Siren's Surrender (5 page)

Tipping her mug to show it was empty, Gwen made a quick gesture toward the breakfast room. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m starved. Mind if I pop in to grab a snack and fill up?”

Blake tried not to let his annoyance show. Not everyone could squelch the needs of the physical as well as he could. Hunger, thirst, exhaustion. He could put it all off, as long as necessary, to get the job done. Still, he didn’t have to be a total dickwad. He could show the lady a bit of courtesy. What was another ten minutes to let her grab something to eat?

He cocked his wrist, checking his watch for the tenth time since he’d walked into the lobby. “Of course,” he allowed.

She took a few steps, then stopped and turned. A single brow arched in question. “Aren’t you coming?”

Thinking about the trip across the bay, he shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

Her freshly glossed lips turned into a smile. “Not even a cup of coffee?”

Truth be told, Blake would have been happy to main-line a gallon. And then follow it with ten more. Though the bed beneath his back had been comfortable enough, he had barely managed to close his eyes for more than a few minutes. He’d refused to let himself dwell on the past, yet remnants of his troubled childhood never failed to creep up from the darker corners of his mind.

So what if he came off as a hard-nosed bastard? It fit the image of a G-man just fine. Besides that, his type of job didn’t exactly encourage close personal relationships. His ability to keep his mouth shut and his emotions tightly controlled was one of the prime reasons why the bureau had recruited him. The only thing he ever intended to be married to was his career. He was the perfect agent. He might as well have been incubated in a test tube.

He cleared his throat. “I’m good to go.”

Gwen shrugged. “Whatever.” She disappeared into the breakfast room. A few minutes later she emerged with her cup filled and her mouth full of some sugary confection.

Meeting up with him, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, I love it when they bring them in fresh from the bakery.” Her tongue darted out, swiping at a dab of thick cream at the corner of her mouth. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Even her most casual move had an earthy sexiness. God, it had been so long since he’d kissed a woman and really enjoyed it.

Taking a quick step back, a slight frown curved his mouth. He was definitely off his game today. Instead of coming back to Port Rock he should have asked his boss to send another agent. He’d believed he could handle it, that he had everything in his life well under control. He was too damn antsy for his own good.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
Pull it back and put a plug in it,
he inwardly warned himself.

“Something wrong, Agent Whittaker?”

Eyes snapping open, Blake dropped his hand. “Can we get a move on, please?” His words were clipped, short and to the point. “I haven’t got all day.”

Gwen’s smile instantly vanished. “Certainly.” Mantling herself in a cloak of icy reserve, she tossed the remnants of her breakfast into a nearby trash can. “Sorry to let my stomach hold you up. I’ve worked two straight shifts, and I expect to be back at work in another few hours. Excuse me for needing to eat.” Marching to the doors of the lobby, she pushed one open. The bell above her head tinkled merrily as she breezed outside with nary a look back.

A knot of dismay formed in the back of his throat.
Ouch.
That woman was good at giving people the cold shoulder. An expert, in fact. She’d blown him off without turning a hair.

Not that he didn’t deserve it. She’d tried to be friendly and he’d practically bitten her head off. Sometimes he failed to remember keeping his distance didn’t necessarily mean he had to be a rude jerk.

Taking a moment to regain his composure, Blake wiped his perspiring brow. The air around him felt heavy, stifling.
Shit
.

He sucked in a breath. “I’m an asshole.” Ah, well. He was too damn set in his ways to change now.

The clerk behind the desk glanced up. “Excuse me, sir? Were you speaking to me?”

Setting into motion, Blake waved a distracted hand. “No, it’s nothing. Thank you.” Outside he saw Gwen Lonike was wasting no time, legging it across the parking lot at top speed. Determination propelled her every step.

He’d better catch up if he wanted a ride to the island.

Blake pushed through the double doors. The annoying little bell tinkled again, grating on his nerves. Didn’t matter what Gwen might think about him. She had to put up with him for only another hour, maybe two.

It wasn’t like he’d ever see her again once he pulled out of town.

 

 

Federal agents were a pain in the ass.

That was what Gwen had definitely settled on as she led the way toward the skiff moored at the end of the dock. The ride to the marina was an uncomfortable one, the silence hardly broken by her stoic passenger.

Though Agent Whittaker had looked every which way as she’d driven to the marina, he’d only answered when spoken to. With an expression set in stone and his eyes hidden by impenetrable sunglasses it was difficult to know what he was thinking or even what he might be looking at. Like the mysterious sphinx, he revealed nothing.

Dressed in a crisp black suit, white shirt, and tie, Whittaker hardly looked like he belonged anywhere near the beach. He didn’t even look like he knew how to relax. Being a federal agent, he probably had ice in his veins and pissed cubes. He certainly didn’t go out of his way to be friendly. The bit of animation he’d briefly displayed last night had vanished.

Maybe it was his tie. The damn thing was done up tight enough to strangle. Perhaps it was cutting off the oxygen to his brain or something.

If this is the way the boys in black operate,
she thought,
my tax dollars are definitely being wasted
. Why should a large chunk of her income go to support an agency that treated citizens like they were a bother?

She cast a glance over her shoulder. Instead of walking at a normal pace, Agent Whittaker was dawdling around like an old man with a cane. Hands shoved into his pockets, he walked like his feet were glued to the ground.

Gwen blew out a breath. For someone who’d been in such a hurry to go, he sure was taking his own sweet time. What the hell was his problem anyway?

Ignoring him, she raised a hand toward the man waiting in the skiff. “Thanks for coming, Lucky.” She’d known the old sea dog who ferried supplies from the mainland to the island her entire life.

Spitting a wad of chewing tobacco into the water, Lucky wiped his mouth. “Not a problem. I was heading that way.” It was true. The old boat was loaded with the usual provisions Tessa ordered a couple of times a month.

Since her sister and Kenneth had returned from their misadventure in the Mediterranean, they’d stayed close to home. Gwen thought part of that might be because of their newlywed status. They’d married quietly in front of a justice of the peace, with only herself and Addison as witnesses. She imagined they were bonking like bunnies.

Gwen’s stomach tightened. Oh, heavens. Though she’d never admit it out loud, she was envious that Tessa seemed to have found the perfect man. Kenneth adored her, treated her like a princess. He hadn’t been a bit put off when he’d discovered Tessa was a mermaid. He’d accepted everything about her, from her moody, snotty temper to the fact that she sometimes wore a tail when she swam.

Feeling a lump begin to rise in her throat, she swallowed hard.
Wish it could happen for me
. . .

But it hadn’t. And the way her life was going, it probably never would.

She shook off the depressive thought, one that occurred far too often lately. “Where’s Addison?” she asked.

“She went over to the island earlier.” Lucky tipped his cap toward her companion. “Who’s the landlubber?” He squinted. “Don’t look like he’s from around here.”

She stepped off the dock, boarding the skiff. “He’s with the FBI,” she said through her teeth, making sure Whittaker couldn’t overhear. “He’s got some questions about Jake.”

Lucky cut a quick glance toward Whittaker. “He know about things?”

Gwen shook her head. Lucky was one of the few locals who did know about her kind. He’d kept his mouth shut for nigh on forty years. “I don’t think so. I’ve got the feeling Jake was into something dodgy, though. Why else would the feds be poking around?”

Lucky spat again, dragging his fingers across his lips to catch a dribbling of tobacco juice. “Wouldn’t put it past Jake to be in on somethin’ shady. That boy always worked with his hands behind his back. All he’s ever been is trouble with a capital T.”

Gwen had to agree. Every time they had dealings with Jake Massey, all the archaeologist had tried to do was extort or exploit them. And she’d stupidly helped him get his foot back into the door of their lives. It was a door she should have slammed—and locked.

“That’s why I wanted Tessa and Kenneth to have a heads-up the feds were sniffing around. When Kenneth bought into Jake’s business, he might have gotten into something illegal.”

Lucky scratched his chin. “Mighty possible.” He cast a glance over Gwen’s shoulder. “He don’t look like he’s too eager to get goin’, though.”

Gwen turned around, sneaking a peek at Agent Whittaker. The morning was crisp, gloriously calm. It would be a gorgeous day, but he seemed to notice nothing about it. Instead, he lingered in the middle of the dock and didn’t look happy about his present location.

She drew a breath. Maybe federal agents were just natural joy killers. When they were around it was probably against the law to be happy. “We’re ready anytime you are,” she called.

Whittaker walked to the edge of the dock. He eyed the skiff, hardly the nicest boat on the water.
Lucky’s Lady
had been in service for over twenty-five years and while her paint might be a little faded and nicked, she was the most seaworthy vessel sailing the bay.

Whittaker frowned. “You sure that thing can carry cargo and passengers?”

Gwen plopped down onto a cardboard box packed full of groceries to make room. “Of course.” She patted the box. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Whittaker hedged. “I don’t see any regulation safety gear,” he noted with a frown. “Where are the life vests?”

“There’s one and it’s for me.” Lucky cackled irreverently. “What’s the matter? Can’t you swim, big boy?”

The agent’s jaw tightened subtly. “No,” he snapped. “But I’ll make damn sure to grab on to you before I go under.” He smiled bitterly. “That’s a promise.”

Lucky guffawed and spat. “No worries.” He patted the boat the way some would a pet. “My gal here isn’t very pretty, but she’s solid. I guarantee it.”

Gwen looked up. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw a flicker of fear cross Whittaker’s stoic expression. Hard to tell though, since his eyes were hidden behind those impenetrable sunglasses. “Really, it’s safe enough.”

Whittaker appeared to think it over. He finally nodded. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we can get back.” He stepped onto the skiff with movements that clearly pegged him as one who’d rarely set foot on a boat in his life.

Gwen scooted over to make room. “Sit here. We’ll be across before you know it.”

Agent Whittaker sat. Posture absolutely rigid, his hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles showed white. “Let’s go.”

His attitude was clear. End of conversation.

Untying the line keeping the skiff moored to the dock, Lucky fired up his Evinrude. The little motor spluttered, then burst into a buzz saw of action, ready to go. “Hang on!” the old man called over the noise.

The skiff lunged forward, cutting out across the water.

S
itting shoulder to shoulder beside Blake Whittaker, Gwen sneaked another glance. He sat stone still, unmoving. In fact, he barely breathed.

If she hadn’t been sure before, she was now. There was no missing his vibe. This man clearly had no love of the water. In fact, he was terrified.

Sympathy welled up inside her. Everybody had a fear, some little something that sent a shiver down their spine. As the owner of her own little bag of insecurities, she could easily understand.

Without knowing quite why, Gwen laid a hand on his arm. She leaned closer so he could hear her over the noise of the motor. “Lucky has been taking people across these waters all his life. He hasn’t lost one yet.”

Fingers still locked in a clench, Whittaker shifted his body away from hers. “That’s good to know.”

Gwen purposely let her hand drop. He obviously didn’t welcome personal contact. Still, she admired his determination. He was doing what his job required him to do, even if he didn’t like it. That took a lot of guts. “I take it you aren’t admiring the view.”

His reply was short and sweet. “No.”

Not a talky man at all.

Heavens. He was as friendly as a rattlesnake.

Her sympathy melted a bit. She was doing her best to be nice and all he could do was blow her off. “So are all agents trained to be rude sons of bitches or does it just come naturally to you?”

Like a robot going into motion, Whittaker turned his head. One hand lifted. He pushed up his sunglasses, giving her a view of his eyes. “They train us to be bastards,” he answered with all seriousness. The impenetrable glasses went back down.

Then, quite unexpectedly, he grinned.

His smile caught her unaware, and her breath caught in her chest in surprise. “That’s good to know,” she squeaked like a nervous schoolgirl.
Oh. My. God.
The upturn of his lips made his mouth absolutely sensual.

She hadn’t realized until that moment how damn good-looking he was. He had a face like granite, all sharp lines and angles: high forehead, chiseled cheekbones, strong straight jaw. He wore his black hair in a short uncombed style that helped soften the severity of his face. His suit fit him well, tailored to accentuate his muscular arms, broad chest, and washboard stomach. There wasn’t a spare ounce on his lean frame.