A Woman Without Lies Part 5

Nor did Hawk mind particularly. It was how the game was played, and he had known it since his eighteenth birthday. That was the day he learned that to be an emotionally honest man in a world of lies is to be a fool.

Angel finished her small omelet, stood, and began to clear the table.

Derry looked out at the strait. Tiny lights bobbed about, marking the sport-fis.h.i.+ng boats pouring out of the Campbell River marina into the strait.

aLeave the dishes,a Derry said. aYouall miss the tide.a aWeave already missed it,a Angel said, sighing.

Hawk heard the wistfulness in Angel voice.

aYou actually like fis.h.i.+ng?a Hawk asked, surprised.

aNo, Iam actually crazy about it.a aSheas good at it too,a Derry said. aBetter than I am. She knows just where to go, how deep to fish, what lure to use, which little coves and bays and headlandsa"a aEnough,a Angel dryly interrupted. aHawk obviously isnat a fisherman.a aWhy do you say that?a asked Hawk.

aYou were on the phone when we should have been on the water.a aThat was business.a aLike I said, not a fisherman,a Angel said succinctly. aNothing, but nothing, gets in the way of a dawn salmon raid if youare a fisherman.a Derry chuckled.

aGive the man a break,a Derry said. aHeas never caught a salmon, so he doesnat know what heas missing.a Angel looked at Hawk, who returned the look with interest. In the odd radiant predawn light, her eyes were dark green, very brilliant against the pale nimbus of her hair.

aHave you ever fished at all?a Angel asked as she bent over to take Hawkas plate.

Hawk remembered the small reservoir on the farm where he had grown up. Whenever his father could steal a few minutes from the endless demands of a marginal farm, the two of them would go to the reservoir. One of the few times Hawk could ever remember his father laughing was when he had pulled a ten-pound catfish out of the opaque water.

aIave fished once or twice,a Hawk said, his voice husky, almost yearning.

The changed quality of Hawkas voice made Angelas throat tighten. She saw the poignant shadow of memories cross his face, softening for a moment the harsh lines around his mouth.

Without warning, Angel felt tears burn behind her eyelids. She sensed that Hawkas memories were like he was, bittersweet and lonely, complex and sometimes cruel. She wanted to ease the bitterness, enhance the sweetness, enrich the complexity with all the colors of emotion.

As for Hawkas occasional cruelty, it didnat frighten Angel. For a time after the car wreck she had been unspeakably cruel to those around her. Finally the time of cruelty had pa.s.sed, leaving her purged.

Angel looked up into the dark eyes that were so close to her. Her fingers curled around a fork that still retained the heat of Hawkas body.

aYouall catch a dawn salmon this summer,a she said softly to Hawk. aI promise you.a Before Hawk could answer, Angel straightened and turned, removing Hawkas plate and silverware. In silence she stacked dishes into the dishwasher, moving quickly. Even though they had missed the tide, she was eager to be out on the water.

aReady?a she asked, looking up.

Hawk was watching her, had been watching her since she had promised him a dawn salmon in a voice vibrant with emotion. Without making a sound, he set down his empty mug.

aIave been ready since I was eighteen,a Hawk said.

6.

When Hawk heard his own words, his face settled into its normal enigmatic lines, concealing thoughts and emotions behind a mahogany mask. Silently he helped Angel carry everything out to the car. There was quite a lot. Groceries, a pile of fis.h.i.+ng gear, jackets, and even a sketchbook Angel had thrown in at the last instant.

Hawk looked up from the gear heaped in his BMW.

aAre we going to Alaska?a asked Hawk dryly.

aWhat a wonderful idea,a Angel said in a wistful voice. aIave always wanted to sail the Inside Pa.s.sage.a Hawk gave her a hooded, a.s.sessing look.

aBut thatas not on our list this summer,a Angel said.

She started s.h.i.+fting the bags around until she could close the trunk of the car. Hawk started to help, then stopped, riveted by the high, wild whistle of an eagle calling to the dawn.

He looked up into the sky with dark, fierce eyes, searching for the bird.

A black shape plummeted down, wings flared, talons outstretched. The prey was hidden from Hawkas sight in the tall gra.s.s, but the raptor had no such problem. The bird struck and mantled its dying prey with half-spread wings, protecting it from view.

Then the eagleas uncanny eyes spotted the two people standing so quietly. With a high, angry cry, the eagle took flight, carrying its prey to the treetops.

The sky was flushed with the delicate, transparent colors of true dawn. Across the strait, serrated ranks of mountains loomed like fragments of night, black and yet strangely radiant. Overhead a few tufted clouds burned scarlet, then molten gold.

A feeling of exhilaration speared through Hawk. He lifted his face to the sky, letting sunrise wash over him. He had spent too much time indoors since he had left the farm. He hadnat known how much he had missed the sky until this moment.

From the thrusting rock summit of Eagle Head came again the untamed cry of a bird of prey.

Angel looked up, saw the fierce pleasure on Hawkas face, and felt desire s.h.i.+ver through her. The feeling shocked her in the instants before she accepted it.

I shouldnat be surprised by pa.s.sion. I chose to live after Grant died in the wreck. Love and desire are a natural part of life.

Just because I havenat wanted any man for three years doesnat mean that I would never want a man again.

Even as Angel admitted the intensity of her attraction to Hawk, she knew that she could be hurt badly by him. Hawk was as hard a man as she had ever met. Yet beneath that hardness she sensed a yearning for beauty, for warmth, for . . . love. Without that yearning, she wouldnat have been attracted to him.

But Angel knew there was no guarantee that she would be the one to touch Hawkas yearning. There was no guarantee that anyone could touch it, even Hawk himself.

He was strong. He had lived a long time alone.

So had she.

Am I ready to risk my hard-won serenity for a man who might no longer believe in love?

She closed the trunk with a sharp, metallic sound that brought Hawkas attention back from the sky. He watched as she got into the car. After a momentas hesitation he slid behind the wheel, reluctant to break the luminous silence of the British Columbia dawn.

Angel said nothing during the drive, however, apparently as pleased as Hawk was by the quiet and the colors radiating through the sky.

They parked at the marina and stepped out to the keening of gulls and the smell of the sea. As one, Angel and Hawk began to carry supplies down the wooden dock to the slips.

When Angel saw Hawkas boat, she stopped in the middle of the dock and stared. The yacht was over thirty feet long and had the sleek lines that were the hallmark of Italian powerboats. A single glance told her that the boat would handle beautifully, riding the often rough water of the Inside Pa.s.sage with the ease of a hawk soaring on boiling currents of air.

aSheas beautiful,a Angel said simply, turning toward Hawk. aWhatas her name?a aI havenat given her one.a Angel realized that the boat was as new as it looked, polished and s.h.i.+ning like the sun rising over the sea.

aDonat name her too quickly,a Angel said. aA boat gets only one name. This one deserves the best.a aBecause itas pretty?a Hawk asked casually, stepping onto the boatas s.h.i.+fting deck without hesitation.

aThis boat isnat pretty,a said Angel, looking at its lines with appreciative eyes. aItas magnificent. Form and function perfectly married. Nothing unnecessary. Nothing missing.a Hawk turned and looked back over his shoulder at Angel. She didnat notice. She had eyes only for the glistening white boat.

His lips curved sardonically.

aExpensive, too,a Hawk said.

Angel looked at the boat for another long moment before she sighed and answered.

aYeah, Iall bet. The Italians arenat bashful about pricing their works of art.a She glanced at Hawk. aCan you, er, handle this boat?a aI used to race powerboats.a aI thought Derry said you raced cars.a aI did both. There was more money in cars.a aAnd more danger?a Angel asked.

Hawkas eyes narrowed.

aDoes the idea of danger turn you on?a he asked.

aNo.a aIt turns on a lot of women.a aDoes it?a asked Angel. aWhy?a Hawk made a harsh sound. aAdrenaline, honey. It tells them that theyare alive.a aOr that someone else is dead,a Angel said, her eyes too dark, too large.

Memories rose, threatening to choke her.

Hawk saw the haunted expression pa.s.s over Angelas face. Then she s.h.i.+fted the bags in her arms and stepped onto the boat as though nothing had happened.

And, Hawk realized, nothing had. Whatever ghosts haunted Angel werenat new. They were an accepted part of her life, just as his ghosts were part of his.

Or else the haunted look was simply an act, as seamless as the night.

With a mental shrug, Hawk dismissed the subject.

Act or reality, it doesnat change what Angel is. Even animals twitch in their dreams, haunted by whatever ghosts their limited minds called up.

aIall show you how to handle the boat when weare out in the strait,a said Hawk. aIf you want.a aOf course I do. Besides, thatas the only way youall get to fish.a Hawk lifted one black eyebrow in silent query.

aItas almost impossible to fish alone in a boat this size,a explained Angel. aSomeone has to be at the helm, especially if you hook up with a big salmon when the water is crowded with other boats and the tide is running.a Together Hawk and Angel finished loading supplies on board. The sun was well over the mainland mountains by the time Hawk eased the boat out of the marina and into the grip of the Campbell River current.

To the left of the boat scattered evergreens and flatlands gave way to a forested headland that thrust powerfully out of the sea. To the right a spit of land stuck out like an impudent tongue, dividing the sea from the intertidal waters.

A small plane took off out over the water. The engines revved hard, pus.h.i.+ng pontoons through the water faster and faster until the plane lifted into the pale blue sky.

Hawk took it all in with swift, sweeping glances. As soon as the last speed limit buoy fell astern, he smoothly fed power to the twin diesels. The boat lifted slightly, splitting the blue-green water into silver foam.

He kept the speed well below the boatas capability, for small craft were thickly cl.u.s.tered to the right, beyond the spit of land. As though there were invisible markers, all the boats circled within a defined area. Rods sprouted from the sides and stern of the boats. The rods curved like whips against the clean sky, bent by the combined weight of lures and sea.

aMust be G.o.das own fis.h.i.+ng hole,a Hawk commented.

Angel smiled.

aThatas Frenchmanas Pool,a she said, her voice pitched to rise above the potent mutter of the diesels. aBefore the dam was built, Campbell River used to flood in the spring. The floods dug out a huge hole in the ocean floor.a Hawk glanced over his shoulder. No dam was in sight back there, and no hole visible below.

aSalmon coming in from the ocean school up there,a Angel said, pointing toward the crowded area. aSome people say the fish are adjusting to fresh water after years at sea. Others say they lie up there waiting for just the right sensory signals to lure them into the river itself.a aWhich do you believe?a Hawk asked.

For a long moment Angel didnat answer.

Hawk looked at her profile with curiosity and a hunger he was having a hard time concealing.

Against the sun, the tendrils of hair that escaped from Angelas single French braid burned like pale flames licking over her clear skin. There was an unusual purity of line in her profile, a harmony of forehead and nose and chin that was very strong without being in the least unfeminine.

And when she turned to face him, her eyes were as transparent and deep as river pools. Her eyes were unfocused, looking inward rather than at Hawk or the restless sea.

aI think,a Angel said slowly, athat the salmon school up in Frenchmanas Pool come to terms with themselves and the fresh water that will be both their consummation and their death.a aYou make the salmon sound almost human.a aDo I?a murmured Angel, smiling sadly. aMost people arenat that brave. They look no further into the future than their next meal. The salmon look at death and beyond.a aBeyond?a aBirth. The eternal cycle, death and renewal blending together like Campbell River and the sea.a A shout came across the water, followed by an excited babble of French. Angel leaned over the rail, peering into the brilliant light.

aLook!a she said. aHeas got one on!a Angel pointed toward a small rowboat that appeared to be pinned to the iridescent surface of the sea. Impatiently she slid open the cabin window beside the boatas helm. Her fingers fastened onto Hawkas arm.

aCan you see?a she asked urgently. aThe rowboat next to the yellow inboard. Oh, theyave got a dandy! Look at that rod bend!a For a moment Hawk was aware only of Angelas nearness, her sweet scent, her fingers pressed against the muscles of his upper arm.

Then his glance followed her pointing finger. He saw a small boat being towed against the current by an invisible force. There was no engine on the boat, nothing but a broad-shouldered man rowing steadily and another man straining against the coiled rod.

aWhat happened to their engine?a Hawk asked.

aThe boat is from the Tyee Club. No engines allowed.a aWhy?a aThe whole idea is to hunt the salmon as the first Englishmen dida"wooden oars and wooden lures, nothing but your human strength and the power of the salmon.a Hawk watched with sharpened attention. The small boat was going nowhere, pinned in place by a tug-of-war between man and salmon.

aPeople come from all over the world just to try to catch a thirty-pound salmon from a rowboat,a Angel said. aIf they succeed, they become members of the Tyee Club.a aAre you a member?a asked Hawk softly.

aYes.a aWho rowed for you? Derry?a The question sliced through Angel, leaving memories welling in its wake like blood from a fresh wound.

Grant had rowed for her. They had laughed and exulted together, making a pact to smoke the salmon and serve it at their wedding reception.

Ten days later Grant was dead.

aOn weekend mornings,a Angel said, her voice husky, ignoring Hawkas question, aFrenchmanas Pool is so crowded you can almost walk from boat to boat across it.a Hawk had missed neither the instant of anguish written on Angelas features nor the unanswered question.

aIad like to try my hand at rowboat fis.h.i.+ng,a he said. aIs the man who rowed for you still available?a aNo.a Angelas voice was soft, final.

aWhy?a aIam not strong enough to row for more than an hour against a strong current,a Angel said, ignoring this question as she had the other one. aThatas not long enough to give you a fair chance of a fish. Carlson would row you if I asked him to. Carlson is strong enough to row for days against any tide.a aCarlson?a aA friend,a Angel said softly. aA very old friend.a The corner of Hawkas mouth lifted. He wondered how many other very old friends Angel had up and down the strait.

Angel looked toward Hawk again.

aWould you like me to ask Carlson to row for you?a she asked.

aIall think about it.a Hawk turned away from Angel.

The smooth s.h.i.+ft of Hawkas muscles beneath her fingers made Angel realize that her hand was still pressed against his upper arm. She lifted her fingers quickly.

aDo you want to wait while they land that fish?a asked Hawk, adjusting the boatas throttles.

aNo. It could be hours. Salmon are very strong. Unless you want to wait?a aIad rather get out of this crowd and teach you how to handle the boat. Which direction?a aNorth,a Angel said succinctly. aThe farther you go, the less people there are.a aSounds like my kind of direction.a Hawk sat in the c.o.c.kpit and gunned the engines, letting them lift the boatas gleaming white prow above the waves.

As the boat picked up speed, Angel braced herself against the c.o.c.kpit seat and stared through the winds.h.i.+eld to the sea ahead. She looked at the water in front of the boat with intent, narrowed eyes.

aHave you been warned about deadheads?a Angel asked.

aWhat are they?a asked Hawk, answering her question and asking one of his own.

aLogs that have broken loose from a towing raft. When they get waterlogged, they bob up and down just below the surface until they finally sink.a Hawk immediately cut back on the throttles.