twenty-four hours.

Zeke sat down beside her and leaned heavily against the back of her left knee, almost buckling it. While she waited for the water in the teakettle to boil, she rubbed the top of his head. The dog moaned and gurgled with pleasure. "This dog thinks he's a person."

"Shepherds have the intelligence of a five-year-old child. He's perfectly capable of reading your moods, reacting much the same as any other human being would. He just has trouble communicating in a language that we humans understand."

"So if he had vocal chords, he'd be telling me that everything's all right, now that he's here," Kaz said, her voice wry.

"Something like that." Chapman took a tea towel off the cupboard door in front of the sink, and then retrieved a handful of ice from the freezer, which he wrapped inside the towel. He held it out to her. "It'll help the swelling."

She held the ice up to her head, wincing at the cold.

He folded his arms and leaned against the edge of the counter. "So far, you've been lucky." When she started to protest, he gave her a hard look. "No, dammit. Let me finish. This morning you were shot at, now you've been attacked in your own home."

"He wouldn't have attacked me if I hadn't attacked him first," she mumbled, earning herself another glare.

"Next
time, the guy might not be so polite. Now, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I don't know." The look on his face was skeptical. "I
don't."

The kitchen was silent except for the sound of Zeke's tail thumping on the floor. She reached down and rubbed his head some more.

"Why would someone break into this house?"

She chewed her lip. There had to be a connection between the Lundquists' place being tossed and her intruder. Which meant that someone thought either Ken or Gary had something they wanted. It also indicated that Gary might be more involved than she wanted to believe. The risk in telling Chapman her suspicions was that he would leap to the wrong conclusion about Gary. But she was running out of options—she had to tell him.

She filled Chapman in about the break-in earlier that day at the Lundquists' and about Julie's secretiveness. "I think there might be a connection."

His expression was both angry and incredulous. "You
think?"

"Okay, there's a connection. But I refuse to believe that Gary's behind the break-ins. For one thing, he has no reason to break in here and toss his own home."

Chapman nodded. "All right, I'll grant you that. But what about a partner, a person he might've had a falling out with? Most burglars are hoping to score one of three things: drugs, guns, or cash. Are you sure Gary isn't involved in some kind of drug smuggling?"

She gave him incredulous look.
"Yes
, I'm sure! After seeing what drugs did to men in the military, Gary won't touch anything stronger than aspirin. And he isn't motivated by money—he'd never risk ending up in jail just to score some cash."

"What about the other fishermen?" Chapman asked. "Doesn't Astoria have a problem with heroin smuggling?"

Kaz tried to remember what Lucy might've told her about drug trafficking. "The cops have known for years that heroin is coming through here, going upriver to Portland. But there's never been even one rumor of anyone I know being involved with drugs, and no one in the fleet has ever been arrested."

The teakettle whistled, and she turned to deal with it, but Chapman waved her toward a chair. "Sykes dropped by my office a little while ago." He brought the kettle and two cups over to the table. "They're getting ready to swear out a warrant against Gary."

Kaz reached for the back of a chair, dropping into it, shaking from head to toe. "My God."

"They found what they think is the murder weapon in Gary's truck."

"But that makes no sense! Gary's not dumb enough to leave that kind of evidence lying around."

"He could've been in a hurry—or could've been scared off when you arrived."

She shook her head. "He wouldn't have run from me—he would've tried to protect me from whatever was happening." While Chapman poured tea into her cup, a piece of the puzzle fell into place. "Someone's trying to frame him."

"Possibly."

"It's obvious—" she broke off. "What did you say?"

"I said, you may be right."

Kaz stared at him. "Earlier this afternoon, you were hell-bent to convict my brother."

He slanted her a chiding look. "I was leaving open all possibilities," he corrected. "Too many things aren't adding up."

"Like what?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that. Let's just say that a few of the findings might be inconsistent with someone killing in a fit of rage, then panicking and setting a fire to cover it up. I'm having the rags from the truck tested to see if the accelerant matches what I found on the boat." He set the teapot down. "But you're right—finding the murder weapon in the truck is just too damn convenient."

His words brought her a huge measure of relief. To have someone agree with her, and to not have them think she was crazy or blinded by her loyalty to her brother…Michael Chapman still wasn't her ally, but he
was
proving to be open-minded.

But why was Gary hiding out, if he was innocent?

She tried to raise the mug to her lips, but her hands were shaking too badly. The hot liquid spilled, soaking through the bandage that covered her burn. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes watering from the pain.

Chapman leaned across the table and placed his hands on hers, helping her hold the mug steady while she took a sip. The warmth, both from his hands and from the tea, was a blessed relief. "Thanks," she said, her breath hitching alarmingly.

"It's the adrenaline," he said quietly. One corner of his mouth quirked. "You'll be fine in a couple of hours—back to your old, feisty self. Until then, you'll feel like you got flattened by an eighteen-wheeler."

She tried to smile back at him, but failed. Their gazes held for a long, silent moment, then he cleared his throat. Releasing her hands, he got up and rummage through drawers until he found the first aid kit. Sitting back down, he took her hand in his and proceeded to remove the soaked bandage.

Kaz let him, almost paralyzed by his gentleness. His touch was difficult to reconcile with the tough image he typically projected, and it added a new layer of complexity to his personality. If she'd been paying attention, she would've been able to predict that gentleness, based on how he treated Zeke. But she'd blocked out those kinds of observations, trying to convince herself that he was the enemy.

He's not acting like the enemy now,
the voice inside her head whispered.

He examined the burn, a slight frown on his face. "It's healing well, but I don't think hot herbal tea is beneficial." His tone was wry as he dug through the jumble of packages in the kit to find some ointment. After spreading it with a light touch, he opened a package of gauze bandages and taped one over the blisters.

She hadn't said anything the whole time he'd worked, hadn't been able to while he had her hand in his. "Um, thanks," she muttered, pulling back and concentrating on her tea.

"No problem," he said, sounding amused. He watched her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I want you to take me with you when you go out on the water."

"What?"
She jumped up to rinse out her cup. Just what she needed—twelve hours in close proximity to the most disturbing man she'd ever met, a man she was starting to feel a real connection with. And wasn't
that
a terrifying thought? "No way."

She had rules, ones that she hadn't broken for fifteen years. Never again was she going to be responsible for taking someone over that river bar. She couldn't take the chance.

"I know what I'm doing, and I won't be in your way," he said, his tone persuading. "I need to get a feel for what goes on out there, listen to the conversations on the radio."

He'd followed her over to the sink, and suddenly, he was standing way too close. Her already stressed system headed toward overload. "I hadn't decided yet whether I was going out," she said, stalling.

"You need to lift your pots, don't you?"

As usual, he was right. She had to get the newly strung crab pots into the water and empty and rebait the others. And it seemed that he'd come to the same conclusion she had—that they might overhear something in the fishermen's chatter that would give them some clues. Of course, the fishermen might also reveal Gary's hiding place, and with a warrant outstanding for Gary's arrest, Chapman would be obligated to tell the police anything he overheard.

"I don't take crew out with me, ever."

He frowned at her. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "Just a rule I have. It's dangerous. And newcomers don't understand what they're getting into."

"I trust you." His eyes gleamed with the irony of his statement. They both knew she was still suspicious of his motives.

She grabbed a washcloth from the sink and started scrubbing a drop of tea that had gotten spilled on the counter. "Well, you shouldn't. Trust me, that is."

He was silent for a moment. "Funny. I didn't take you for a coward."

"
Excuse
me?"

He leaned forward, his face only inches from hers. "You want this investigation solved, don't you? Your brother cleared?" When she didn't respond, he continued, relentless. "You'll dive into the hold of a burning boat, but you won't take me across the damn river bar. I've got news for you—no one's responsible for me but me. I'm asking you to take me out there, so
I'm
the one taking the risk. You're just driving the damn boat—you're not God."

He was right, and when he put it that way, she felt foolish. But he didn't know the conditions out there, so he didn't really know what he was asking. She started to shake her head.

He moved even closer, placing a hand on the edge of the counter on either side of her, caging her in. "Here's the deal. You're not going anywhere without an escort, not after what's happened today. I won't have you in danger. So if you want to get those crab pots in the water, I'm going out with you. Either that, or I arrest you as a material witness, right here, right now."

"That's blackmail," she snapped.

"Yeah. So deal with it."

She wanted to punch him, and that shocked her. She wasn't a violent person; no one had ever gotten under her skin to the point that she wanted to hit him.

"I'll work for free," he added softly.

"Damn straight you'll work for free," she said faintly, accepting that she'd been coerced—or charmed, she wasn't sure which—into agreeing to his plan. "The business can't afford to pay anyone right now, unless I send you home with a few crabs for dinner."

He smiled, satisfied with his small victory. "When do you plan to go back out?"

"I must be crazy," she grumbled. "Rule number one—don't take someone you don't trust out on the water with you."

"You trust me. You just don't want to admit it."

"You know, I really hate it when someone tells me how I feel."

He reached out and ran a finger over the bruise that was beginning to form on her temple. His touch was feather-light, but it left a trail of heat on her skin. She started to ease away, but he shifted even closer. She could feel the warmth radiating off his hard body, and she had the insane urge to cuddle against him, to soak up all that heat. She leaned away, lifting her chin.

He looked amused by her reaction. "I'll bunk down on the couch in the living room for the night." His voice had taken on a seductive quality.

It took her fogged brain a moment to process what he'd said. "You want to stay
here?
I don't think so."

"On the couch," he stressed, still smiling slightly. "Unless you prefer otherwise?"

"No!" She swallowed audibly, casting about for an excuse. "I'll be fine. I doubt they'll come back tonight."

He hesitated, clearly not convinced, then reluctantly nodded. "All right. But I leave Zeke here."

"Fine," she said quickly.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her pulse headed for the stratosphere. He was going to kiss her. She couldn't decide whether the idea turned her on or terrified her.

He leaned down until his lips were only the barest whisper away from hers, then stopped, his incredible, silvery eyes locking with hers. They questioned her silently.

She used the temporary reprieve to suck in some much-needed air. Laying a hand on his chest, she pushed slightly, testing his resistance. He didn't budge.
"Not
a good idea." Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears.

"Probably not," he murmured, "but I don't seem to be able to help myself." Sliding his warm hands under the heavy fall of her hair, he cupped the sensitive area at the base of her skull, holding her head still while he brushed his mouth gently across hers, barely making contact. His lips were warm, firm, and tasted of the herbal tea they had just drunk.

She shivered. His kiss was as light as his touch had been a moment ago, and just as devastating. Though his grip on her neck was firm and uncompromising, the kiss was an invitation rather than a demand. And that was more of a turn-on than he could possibly know.

She gripped the edge of the counter to brace herself. "Wait," she said, hearing the edge of desperation in her voice.

He trailed his lips along her jaw line to her ear, nipping the lobe and then using his tongue to sooth the small hurt. "I'll stop if you want me to," he whispered, his breath warm on her neck.

Fisting her hand in the material of his sweater, she shuddered. She
didn't
want him to stop—she didn't want to pull away from the seductive promise of what might be developing between them.

Reading her reaction, his eyes darkened. Placing both hands at her waist, he lifted her onto the counter, then parted her knees and stepped between them. Capturing her lips, he kissed her, hard.

The man knew how to kiss. She moaned deep in her throat and parted her lips, inviting him inside. He didn't hesitate, tasting her deeply, his tongue capturing hers and luring her into a duel that hinted of what it would be like if they were to take this to the next level.

It would be good. Incendiary.

She wanted to glue herself to every inch of him. And she wanted that devastating kiss to go on and on.

Think about Gary.

She managed to drag both hands down to his hard chest and push, her body already protesting as she did. "I want you to stop," she managed, her voice unsteady, her breath hitching with regret.

He froze for a long moment, breathing hard and staring at her. Then he sighed and leaned his forehead against hers.

"It's just chemistry," she said, trying to convince herself.

"More like a nuclear explosion," he muttered. He straightened, easing away from her slowly, grimacing at what the movement cost him. Reaching out, he rubbed her lower lip with his thumb, almost destroying what was left of her resolve. His expression was curiously sad. "But you're right—bad timing all around."

He told Zeke to stay and walked over to the kitchen door, then turned back to her, and promise lingering in his gaze. "When this is over—"

"I'll probably be going back to California," she said quickly, though the thought made her slightly ill.

"We'll talk," he said firmly. "And my name is Michael. It's time you started using it, don't you think?"

Once he was gone, she slid down the front of the cupboards until she was sitting on the floor, her knees bunched up. Zeke leaned over and licked her face, then grinned at her, his tongue lolling. Bemused, she raised a shaky hand to pat the top of his head. "I could be in a little trouble, here, Zeke."

"Rawrooo."

She dropped her forehead to her knee and rubbed Zeke's chest. Then on a sigh, she dragged herself to her feet. That kiss had been the knock-out punch for a long, miserable day. She'd deal with the ramifications tomorrow, when she could be more rational about how irrational it was to start a relationship with a man she barely knew. One who could turn her bones to water with just a glance. One who felt like he might be the man she'd been waiting for all these years.

But right now, as she slogged up the stairs to her bedroom, all she could think about was falling into bed.

Sleep. She desperately needed some sleep.

Which wasn't in the cards: At 4:15 AM, she was awakened from a restless doze by Zeke, who exploded into a frenzy of barking and leapt at the darkened silhouette of a man standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

~~~~

Chapter 14

The man reached in, grabbed the door handle, and slammed the bedroom door shut only a split second before Zeke hit the door, scratching and growling.

"Dammit, Kaz! Call off the dog." The voice on the other side of the door was low and muffled, but she would've recognized it anywhere.

"Gary!" She threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed. Grabbing Zeke's collar, she flung open the door. "It's about time—I've been worried sick." She hugged him.

He held her close for a moment, then moved her aside so he could cross to the window to draw shut the curtains. He then prowled the small space beside her bed like a big, restless cat. Zeke watched him warily, growling low in his throat.

Even in the shadows, Gary's face was haggard, his cheeks hollow. His forehead and jaw were streaked with dark grease paint, adding to the starkness of his features. And he looked gaunt, as if he hadn't been eating.

She knew better than to comment on those facts. "Where've you been staying?"

"I won't tell you that." He rounded on her. "Dammit, I told you to stay out of this, Kaz."

She folded her arms. "What's going on, Gary?"

"Nothing you can do anything about."

"Is that why you've been avoiding me since I came home?"

"Yes." He came over to where she stood, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I want you to go back to California. Tomorrow. Just pack your bags and go."

She shook her head. "Tell me what's going on," she demanded. "What are they looking for?"

He jerked, startled by her question. "What d'you mean?"

"Someone's been calling here, then hanging up. I had a visitor, around midnight, who was searching through the bookcases in the living room. And the Lundquists' house was tossed earlier today."

"Sonofabitch!" He turned away from her, slamming his fist against the wall.

Zeke snarled, and she knelt to soothe him.

"You've got to go stay with Lucy, where you'll be safe." Gary paced some more, then stopped, running his hands through his hair. "Fuck. I did
not
want you involved. These guys play for keeps. God, look what they did to Ken."

"Who
are
these guys?"

"No way."

"Tell me you aren't trying to handle this alone." The thought terrified her. "That's it, isn't it? You're staying here in town—not up in the backcountry where you'd be safer—trying to find out who's behind this. If the cops find you—"

"I've got some people helping me."

"Chuck," she guessed.

Gary shrugged and resumed his pacing. She hadn't seen him strung this tight since right after he'd returned from Iraq. If Chuck was helping Gary, that gave her some measure of comfort. Still, he and Chuck had no business being vigilantes, if that's what they were doing.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Go to Lucy and Ivar, tell them what you know. It's the only way."

He shook his head. "Not an option." He stared down at Zeke, then held out a hand for the shepherd to sniff. "Why do you have that new guy's dog here?"

"Michael left him for my protection after the break-in this evening." She bit her lip. "Someone's trying to frame you, Gary."

His laugh was bitter. "You think I don't know that?"

"The cops found the murder weapon in the back of your truck. They've issued a warrant for your arrest."

"Yeah, Chuck told me." Before she could ask how Chuck had found out, Gary shook his head. "Chuck has his sources—I don't ask."

"Clint Jackson is staking out the house—he's been here off an on since this morning."

Gary snorted. "I saw him. He was sitting in his car, half asleep when I came in the front door. He never even saw me." Gary looked momentarily amused. "You don't have to worry about him catching me."

"But there are others out there looking, according to Lucy."

"I just came by to pick up a few things." He knelt, taking her hands in his. "Stay out of this, Sis. For me."

"Not an option," she said, mimicking him.

"You have to trust me on this. If I'm worrying about you, then I can't concentrate on stopping these guys. This Chapman guy, can he protect you?"

"I can protect myself."

"Not from these guys—don't even think that. If you get in their way, they won't hesitate to kill you." He gripped her arms and shook her gently. "Dammit, you're all I've got left."

"Then you know how
I
feel."

"At least go out on the water, act like everything is normal. You'll be pretty safe out there—the guys won't let anything happen to you. And don't go anywhere on your own. Promise me that much, at least."

"What about you?"

"Forget about me—I'm not important." When she opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head and stood, forcing her to look up at him. "You listen to me, Kaz. This time, your stubbornness could get you killed."

"And you don't need to be a hero," she said quietly.