A Woman Without Lies Part 6

aSounds lethal,a he said.

aSometimes. Most often you just get a cold dunking and a bashed boat.a A powerboat came up on their left, pa.s.sing them in a brilliant cloud of spray.

aLooks like no one told him about deadheads either,a Hawk said.

aYou get used to them, like wind storms and fifteen knot currents. Comes with the territory.a aLike car wrecks.a Angel flinched in the instant before she controlled herself.

aYes,a she said. aLike car wrecks. We keep driving anyway.a Hawk saw Angelas ghost reappear, pain written for a second across the smooth skin of her face. Then the ghost was banished once more.

aWhat do you consider a safe speed?a he asked.

aRight now?a Angel turned slowly, measuring the sea surrounding the boat.

aThereas good visibility,a she said. aThe wind is down. The tide is running but not boiling.a Hawk looked as well, measuring her perceptions against his own knowledge of water and racing hulls and his own reflexes.

Finally Angel gestured toward the power-boat surging away from them.

aAbout what heas doing,a she said.

One black eyebrow lifted, but Hawk said nothing as he brought the boat up to speed again.

aThere arenat that many deadheads,a explained Angel. aAnd most of them are flagged as soon as theyare found.a aIs that what those are for?a Hawk asked.

He gestured toward a handful of meter-length rods with a sharp point on one end and a bright triangular flag on the other.

Angel nodded. aIf we spot a deadhead, we flag it.a aThen what? Notify the Canadian equivalent of the Coast Guard?a aNope. Usually a log scavenger will pick up the flagged stuff. With the price of lumber so high, a log is worth several hundred dollars.a aWhat if no one picks it up?a Hawk asked.

aThen the flag makes the deadhead easy to spot and avoid, even at twice this speed.a aBe nice if all of lifeas little trouble spots were so neatly posted,a said Hawk, his voice sardonic.

aThe flags only work if you have the sense to heed them,a Angel said, her tone as sardonic as his.

Are you listening to your own advice? she asked herself in silence. There are flags sticking out all over Hawk, but I keep seeing past them to the man beneath, hunger and intelligence, heat and strength, all that made life valuable.

And danger. I see that too. Clearly.

Angel didnat underestimate the danger inherent in Hawk. Nor did she fear it. She respected it.

Danger always existed, as much a part of life as love. To have the one you must accept the other. Grant Ramsey had taught Angel that . . . love and death.

The learning had nearly destroyed Angel. She didnat know if she was strong enough to risk learning again.

She knew only that she was going to find out.

7.

Angel directed Hawk toward a quiet stretch of water by touching his arm and pointing to the right. During the run up the Inside Pa.s.sage, neither of them had attempted to talk over the unleashed thunder of diesels.

Smoothly, Hawk brought the boat into calm water in the lee of a gray headland. He put engines in neutral and waited, testing the amount of drift. There was very little.

With an easy motion, Hawk slid out from behind the helm. When he stood up, he was so close to Angel that she could smell the clean scent of his aftershave. His eyes were a clear, crystal brown with surprising flecks of gold. His mustache was as black as the center of his eyes.

Angel wondered what it would feel like to have that mustache against her skin. She wanted to know if it would be rough or soft or a tantalizing combination of the two.

Would his mustache be cool beneath my fingertips, or would it have the same heat that the rest of Hawkas body has, a heat that touches me even though Iam not touching him?

The intensity of Angelas silence and speculations froze her, overriding even the need to breathe. Then she saw Hawkas pupils dilate suddenly as he became aware of her appraisal.

Angel retreated, looking away from the hard, sensual line of Hawkas lips. She wanted to say something, anything, because she sensed that he was looking at her as completely as she had looked at him.

No words came to her.

With downcast eyes, Angel brushed past him and sat behind the helm of the powerful boat.

Hawk bent over her and the boatas controls, knowing from her quickly indrawn breath that his presence disturbed her. He was careful not to touch her. He had seen her retreat as clearly as he had seen the consuming sensuality of her appraisal.

Though Hawk controlled his desire to stroke the rapid pulse beating visibly in Angelas throat, he couldnat deny the sudden coursing of blood through his veins, the adrenaline and heat as the chase began. None of what he felt showed in his voice or his body.

Like the prey, the predator was capable of measured retreat, knowing always that retreat was temporary.

aHave you ever handled anything as powerful as this?a asked Hawk, his voice low, almost intimate.

Angel kept her eyes on the gauges in front of her.

aNo,a she said.

The word sounded ragged to her ears. She breathed deeply, evenly, calming the erratic race of her pulse.

aNo,a Angel repeated. aDerryas boat was about half this size and a quarter the power.a aWas?a aHe sold it a few months ago.a What Angel didnat say was that it had been sold without her knowledge. Sold to pay off debts that had piled up in the last year of Derryas undergraduate education.

Angel would have given him the money if she had known he needed it. At least, she would have tried. But Derry was determined not to take any more from her, even though she could think of nothing she would rather spend money on than his future.

aYou didnat approve,a Hawk said flatly.

aOf what?a aDerry selling his boat.a aIt was his to sell.a Angelas voice was calm. She was in control again.

aBut you loved taking it out on the water,a Hawk said.

Angel looked up, caught by the harsh current of emotion in Hawkas voice.

aYes,a she said.

aLucky for you I came along,a Hawk said, straightening. aOtherwise you might have had to sell your pretty little . . . smile . . . to get a ride.a aThe people who take me out pay for more than a smile,a said Angel, deliberately giving Hawk an opening.

aIall bet.a Hawkas voice was laced with contempt.

aYouall lose.a Angel watched his face impa.s.sively while the silence stretched.

aIam a licensed fis.h.i.+ng guide,a she said calmly.

Other than the rakish tilt of his left eyebrow, Hawk made no reply.

aAs I told you once, Hawk, you donat know a d.a.m.n thing about me.a aYouad be surprised, honey,a he said.

His voice was flat but for the slight, sardonic lilt that was as much a part of Hawk as his thick black hair. For an instant Angel wondered what woman had so embittered Hawk that he a.s.sumed all women were shallow and unfeeling.

But speculating about the woman or women in Hawkas life splintered Angelas calm into a thousand sharp pieces. She had no control over Hawk, his women, or the conclusions that he drew from his past and then applied to the present, to her.

All Angel could control was herself, her own reactions and conclusions.

Deliberately, as she had learned to do in the terrible months following Grantas death, Angel created again in her mind a vision of the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. . . .

A single rose unfolding in the summer dawn. The petals were crimson, luminous, serene. The possibility of beauty that had endured through the cruel winter and uncertain spring was consummated in radiant silence.

A simple thing.

A single rose, victorious and serene.

Calmness spread visibly through Angel as the rose unfolded in her mind. Confidently she put her hands on the boatas controls, her body and mind united in a sensitive appraisal of the unnamed boat.

Fascinated by the change that had swept over Angel, Hawk watched her every move with narrowed, measuring eyes. He sensed that she had retreated.

No, she hasnat retreated, Hawk realized after a moment. She simply gathered herself into an inner place, a quiet place.

A place where I canat touch her.

Angel slid the throttles up, increasing the revolutions on the twin diesels. She watched the gauges carefully. The engines were beautifully balanced, performing in exact synchronization with each other.

With a sound of approval, she decreased the revs, s.h.i.+fted the engines into gear, and began to put the boat through its paces under Hawkas intense, and finally approving, scrutiny. The boat responded eagerly to her touch, the prow curving and recurving through green water, sending chaotic wakes slapping across the s.h.i.+fting surface of the sea.

Angel flipped on the sonar and watched the changing pattern as the boat roved up and down the strait. Hawk looked curiously at the plate-sized screen that looked like green TV.

aEver used a fish finder before?a asked Angel.

aNo.a She pointed toward the lower part of the screen, then indicated the depth scale alongside.

aRight now,a Angel said, athe bottom is about twenty fathoms. Thereas nothing between us and the bottom buta"wait!a Without looking away from the screen, Angel cut back on the throttles and turned the boat, retracing her path slowly.

aThere,a she said, pointing to a bright, s.h.i.+fting series of lines that had appeared at about ten fathoms on the scale. aA school of fish. Herring, probably.a aHow can you tell?a Angel shrugged slightly, a graceful movement that caught Hawkas eye.

aExperience,a she said simply. aHerring are erratic yet dense. See how quickly the lines s.h.i.+ft?a Hawk watched the screen, but much of his attention was on the slender hands that had so quickly learned how to handle the powerboat. Whatever else Angel was, she had the confidence and coordination of a race driver.

aWhat do salmon look like on the screen?a asked Hawk in a quiet, deep voice.

He bent over as though to see the screen more clearly, but it was the woman that filled his senses. His nostrils flared as he smelled the delicate perfume he had come to a.s.sociate with Angel, a blend of suns.h.i.+ne and wind and hidden flowers.

aSalmon look less well defined, unless you happen onto a good school.a Angel closed her eyes for an instant, sensing the heat radiating from Hawkas body. Her thoughts scattered. Grimly she recalled them.

aSalmon are rarely on the bottom,a she said. aIf you see a school just above the bottom, youave found cod, not salmon.a Why did he have to stand so close? Angel asked silently. I canat take a breath without breathing him in.

She felt caged by Hawkas heat, serenity burning away with each breath she took, bringing his male scent deeply into her body.

aAre you nearsighted?a Angel asked tightly.

aNearsighted?a There was surprise in his voice.

aAs in not able to see things unless youare right on top of them,a Angel explained dryly.

Hawk glanced sideways. His face was only inches from hers. In the slanting morning light her eyes were as green as matched emeralds.

aSorry,a he said. Then, aAm I crowding you?a aNo more than Iam crowding you,a Angel retorted.

aGood,a Hawk said huskily, abecause I donat feel a bit crowded.a Angel turned the wheel suddenly and gunned the engines. The motion forced Hawk to step back in order to keep his balance. She took the boat closer to the cliffs looming on the east side of the pa.s.sage.

Hawk watched the cliffs approach at an alarming speed. He glanced at the sonar. The bottom was thirty-three fathoms and getting deeper every moment. He measured the cliff with narrow eyes.

One hundred feet at least, he estimated. No. Closer to two hundred.

Huge evergreens clung to cracks in the cliffas face, but the trees looked no bigger than weeds against the immense expanse of rock.

With a sideways glance, Angel measured Hawkas response to the cliff. To someone unaccustomed to the Inside Pa.s.sage, it would seem like insanity to approach the sh.o.r.e at such speed because of the danger of running aground.

But Angel knew the land and the sea.

aGeologists call this land the drowned coast,a Angel said, automatically pitching her voice to carry above the sound of the engines.

aAs in drowned people?a Hawk suggested sardonically.

aNope. During the last ice age the sea level was several hundred feet lower. Then all the ice melted, flooding the land. That cliff ahead of us goes straight down about three hundred feet below the sea. Thereas no way to run aground here unless I ram the cliff itself.a aLike Norway,a Hawk said, understanding. He looked at the land with new eyes.

aThatas what one of my fis.h.i.+ng clients said,a Angel agreed. aHe was born in Norway. Said that all these fjords made him homesick. It was the first time Iad realized that a fjord is nothing but a valley drowned in salt water.a Amused, Hawk glanced sideways at Angel.

She didnat notice. She was easing back on the throttles and turning the boat so that they paralleled the cliff face at a distance of about twenty feet. Then she put the engines in neutral and left them idling while she estimated the amount of drift that would be caused by wind and currents.

The boat moved slowly away from the cliff.

aHow much do you trust these engines?a Angel asked matter-of-factly.

aTo do what?a aStart the first time.a aI wouldnat bet my life on it. But then, I donat bet my life on anything anymore.a Hawk shrugged. aTheyall start ninety-nine times out of a hundred.a aGood enough. I wouldnat mind a little silence.a Angel cut the engines, then restarted them. They caught immediately. She turned them off again, giving the boat to the subtle movements of wind and water.

Silence flowed over Angel like a benediction. Unconsciously she closed her eyes and smiled with pleasure.

Hawk saw her pleasure and was tempted to run first his fingertip and then his lips over her smile. He did neither. For the first part of the chase he was content to let the prey set the course and the speed.

That didnat mean he wouldnat crowd Angel from time to time, just to watch sensuality deepen the color of her eyes and soften her mouth. But the crowding would be gentle, would seem utterly natural, and would give her no excuse to retreat too far.