Three Weeks Last Spring Read online

  "Relax. I'll make sure we don’t wander off course."

  "Really," she said, and ducked out of his arms. "I'd much prefer to be a passenger."

  Walker released her and allowed her to slide back into the seat next to him. "If you're sure? We’ve not got far to go now."

  For ten long minutes Skye fought to control her swirling emotions. Her feelings towards Walker were totally confused. Only a couple of days ago she’d hated the sight of him and the mere mention of his name. Now she found herself responding to his every touch. Was it possible? Was she really attracted to this arrogant, complex, but devastatingly handsome man?

  Walker watched Skye in the moonlight, and could see she was fighting an inner battle, and wondered if it was the same battle he was fighting. There was no denying she was beautiful, just as there was no denying he wanted her. But he was also sure that she was somehow involved in in his current investigation, but he just couldn’t figure out where. He'd never used a woman in his life and wasn't about to now, at least not if he could help it. It was totally against his code of ethics. But he couldn’t sit back and let his business go under without a fight, either. Swearing under his breath was becoming an uncontrollable habit, he thought dryly. Perhaps he ought to learn another language—it might give him a wider choice of expletives.

  Deep in thought, Skye hadn't noticed Walker had cut the engines, nor did she feel the fender bump the dock, as the boat finally came to rest. It was the sudden total silence that brought her out of her reverie and back to the present.

  Saddened that their afternoon together was at an end, she stepped off the boat. Guided only by Walker's torch and the moonlight, she was quiet and withdrawn as she strolled up the path to the cabin. She blinked away the sudden tears that appeared for no reason that she could fathom, other than a fear of overwhelming loneliness.

  Stopping midway, in an attempt to prolong their remaining minutes together, she realized she no longer wanted to spend the night on her own, but what choice did she have? She could hardly ask Walker to stay on the strength of a few moments in his arms. It didn't give her any right to expect anything more, and even if he suggested he stay, was she ready to accept his offer?

  Walker thought Skye was behind him, and turned only to find her standing all alone in the middle of the path. He re-traced his steps, stopping barely a foot away from her. Her upturned face was bathed in moonlight as she searched the heavens. Walker raised his head to see what she was staring at. The sky was alight with a myriad of stars.

  A knot rose in Skye's throat, making her voice soft and husky. "Isn't that a wonderful sight? We've so much light pollution in London. You never get to see a star, let alone a sky full of them." She dropped her gaze as her voice trailed away to a whisper.

  "I guess we're kind of lucky out here," he replied. "We tend to take nights like this for granted."

  Walker held his gaze steady as he bent his head to Skye's. Her eyes were filled with a curious deep longing that shattered all his resolve. He reached out, gently touched her face, and brushed her lips in a feather-light kiss. Slowy, he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the soft fullness of her lips.

  Chapter Nine

  Bathed in the soft moonlight, they stood wrapped in each other's arms, their breathing ragged. Skye was too stunned to speak, being far more shaken than she cared to admit by her response to Walker's kiss. He had awakened feelings deep inside her, feelings that she had long ago buried, and never thought would resurface.

  Walker softly whispered her name. Keeping an arm around her waist, he guided her to the door. He wished her goodnight, then, without another word, strode down the path to his boat.

  Skye felt suddenly and strangely bereft, as she stood in the doorway. She shivered with chill and fatigue, as Walker and the boat vanished into the darkness. She let herself into the darkened cabin and shrugged off the jacket Walker had wrapped round her shoulders.

  Moonlight filtered through the French windows, bathing the lounge in a strange ethereal light. It was too late to start a fire so she settled for a nightcap of her favorite malt whisky. Slowly sipping the amber liquid, she allowed it to warm her body. She curled up in one of the large armchairs and closed her eyes, and relived every moment of the velvet warmth of Walker's kiss.

  All day tension had crackled between them. But even so, Skye was totally unprepared for Walker's sudden show of emotion. His kiss had lasted for only a minute or two, but it had seemed much longer. The caress of his mouth on hers had set her body aflame.

  For the first time in many months, she felt truly alive and utterly feminine. Her heart swelled with a feeling that she had thought long since dead; one that she was sure she was incapable of experiencing. Although tired, she was content, and her last conscious thought before turning off the light and going to bed was that tomorrow had never looked so promising.

  ***

  Walker returned to the Lodge to find the light on his answering machine flashing angrily. He was tired and frustrated in more ways than one. He switched on the coffee pot and waited for it to brew. The last thing he needed was yet another problem. He spent five minutes getting his thoughts together, before hitting the play button. McCabe's voice echoed around the room.

  "Walker, if you're there pick up," the disembodied voice demanded. "I guess you're out and about. I thought you should know that the Seattle police stopped a tanker truck on the freeway this afternoon for some minor traffic violation. The cop became suspicious when the driver couldn't say what was in the tank and or explain why a loaded truck wasn't displaying the obligatory tags. The cop was young and real eager, and rather than let the driver off with a warning, he hauled him in. The tanker is currently at the pound north of Seattle. I thought you might want to examine the contents. Sorry this is short notice, but I only got to hear about it this evening. Give me a call when you get in."

  Already angry, Joe's message did nothing to improve his temper. Walker punched in McCabe's number. This was the first decent lead they'd had, and where was he? Messing around on a boat, playing Romeo to his tenant's Juliet. Talk about stupid, idiotic, and bad. McCabe answered on the second ring.

  "Joe, I only just got your message. When did this happen?"

  "About four-thirty this afternoon. I didn't get to hear about it until three hours later. I called as soon as I could. I even tried your cell phone, but I guess you had turned it off."

  "Yeah, I know, sorry about that. I'll fly over first thing in the morning. Where's the driver? Has anyone questioned him?"

  "As you might have guessed, he's a contractor. Just told to go to this yard, connect his truck to a tank and drain the contents. Cash up front and no questions asked. You know the type."

  Disgusted, Walker grunted. "And he had no idea what he'd been paid to haul?" Illegal dumping was a big problem the whole world over. The USA was no exception.

  "Nope. He'll be prosecuted for the violation of course, and as a first time offender will probably get off with a fine, unless we prove he carried an illegal substance, and planned to dump it on an unauthorized site. That's why I thought you would want to test the contents, rather than have the County lab do it. If my suspicions are correct, then maybe we could strike a deal, lessen the fine or sentence if he talks, but that decision will rest with the Public Prosecutor."

  "Or his well paid lawyer,” Walker said. "We should be thankful he hadn't already dumped the load. Give me the address of the pound and I'll either send one of my lab technicians over now if I can get hold of one, or go and take the samples myself in the morning." He scribbled the address McCabe gave him on the notepad by the phone. "Any news on the survey results yet?"

  "I'll check up on that when I get to the office. What time do you think you'll be here?"

  "Mid-morning. There's someone I have to see first."

  Late as it was, Walker considered returning to the cabin to tell Skye that he'd be unable to spend the following day with her. He reflected on the sexual tension that had existed between them, a
nd decided that challenging her to spend the day with him hadn't been one of his brightest ideas. In fact it was the dumbest move he'd made since he learnt how to shave. His body however, thought differently.

  He should call her, but then he would have to explain how he knew the number, and that would prompt more questions from the enigmatic Ms Dunbar than he was prepared to answer. Walker dismissed that as his second dumbest thought, and finally settled on writing a short note. He figured there were two possibilities. She would either welcome the space, especially if she was as stunned as he by the chemistry that existed between them or she’d slam the door in his face. Either way, he didn't have time for romance in his schedule at present—he needed answers and he needed them fast. If Ms Dunbar was innocent, and things between them took their natural course, then she would merely be an interesting diversion. If she was involved, even in a small way, then he'd make damned sure she rotted in jail along with any accomplices.

  Shortly after five am, Walker freewheeled his truck down the track to the cabin. He stepped out from the behind the wheel, and had a quick look around. There was no sign of life, but then no self-respecting tourist would be up at that hour unless they happened to be a masochist or up to no good. He slipped his hastily written note from his jeans pocket, and pushed it under the cabin door.

  Five hours later, the lead that seemed so promising, fizzled out like a dying Roman candle. As Walker and McCabe suspected, the tanker carried a lethal cocktail of chemicals, which, if the driver had succeeded in dumping, would have had repercussions on the environment for years to come.

  Alternatively, they bullied and cajoled the driver. Despite threats of being jailed for years, he steadfastly refused to say anything, other than he had been contacted by phone and offered an obscene amount of cash, which he found stuffed in his mailbox that morning.

  Walker and McCabe were sure the site where the driver had filled his tanker had nothing to do with the production of the chemicals, and was merely a holding area. The police agreed to watch the address on the off chance someone turned up, but realistically, they knew that whoever was behind this wouldn't use the site again.

  Walker was amazed that no one had been hurt, least of all the driver. If the tanker had been involved in a traffic accident, the resulting catastrophe wasn't worth contemplating. Walker's anger became a scalding fury. These people made him sick. They had no idea how many innocent lives they were putting at risk. Skin irritation, liver, stomach and fertility problems could all be linked to pesticides such as DDT and polychlorinated biphenyls or PCBs as they were more commonly known.

  In the late 1970s, the USA had banned their production, but PCBs were still found in the environment, and mankind was now paying the price for thinking that it could dispose of these chemicals without first figuring out a way of making them safe. Nothing like shitting in your own backyard, Walker thought ironically.

  He and McCabe spent a long time with the District Attorney, finally persuading him to cut a deal with the driver. It was agreed that charges would be dropped in return for a tap being placed on his phone. If he were approached again, at least the police department would be able to trace the call.

  McCabe also gave Walker the news that the sonar survey had drawn a blank. That filled him with despair. He was so sure that something would turn up. However, he was realistic. He knew that extending the search area was out of the question and he was now fast running out of options.

  Although tired from his fruitless day in Seattle, Walker returned to the island. There was nothing to keep him in town, he reasoned, and sleeping at the office held even less appeal than crawling into the cockpit of his plane. He’d put in more flying hours in the past month than he had in the previous six. If he kept this up he would have enough airtime to pilot a seven-forty-seven.

  Just over two hours later he let himself into the lodge. The house was cold, unappealing, and had a decidedly unlived-in feeling. What he needed most was a long hot shower to wash away the fatigue and strain of the day, followed by a stiff drink. He turned up the thermostat and traipsed into the bathroom.

  With drops of moisture clinging to his forehead and a towel slung low over his hips, he entered the lounge. He was about to pour himself a large scotch when a devilish look came into his eyes. He replaced the stopper in the decanter, and walked over to the wine rack selecting a bottle of Woodward Canyon 1994 instead. He placed it on the table before dressing in a pair of black slacks and smoke grey shirt. With a sweater thrown casually over his shoulders, he grabbed his keys, cell phone, and the bottle off the table.

  The mellow sound of the saxophone drifted from the open window of the cabin as Walker switched off the engine. He sat and listened for a moment to the lush sound as it floated on the evening breeze. You've got great taste in music, lady, he muttered to himself, idly wondering if Skye’s body would be as responsive as the instrument he was listening to. Alighting from the truck, he picked up the bottle of wine from the passenger seat. He stepped up to the cabin and knocked on the door.

  "Hi, I know you weren't expecting me." He gave Skye a boyish grin. "I got free earlier than I expected and thought you might like to share this with me." He held up the bottle for her inspection.

  Skye paused in the doorway and offered a welcome smile in return. There was something lazily seductive in Walker’s eyes that she was unable to resist.

  "You’re right, I wasn't expecting you. Your note said a couple of days."

  Walker's gaze took in her rich auburn hair, and nutmeg skirt, the slim waist, and the outline of her full breasts under the bronze shirt. He took a deep breath. He could smell her perfume, a heady oriental fragrance that seemed to echo her very essence. His body moved up a gear as their gaze locked.

  "If it's too late, we can leave it to another time." He turned to leave.

  "No, no, don't go, you've timed it right. I was just about to have dinner. It's nothing fancy, but you're welcome to join me," Skye said. She stood to one side to let him pass.

  "Well, only if you're sure it’s no bother."

  As he entered, the rich aroma of something cooking in herbs assaulted his senses, reminding him how long it was since he last had a decent meal. His gaze rested on Skye’s slightly flushed face. He dropped a kiss on her cheek. Instinctively her fingertips touched the spot. She seemed nervous and slightly distracted, but there was no denying the answering desire in her eyes.

  "Where do you want me to put this?" Walker held up the bottle. "The wine…"

  Walker's voice broke through Skye's thoughts. She felt like a teenager on a first date, hardly able to string two coherent sentences together. Her mind and body drifted along as if on a cloud.

  "Sorry…you'd better open it and let it breathe. Dinner won't be long," she finally stammered. She handed him the bottle opener. Their fingers touched and Skye became acutely conscious of his very male presence in the tiny space.

  Under Walker's steady scrutiny, she found it hard to think—correction, hard to breathe. Her brain had turned to mush, her cheeks flushed. All she could think of was Walker and the way she felt when he touched her. Trying hard to keep things light between them, she busied herself laying another place at the table.

  "You never did tell me why you decide to take your vacation in the San Juans. A month is a long time, especially when you’re on your own. You must have a very understanding employer."

  Skye was glad of the momentary diversion to bring her wayward body under control.

  "I haven't taken a vacation in over a year. And as for a generous employer, I co-own a business, so I’m my own boss. My partner had no objection, so as they say, here I am." She carried two laden plates to the table. "As for being here on my own, I quite enjoy my own company. I guess it comes from being an only child. We get plenty of practice while growing up."

  "But the San Juans?" he pressed. "The islands aren't exactly known for good weather at this time of year. I would have thought someone like you would be more at home on the beaches of th
e Caribbean, than the rocky shores of these islands."

  "Haven't you heard that too much sun is overrated? Not every woman wants to parade herself on the beach for every lothario within a twenty-mile radius to prey on her. I happen to like the Pacific Northwest. Besides, I have my reasons for spending my vacation here."

  For a moment he studied her intently. Some sixth sense warned him that he’d put her on the defensive, and if he questioned her further, she would clam up. His eyes swept over her delicate features, to where the creamy skin of her throat showed through the open neck of her shirt. He couldn't help notice her long slender ringless fingers as they played with the stem of the wine glass. Once more his crotch overrode his brain as he wondered how it would feel if she were to run a delicate finger down the hot length of him. His body hardened instantly at the thought.

  "What about your boyfriend? He can't be too happy about you being away for this length of time?" If he had a woman as attractive as Skye in his life, there was no way he would let her out of his sight for more than a day, let alone a month.