Drowning Tides Page 16

  The storm door was open but the screen door was locked so she knocked.

  Silence at first. Then, “Com-ing straight-aw-ay!” sang a voice from the depths of the house.

  The woman’s appearance supported her Irish name. Colleen Taylor was, like Claire, a natural redhead with green eyes. Claire’s first crazy thought was that Colleen could have been her sister. She was short but very shapely and pretty.

  “Come in then, and I know who you are, Mrs. Markwood. Not many a stranger living in big boats round these parts. And I hope we won’t be strangers for long, then.”

  “I must say, you are the perfect advertisement for this place,” Claire said as Colleen unlocked the screen door with a key on a long chain full of them, and she stepped inside. They exchanged greetings and a bit of small talk about the weather and the shop. Another surprise—the woman seemed to have a lilt to her normal speaking voice. Perhaps she really was Irish, but here in little Goodland?

  “Yes,” she told Claire when she inquired, “I really am from the old sod. Met Fin when he was in the navy and stationed briefly in Ireland, that he was. He courted me from afar, and then later came to woo and wed me. Well, to be a fisherman’s wife—an Irish lass thought she could handle that.”

  The bio check Claire had done on Fin had mentioned they had two grown sons, one in the navy and one living in Michigan. Colleen, she recalled, was forty-two, so she must have married young. She didn’t look her age as her complexion resembled porcelain tinged with pink and a dusting of golden freckles, more like Darcy’s skin.

  “You have some lovely things here,” Claire complimented her, looking around. The first case held silk scarves, most in green and white, some with harps, some with a shamrock border. “I saw the nice ad for your shop in The Burrowing Owl and just had to see it for myself.”

  “Yes, it was a lovely ad.” She sighed hard, then cleared her throat.

  Claire noticed Colleen’s eyes were bloodshot. Surely she hadn’t been crying. Or drinking? Claire smelled nothing but flower fragrances in here. Perhaps she had allergies.

  “Oh, and I must admit this shop ties me down a bit,” she rushed on, “but I love it. I spend a lot of time filling mail orders too, and, of course, Fin is gone a lot, very busy with his charters.”

  Claire noted Colleen’s face had gone sad and her bouncy tone had drooped. It must be hard to have her children away and her husband so busy. Claire admired her for creating a career and pastime in a place so far away and different from her homeland.

  “So, look around a bit, and I’ll answer any questions,” Colleen prompted. “I keep the cases locked but I will open them all for you.”

  “I have a four-year-old daughter who would love everything in here,” Claire said, trying to keep things light. Though it hadn’t seemed so at first, Colleen looked nervous. Maybe she’d been lying down and was just suddenly exerted, but Claire’s psychologist radar went up. Perhaps, like Claire herself with Jace before their separation and divorce, this woman had had an argument with her husband, maybe about spending so much time away while she was stuck here—but no. She had to watch jumping to conclusions and identifying with someone so quickly.

  “A little girl would love these fairy figurines!” Colleen told her, gesturing her over to a glassed-in case in which she flipped the lights on, then unlocked it with another key on the chain. “And, over here, many a man favors these Guinness goods, shot glasses, mugs, bottle openers. This last case of jewelry that I sell so much of—over here—has harps, St. Bridget’s Cross and tricolored claddagh rings. Oh, and some lovely neck scarves, the latest fashion statement instead of necklaces, you know.”

  Despite her flitting from place to place in this small room with its bright green soffit and carpet, Colleen’s posture had seemed to stiffen and her shoulders had rolled forward in an almost protective stance. But then, she was hunched over the cases, pointing things out. Sudden posture changes when nothing disturbing or threatening had been discussed was still an instinctive way of protecting oneself. On the other hand, this woman had no clue Claire was here to psych her out. It could just be she was having a bad day.

  And then Claire noticed Colleen did not wear a wedding ring, though there was a pale white mark where one had been recently. She was surprised the woman had been out in the sun, since she claimed she stayed inside here a lot and hardly had the skin for a tan.

  “So,” Claire asked, “do you ever go out on your husband’s boat?”

  “Oh, I have, of course,” she said, rearranging some of the lovely rings in their slits on a green velvet board. “We Irish are seafarers from way back, from before the times of St. Brendan, of course.”

  Why did she keep saying of course? Claire wished she knew her basal, usual voice, posture and behavior. Again, she scolded herself for instinctively identifying with this woman.

  “You know,” Claire said, “I think my little girl would love that claddagh ring with the two hands holding the heart. I recently remarried, and it could assure her that both I and her stepfather care for her—as well as her own father.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely,” Colleen said, “and I have it in small sizes.” Her voice was outright shaky now. Maybe she was going through menopause, though it might be a bit early for that. Such a situation had thrown off a report of Claire’s once before.

  “I’d love to have you come to the Sylph for lunch soon,” Claire said. “Someone from a seafaring land with a husband who is often at sea ought to enjoy a big ship.”

  “Oh, thanks awfully, but I’m pretty tied up here. And I’m sure the both of you are busy, working to defend Haze, if it comes to that. Here, let me show you the child’s ring. We have a grandchild coming soon up north and I intend to see she gets one too, when she’s old enough—the ultrasound says a girl. Oh, how I’d love to go up when she’s born, stay there a bit, but I just found out my daughter-in-law’s mother will do that.”

  So maybe that had caused the nervousness or sadness. It sounded as if Colleen had found out some things about Claire too, why she was here on Goodland, what Nick planned to do for Haze. A frown seemed to press down on Colleen’s face, and she kept blinking, maybe blinking back tears? But that was sometimes the body language sign that someone was lying. Claire had not asked one pointed question, so lying about what?

  * * *

  “I think we have unfinished business,” Nick told Claire after she had tucked Lexi in and joined him. They stood on the deck of the yacht, staring out into the deep darkness of the sea. Clouds cloaked the stars and moon.

  “A lot. I’ve got to tell you about my visit with Colleen Taylor today, and we didn’t finish discussing Ada.”

  “I don’t mean that. Or my talk with Fin today where I booked Reel Good Time for a fishing trip with Heck and Bronco too. I mean you and me.”

  “You mean the state of our marriage?” She leaned on the rail, facing him. She looked beautiful even in muted light from a curtained stateroom.

  “More like the foundation of it, which I know was forced and shaky. Claire, don’t blame Lexi but when we were talking about sand dollars and shells being the remains of animals today—bodies—she said she told you she’d overheard Ames mention a dead body in water on his phone. So what else did she hear, and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about that.”

  “Yes, I—she said some things.”

  “That’s key information. You know that.”

  She narrowed her eyes and met his. She thrust her chin out but her lower lip trembled. “I have to protect her above all, Nick. I can’t have her interrogated, dragged into court or—”

  He moved closer, still not touching her. “As if I’d do that!”

  “Not that I blame you, but you are on a crusade to stop and destroy Clayton Ames!”

  “Keep your voice down, even out here. You bet I am. But you think I’d sacrifice Lexi—o
r you—to do that? Then you don’t know me very damn well at all, so it’s a good thing not to trust a stranger.”

  “That’s ridiculous. And you keep things back from me too, don’t you?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know—that’s the point.”

  “Talk about ridiculous!”

  “Like I haven’t met your partners at the firm yet. Like you didn’t tell me it was Bronco who was on the phone the other day. You had to meet with him first before you mentioned hiring him to me.”

  “That’s nothing like this. Small potatoes next to a full steak dinner.”

  “It isn’t. You think it’s easy to be uprooted, to alienate my sister, lie to her? I realized today how much I miss her when I was with Colleen Taylor. I had a kind of natural affinity to her.”

  “Well, too bad you and I don’t seem to have that.”

  “That’s not true. You know it isn’t,” she insisted, hitting her fist on the railing.

  He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him. “Claire. Just tell me what else Lexi said she overheard. There was more, right?”

  “Yes, counselor. Do I need to swear on a Bible I’ll tell you the whole truth, nothing but the truth?”

  “It would be nice to be trusted. Not only as a lawyer by a partner but as a husband by a wife.”

  He felt bad when tears trickled down her cheeks, but he didn’t let her go. Damn right, he was on a crusade to stop Ames, though surely not at any cost.

  “She got the idea,” Claire went on, “that ‘Mr. Kilcorse’ might want to hurt you—like, she said, Captain Hook wanted to hurt Peter Pan. But, Nick, you know that. I wasn’t holding back key information there.”

  “Is there more? Is there?”

  “Lexi said that might be because you were cross with him. I asked her if Mr. Kilcorse could have said Nick crossed him, and she said maybe. Just telling me that really shook her up, brought back traumatic memories, and she had nightmares after. Please don’t hash this out with her again.”

  He swore under his breath, sighed and dropped his hold on her. He leaned his elbows on the railing again.

  “You should have told me, Claire. You should have trusted me not to question her more, believed I’d protect her. It’s just another sign you don’t trust me or you don’t love me, even if I can accept that she comes first.”

  “That’s not true—that I don’t love you,” she insisted. “That’s what amazes and scares me. I do, and if Lexi and I lose you in this—this battle you are in with Ames—it would kill me too.”

  Head held high, crying hard now, she turned and hurried away.

  19

  Claire rushed to her bedroom, closed the door and smothered her sobs in her pillow. She flopped over to lie on her back, staring at the dark ceiling, half fearing, half wishing Nick would knock on her door.

  Claire knew she’d been clutching at straws to accuse Nick of keeping things back from her. He’d soon told her about seeing Bronco, and let her make the decision to hire him or not. But she had kept important information from him. Would he call her “partner” and mean it? Would he even trust her anymore?

  Her tears ran down into her hair and ears, so she sat up and reached for a tissue from the bedside table. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. No use being so stuffed up tonight she couldn’t sleep. This agonizing wasn’t doing any good. She needed her rest, and even her narcolepsy meds had not helped her conk out last night. She’d just take a shower and see if she could relax before she took the potent stuff tonight.

  She took a lukewarm shower and pulled on her nightgown, brushed her teeth and looked at herself in the mirror. “Claire Fowler, formerly Britten, now Markwood,” she whispered. “Who are you? You love Lexi, Darcy and her family. And now Nick Markwood, don’t you?”

  She nodded at the woman in the mirror, then reached for her hairbrush and pulled it hard through her hair. She padded barefoot back into the bedroom, grabbed the silk robe that matched this favorite nightgown—a bride with nothing new to wear, she thought.

  She headed for the door. She had to apologize to Nick. She’d blurted out that she loved him but had to assure him she meant it.

  Trembling, she opened her door and went out into the hall. And ran right into Nick, standing with his fist raised.

  “Oh!” she cried and jumped back as if he’d been a stranger intent on assault.

  “I was going to knock on your door.”

  “Sorry to let you down.”

  “You were going to check on Lexi or what?”

  “Coming to see you.”

  “Dressed—undressed like that?”

  “Obviously. Definitely.”

  His eyes went thoroughly over her. “To argue again—more?”

  She shook her head and whispered, “No. I meant what I said, that I love you. It can happen fast, you know, even when other people try to force everything.”

  He nodded once, then picked her up so easily. Her arms went around his neck. He walked the few steps to his stateroom and shoved the partly open door wider with his foot. It was dim inside, only a lamp on his desk threw light. He put her down and closed the door, then took a step back, not touching her, but his eyes burned her. He wore jockey shorts and a T-shirt and smelled of pine soap.

  “I want to make love to you, Claire. I want us to share a bed now and in the future. But if you say ‘no,’ okay. So either sit on the other side of my worktable to talk or walk to our bed with me.”

  “I think lawyers and forensic psychologists talk too much.”

  A hint of a smile softened his intent expression. “Me too.”

  They held hands and walked to his big bed. They tumbled into it together. No words needed then, just touching, holding, kissing. Despite a forced marriage, everything was mutual now.

  And then, on her back as his mouth and hands erased her sanity, she glanced up. Oh, right! A huge mirror on the ceiling. Now she knew who the wanton woman in the reflection was. It was her and she belonged to Nick Markwood.

  They kissed endlessly, explored, even smiled, giggled. She welcomed his powerful touch, was lost in it. Yet she gave as good as she got, glancing up at the huge ceiling mirror now and then to assure herself this was real. No dream but brash and beautiful, the things they did.

  The only rational move he made in his barely leashed passion was reaching for something in the bedside table drawer when he had her out of her mind with need.

  “I want a family,” he spoke at last, his voice raspy. “Someone for Lexi, but not yet. Not till we get through this—and, together, we will.”

  “Till death do us part.”

  He lifted his tousled head. “Don’t say it that way, sweetheart. We’re going to survive—to live for a long, long time. And this is a new beginning, our real wedding night. Claire, I love you and always will,” he whispered.

  It was the union of two bodies, two lives, two lovers finally wed.

  * * *

  “Mommy said to be careful in the airboat,” Lexi told Jace as they got on board the large watercraft with four other people already seated and their pilot sitting just behind. “I think she had a ride in one and saw gators or something like that.”

  “We will see gators and lots of birds,” Jace promised, putting his arm around her. “This is going to be a fun ride and a fun day. So how are you and Mommy getting along on that big boat?”

  “Good. There’s lots of room. Everybody has their own rooms.”

  “No kidding? Mommy and Nick too?”

  She nodded. “But they were in one bed last night. I got scared when she wasn’t in hers, ’cause I peek sometimes, just to be sure. Me and her have bad dreams, and I don’t want her to be scared.”

  “Okay, I see,” Jace said with a nod. What to make of all that? He hated
to admit it, but in his gut he still yearned to protect Claire as well as Lexi. He still wanted Claire, wanted to make amends. Could it be a child’s skewed view of things, or could Claire not have been sleeping with Markwood—until now? If it took a while, maybe she was still uncertain about who she loved. He blamed himself. He’d screwed up things so badly with her, but—

  The big, upright propeller behind them roared to life. Jace leaned close to Lexi and said, “There’s no motor under the boat so we can go on real shallow water. We’re moving by air. That’s like a big fan back there. Hold on to me now.”

  As they moved slowly out, then surged away from the dock down a waterway, Lexi shouted, “But I feel hot air in my face. Not cool, like a fan blows. And if it has a propeller, is it like an airplane?”

  “Not exactly. Planes have motors.”

  “Bronco says python snakes are out here. I don’t want to see one of those. They have lots of babies and get really big.”

  “Bronco said that, huh? What else did he say?” Jace asked, despite the fact they were going faster and the whir of the propeller was louder.

  “That he likes keeping an eye on me and Nita better than hunting snakes.”

  “Sounds like a smart guy to me.”

  “I can tell he likes Nita. I do too.”

  “And Nick and Mommy like each other?” he asked, though he hated himself for circling back to that. Their relationship tormented and hurt him.

  “Oh, yeah, but I heard them argue last night, so I went back to bed ’stead of tell them. That was before she wasn’t in her room. ’Specially, I didn’t tell them I heard them, ’cause it was about a dead body Mr. Kilcorse said something about on the phone.”

  “Kilcorse, huh? What else did he say?”

  “He doesn’t like Nick but I do.”

  “Yeah, okay. We’d better quit talking until we stop. Pretty noisy and we don’t want to yell.”