Gull Harbor (13 page)

Her irritated voice cut the music off abruptly. “The judge says he doesn’t have a daughter.” The line went dead.

Max looked at his phone through a haze of red rage. He set it down on his desk calmly, then turned and slammed his fist into a tall filing cabinet, denting the dull gray metal. Pain shot through his knuckles and up his arm.

“Bastard,” he growled, shaking his wounded hand. Blood seeped through the cracks in his skin. He stalked out of his office into the empty restaurant.

Pulling out a tin bucket from behind the bar, he opened the freezer and filled it with ice. Then he yanked a bottle of Jack Daniels off the shelf and poured himself a healthy shot. He knocked it back quickly, closing his eyes as the fiery liquid mixed with his burning fury.

Holding his injured hand over the bar sink, he poured whiskey on his torn flesh, then plunged his fist into the bucket of ice. What would he tell Claire? He would have to lie to her, for now. There was still a chance, however slim, that the judge might reconsider, call back. Twenty-four hours, Max decided. Claire’s father had one day to reclaim his daughter.

“Too generous,” Max muttered, wrapping a clean rag around his knuckles. But he
had
called the judge out of the blue, after five years. There was too much at stake to run to Claire with the truth before he was certain her relationship with her father was truly irreparable.

He eyed the empty glass, considering. No. It wasn’t even 9:00 in the morning; there had to be a more productive way to deal with his anger. He could go running. With a grimace, he straightened his fingers, testing them. Nothing appeared broken—his hand would survive a run.

Two hours later, he was headed back toward the diner. He’d run tirelessly for an hour and a half, and then done the absolute bare minimum of work required at the tavern. The paperwork would have to wait; he was in no mood to sit behind a desk right now. Besides, his right hand was throbbing.

She noticed immediately. “Oh my God, what happened?” Claire asked, her bright-green eyes growing wide with alarm.

“I dropped a crate on it. It’s not as bad as it looks,” he lied.

Her forehead wrinkled in concern as she studied his face. “You’re sweating,” she pointed out, sliding off the stool to stand across from him.

He pulled his uninjured fingers through his damp hair. “I went for a run.” At least that was the truth.

“In jeans?”

“No, I keep extra clothes at the tavern. I changed back into jeans so I can take you home on the bike.”

She rubbed her palms on her own dark jeans. “Right. Sorry, I’m a little flustered right now. Something kind of weird happened a few minutes ago.”

His muscles went taut. He took a step closer to her, looking around the brightly-lit diner suspiciously. “What is it?”

“It’s…probably nothing. I’ll tell you about it when we get back to your place, okay?” She zipped her laptop and notebook into a quilted backpack.

He exchanged a nod with Dan from across the room, then settled his hand on the small of her back. Guiding her through the door and out into the morning sunshine, he handed her the helmet from his bike.

“Hold on tight,” he said as she climbed onto the seat behind him.

She scooted forward, clasping her hands tightly around his waist. “Yeah, yeah. I see why you ride this thing.”

“You love it,” he called over the roar of the engine.

Her thighs tightened around his. “It’s not so bad,” she agreed.

Chapter 17

Max caught her wrist, turning her toward him the minute she crossed the threshold into his living room. “Tell me what happened,” he said, closing the door behind them.

“I’m probably just overreacting.” She chewed on her lower lip and blew out a breath. “About a half hour before you came back to the diner, I got up to use the restroom. I left all my things on the counter, of course. When I came out of the bathroom, there was a man standing next to my computer. I’m pretty sure he was reading what I had written in my notebook.”

His grip tightened, his fingers pressing into her flesh. “Did he say anything to you?”

“No. When he saw me come out of the bathroom, he turned and left. I don’t think he was in the restaurant for very long; I didn’t see him come in. Then again, I was absorbed in what I was doing. Anyway, he was probably just curious—all the locals know what I’m up to.”

She hesitated, weighing her options. She’d told him everything; there was no real need to reveal the ominous feeling the man’s presence had instilled in her. And yet, she didn’t want to keep anything from Max, however insignificant.

Twisting her wrist, she broke his hold and twined their fingers together. “Something about the whole episode made me nervous, though,” she continued carefully. “For some reason, I felt like he came in just to look at my notebook.”

He winced as his right hand clenched into a fist. “Did you ask Dan who it was?”

“Dan was in the kitchen at the time, but yes, when he came out, I described the man to him. He didn’t know who it was.”

“Describe him to me,” Max said gruffly.

“Tall, although maybe not as tall as you. Kind of scruffy looking. He was on the heavier side, and he had on work boots.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get a very good look at him.”

“It’s okay, honey.” He pulled her to him roughly, wrapping his arms around her. “Do you know what he saw?”

“My notebook was open to the page I was writing on. So, he would definitely have seen the names Gary Williams and Maria. And some of my translations, including the word ‘kidnapped.’” She rested her forehead against his chest wearily. “I should have been more cautious.”

He gave her a supportive squeeze, then released her and paced across the living room. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking that I’m a grown woman, perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” she pointed out. “And you were right. I’m fine.”

“Thank God,” he murmured, raking his dark blue eyes over her body as if to assure himself that she was in fact in one piece. “But I worry about you, Claire.”

“I know.”

He sighed and tipped his head toward the bedroom. “I have to take another shower. You get in bed,” he ordered.

She cocked an eyebrow at him playfully. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you? Maybe last night was a one-time thing.”

“More like a four-time thing,” he replied, a roguish smile tugging at his lips. “And you know what I mean. I want you to get some sleep.”

He led her into the bedroom and pulled the covers back for her. She climbed into his bed, smiling gratefully as he tucked the sheets under her chin. Smoothing her hair off her forehead, he dropped a quick kiss on her lips and reminded her to get some rest.

She listened to the soft waterfall of Max’s shower as she waited for sleep to take her. They’d made love all night long, then she’d awoken early to a horrific vision that had sapped the last of her energy. The incident at the diner had sent her nerves into overdrive. She was truly exhausted.

But her mind refused to stop spinning. Thoughts of the questions she would ask Maria bounced around her head. Tonight she would try to find out if Maria knew the name of her captor. She would also ask if Maria even knew why they were holding her prisoner.

Eventually they would have to discuss the details surrounding her death, and Claire was sure that was a subject that would be painful for both of them. But there was only so much she could do in one night before fatigue set in and her head began to pound.

The shower turned off and several minutes later Max emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped low on his hips. A clean strip of gauze had replaced the rag bandaging his knuckles.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered.

“Am I keeping you up? Sorry. I’ll be out of here in a sec.”

“No, that’s not it. My thoughts are racing. I feel…anxious.” She stretched her hand out across the pillows. “Will you lie down with me?”

“Sure.” He slipped under the covers and gathered her in his arms. She pressed herself against him, settling her bare leg over his.

His hand slid up her thigh, and he hooked a finger under the thin band of her tiny underwear. “Where are your clothes?”

“Oh, they’re somewhere in the bed.” She’d wriggled out of her tight jeans while he was in the shower. “Jeans are too hot to sleep in. Where are your clothes?” she countered, playing with the knot of his towel.

“You’re supposed to get some rest. That was the deal,” he said in a strained voice.

“I need some help relaxing,” she insisted, pulling the towel open. “And you seem up for the job.”

He groaned as she stroked him, her fingertips caressing the taut skin. “You’re making it hard to argue.”

“Then don’t argue.” She brought her lips to his still-damp chest, trailing kisses down the ridges of his abdomen.

He tensed as she pulled the hard length of him into her mouth. “You’re going to kill me, Claire,” he said, knotting his fingers in her hair.

She moved slowly, tormenting him with her tongue before she kissed her way back up to nip at his neck. Straddling him, she nibbled on his ear as he grabbed her hips and drove himself inside her. A gasp caught in her throat and escaped as a low moan.

They rocked together, bodies intertwined. She shuddered, clutching at his shoulders as an orgasm tore through her. He came immediately after her, and she collapsed against him, breathless.

Resting her cheek against his chest, she listened to the rapid beat of his heart. The steady pounding began to slow to a comforting rhythm, and her mind drifted toward sleep.

“Feel better?” Max murmured, rubbing the small of her back.

“Umm,” she answered with a satisfied grin. She rolled to her side. “I know you have to go.”

“I wish I didn’t. But I’ll be back around 3:00 to take you home.”

Her eyelids were too heavy to lift. “Okay.”

“Sweet dreams,” he said softly, kissing her forehead.

****

The shrill ring of his phone pulled Gary out of a restless sleep. He reached over from the couch, his hand knocking things off the coffee table until his fingers finally closed over the offending device. Positioning the screen in front of his face, he opened one bloodshot eye.

Jake. Gary’s stomach rolled with nausea as he fumbled the phone. He sat up quickly and scooped it up, jabbing at the buttons. “What?” he barked into the phone’s receiver.

“Hey man. Can you talk?”

“Yeah. You find something out?” Gary jammed a cigarette between his lips and sparked a lighter.

“She’s been spending hours every morning at the Gull Harbor Diner, on her computer. So today I sat outside in my truck and watched her.”

Get on with it,
Gary thought, rolling his eyes. “And?”

“When she got up to use the bathroom, I went inside and stood at the counter. Her computer screen was showing some Spanish translation site. So then I read what she had written in a notebook. Your name was in big letters.”

A chill settled over him, despite the stifling heat of the apartment. “What the fuck?” he said angrily.

“I know. And then, connected to your name with an arrow was the name Maria. Wasn’t that the chick—”

“Yes,” Gary said, cutting him off. The blood was draining from his head, leaving him dizzy. He pressed his palm against the back of his neck, keeping the lit cigarette away from his hair. “That was her name. God damn it. What else?”

“Some Spanish words, with English translations. Not good words, either. Kidnapped, prisoner, shit like that.”

His hand shook as he brought the cigarette to his mouth. He’d heard enough. And now he was going to have to take care of this nosy bitch. Whatever she was up to, he couldn’t let it go on any longer.

“Anything else, Jake?”

“Nah. She came out of the bathroom and I hightailed it out of there.”

“You did good, buddy—thanks. Just lay low for now. I’ll figure out how to deal with this.” There was no reason to bring Jake any further into the Claire Linden situation. The fewer people involved, the better.

“Anytime, Gary. You need anything else, you just give me a call.”

“Will do.” He hung up with Jake and began scrolling through his contacts. There were a few business transactions that needed to take place before he left for Cape Cod.

Chapter 18

Claire trudged down Main Street, her hands hooked in the straps of the backpack that held her computer. At 10:00 in the morning, the tourists were out in full force: shopping, eating, taking photos. She envied their vacation-inspired cheerfulness.

She tossed her hair back, wishing she could shake off her bad mood with equal ease. But her morning translation session at the diner had verified her lack of progress last night. Maria didn’t know the name of her captor; she kept referring to him as
el hombre malo
—the bad man. Nor did she know why she was being held prisoner.

The one new clue she’d received last night was
drogas
, the Spanish word for drugs, which again pointed to Gary Williams. That word and another terrifying vision of being tied to a bed were the only things she had to show for a mostly sleepless night. Unless she counted the lingering headache that throbbed in her temples.

She pulled open the door to the tavern and stepped inside, grateful to escape the bright sun. Sliding her sunglasses off, she blinked and looked around. The restaurant was empty, but faint guitar music drifted across the room from the direction of Max’s office.

His door was slightly ajar, and she paused outside to listen, a smile on her face. The soft chords soothed her aching head. Then he bungled a tough transition, and the music was replaced with a string of curses.

Stifling a laugh, she peered around the door. “Is it safe to come in?”

“Hey, beautiful,” he said as he stood up. He gave her a quick kiss and then set his guitar down in the corner.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” she asked, feigning disapproval.

He winked. “That was work…I was practicing for tonight. It’s Friday, you know.”

“It was good.”