Beginning with You (27 page)

Jim studied Rook’s tilted face, from her sparkling gray eyes to the curve of her lush lips. Wanting to lean over and kiss her, but not daring to, Jim embraced her instead. “Stop what?”

“You know what, Barton. You’re such a terrible tease.”

“I thought only women got blamed for doing that.”

“I thought so, too, until I met you.”

“But you like the way I tease you,” Jim whispered against her ear.

Rook colored fiercely. The ferry was filling up rapidly. “If you don’t quit…”

“You’ll do what?” Jim lightly kissed her clean, apricot-scented hair. Rook looked incredibly appealing to him in a loose-knit cranberry tank top and white cotton slacks. She wore a bright pink silk scarf that was the same color as her cheeks right now. The sandals were delicate on her small, but oh-so-perfect feet. He sighed dramatically, sliding down a bit more in the seat, content. When Rook didn’t answer him, he glanced over at her. She was smiling and, if he was any judge of her feelings, very happy.

“You know,” Jim confided to her quietly, “I can’t ever recall being this happy. Can you?”

Rook shook her head, languishing in the warmth of the sunshine that came through the huge windows around the upper deck of the
Flyer
. “No.”

“Kinda nice, huh?”

“The best.”

Jim met and held her warm gaze. He ached to kiss Rook, to feel the sleek, soft warmth of her body against his. She was such a passionate, giving woman. “Kinda glad you took that fearful step and decided to let our relationship develop?”

“Now, yes.” Rook ran her fingers through Jim’s thick brown hair. In the sunlight, his hair picked up reddish highlights. There wasn’t anything not to love about him. Rook frowned. Love…there was that word again. She wasn’t sure what real love was, and it was too soon to say that was what they felt for each other. Time…they had time, and Rook was satisfied to let all these new feelings Jim was effortlessly bringing to the surface blossom naturally. Rook didn’t want to put words on what she felt toward him or what he felt toward her.

She grew thoughtful as she leaned against him. Sometimes, especially after they had made love, she would see an indecipherable emotion linger in his dark-blue eyes. Rook had the intense feeling that Jim wanted to tell her he loved her, but didn’t because he knew she still might run from him.

Jim sighed and smiled. “Just think, we’ve got a whole two days to ourselves.”

“Where are we going today?”

“A special place for a special lady.”

She smiled. “Where?”

He raised his eyebrows in mock horror. “And spoil the surprise?”

“Jim!”

Grinning, he murmured, “How can I keep a secret from you when you give me that sexy look oóf yours?”

Rook had never thought of herself as sexy—until lately. “Well?”

“Okay, I’ve got us a room at the Empress Hotel. She’s the grande dame of buildings in Victoria. We’ll have an elegant, typically English room with more antiques than you can shake a stick at—and their restaurant is excellent.” Jim reached over, caressing her cheek. “At four today we’ll have high tea in the lobby. It’s a very proper, English thing to do, you know.”

Delighted, Rook sat up. They had often walked by the huge stone edifice that greeted everyone when the
Flyer
pulled into the docks of Victoria. Rook leaned over, giving him a quick kiss on his curved mouth. Jim smelled so male, so wonderfully inviting. She had to control herself. This wasn’t the place to show too much affection. Rook was jumpy about Eve Logan possibly writing another embarrassing column on her. “Wonderful,” she whispered.

Jim patted her thigh. “We’re going to have the best two days of our lives,” he promised her huskily. “We’re celebrating our ten-week anniversary.”

Rook’s laughter pealed through the aft section of the ferry. “You’re crazy, Jim Barton! But I like you anyway”

“That’s good to know,” he gloated, matching her smile.

Eve sat with Julia, scrunched down in her vinyl booth seat at the rear of the ferry. From her vantage point, she could easily watch Jim Barton and Rook Caldwell.

“Juicy,” Julia whispered to her. “She’s all over him.” She kept snapping her Nikon digital camera, getting a lot of shots of them.

Eve diligently wrote her notes. “Wouldn’t you be, too, if he was worth that much money?”

“You bet, sweetie,” Julia laughed.

Excitedly, keeping her voice purposely low, Eve said, “This was a great idea, Julia. Who would have thought to follow them to Victoria? This will make our editor very happy.”

“Just don’t forget I’m taking some discreet photos every now and then.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Eve raised her head, scanning the crowd of passengers who were now settling into the rows of booths and seats. There just might be another story here, Eve decided. Three long blasts on the ferry horn announced that they were now underway. Soon, they’d be leaving the deep-water bay, chugging past Ediz Hook where the Coast Guard station sat and moving out into the open waters of the straits. Eve spied two other Coasties.

“Psst!”

“What?” Julia sat up, alert.

“Look, over there! There’s Annie Locke. If I remember correctly, I think that’s Dave Harper with her.”

Julia craned her neck in that general direction. “Isn’t Locke the one who had major dental surgery about six weeks ago?”

Eve snickered. “Yeah. Gil told me they used to call her Bucky Beaver over at the hangar. I talked to Jody Theron the other day about Annie. Her surgery was very successful—that Harper guy is a hunk.”

“No kidding. Wish I was in my twenties again,” Julia commented. “I wouldn’t mind making a play for Harper myself. You know, Annie looks pretty good. I thought you said she was homely.”

“She was, believe me!” Eve pushed up a bit more in the seat, using the back of the booth and her legs to steady her as she stared across the way at Annie. She sat back down. “She’s hardly homely anymore.” Eve wrote some more notes. “Her jaw was broken and reset. I guess she has to wear braces for the next year or so, but that’s all.”

Julia watched Annie Locke, who was on the port side and quite a few booths in front of them. “She’ll never be beautiful.”

“No, but at least she isn’t ugly anymore. This is great. We’ve got two couples to watch. This trip is turning out to be fantastic!”

“I have a feeling it’s going to be a great one,” Julia agreed, patting herself on the back for the idea in the first place.

“Where the hell is he?” Ward barely ground out the words from between his clenched teeth. Marcia stood at his side, just inside the bus terminal. All the passengers on the bus from Seattle had disembarked and were now leaving the small station.

“Oh, Ward, what do you think happened?”

Stuart headed in the direction of the phone in the stationmaster’s office. “I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.”

Marcia stood off to one side, listening, as Ward talked on the telephone with the rehab clinic. The man he spoke to told him that the clinic driver had put Ken on the bus and left the station before it had pulled out for Port Angeles. As far as they knew, Ken had been on board.

Marcia followed Ward outside. The July morning was warm, the sun taking away the chill she felt. She saw the worry and anger in her husband’s face. Marcia voiced what he was thinking. “Do you think he slipped off the bus after the rehab people left and stayed in Seattle?”

“I don’t know,” Ward began irritably. “That goddamn kid! He’s causing us so much pain and embarrassment!”

Gripping Ward’s arm, Marcia wisely led him away from the terminal and any ears that might overhear them speaking. As they walked toward their car she said, “Let’s call Sheriff Cole. He said if we needed help to contact him.”

Ward rubbed his chest angrily. “I’m not dragging the damn sheriff into this, Marcia! Jesus Christ, my career is hanging by threads now. The sheriff has to log in all complaints. Once he does, they’re public information. The goddamn
Star
would have a field day, and so would Savage.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

He turned to her, his brown eyes burning with anger. “I’m going to give Paul Berne a call, over at District Legal. He’ll keep this quiet.” Ward drew in a shaky breath. He and Berne had flown fixed-wing aircraft up in Alaska together. Their friendship spanned decades. “I’ll ask him to do some unofficial checking with local authorities to see if we can track Ken down.”

Kenny braced himself as the ferry moved out into the straits. The behemoth rocked unsteadily through the four-foot waves as he walked between the rows of cars and trucks on the lower deck. Good, everyone had gone topside to look out the huge glass windows that enclosed the upper deck.

He smiled and stopped in front of a truck with a tarpaulin over the rear, weaving unsteadily. He could feel the high that the coke had given him slowly beginning to fade. He could climb in there, smoke a couple of joints, take a nap and wake up refreshed in Victoria. Kenny had spotted a couple of Coasties on board the ferry and didn’t want them to identify him, so he had decided to stay below.

Kenny climbed into the rear of the truck. It was dark, except for a bit of light between the tarp that hung over the rear-end cargo compartment. He looked around. Gathering up some loose cardboard and one of several gunnysacks, he created a makeshift bed for himself and lay down. He had already used up his supply of coke between Seattle and Port Angeles. All that was left were a couple of joints of marijuana. Rolling the first joint with a good, thick portion of grass within the paper, Kenny struck a match and lit it. Inhaling deeply, he held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could, letting the marijuana work its magic.

God, he was tired. After hitching four different rides to get to Port Angeles, he was beat. Kenny sucked contentedly on the joint until it burned down to his fingers. He dropped it on the wooden floor beside him and rolled another. The first one had ironed out all the kinks in his body. He was hungry, but that could wait. Grinning, Kenny settled back. Wouldn’t his old man shit if he found out he’d robbed a liquor store in Seattle before hitching his way to Port Angeles, and that the first thing he’d done with his money was buy drugs? He patted the bulge of bills in his pocket contentedly.

The second one relaxed him to the point of sleep. His hand slipped off his chest, the half-smoked joint dangling loosely between his fingers. Closing his eyes, Kenny sighed deeply. He’d get off in Victoria, show his driver’s license to the unsuspecting Canadian customs agents and he’d be free—free of his old man, free of a school he hated and free of people trying to tell him what to do. He’d live in Canada, get a job and become a nameless American. No one was going to tell him what to do, ever again….

The joint slipped from between his fingers as he fell asleep. The motion of the waves made the glowing tip roll into a stack of loosely tied burlap bags. First one thread and then another smoldered. The burlap was dry and old; the smoke rose in thin wisps. The ferry continued to rock, moving the glowing tip back and forth in the stack of bags. Soon, the threads had enough oxygen to catch on fire.

Burlap is like sawdust; it burns hot and deep. Smoke rose in the upper portion of the eighteen-wheeler, then descended like a heavy white blanket, trapped within the confines of the truck cavity by the tarp. Kenny, who was in a deep, exhausted sleep, breathed it in. Suddenly, small tongues of flame, reaching for oxygen that slipped between the tarp and the rear of the vehicle, leaped upward. The flame moved slowly from the twine around the burlap down toward the rear, to the tarp.

A thick cotton cord, nearly an inch in circumference, lay by the opening. The flames greedily ate into the cotton, moving silently up the rope. The instant the flame came in contact with the fresh air, it leaped hungrily to the tarp itself. Within minutes, the tarp caught on fire, followed by the smoldering pile of burlap. Kenny awoke, coughing violently. He felt heat; his skin pricked. Disoriented, still floating in a cloud of drug-induced euphoria and exhaustion, he couldn’t move fast enough to save himself.

The burlap exploded into a wall of flame that completely enveloped the entire rear of the truck. The cardboard containers carrying the powdered chlorine quickly burned. As the white crystals spilled out, mixing with the flames and heat, yellowish-green clouds of smoke began pouring from the rear of the truck. The heat rose quickly—first a thousand degrees Fahrenheit, and then fifteen hundred. When it reached two thousand degrees, the brake fluid barrel lids starting popping off. The hydrocarbon fumes from the brake fluid mixed with the oxidizing agents contained in the chlorine. The five canisters in the first row exploded like a chain of firecrackers.

Ward’s beeper went off just after he arrived at the house. Already upset over Ken’s disappearance, he jerked the device from his shirt pocket. Marcia rolled her eyes, wondering what had gone wrong now.

“This is Captain Stuart, Chief McDonald. What’s going on?”

“Sir, we’ve just gotten a mayday call from the
Flyer
,” he gulped. “There’s been a chain of explosions on the lower parking deck and the ferry is in trouble. She’s got three hundred people on board.”

“My God,” Ward whispered. Suddenly, his mind went into overdrive. He steadied his voice, hearing the panic in McDonald’s. Both realized the implications of this disaster.

“All right, Chief, get all available resources underway and start an immediate recall of all base personnel. I’ll be there—” he glanced down at his watch “—in fifteen minutes.”

Relief came through McDonald’s voice. “Yes, sir!”

Ward turned to Marcia. “The
Flyer
’s on fire out in the straits. There are three hundred people on board.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Oh, Ward….”

He kissed her quickly, running toward the back door to the garage. As he drove down toward Port Angeles, he could see the
Flyer
, no more than five miles off Ediz Hook. Huge, rolling, yellow-green clouds were mixing with black, oily smoke. Green smoke? What the hell could that be? And then he remembered Jody Theron telling him on Friday afternoon that Rook Caldwell was supposed to be on that ferry. So were Annie and her new boyfriend, Harper. He cursed softly, stepping on the accelerator. In the history of the Coast Guard, there had been only one other rescue this large that he knew of—the
Prinsendam
.

Ward’s head spun with possibilities, probabilities and reality. How many ships did he have available to him? How many helos? The water was cold; anyone who jumped overboard would not live any longer than about an hour in the straits, even in the summer. That meant any rescue he attempted to mount had to be swift and orderly, and would require a lot of manpower, which was at a minimum today because it was a holiday.

The moment Ward entered the admin building, he began to issue orders. Chief McDonald’s bearded face was pale, his eyes large, as he waited for Ward’s assistance.

“Have you hit all SAR alarms, Chief?” That would bring all available air and ship crews back to their specific areas so that they could prepare for the SAR case.

“Yes, sir! The ready helo is preparing to launch right now. Lieutenant Logan is the air commander and Mr. Gunnison is his copilot.”

Good, Ward thought, I’ve got one of my best pilots here already. “Ready the 41-foot UTB and the patrolling 82-footer.”

“The
Point Countess
just came in from patrol, sir.”

“Excellent. Locate Commander Nelson, and have him hightail it over to the
Countess
. Then, send the cutter to the ferry immediately. Nelson will be the on-scene commander.”

“What if I can’t locate Commander Nelson, sir?”

“Then have Lieutenant Caldwell be the OSC. We can’t waste time waiting for Nelson if we can’t locate him fast enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you alerted every SAR facility in the entire area?” District Seattle’s SAR Coordination Center would take charge of the overall case and direct resources from the U.S. Coast Guard and Navy, and their Canadian counterparts. Ward saw the chief nod. His mind raced. Could he get civilian tugs and other vessels docked here in Port Angeles to help evacuate passengers under his direction?

“Link me to the
Flyer
, Chief. I want to talk with the captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

Noah Caldwell had been on the
Point Countess
’s bridge when the first of three distinct explosions had boomed, like heavy artillery being fired at a very close range, from the vicinity of the straits. His eardrums ached. Standing there, Noah felt a fist squeeze his heart. It was the
Flyer
that was in trouble. Yellow-and-black smoke spewed out of the bow area of the ferry. And then terror drenched his shock. Rook and Jim were aboard! He’d had dinner with them the night before over at Jim’s house and they’d tried to talk him into going to Victoria with them today. Noah had had to decline because he was on duty. And Harper, his first mate, was on board, too. It was Dave’s first date with Annie Locke, and they were going to spend the day over in the Canadian city.

Turning, Noah hit the intercom switch that would connect him to the engine room and his machinery technician, Mike Sitka.

“Crank up the engines, Mike,” he shouted, his voice terribly off-key. “The
Flyer
’s dead in the water. She’s on fire.” Luckily, the rest of his crew was on base, showing some visitors around the facility. He had them recalled to the
Countess
immediately. Without changing stride, Noah picked up the radio and called the communications center on base to apprise them that the
Point Countess
was prepared to cast off within the next ten minutes to help in the rescue of the ferry. Captain Stuart gave his approval. Commander Nelson couldn’t be located, so Noah became the OSC.

Rook!
Noah screamed silently.
Rook, are you all right?
Tears wedged into his eyes.
Dammit
,
I just found her! You can’t take her from me! You can’t
…

Jim Barton smelled the chlorine first. He sat up in the booth, suddenly alert. Rook had been dozing, head resting against his shoulder. She roused herself.

“Jim, what’s the matter?” she asked sleepily.

He gripped Rook’s shoulder firmly, taking another sniff of the air. “I don’t know. Something’s wrong. That smell…I know it, but I can’t identify it….”

Alarm spread through Rook. She’d never seen Jim so worried. The planes of his face had grown tense, and his mouth had thinned. She sniffed the air. “Yes…I smell it, too.” She glanced around. Apparently no one else had, but she knew Jim had an incredibly sensitive nose. Everyone else was laughing or talking quietly; there was an air of anxious excitement in the upper deck of the ferry. A number of children raced between the clumps of booths and chairs, playing happily. A baby cried somewhere up front, near the bow.

He rose, pulling her up with him. “Come on, let’s go investigate.”

Rook tried to still her alarm. “What do you think is wrong?”

Jim led her toward the rear doors of the ferry. “This wouldn’t be the first time there’s been a car engine catch on fire. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it can throw one hell of a panic into the ferry. Come on.”

Rook stayed at his heels. Her eyes widened when she recognized Eve Logan and Julia Edwards. She opened her mouth to say something, but Jim tugged at her hand, pulling her outside with him.

The air was warm and salty as they exited from the air-conditioned upper deck. Passengers were standing at both rails, simply enjoying the balmy day. The water sparkled, a dark green, sun dappling the surface. Sea gulls cried and circled above them, begging for a few handouts, as they always did.

They were aft, starting to walk toward the open hatchway that led to the below-deck parking, when the first of the three explosions ripped through the ferry. The first sent clouds of chlorine gas through both ends of the lower deck. Jim was thrown off his feet. Rook screamed and was flung backward, into the steel bulkhead, knocked unconscious. The next explosion ignited the second row of chlorine containers positioned up against the brake fluid drums at the front of the truck. Thick, choking clouds of yellow-green gas tunneled out the bow entrance. The steel plating on the ferry was adequate, but the edges of the ramp openings to the car deck provided outward channels for the exploding force. Chlorine gas shot through them and into the air conditioning ducts. Instantly, the gas was funneled through the enclosed upper deck, where two hundred and fifty people were thrown into a panic by the first blast. The instant the gas filtered into the contained area, people began choking and dropping to the deck. Panic set in, and the rest of the survivors ran for the hatches at the bow and stern of the ferry, trying to escape the deadly gas.

Jim shook his head, blood running out of his nose and mouth. He crawled on his hands and knees toward Rook, who lay unconscious against the bulkhead. Just as he reached her, covering her with his own body, the third and worst detonation occurred. The temperature rose. Lids popped off more brake fluid drums. The resulting explosion ripped through the steel-plated decks. The engine room was destroyed, and the personnel on that deck were killed instantly. The air conditioning system failed. The water pumps, which might have been used to fight the fire by the surviving crew of the
Flyer
, were inactivated.

First Mate Tony Knox was the only officer to survive the series of blasts. Captain Roland York had been going down the ladder from the helm when the first explosion had occurred. The chlorine gas he’d inhaled had burned the lining of his throat so badly that the tissue swelled up and closed off his bronchial tubes. He fell to the deck, gasping for air and suffocated to death three minutes later.

Knox grabbed the radio microphone. “Port Angeles Coast Guard Base—Mayday! Mayday! This is the
Flyer
. We’ve been hit by two explosions, and our captain is dead. We need help immediately! Over!” Sweat dripped into Tony’s eyes as he crouched down, seeking protection behind the bulkhead in case another blast occurred.

“
Flyer
, this is Port Angeles Coast Guard. Give us a status report.”

Gasping for breath, Knox blurted out, “We’ve got chlorine gas filtering up from the car deck! People are dropping like flies. I gotta have help! That gas is poisonous. We need oxygen. The
Flyer
is dead in the water. We’re drifting.”