Edge of Survival (11 page)

Cam swayed as the others started loading equipment into the bird. Even though he wanted to, he didn’t reach out to help her. In fact, he turned his back and strode back to the helicopter alone. Because he was within an inch of carrying her in his arms, and if he did that, he was screwed.

Breathing hard, Dwight pulled up short and braced a hand against a tree. Up ahead, Arnie and Stan stopped, waiting for him.

“You go on ahead.” He waved them on, toeing off his boot and emptying a stone that had been digging into his big toe. They were almost back to the camp at Frenchmans Bight. They’d decided to walk back from a drill rig rather than wait for a chopper. He was pissed. He knew Fox drank aboard ship because Eddie the bartender had told him all about it. But the sonofabitch had passed the on-the-spot alcohol check because that dumb bitch of a nurse had let him off with a borderline result.

Dwight tasted dust and spat it out on the trail. He should be happy. Things were looking good. The cores they’d taken today looked better than those drilled in Voisey Bay over a decade earlier, and that had been the find of the century.

By Christ, he could do with a beer. He took off his bandana and wiped the grime from his face and neck. The Mounties were taking their sweet time processing the crime scene, and the bar was still closed. Miserable bastards. They’d gone over every speck of snot and grit, bagged, tagged and shipped it off to examine under their microscopes. It would take them months to sort through that shit. And even after they’d worked out who’d screwed Sylvie, the chances of narrowing it down to who’d slit her throat was as likely as winning the lottery two weeks in a row.

He knelt to do up his laces, the bones in his knee joint sending a twinge of pain through his leg. He sighed. Slowly, he tied the laces and clambered to his feet, ignoring the grind of cartilage and the inconvenience of old age. Sylvie’s murder inquiry was slowing down their operation, and so were those fish biologists. His boss didn’t tolerate excuses for delays, and who the hell really gave a damn about a few fucking fish? No one. No one gave a shit. Sure, DFO and the Department of Natural Resources could be bastards when crossed, but federal government
wanted
this mine. And they wanted it now. No way was Dwight letting some tits and ass get in the way of his retirement plans.

Something metal glinted in the bush and captured his attention. He walked toward it. He swept back the branches and stared at the discovery. Then he grinned.

***

Daniel woke suddenly, but for once it wasn’t from a nightmare. He’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d gotten back to his cabin—backlash from the adrenaline dump of rescuing the Doc. He hadn’t bothered to eat and now he was starving. He squinted and rubbed his eyes to make out the time on the digital display. Ten o’clock. The sun was almost down. Waves washed against the side of the boat. A storm far out to sea.

He heard a noise in the corridor—probably what had woken him—rolled to his feet and yanked open the door. Vikki stood there, black tank top revealing the frilly edge of a pretty black bra, tight jeans over endless legs, a quart of Vodka in one hand and the kind of smile that had gotten Adam kicked out of the Garden of Eden.

He swallowed. Here were all his temptations in one.

He’d decided to go celibate and sober—what? fourteen hours ago?—and now he was obsessing?

Apart from this afternoon by the falls, she’d barely spoken to him since that first awful night. He’d figured she wouldn’t come back. So why was she here now?

She reached out and ran a finger down his chest, her tongue glancing over her painted lips. He knew exactly what she could do with that mouth and he knew it offered oblivion. Part of him, the animal part with no morals or ethics, the part with no conscience or thought of consequences, wanted to pull her into the cabin just to block out the raging hole of nothingness that filled his life. But sex was a drug and he’d made a promise to himself. He eyed her bottle of vodka. A promise that was proving much harder to keep than he’d anticipated.

“What do you want?” he asked, not letting her touch affect him because, hell, he was male and had blood in his veins.

“Now, lover, I think you already know I’m pretty much up for anything.” She stepped forward but he blocked her path.

“Even though I kicked you out last time?”

She pouted at him, almost eye to eye in her heels. “Maybe I want to make you beg for forgiveness?”

“I don’t beg.” Playing the bastard was more difficult than usual. He cleared his throat. “And I’m not interested.”

She stroked a hand all the way to his groin and he wasn’t soft anymore. Shit.
He
wasn’t interested, but his dick was.

“Now we both know that isn’t true.” She smiled with goddess confidence, him nothing but a flesh-and-blood mortal at her mercy. But there was something else in the depths of her perfect blue eyes.

Uncertainty? Fear? Insecurity?

Then he got it. What he saw in her eyes was fear. Fear of rejection. She wasn’t here because she wanted him. She was here because he didn’t want her. Rejection did not happen to women who looked like Vikki Salinger. He knew because rejection did not happen to him either. And it made them both extra-vulnerable when life slapped them in the face with a big fat
R
.

He ignored her wandering hand. “Why do you do it, Vikki? Screw around?”

Her eyes smoldered, blond hair slightly wet from a recent shower. She squeezed her hand over him and her mouth moved into an erotic pout that made him lightheaded. “I like sex. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

No. No, there isn’t.
He bloody loved sex. The best invention since the HKMP5. But he used it to run from memories. What was she running from? He grabbed her wrist as she went for his zipper and she snatched her hand away from him.

“We don’t have to fool around. We can talk.” He swept his arm to invite her inside. Not that he thought she’d take him up on his offer.

She planted her hand on her hip and glared. “If I wanted to
talk,
I’d go find Cam.”

“What’s she up to?”

Vikki’s eyes sharpened and her red lips curled in a way that wasn’t pretty. “Ah. So that’s it. Done the blonde, move on to the brunette.”

Daniel stopped himself from reacting. She’d struck a nerve.

“I guess I should have told you, Cam never, hmm…
dates
anyone I’ve slept with.” Her smile was pure spite.

“Is that why you do it?” Daniel laughed because he knew it would piss her off. “Shag everything in sight because you’re jealous of the Doc?”

Her teeth bared, she lashed out at him, but he caught her wrist before her hand connected with his face.

“I am not jealous of Cameran. I love Cameran.” Her blue eyes burned with loathing for him.

Footsteps approached down the corridor and he let her go. “I suggest you hide that—” he indicated the vodka, “—before the captain catches you and sends you back home where you belong. Spoiled bitches don’t do well in the real world.”

She smiled, stuffed the vodka into Daniel’s hands and he had a split-second to shove it behind his back as the ship’s captain rounded the corner.
Shit.
If he got fired because of Vikki Salinger’s booze, he was going to raise pure bloody hell.

“Evening, Captain.” She smiled, looking as trustworthy as a cobra in a frying pan.

Captain Joseph Crane stared first at Vikki and then at Daniel, his moustache bristling over a sneer. The captain had never liked him, but Daniel didn’t think it was personal. The old bugger didn’t seem to like anyone. Daniel held his stare, holding the bottle behind his back absolutely still so as not to make a giveaway tinkle.

“There’s nothing worse than a damned drunk,” the captain intoned as he pushed his lips in and out. The man was a reformed alcoholic and treated everyone like would-be AA recruits. “Except for maybe a damned killer.”

Daniel stood straight, head and shoulders taller than the other man, looking down his nose because his temper was starting to stir. Did being a killer in the military count? Did society need a new name for
murder,
because from where Daniel stood it was a pretty gray area, and he wasn’t even thinking about his own debacle. His old team was full of stone killers, who coached their kids’ soccer teams when they were home. They didn’t deserve derision for doing a job that was distasteful to most, but necessary for civilians to be able to live their nice safe boring little lives.

“The RCMP called with questions about you, boyo. They don’t trust you.” The captain’s voice held an edge of suspicion.

Daniel hid his emotions and accepted the information with a slight inclination of his head.

“And even though you passed that spot-check this morning, I don’t trust you either, laddie.” The captain’s eyes peered out from beneath heavy brows, and a scar at the side of his mouth whitened.

“I know,” Daniel said.

Vikki pushed away from the wall and sauntered toward the captain. The man’s face changed as Vikki smiled at him. Now there was a relationship that would lead to wreck and ruin.

“Vikki…” Daniel warned.

“I was just telling Mr. Fox that Dr. Young specifically requested he be our pilot for tracking studies. But he refused.”

Shit stirring.

“I doubt the Doc said anything of the sort—” Daniel tried to interrupt, but it was too late.

“He’s at her disposal for the duration.” Captain Crane nodded and backed away a step, but Vikki followed. She’d set her sights on more worthy prey than a lowly pilot.

It wasn’t his problem if Vikki sent Captain Joseph Crane spiraling back into depression and alcoholism. Maybe getting his rocks off would improve the guy’s disposition, but it sure hadn’t helped Daniel. He closed the door and waited for them to move on. And then he realized he was alone in his room, separated from a bottle of vodka by nothing more substantial than a silent vow.

Cam sat in the dark beside the open hangar door, listening to the wind whip the ship’s flags like cat o’ nine tails. She’d been going through the field equipment boxes, making sure they were ready for tomorrow, when it had struck her. She’d almost died today, and the realization kept hitting her like an emotional two-by-four. She felt battered but numb. Her throat ached from coughing up her lungs earlier.

Drowning. Some people said it was a good way to go, but she figured they weren’t the ones with lungs full of water or a body blacking out from lack of oxygen.

It had been surreal. She’d always thought diabetes was her biggest enemy but accidents happened to anyone. The experience had sucked all the energy out of her. She was so grateful to Daniel she could have hugged him for hours. But after that brief glimpse of humanity at the falls, he’d retreated back behind his private shell.

Needing to reconnect with loved ones, she’d called home and foolishly told her mother what had happened. Her mother had lost it. Even though she was a determined, independent rocket scientist herself, she didn’t understand that this study was something Cam needed to do for her career and for her self-esteem. The phone call had ended in sharp words on both sides and a bucket load of guilt for Cam.

The wind howled, the cracks and snaps, creaks and groans of the ship getting more intense. The slight jostling motion of the waves made her tummy stumble even in this quiet, sheltered bay. She sipped her steaming mug of peppermint tea, and tried to steady her shaking hands. A dark figure came out of nowhere and she caught her breath. He stood on the edge of the deck and threw something out into the bay.

Littering. Cam pursed her lips.

Quickly and efficiently he moved to check the mooring ropes that secured the helicopter to the deck. It had to be Daniel. No one else touched that machine without his consent. Not even the other pilots billeted onboard.

He looked tall and lean, his movements fluid and economical. She allowed herself to watch him, knowing she was hidden from view, wishing she could see beneath the top layer of his personality to the real person beneath. She had a feeling there was someone really worth knowing buried deep inside.

“Why are you hiding up here?” he asked suddenly, popping her invisibility bubble. He walked soundlessly across the deck toward her.

To cover her surprise, she checked her watch. “Hey, it’s after 10 p.m. Aren’t you supposed to be sweating it out in the gym?” she tried to tease.

“If you want a late-night workout without being assaulted by an idiot, tonight’s the night.” His self-mocking smile told her he remembered that first night. Maybe even regretted it.

Despite the chill air he was wearing a thin T-shirt while she was wrapped up in more layers than an Antarctic explorer. And she still felt cold. Maybe it was a near-death reaction, but she didn’t think she was going to warm up any time soon. She swallowed hard. She had to say something about what happened today. “Daniel, I didn’t really get to say thank you, earlier…”

His face went hard, eyes and mouth narrowed. “Thank me by not getting yourself into any more trouble over the next few weeks.”

“So, back in Florida I can play in traffic?” she joked.

“Cam…” he warned.

It was odd, but she was sure it was the first time he’d called her by her given name. It gave her a warm jolt.

“Were you crying?” he asked.

She bobbed a shoulder. “I called home. My mother made me feel like I was driving stakes into her undead heart.”

“Ha.” Daniel snorted. “I avoid calling home as much as possible.”

“You have a mother?” She didn’t know why she was so shocked.

“Did you think I was spawned out of Middle Earth?” He dropped to the deck and sat cross-legged opposite her. Held his hand out for her mug. His features were frosted in starlight, but there was a smile on his lips and he seemed in a good mood.

“Peppermint tea. You won’t like it,” she warned, handing the mug across to him. “Tell me about your family.”

The mug hovered beneath his lips and he looked at her from beneath his brows, a half smile on his lips. “I happen to
love
peppermint tea.” He took a swallow. “And my family all live in England, except my sister, Jane, who moved to BC.”

“Is she why you came to Canada?”

He shrugged. His muscles bunched as he passed her back the tea. They both made sure their fingers didn’t touch in the crossover.

“It was cheaper to get a pilot’s license over here, and when I got out of the army I found it hard to settle down back home.”